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animefreak1145 · 3 years ago

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For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o y o u h e a r i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . . Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

Pain Pain боль

боль

Pain Pain

боль

Pain Pain Pain

боль боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o��̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.” His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough. Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. ��I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well.

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @danjer

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spacedikut · 4 years ago

Text

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mine #oh to be spencer reid's neighbour that he falls completely in love with during the lockdown

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hcneymilkks · 4 years ago

Text

Month

A fake dating au but make it marriage. Two best friends scroll on social media and notice a trend where newlyweds send invites to famous celebrities to see what will happen? An appearance? A gift? Who knows. For the two best friends, as a joke, set up a fake wedding and request the most expensive gifts with the option of money. Sending invites to celebrities ranging from Kim Kardashian to even the Queen, they are surprised and shocked to realize that not only were gifts being delivered nearing the “big day” but a request to be part of the celebration causes the two friends to create a fake marriage in the smallest amount of time they have.

University AU! Aged-up Haikyuu Characters!

Fashion Designer/Psychologist Oikawa

Humanities Y/N

Rain splattered on the window, causing little droplets here and there to roll down with no hesitation. The quiet hums of lo-fi music made its way around the little bedroom, with vigorous typing accompanying it.

Backspace.

Enter.

Click and delete.

Brain throbbing, a sigh escaping from the lips.

It was no use, the longer the computer was stared at, the more your brain felt like mush.

“Damn him and using me to do his research analysis.”

Speak of the devil.

“Y/n!”

You stood up, turning around and crossing your arms with a glare. There he stood, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe with a sly smirk on his face.

Tooru Oikawa.

“How’s the report going? I hope to see it done by tomorrow?”

“Fuck you,” you strided over and pushed his arms, causing him to slightly lose balance. “Just tell me how you managed not getting kicked out yet. I swear you casted a spell on your professors or something. It's like you don’t do anything.”

He feigned hurt. “I do!” He whined. “Just not class related.” He pushed past you and flung yourself onto the bed, burying his face into your freshly washed sheets. “I’m designing a new clothing line inspired by the different volleyball team colours.”

“Is this your way at relieving the pain from not making it to nationals?” you snickered, remembering how pissed off he was after Ushijima told him he should have gone to Shiratorizawa.

“I-you little shit. This is why I never tell you things.”

“Shut up shittykawa you literally are making me do your research proposal. I know nothing about psychology!”

“I’m helping you learn a new subject! It’s time to look into your own brain and see what’s wrong with you!”

…

Three.

Two.

One.

“OIKAWA YOU LITTLE SHIT!” you flung yourself on top of him, garnering an oomph! sound. You smacked his back repeatedly.

He let it have your way, already coming up with a counterattack.

With stinging hands and shallow breaths after saying nothing but curses, you stopped and climbed off of him. Immediately, he’s on top of you. Pinning your wrists and getting dangerously closer to your neck. You couldn’t lie, he was attractive, but knowing him and his two-faced personality, you’d rather stay friends.

But did you really want to?

A part of him knew you wanted him, but was that a risk you were willing to take?

Deep breaths.

A low chuckle. “You love me y/n. I know you do, and I also know you’d do anything for me.” He smirked and pressed a kiss oh so close to your lips, getting up and dusting off his black shirt.

“I’m leaving! Remember, the paper has to be done by tomorrow!”

The door closed and for a moment you looked at your ceiling.

Eyes wide.

Taking a pillow, you screamed into it.

“SHITTYKAWA!”

“Here you hoe, now for once in your life do your own work.”

You stomped into one of the many University studios, aiming the folder at Oikawa’s head much to his dismay.

“Thank you love you!”

You glared at him and waved a hand. “You definitely owe me like five bowls of ramen after what you put me through. I can’t believe you made me read so much on children’s brains and development.”

“I mean they said to choose something I liked, so children and volleyball worked together. Plus, if I actually had to conduct the research, my nephew’s volleyball club would have been perfect.” He finally turned around after pinning the teal fabric to the mannequin, striding towards you and ruffling your hair.

You mumbled incoherent curses as Oikawa picked up his sketchbook, writing down a quick note before closing it.

“Let’s go, I’m starving.”

The fragrant air of spices and creamy broth filled the little shop, making you drool. Grateful that Oikawa was rich, you took the opportunity to order almost everything on the menu.

“Y/n isn’t that-” you growled at him and he smirked.

“Feisty, you know I love that.” he winked and you gagged.

While waiting for the food, both of you were scrolling on Instagram. Having most of the same friends, it was no surprise that your timelines almost looked identical. Rolling his eyes, Oikawa saw a group photo of most of the volleyball players Hinata was pictured with, wanting nothing more than to squish the little one.

But then something caught your eyes.

You looked up at Oikawa who seemingly had the same expression, eyes wide, yet confused.

The dead groupchat came back to life with a link sent by Matsukawa, something about a bet.

matthewkawa

Look at this lol

Sent a link

[Youtube storytime: The Time I Invited Drake to My Wedding (Spoiler Alert: He Came!)]

hannamaki

Wait why would someone invite a celebrity? Aren’t they hard to ask?

nishinoyya

Wait that’s cool! Asahi-san can we invite Jason Derulo to our wedding?

acai

Wait...what? What wedding?

y/n

Waittt i’ve seen that video

Apparently as a joke the person sent lots of invites to different celebrities. Most of them gave gifts or money but I guess Drake went

iwachew

LOOL IMAGINE Y/N AND CRAPPYKAWA DOING THAT

yoyoinata

I can see that woah!

milkyama

Psh! Flattykawa and y/n. I can’t see it. y/n deserves better lol

fabkawa

OI TAKE THAT BACK STUPID

y/n

Oi don’t talk back to my child like that shittykawa

fabkawa

Shut up y/n and eat your ramen

You glared at him before saying thank you to the waiter. Both minds now occupied with the creamy ramen and soft boiled egg.

Flipping a page, you smiled. There it was, the fake couple who both fell for each other, breaking so many rules. But who couldn’t resist?

Oikawa scrolled on the computer, typing and clicking. He swiveled around in his seat and went over to you, peering over your shoulder.

You smacked his arm. “Personal space excuse me!” He put his arm up in defence, smirking.

“Remember the post Matsukawa sent?

“Yeah. So what?”

“I made the wedding on May 14th and invited some celebrities. Who did you want to send an invite to?”

You dropped the book. “Say what?”

Oikawa dragged you from his bed and sat you down on his uncomfy chair. Indeed, the computer screen showed a cheesy website where people rsvp to weddings. Already half of the groupchat accepted and you know this had to be a joke.

“Oikawa are you dumb? Who are you marrying? Wait no, who would want to marry you?” you looked at him and he pouted.

“Iwa-chan said no, Mad Dog scares me, Ushijima is definitely a no, so you’re left.”

“Who said I would do it?”

“I invited Stray Kids.”

Are you kidding me?

“This isn’t real, we’re not gonna really get married right? I mean if we were technically speaking, the wedding is less than a month away and we don’t have money, a reception place or any other sappy wedding shit.” You looked at the list and sure enough, Stray Kids was there.

“No y/n nothing is going to happen trust me. Plus, who doesn’t like free gifts? I tried to ask for expensive gifts and money because someone’s wardrobe and apartment looks ugly as hell.”

“You better not be talking about me bitch. I’m gonna set that sketchbook on fire.”

Oikawa chuckled. “Add some more people on the list, I wanna see how far this can get.”

“I never said I agreed to it,” you mumbled but nonetheless added in a few of your favourite celebrities, including the queen.

After all, if this worked, free money. What’s the harm in that?”

A lot went wrong after that.

It was three am a week after the planning and your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Grumbling, you answered the call without looking at the number…..which was a stupid mistake.

“Y/N! HOW DO I CANCEL THE WEDDING?!”

“Relax Papi you said nothing would happen? Free money right?” you yawned not even realizing what you said.

Oikawa sputtered on the other line, shaking his head and ignoring how you called him Papi for some reason. “Yeah but uh...we have a little problem.”

“Hm…”

“Jason Derulo accepted the invite ...and he can’t wait to see the ceremony.”

From that moment, you were fully awake. “WHAT?!!”

“What do you mean you can’t cancel the wedding?” you rubbed at your temples, losing more brain cells by the minute.

"Okay so apparently my last name is common around celebrities, seeing as my father owns different restaurants. So it’s not a surprise to them that they wouldn’t attend the wedding.’

“Fuck.” you breathed out. How did the both of you not realize this?

“Okay so um..what now?”

Oikawa ruffled his air. “We go through with it.”

"Fuck no.”

“What why?”

You’re the one who thought of this crazy idea! It’s all your fault!”

“But you’re the one who put Jason Derulo in there!”’

You smacked your forehead. “It was a joke and for free money! Look what you got us into.”

Yells back and forth, each blaming the other. It was like the night wasn’t going to end soon. Tired from the arguing, you smacked Oikawa’s chest. “Stupid,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to do this!”

Oikawa scratched the back of his neck. “But what if I want to?” You looked up at him confused. “You know, like how Hinata and Tobio fake dated but then became boyfriends.”

“Oikawa, that’s different. That’s dating, this is marriage. It’s adult stuff, I can barely cook!”

“I’ll cook for you.”

You walked away from him, going towards his balcony. The view was beautiful, seeing various stars and the lights shining from Tokyo. “This is too much for me to handle. You're a pain, you know that?”

He wrapped his arms around you and instinctively you snuggled closer to his chest, facing the view so he wouldn’t see your red cheeks.

"Remember when we were children? And we had a whole promise that we would be with each other forever?” you laughed. The classic child marriage pact. It was as if almost all friendships started with that promise. A promise to love and stay with each other no matter what.

“That’s child play.”

He started to rub circles with his thumbs on your arms, you feeling relaxed. “One month. Give me one month after the wedding. We’ll go on a honeymoon to London, I'll teach you how to cook, you can live with me, we can adopt a puppy.” Oikawa gulped and looked at you. “And if you don’t like it, we can pretend none of this happened. In fact i’ll stop bothering you with my assignments and my presence.”

One month. That sounded like a challenge. A challenge that Oikawa was willing to risk everything for. A month to make you fall for him.

“...so we’re splitting the gifts and money equally then, right?”

A/N: I’m back! This has been in my drafts for months. At first it was supposed to be Yuto from Pentagon but after getting into Haikyuu I was like fuck it and changed it to Oikawa. Also because yes LMAO. I hope you all liked it and let me know your comments! Part two will be in the works if people want it, for now its a oneshot aha.

Much love!

tags: @babyworld , @bakuhoes-dumbass

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bnha-mha-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

Soulmate au: Denki’s tattoo is covered up by Jirou and you both don’t know your soulmates. Jirou tried dating him but he rejects and says that he likes you.( prob why she did that) He still refuses even after seeing the fake mark lmao!!!!! I’m hating on Jirou rn

Denki Kaminari x Reader

AU’s: Soulmate tattoo au, college au

Words: 4074

Warnings: Manipulation, loss of friendship, angst on Jirou’s part, fluff on your part :) i didn’t know which character to follow and keep switching lolol

Summary: You and Jirou are best friends, but everything changes when Jirou realizes you and her crush, Kaminari, share soulmate tattoos. She tries her best to keep you apart…

A/N: Literally I haven’t STOPPED thinking of this request since it came in however long ago. I sat down and wrote it and lowkey didn’t realize how long it got haha. Lol why all the hate on Jirou my dude? XD

----

You and Jirou have been best friends through thick and thin. From elementary school to U.A, you’ve been together to experience all of life’s biggest moments. You were there when Jirou nailed her first gig, you both took pictures together at all of your homecoming dances, and you’ve taken more road trips together than you’d care to count.

It was no surprise to either of your families when you decided to dorm together at the same university. Some friends find that when they become roommates that their living habits are incompatible; not you and Jirou. With everything you’ve been through together, you regarded her more of a sister than a friend.

Jirou trusted you with all of her insecurities, and you trusted her with all of your secret thoughts. You knew that soulmates existed, but never would you have thought you’d be lucky enough to organically find an additional best friend soulmate! You often joked with her about it: “What if we actually secretly have the same tattoo and we never knew?” You’d both laugh, knowing how ridiculous that would be.

Soulmate tattoos only develop after you’ve first interacted with your soulmate, and seeing as you and Jirou have known each other for most of your lives, you both knew that the joke held no weight. However, this did mean that the both of you had a very real chance of never meeting your soulmates or seeing your tattoos develop. It was a sad thought, but a reality that many people face. But you both were still young and in college, and you were hopeful that you had plenty of time.

Even if you did never find your one true soulmate, you knew you at least had a friend like Jirou who you could live your life with. There was no one else in the world you’d rather spend time with, and you knew if and when your actual soulmate came along that they’d have to learn to share.

Truthfully, you were more in love with the idea of soulmates than Jirou. Where you tended to hold what people would call ‘hopelessly romantic fantasies,’ Jirou considered herself a realist and didn’t mind the idea of finding love that wasn’t divinely ordained. It was a growing practice to date without tattoos, and over time the importance of them seemed to lose its touch. Still, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to give your prospective soulmate some time before you give up on it.

The universe, however, always was a lover of irony! Just your luck that Jirou was the one looking to date but you were always the one getting hit on. You knew it frustrated her, though she would never say. You knew, and while you did your best to hide it, you couldn’t help feeling excited each opportunity a tattoo might develop only to feel disappointed when it never showed. You were both luckless in love, but you were luckless together, and that made it a little better.

That was, until Jirou met some guy majoring in computer science named Denki Kaminari. You’ll never forget her face when she got home that night; she was all grins, and you couldn’t help but tease her about it. You were excited for her, you truly were! She had sat across from you on your bed while she told you all about how they had sat next to each other in a math class.

You watched her lips twitch up as she described how he cracked jokes at her throughout the class while she struggled to stifle laughs. Finally, she told you that they were going to hang out the following night, and you screamed while giggling as if you were little kids again.

You helped Jirou pick out the right outfit, sitting on your bed while she tried on clothes for you. You helped straighten her hair while she carefully drew on a thin line of eyeliner. And then, like a parent sending their daughter off, you waved her out the door in your sweatpants and slippers.

Eventually, one hang out turned into many, and Jirou confessed to you that they had become rather good friends. You remember feeling a little disappointed. “Only friends?” you had asked her while she nodded her head. But, she assured you that she was happy about just being friends with Kaminari. And with a warm smile, you believed her.

After a month, stories of the mysterious Denki Kaminari were no longer satisfying. “Jirou!” you practically pounced on her when she came home from her music theory class. “Take me to lunch with you! I wanna meet your friend!”

Jirou looked at you, and though her eyebrows furrowed slightly, she could find no excuse not to agree. Playing with her earlobe, she nodded her head. “Uh, sure! I’m leaving now, though, I just came to drop off my bag. Are you sure you're ready?”

Hopping away from her, you scrambled to throw on your shoes and fix your hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready!” you reassured her, grabbing your keys and your phone. Looping your elbow around hers, you grinned. “I can’t wait to meet your friend! You talk about him so much.”

Jirou nodded, walking with you across campus to the cafeteria she agreed to meet him at. As you walked, you asked her how her class was; you let her speak even though you had no idea what sort of musical things she was talking about.

Finally reaching the cafeteria, you followed Jirou in and scanned the tables, trying to pick out Kaminari based on the description Jirou had rehearsed to you all those times. “There,” you heard Jirou say before she stepped past you. You followed her quickly, peeking around her back to finally see with your own eyes who this famous friend was.

Your eyes caught his hair first; it was a golden yellow, a bright color that fit the wide grin on his face. Reaching the table, you couldn’t help but inhale sharply. The boy was devilishly handsome, and Jirou’s words had not done him enough justice.

“Hey Jirou!” Kaminari drew out his greeting, standing up to give her a sideways hug. You couldn’t help but chuckle as she got embarrassed and shoved him off her. You could tell that in the time they’ve known each other that they’ve gotten close. “Who’s this?” Kaminari was the one to bring you up, and you gasped.

“Oh! Right, sorry,” you apologized, smiling. “I’m (Y/n), Jirou’s friend. Sorry for intruding on your lunch, I hope you don’t mind!” You stuck your hand out to shake his, and when your skin touched you swear the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

He held your hand a little longer before letting it go, his smile meeting his eyes. “Not at all!” he said warmly. “Especially not someone as cute as you! Jirou, you should bring your friends along more often!” You laughed, a little bashful, before taking your seat. Jirou only rolled her eyes, choosing to sit across from you next to Kaminari.

“So you can hit on all of them? Yeah, gross, stay away,” Jirou spoke, causing both you and Kaminari to laugh.

“Ouch, didn’t know you were so protective of them,” Kaminari feigned hurt. “I’m not that bad, am I?” His eyes were teasing.

Jirou tched, smirking slightly. “Oh, you’re the worst.”

Before you could feel too awkward and left out, Kaminari turned back to you. “So (Y/n)! What’s your major?” You told him, and continued the conversation with a few questions of your own. You both got to know each other rather well, and after only a few minutes of talking you realized why Jirou liked hanging around with him so much.

You were talking so much that your throat was beginning to get dry. You didn’t notice how much time had gone by, talking with Kaminari was just so easy. Suddenly Jirou cut into the conversation. You had almost forgotten she was there. “(Y/n), don’t you have class starting soon?”

You blinked, and a quick glance at your phone had you scrambling to collect your things. “Crap, thanks Jirou!” you said, grabbing your bag from the floor. “Kaminari, it was lovely to meet you! We should all hang out again soon.”

Kaminari smiled, a look of amusement on his face as you quickly grabbed your keys and phone from the table. “Denki works fine. And totally! Before you go, take my number.” You exchanged contact information, too busy rushing to notice the look Jirou had on her face. Waving goodbye to both of them, you hurried to class.

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened the next day.

“JIROU!!!!” you screamed from the bathroom. Jirou practically fell out of her bed, reaching the bathroom just as you opened the door. Steam from your shower leaked out from the bathroom into your bedroom. You held a white towel around your body, your hair still coated in shampoo.

“What, what happened?!” Jirou asked, worried. You had a strange expression on your face, wide eyes and a slight flush to your cheeks. With a trembling hand, you lifted your arm to reveal a small design on your wrist. Jirou’s heart seemed to jolt violently as her eyes traced the tiny outline of a lightning bolt on your skin. “I-Is that…?” she couldn’t seem to finish the question.

“Yes!” you screamed again, laughing. Despite the wet towel covering your body, you gave Jirou a tight hug which she returned. Excitedly jumping together, you gushed for a few moments over the tattoo before Jirou forced you to finish your shower.

Once she heard the water go back on, Jirou let her face fall. It couldn’t be because you met Denki yesterday, was it? The universe would have to be cruel to pair you with the one person she’d managed to fall in love with. “No,” she reassured herself with a hushed voice. “(Y/n) had a class yesterday where they met tons of new people. With 50 people in there, it’s much more likely that they met their soulmate there.”

Jirou sat back down on her bed, reasoning with herself as she waited for you to finish showering. She rehearsed that same line over and over in her head so that she could tell you it when you got out again. You met them in your class. You met them in your class.

That night, Jirou was getting ready to leave. You watched as she threw on a hoodie and slid on the converse she had converted into slip ons. “Where are you off to?” you asked curiously. “Going to see Denki?” Jirou didn’t miss the way your voice raised with interest at his name.

With her back to you, you didn’t see the way she rolled her eyes. “No,” she said casually. “Just going to the music practice room again.” She peeked back to see you nod your head and reimmerse yourself into the Netflix show playing on your laptop. Releasing a small, relieved sigh, Jirou left before you could ask any more questions. It wasn’t that she liked lying to you, but she couldn’t help but feel irritated about how chummy you and Denki have gotten recently. The fact that you developed a soulmate tattoo didn’t help either. Besides, he had texted her specifically to come over, not you. She was excited for some alone time with him.

Walking down the familiar path to his dorm building, Jirou let the cool air calm her worries. Trying to reassure herself, she made her way up to Denki’s room and knocked on the door. She barely finished before the door swung open and he pulled her in. “Denki, what?!” Jirou cried, startled.

“Thank goodness you’re finally here, Jirou! You walk like a grandma!” Kaminari said jokingly as he closed the door.

Jirou snorted, her heart warming. Right now, it felt like it did before she introduced you to Denki. Just the two of them in his room, joking around. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said, taking a seat on the beanbag that she’s come to love. “So what’s with the urgent texting?” she prodded, a teasing smile forming on her face. “Forgot the notes in class again?”

Kaminari scoffed, crossing his arms with a smile. “No,” he said. “That was one time… okay maybe two. But, no, I texted you because of this!” Jirou felt her heart shatter before Denki even rolled up his sleeve all the way. No way. There was no way. But, the ink didn’t lie. There, on his wrist, was the same small lightning bolt that Jirou had seen that afternoon on your skin.

Jirou swallowed the heartbreak in her throat, keeping a calm face. “You got a soulmate tattoo?” she asked softly. Denki nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Can you believe it!? These are like… super rare now! I swear, I thought I was gonna go my whole life without ever meeting my soulmate. But look!” Jirou didn’t want to look. “That means they’re here on campus somewhere. I interacted with them! Can you believe it?”

Jirou could only manage to nod her head, but it seemed enough for Denki who was dominating the conversation.

“Jirou,” Denki said, his smile audible in his voice. “What do I do? I have no idea what to do!” Jirou’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She took a few seconds before she started to answer, willing the tears in her eyes to stay put.

“Well, Denki…” she started, and at the serious tone in her voice he quieted. “It’s not really popular anymore to have a soulmate.” The venom in her words was hidden perfectly, and he didn’t seem to pick up on it as he slowly spoke.

“What are you saying?” he asked, the excitement gradually dying in his voice.

Jirou couldn’t help the words coming from her mouth. “It’s out of fashion, Denki. People are going to think you’re shallow if you wave that around.” Seeing the pain spark in his eyes, Jirou swallowed. “Most people just ignore it and date whoever, you know?”

Denki was silent, tracing one finger over the mark on his wrist gently. “I mean,” Jirou continued, “you could keep it but… I really wouldn’t. Here, let me help you hide it.” Denki still didn’t say anything as Jirou began to dig the foundation out from her bag.

Bringing the chair closer to Denki’s, Jirou gingerly grabbed his hand and began to blot away the small tattoo. The concealer was slightly off color, but it was enough to do the trick. Satisfied with her work, she tried to calm the pounding of her heart. “S-See?” she spoke, breaking the silence. “Just like normal.”

“Yeah,” Denki mumbled finally. Jirou didn’t like seeing him this dejected, but she knew that it had to be done. She knew she could make him happy if he just… noticed her.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” Jirou offered. Denki lifted his head slightly, eyes dull. “I’ll play a movie. You know… like old times!” Getting no yes or no from Denki, Jirou put a movie on while he sat on his couch. Turning off the lights, Jirou grabbed a blanket and plopped down next to him. As the movie played, she noticed how he kept glancing down at the covered tattoo on his wrist. With a dash of annoyance, Jirou curled up closer to him. He’ll forget about it, she knew. He’ll have her, and he’ll forget all about you before he ever got the chance to know you.

After that day, Jirou tried to keep you from Denki as best as she could. She was the only one who knew about both of your tattoos, so as long as neither of you found out, she should be able to get away with it. She’d ask you about different classmates to throw you off. “Did he have the mark?” “No…” “Maybe it was that other classmate then!” And for a while, this seemed to work… on the surface.

No doubt you were becoming exasperated about finding your soulmate. You retraced your steps many times, but still, you couldn’t find them! As for Denki, Jirou could tell that he was still thinking about his mark. He tried to be present whenever they hung out, but his mind always seemed to drift. The worst part was when you asked about one other. “When will I see Denki again?” “Is (Y/n) gonna be there?” Gosh, it was insufferable! You only met one time and it’s like you’re already in love!

Having enough of it, Jirou devised a plan. While you were out at class, she walked to your desk and borrowed one of your black sharpies. Carefully with the thin tip, Jirou traced out the delicate shape of a lightning bolt on her wrist. You flaunted it around enough where she had a pretty good mental image of it.

Satisfied with her work, Jirou capped the pen and rubbed at it to make sure it was set in place. Reaching for her phone, Jirou texted Denki. We need to talk. I’ll be over in 5 minutes. She was already halfway to his place when he finally replied with a simple ‘okay.’ Knocking on his door, Jirou invited herself in the instant it opened.

“Are you okay?” Denki asked, concerned. Jirou said nothing, only walking to the center of the room before turning to face him.

“Denki,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t reveal it sooner but… I was worried about ruining our friendship.” Silently, she raised her wrist to reveal the forged tattoo. Denki watched, eyes widening as they landed on the small lightning bolt.

He went to speak but Jirou quickly cut him off. “I know I told you to cover yours up but honestly… I was dumb. I was scared. But I’m not scared anymore and I’m ready to be with you. We’re soulmates, Denki…” Jirou smiled nervously. “We’re meant to be together!”

Denki was speechless, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ahh, wow, Jirou,” he said finally, an awkward chuckle falling from his lips. “I-I… I don’t know what to say.” Jirou felt her nerves wrack through her.

“You don’t have to say anything. We can just… continue like we were! We were practically dating anyways…” At this, Denki seemed to jump, startled. Jirou’s mouth went dry.

“W-Woah woah woah,” Denki defended himself quickly, waving his hands in front of him. “We weren’t dating before… b-besides, Jirou. I’m flattered, really but… I… I already have a date with (Y/n) in a bit.”

Jirou stopped breathing for a moment. “W-What?” Jirou had forgotten that you both exchanged numbers… did that mean you both had started to hang out without her? Wait… no. He didn’t know about your tattoo, there was no way. “Can’t you cancel? Denki, look at my wrist!”

Denki sighed, the nervous smile falling from his face. “Jirou, look. Weren’t you the one who said that soulmates didn’t mean anything anymore? Well… maybe you’re right. The truth is, you’re a good friend! But, soulmate or not, we just don’t… have chemistry like that. I’m sorry. Please don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

Jirou couldn’t move. Her brain seemed to stop firing completely at his words. After a moment of waiting for a response, Denki sighed. “I’m sorry. But, uh… I actually have to go meet (Y/n) so…” he checked his watch. “I don’t wanna rush you, so just lock the door before you leave? ...text me later. We can talk more later if you need.”

And then, just like that, he was gone through the door. Jirou’s hands fell limp at her sides, staring where Denki once stood. She felt her knees buckle before she hit the ground, a silent sob rippling through her. Angrily, she scrubbed raw at her wrist, only barely smudging the ink. Her phone buzzed tauntingly, your name lighting up her screen like salt to the wound. Vision blurred with tears, she blocked your call.

“Aww man, Jirou!” you hissed under your breath at the sound of her voicemail, pulling the phone from your ear. With a sigh, you set the phone on your lap, your legs swinging gently off the bench. Right now, you could have used a word or two or encouragement from your friend.

Sure, you knew you hadn’t told her about the date yet, but were you really at fault? Jirou had grown oddly distant recently, and you barely had a chance to speak to her these days. She was always running off to the practice room, though you had a feeling she may have been lying a few times about it.

At first she’d been happy to help you find your soulmate, helping you pick out which guy to investigate. But once you ran out of classmates, she seemed to abandon the search all together! You could only think of one other person… the boy who you were currently waiting to meet on the campus bench.

You and Denki had been texting ever since you exchanged numbers, though this was going to be the first time you saw each other since your first meeting. It seemed rude to hang out together without Jirou, but by now your curiosity had overcome your sensitivity. All you had to do was look at his wrist. You just had to know…

“(Y/n)?” you heard a voice call your name, and you looked up to see none other than Denki Kaminari walking towards you. He seemed a little on edge, but one flash of your smile and he seemed to relax completely.

“Denki! Hey! Good to see you again,” you chirped, standing up to give him a hug. Though this was technically only your second meeting, you felt as though you practically knew him already from all of your late night conversations.

His arms hung around you for a little longer than an ordinary hug would have lasted, but you liked the way it felt nonetheless. Pulling away, your smile softens a bit. “So…” you start slowly, your voice adopting a tone of apology. “This may seem a little strange or old-fashioned…but I think it’s worth a shot.”

You watched Denki’s expression carefully, his eyes willing you to continue. You bashfully played with your thumbs. “Do you… do you think I could see your wrist?” You watched his eyes widen, and immediately fear you overstepped a boundary.

“A-Ah,” you stutter, quickly back-tracking. “I swear I’m not a weirdo, it’s just--!! Here, look.” Without a question, you push up your sleeve and offer your wrist to him, revealing the small thunderbolt tattoo.

Denki’s breath hitches, and you observe his reaction carefully. “No way,” he mutters breathily. “Thats--”

“A soulmate tattoo, I know,” you laughed softly, already beginning to drop your wrist. “They’re rare, but I got lucky! Well, not too lucky. I can’t find them anywhere! That’s why I, you know...” Denki didn’t move, and you were beginning to suspect he didn’t have what you were looking for.

“Sorry for making it weird. I didn’t mean to lead you on, it’s just that… I need to find them. I’m sorry, maybe I should--”

“No, wait!” Denki cut you off, catching your wrist as you turned to leave. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks as he turns your wrist over to stare at your mark again. After a moment, he wordlessly turns over his own wrist, and with a few hard scrubs… reveals his own hidden tattoo.

You feel a mix of emotion at the sight, gently taking his wrist in both of your trembling hands. “I-It is you…” you gasp. “But you covered it up.” Hearing your voice droop slightly, Denki takes your hands in his own.

“I didn’t want to,” Denki explained quickly. “I think we’ve both been misled.”

You paused a moment before realization dawned on you. “D-Do you mean that… that Jirou?” Denki nodded, taking you into another tight hug.

Face pressed into his chest, you allow yourself to be washed over by his warmth. He smelled like lemongrass and lavender, and the feeling of his lips pressing against your hair filled you with an indescribable tenderness.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he said, a choked laugh sounding from his chest. “I found you, (Y/n). I found you.”

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peppusae · 3 years ago

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[kth] lavender honey ch. 9

note: this fanfic has multiple chapters, so please look forward to more!

lavender honey: kim taehyung x reader

genre: crack, fluff, college au, smut

word count: 2.4k words

lavender honey

ch 9: in which namjoon's bomb reaches all the way from gwangju to busan

“Noonim. I like you so, so much.”

You knew.

You knew all too well, and you had so many answers thought up in your head when you daydreamed about this moment for months.

And yet, right now, as you watch Jungkook look at you with expectant eyes, you feel tongue-tied for the very first time in… ever.

“I don’t mind not getting a reply, because I know you like me too, Noonim.” He replies, when there’s no reply from your side. His ears have gone so red that even when Jungkook gets up from on top of you and walks towards the computer chair he still has a hand covering the bottom half of his face in embarrassment.

You feel like you snap out of your daze when you sit up, wondering just how far things would have gone between you and Jungkook if he didn’t get up himself and you had let him go on with whatever it was in his head that was now making the male flush red, not daring to even look back to meet eyes with you.

You wouldn’t have stopped him since you’re such a horny b-

Minji really needs to shut up.

“Noonim, you’ll be going to Busan too on your library trip tomorrow, right?” Jungkook asks, out of the blue.

“We’re going to a lot of places. The seniors have requested a lot of paperbacks we don’t have, so we need to collect them from the other branches.” You say, standing up when you see Jungkook doing the same and making his way out of the room. You wonder if Jungkook is upset about earlier, but he has a smile on his face as he heads out to where his bike is parked outside the building.

“You’ll need to get enough sleep if you have to wake up early to head out, [Name]-noonim!” Jungkook has to say, patting on the back seat of his bike. “I’ll take you home!”

The home date that Jungkook has been gushing over so much feels like it got cut off so abruptly, and you feel so guilty thinking it is your fault, while you hold on to him as you cycle back home without much to say.

You still make sure to give Jungkook a kiss on his cheek, his face flushing red when you lean back and give him a wave.

“Let’s go to the beach when you come back, Noonim! Also, if you get the time, you should drop by my Dad’s restaurant for a meal!”

You give him a thumbs up, letting him know that you definitely will, and watch as he gets on his bike and cycles off.

Why does it feel like something between us got cut off just now? Jungkook was smiling, but he has never been the one to end the date, it’s always been me…

So, what gives?

---

“Kim [Name]. Do you have a moment to spare?” Namjoon asks the next day, standing by the doorway of your room.

“Come on in, Joonie. What’s up?” You ask while you fold up some clothes to take for your weekend trip… Even though calling it a trip doesn’t feel right since it’s something you and Taehyung are doing for extra-credit, not for fun.

Maybe if this trip was with Jungkook, it would be a fun trip-

You shake your head to take away Minji’s - your subconscious self’s- mind away from the gutter for one god-forsaken minute.

“I have to catch a bus in a few minutes, so I don’t have a lot of time to wait to chat… I should have talked about this earlier but..”

You look up from your duffel bag, suddenly getting a little worried why Namjoon sounded so serious out of nowhere.

“Joonie, you sound a bit scary right now. What’s going on?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

Namjoon laughs, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on your bed. “It’s not something like that, don’t worry. I just wanted to talk to you before you left on a trip with Taehyungie.” He explains. You nod, motioning for him to go on.

“I know you’ve started something with Kookie and everything, but… And it’s not that I’m against it, since you’re an adult and everything.. But it’s just that sometimes, I think you and Taehyung have this bond that just crosses over to a line a little more than just friends.”

Your lips part open at his sudden words, and Namjoon looks like he does not plan to stop talking any time soon.

“It may be just me - but I highly doubt this. You two have this bond that makes me feel like you’re soulmates, and I don’t know but… I think you’re very very cautious in front of Jungkook which I never see you behave like in front of Taehyung. You two have this behavior of taking care of each other, and I sometimes notice it in the way you two look at each other… It’s like the way Jungkook looks at you, but the way you look at him isn’t the same.”

“Joon-”

“And I don’t know if it’s just things I’ve picked up or am looking into too much because I’m taking my philosophy and psychology lessons way too seriously, but as someone who has seen you from the day you were born up until now… That’s how I feel.”

You take a deep sigh as you process his words, picking up a sweater and stuffing it into the bag.

“I’m not telling you to act on it, I’m only saying that it’s something that crossed my mind and I wondered if you were able to notice it or you just stayed and smiled your way through and let things flow the way it just goes on without taking a proper decision on your part.”

“Joonie, you’ve made my trip with Taehyung turn so weird.” You say. You don’t think you can admit it to Namjoon, that it wasn’t just him, that you always felt an odd feeling when it was around Taehyung. You had, though, never considered that those feeling and him staying in your head about every little thing could be because you had actual feelings for Taehyung… It sounds almost impossible in your head, if anything.

And you had a boyfriend, an adorable one, at that!

“I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say something so you can be cautious… And not hurt Taehyung’s feelings if something ever happened.” Namjoon stands up, kissing your forehead and patting your hair a little before he gives you a wave.

“Wait, what do you mean-”

“Oh, by the way, Taehyung’s already downstairs waiting for you, so hurry up, okay? Have a good trip, [Name]-ah!” He says quickly before he makes his exit right away.

Ugh… Now you knew you would think about Namjoon’s words the entire trip. Great.

---

“So, will today be a random mix on Spotify kind of day, or may I give you the honor of listening to my amateur instrumentals playlist?” Taehyung greets, as soon as you two climb onto Namjoon’s car to set out for the library expedition.

You’ve packed some kimbap rolls and juice to have on the way to Busan which will be your first stop, and the bags of clothes you two have packed and stuffed at the back of the car for a simple two-day trip is no joke. But then again, getting to travel to multiple cities during college days in difficult after all, and you were determined to take pictures and pretend you’d gone on multiple trips and not just one, thanks to this opportunity.

Maybe that would help take away your mind from all the stuff Namjoon said earlier.

Dammit, Kim Namjoon.

“Show me what you’ve got.” You say, and watch while Taehyung flashes a beautiful smile at you and connects his phone to the speaker system of the car.

“These ones have some mad-crazy piano work, I learned some thanks to Yoongi-hyung.” He starts, the first few chords of the instrumental making you look up at Taehyung in awe.

The music is so mellow and soft that you can’t help but ask him a question that always comes to your head whenever you hear what he works on.

“Taehyung-ah… Have you ever had your heart broken?”

The sudden question makes him look away from the road and at you, blinking a couple times before he lowers the volume of the music.

“Why… Why do you ask?”

“Your music always has some kind of nostalgic, melancholic essence to it.” You reply, watching the way his eyes go back to the road. “It’s like you’ve gone through some form of grief or heartbreak, always.”

“I’ll be kind enough to open a literary discussion with you today, [Name]-ah.” Taehyung says. “When do you think is the best time for someone to be heart-broken, if they had to?”

“That’s an odd question. I don’t think there’s any time someone would want to be heart-broken.” You respond, realizing Taehyung has smartly decided to change the focus of the topic from himself. Perhaps he didn’t want to answer your question for some reason and you could understand him, to some extent.

“I think it’s so much better to have your heart broken when you’re younger, instead of having it broken at an older age, you know?”

You take a moment to ponder about his statement, then nod.

“I mean… Think about it. I’d rather have met someone horrible when I’m fifteen, instead of having the same thing happen when I’m like, twenty-five.” Taehyung goes on.

“Because when I’m fifteen, there’s so much more of my life ahead of me. I’d meet more people. I’d learn to be cautious about the people around me. I’d know how to mold myself to be a better person. That won’t happen if I don’t get my heartbroken before twenty-five when all my values are built up. It would be a shock to me, and that would simply make me lose all faith in humanity.”

The respect you have for Taehyung grows a little, his voice also causing your heart to ache a little. It’s something new you feel, and Namjoon’s words float around in your mind a little, making you look away from Taehyung and out from the window.

“Because the more time flows… The deeper it gets.” You mumble.

“Exactly.”

---

The book collection goes well, the first stop being Gwangju. You two had to hurry, though, and were barely able to reach Daegu before night fell.

Taehyung had explained that, since the libraries would be closed by now, it would be best to head there first thing next morning and to go over to his house and get some sleep.

Taehyung’s parents are home, and his mother is a spitting image of Taehyung himself, bright and sunny and welcoming you and making sure you ate a lot and had everything you needed as she lead you to one of Taehyung’s sibling’s rooms.

“My sister is at college,” he explains, watching you put your duffel bag down on the floor and giving him a nod. “We-”

Taehyung gets interrupted by your phone ringing, and you see that it is Jungkook calling.

“Hello?”

“Noonim, hi! What will you be at tomorrow evening?” Jungkook wants to know.

“I’ll be at Busan, Jungkookie. What’s wrong?”

“Great! Can you spare me around 2 hours near sunset? There’s this beach I really want to take you to, at Busan, I used to go there all the time when I was little!”

The excitement in Jungkook’s voice is contagious. You glance at Taehyung who had walked over to look at one of the posters on the wall.

“Taehyung-ah. Jungkook wants me to spare 2 hours tomorrow in the evening. We’ll be done at Busan by then, right?”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a moment before he slowly nods and then turns back to face the poster.

“We could do that, yeah.”

“Great! See you then, Noonim!”

After you hang up the phone, Taehyung puts his hands in his jeans pockets, heading towards the door.

“The switch to the heater can be a little confusing but the button is at the back and you have to manually set it, but I think you can get the hang of it,” He says, “If you need anything, give me a call. Make sure you lock the door before you sleep.”

Before you can wish him a good night, Taehyung closes the door of the room, making you sigh.

You could almost hear Namjoon trying to come up with a new theory, and to be honest, you can’t even blame him because, as you lay on the bed and tried to go to sleep, your mind would not let you forget about Taehyung for a single second.

Damn it again, Kim Namjoon.

---

Taehyung is noticeably quieter than he was the previous day, only speaking when it was time to decide what to eat, and asking you to help him with organizing the books. The hours till evening time passed by slowly because of this, so you’re actually glad when Jungkook texts you an address.

Taehyung drives you to the beach, letting you know he’ll be around and will come back in exactly two hours to pick you up to drive back to Seoul.

Jungkook is dressed in a white t-shirt and blue skinny jeans - boldly remaining you of you two’s very first date dressed exactly alike.

“Kookie, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I told my mom you were coming here for a trip and stuff and she asked me to come for the weekend too!” He says cheerfully, taking your hand and helping you walk through the rough rocky trail leading down to the sandy beach.

Despite your mind screaming out a loud ‘Holy SHIT Jungkook talks to his mom about meeeeeeee!’, the water is so, so blue and the clouds are splattered in multiple hues of reds and oranges. The entire scene is so beautiful and peaceful that you can only stare in awe, taking your shoes off and grabbing them by hand while you walk closer towards the ocean.

“Let’s sit here.” Jungkook suggests a spot, and the two of you sit down, watching waves crashing and producing such beautiful sounds.

“This is healing for my soul.”

“Right?”

“Did you ask me to come over here for a reason, Jungoo?” You ask, glancing at Jungkook who has his shoes placed right beside yours. He has a little smile on his face while he nods, not looking at you and instead making little circles with his fingers.

“Jungkook?”

“[Name]-noona.” He says softly, finally looking up into your eyes.

“Noonim. Please let me break up with you, here.”

#lavender honey #bts #taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #college au #bts college au #bts fanfic #language major vs music major

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fanartfunart · 3 years ago

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Fly Away

Episode 4: Bibliotech

Ao3 - First - 2 - 3

(Féline Sombre & Paon Lilas designs)

Summery: An AU where Adrien never went to in-person school, not getting the cat miraculous, and found the peacock miraculous. -Adrien sets out to find the Grimoire, and Alya volunteers her investigative skills, interviewing her classmates. Until a librarian gets akumatized and traps them all in a maze of books.

(tw for sickness. very vauge. Much like canon)

Alya hummed along to her CD of Nino’s music, ignoring the sounds of siblingly chaos outside her room. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at the text.

Double A: “Hi, you’re the local superhero expert, right?”

She chuckled at Adrien’s question and texted back, “The one and only! Why? Whatcha wondering about?”

“I’m looking for a specific book, actually? An older one about superheros, with lots of different kinds. Seen it anywhere?”

She tilted her head “Just the one you said Chloé took from your dad’s???”

Adrien spent a long time typing only for his reply to read “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Alya frowned and called him. Adrien picked up with a delay, piano music playing in the background. His voice was hushed “Hi, uh, why are you calling me?”

“What’s going on? Did you not know what kind of book Chloé, or I guess your dad, had?”

“Oh...oh um. No, no I did. Of course I knew what kind of book it was, that’s why I was asking about it. Because it’s lost and I wanted to find it, for my dad,” Adrien chuckled awkwardly.

“Why are you whispering? Are you at a concert?”

“Oh... no I’m supposed to be practicing piano right now...”

“Oh so you’re playing a recording? Huh. Smart.” Alya got up and grabbed her shoes. “Want me to ask around for your book then? It’s kinda my thing. Plus, Chloé never let me get close enough to look at it.”

“You’d do that?” Adrien whispered softly.

“Yeah boy! Don’t worry about it. If Chloé lost it during or before the Collector situation then it’s probably not too far from the school’s social circle.”

“Wow great! Oh whoops- I gotta get back to my practice, Natalie’s coming- so uh... goodbye!”

Alya chuckled “Bye Adrien.” They hung up and Alya got ready for her interrogations.

The majority of the students Alya could easily get a hold of knew nothing about where it went. So her only leads were Chloé and Sabrina. They had the same story: Marinette and Lila were the last two people they saw besides each other when the book disappeared.

She met with Lila at the library, Marinette scheduled to meet her not too long after.

Lila was looking at the mystery section when Alya waved her over. "Thank you for meeting with me."

She nodded with a smile, putting down her murder mystery novel, "Of course, what did you need?"

Alya got out her notepad, pen at the ready. "Are you aware that the book Chloé brought to class is missing?"

"It is? Oh no, I didn't. Are you looking for it for her?"

"Not exactly," Alya scribbled down a note. "For its original owner, not Chloé. But! Do you mind describing where you saw it last?"

Lila hummed and shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just remember Chloé showing it to me before she fell and ran off. I thought she had it. Sabrina seemed to really want to leave though."

"I already got Sabrina and Chloé's statements… Marinette was with you, right?"

"Oh! Yes, she was. If you want I can talk to her for you?"

"That's okay," Alya said, "I've already arranged for her to give me her story next. I'm just covering my bases."

Lila hummed and nodded, "If you don't mind my curiosity, who's the original owner?"

"Oh, the Aggrestes," Alya said, "Adrien asked me to help."

Lila raised a brow, "Adrien? He's the one whose face is plastered practically all across Paris, yes?"

Alya chuckled and nodded, "Yeah, I guess he's a little famous. He's pretty cool. He almost was gonna be in our class, actually. He would've transferred in just before you," she shrugged, "Guess his dad changed his mind."

Lila tapped her fingers across the mystery novel's cover and smiled, "Well, I don't have much else for you. Hope you find it for him. It seemed like a special book." Lila stood up, and they waved goodbye.

Adrien quietly walked up to the librarian. He smiled, “Hi.”

The librarian looked up with a barely suppressed annoyance, “Hello. How can I help you?”

"I was looking for books related to superheroes?"

He sighed, "Right there. Very popular lately." He pointed lazily and returned his gaze to his computer.

“Oh, thank you!” Adrien followed his direction towards a section that seemed to be dedicated to Féline Sombre and Ladybug. Decorated with red and black spots and green cat paw paper crafts. It was small, secluded. Creating a comfortable nook.

"Come on out, Duusu," Adrien whispered. The kwami zipped out and fluffed his feathers, tilting his head. "Any books you recognize?" Duusu hummed and flitted between the shelves of books. Adrien skimmed through the titles. (How did people get the rights to publish fiction works about the heroes? …Do Ladybug and Féline Sombre get royalties?) He tilted his head at a title "A History of Heroics: the Lesser Known Origins of Paris’s Superheroes"

Duusu came back and hovered in front of him, "Nope, nothing.”

Adrien huffed a sigh, "Well this is the last library nearby I can think of. It's got to be in somebody's private collection then, Duusu."

Duusu's head drooped, overcome with a quiet sadness. He glanced up, seeing something behind Adrien. He gasped and hid. Adrien spun on his heel. Natalie stood there, hands behind her back.

"You abandoned your piano practice and missed a photoshoot," she said, "I'm glad you're…" she looked around at the shelves, raising a brow, "taking initiative... in your learning, but you can't just abandon your responsibilities."

He nodded, hanging his head. "I- you're right, sorry..."

She glanced down at him and sighed. Her tone softened, "Go finish up and check out your books, we will wait for you outside in the car."

He looked back up with a smile, "Oh, thanks, I'll uh-" He glanced down at the book he was caught holding. Apparently he was into history today... "I'll go check this out…"

Lila waited at the doorway, much to the annoyance of the terse librarian. She ignored him.

Marinette stumbled through the doors, carrying a box of pastries. Clearly buttering up Alya to make her believe whatever lie she came up with. Lila rolled her eyes at such amateur tactics.

She sashayed towards Marinette, "Hi Marinette, how are you today?"

"Lila! Good, good, how are you?" She smiled brightly and opened the box of macaroons, "Want some? I mentioned I was visiting a friend and we had some leftovers, so my dad kinda pushed them on me."

"No, thank you. I'm just fine. But Alya was asking about that book you borrowed from Chloé. ...I'd be careful if I were you, I wouldn't want it all pinned on you. Who knows what Chloé's reaction would be."

Marinette tilted her head “She was? Why should I-”

”Well you had it last... But I know, you're so sweet, you could never steal, could you?" she smiled, grin sharp and fox-like. "Although… you’ve had ample time to return it... actually, I just remembered something... I should go tell Alya-"

"Wha- no no, I didn't steal it! It's fine, I can explain everything to Alya!" Marinette waved her hands frantically.

"Hm. You still have it right?"

"Er… No...I uh, returned it.... To the… library."

"Well should be easy to find again then," She waved a hand to the library's bookshelves, "I'd love to see it again. I'll make sure Chloé never hears who had it, if you give it to me."

"What? Why do you want it?"

"I want to return it to its original owner, that's all," she said, pressing a hand gingerly against her chest, "and do you really trust Alya to be quiet about it? She's all about truth and justice..."

Marinette frowned, folding her arms, "Alya’s more trustworthy than you, that's for sure… Whatever plan you have, I'm not going to be part of it."

The librarian abandoned his post, frowning, "Excuse me, what's going on here?"

Lila gave a pitifully sad look to the librarian, "She stole a book from one of my friends and won't return it! She loved that book and-"

Marinette sputtered. "What, I didn't steal-" The librarian raised a hand to stop them both.

"You'd make a very good actor. But, you're a tad over dramatic, young lady. I overheard your conversation. Your earlier tone clearly indicated elements of blackmail."

"Wh- well...well," Lila looked around, at a loss for how to lie her way out of this. Her hands balled into fists, "Well, you're just a dumb book scanner. You don't know what you're talking about," she said, "Stay out of it!"

He balked and his expression hardened, "Out."

She gasped, "What? This is a public library-"

"Yet, this dumb book scanner is telling you to get. Out. You blackmailed another patron and then tried to lie to me," he pointed to the doors, pen in hand. "So, I'd rather not repeat myself a third time."

Lila stomped out. Adrien tilted his head as he walked towards the counter, seeing Marinette watching the sceene. “Marinette?” She turned to look at him, raising a brow.

“Wha- Adrien? What are you doing here?”

A purple butterfly landed on the librarian's pen.

"Bibliotech, I am Hawkmoth. One too many people have dismissed and belittled you. I can give you the power to make sure everyone listens to you. You'll be the smartest person in the room at all times. In return, all I ask is for Ladybug, Féline Sombre, and Paon Lilas' Miraculous."

The librarian narrowed his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and grinned, "They'll all regret underestimating me." His glasses were now a glowing visor, his pen had seemed to have morphed into a staff. He twirled the staff in a motion that made a red “P” in the air.

“Marinette!” Adrien pointed, and ran towards her. Marinette turned and gasped as the window crashed as the pen-staff was thrown towards Lila’s receding figure. Lila disappeared as the pen touched her. Bibliotech summoned the staff back to himself, a meter on the pen filling slightly. He turned towards Marinette and Adrien.

"You seem like smart kids," he said, which didn't sound especially good to be in this context, "I hope you're ready for the test. Unfortunately, I don't have a number 2 pencil for you to borrow!"

He twirled his staff-pen and was about to hit Marinette with it, but Adrien shoved her to the floor. He stared at her for a moment. “You okay?”

She nodded and scrambled up. “Run!” She directed, pointing somewhere for Adrien to go while she ran into another opposite direction.

Adrien took the opportunity to dive behind the library counter. “Duusu, spread my feathers!”

"Akuma! Evacuate the Library!" Marinette yelled. She glanced down each row of books for a hiding spot to transform.... Come on, why does every row of books have at least one person in it?!

Alya stood up as Marinette ran toward her, "Marinette?! Akuma? Where!?" She started getting out her phone.

"Do not go toward the angry supervillain, please!" Marinette exclaimed, pushing Alya in the opposite direction.

Paon Lilas crashed into a bookshelf nearby, chuckling awkwardly. “Hi girls. Don’t mind me.” He stood back up, wobbily, as Bibliotech and a pair of people with a red “F” on their chests walked forward, expressions frighteningly vacant.

“You deserve a bad grade for your attitude!” Bibliotech called.

“My attitude? Who are you, my father?” Paon Lilas snarked back, running back towards him.

“No, I’m Bibliotech,” he said, matter of factually. He side stepped Paon Lilas’s attack and the minions grabbed the superhero.

He hummed, "I don't want to make it easy for you," Bibliotech drew the shorthand for “revise” and tapped a book shelf. The shelves bended and twisted into a maze-like structure. Blocking off Marinette and Alya together, and Paon Lilas with the villains.

"Nonono nooo," Marinette cried.

"If you can escape this I'll let you pass automatically!" Bibliotech's voice echoed. "Trust me, you'll need to pass this test."

"Ugh, we're not gonna be able to see the fight from here…" Alya turned towards Marinette, "Come on, we gotta stick together if we wanna get out of here. Two minds are better than one, girl. I'm sure the superheroes will have it handled in no time!"

Marinette sighed. "Let's just hope they can find their way through this…"

Féline Sombre called Ladybug again, and huffed as it continued to not go through. She really hoped she hadn't been caught by Bibliotech. They landed outside the library and looked around. It was eerily quiet. She cautiously walked in.

"Hello Féline Sombre. I'll give you one chance to do this easily." Bibliotech sat on the top of one of the book shelves, legs crossed, "Hand me that ring, please."

"I appreciate the please, not so much the everything else," Féline Sombre said, and extended her staff to knock him down towards her.

He blocked it with his own staff, and dropped to the ground, twirling it. "I hope you're ready to pay your late fees then."

Féline Sombre narrowly avoided being tapped with his staff and giggled nervously. "Do cats get late fee exemptions?"

"No," he said bluntly, twirling his staff and using the back half of it to throw her off balance. They grabbed onto their staff and extended it, twirling on the bar and leaping down to kick him back.

She tumbled and turned around, only for the man to have disappeared. They sighed, “Ladybug better get here fast.”

Paon Lilas threw off the other mindless drone and kicked the bookshelf. He stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the avalanche of books, vision blooming with spots. The akuma’s minions didn’t move after he was out of their grip. “Wow, is that what a failing grade does to you? He made them real dunces.... Oo, Dunce caps. That’s what I’m calling them now.”

He frowned at the rows of books and braced a hand against the wall to keep his balance. Someone nearby was very frustrated. He turned to follow it. It was probably Bibliotech.

Marinette anxiously tried to find somewhere to lose Alya. She took unexpected turns and ran ahead, but no. Alya just turned right with her, despite the fact that she was also recording everything.

"It seems Bibliotech basically gave the building a revision, like a teacher might to a student's essay." Alya narrated, "He's also making this maze really hard… Marinette no, we went that way before!"

Marinette groaned in exasperation, "Shouldn't we… split up to cover more ground?"

"I'd suggest against it," A calm, overly gentle, masculine voice said, "Besides, I’m here to help now."

Marinette froze. Please no, please no not him. Couldn’t Féline Sombre have come to save them before him? She turned around and frowned at Paon Lilas. He smiled (annoyingly) at her.

"How did you find us?" Marinette cried, throwing up her hands.

"I followed the feelings of frustration,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Anyway, we should get you out of here-”

“You’re not going to help Ladybug and Féline Sombre with Bibliotech?” Marinette said, folding her arms.

He shrugged, “Can’t be much help if I can’t find any of them, can I?” he offered a hand, "Paon Lilas, if you haven't heard of me yet."

"Alya, creator of the Ladyblog. I’ve definitely heard of you," Alya accepted the hand and instead of shaking it, he leaned down to kiss her hand. Marinette pointedly did not give him her hand or a name.

"So, you mentioned you followed our feelings- Can you tell who the emotions are connected to?" Alya aimed her phone camera at Paon Lilas, obviously preparing to interview him. Paon Lilas waved for them to follow him and started walking. Alya followed.

"Er, stronger emotions are easier to find, and akuma victims are usually really really strong… So, I can make a good guess? Uh... a few people are… loud? Emotionally. Right now, though." He seemed to wince, minutely. It was covered with a smile. He shrugged, "It's making it a little hard to isolate Bibliotech."

Marinette frowned and turned down a random turn the rest of the group had walked past. Paon Lilas turned around, "Mar- er, Miss, where are you going?"

Marinette groaned in frustration and smiled sharply at him, "Sorry, got excited."

He giggled, a strange (condescending?? No… fond?!?) smile on his lips. "I noticed. Do you need me to hold your hand? ...To keep you from running down every turn out of excitement?"

"Nope! Nope. I'm good." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and glared forward. Alya mercifully was too distracted by Paon Lilas to comment.

Féline Sombre ran past, then skidded to a halt and returned to the group. “Birdy! Seen Ladybug?”

“Nope, no Buggaboo yet. Nice of you to join us though, Kitten.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the nickname. Buggaboo? Really?

Féline Sombre frowned, “Okay.... We need a way to work through this maze to get to the Akuma and make sure Ladybug can find us...”

"We could help!” Alya said, “Marinette and I could make a book trail.”

“If you do that, I could probably more easily use my powers to track down Bibliotech’s emotions.”

"What?" Marinette squeaked, "Surely they can do that themselves. How about we… find a good place to hide while they do that!?"

Paon Lilas frowned and glanced at the group. He gently pulled Marinette off to the side.

"You're nervous and frustrated... Do you really want to stay here? Wait until Ladybug captures the akuma?"

Marinette glanced around. Easy out. She nodded. "Sure, you go ahead and I'll stay right here!"

"I could give you a sentimonster to protect you, and your friend Alya, if she wants to stay too. Then Féline and I can just go find Bibliotech."

"Oh you uh, you don't need to do that. I'm fine staying here alone!"

"I want to," he smiled, "I want to help. Trust me."

Marinette frowned and nodded, "Fine…"

He fumbled forward without warning, eyes widening. He quickly straightened himself out and took a deep breath. He smiled again, like the moment never happened. He plucked a feather from his fan and imbued it with power, blowing it towards Marinette in away absurdly close to blowing a kiss. The feather fluttered into Marinette's purse and the twin masks of light appeared on their faces.

"If you need anything just tell me," he said, "I can hear it, no matter how far." He winked and the light faded.

A fluffy, black and white dog with a pink floral pattern on its forehead and paws, sat next to Marinette.

Paon Lilas turned towards Alya and Féline Sombre. "Marinette's staying here with senti-pup. Alya, what do you want to do?"

"I'm going with you, I wanna record this!"

Féline humed, "Okay but you need to keep out of the way… I still have no idea what the Akuma is in so-"

"The pen" Paon Lilas said, “The akuma’s in the pen.”

Marinette blinked, “How did you know that?”

He chuckled awkwardly, “I- er, call it intuition.”

“Huh. Great. Cool, go save the day!” Marinette pushed Paon Lilas away, as senti dog barked at the rest of them, herding them like a sheepdog.

With the group finally gone, she ran down the corner a little farther and sighed as Tiki zipped out.

"I love Alya but seriously, I could've been helping Féline Sombre already."

Tiki giggled, "What are we doing with your new buddy?"

"Oh. Right. Uh…" She took off her purse so it wouldn't disappear in her transformation. "There, let's go. Tiki! Spots on!"

She picked up her purse and made a hush motion to the dog, who wagged its tail.

They followed Paon Lilas's lead Alya trailing behind putting down books to keep them on track. The strongest emotions led them into what must be the center of the library maze. Surrounded by Dunce Caps.

Ladybug ran in behind them, Marinette's Sentidog at her heels.

"Ladybug?" Paon Lilas frowned at her, "Why do you have Marinette's purse?"

"She, uh, gave it to me, I led her out of the building and she didn't want your amok to go to waste."

He sighed, "So brave," under his breath. He shook his head. “Let's get this over with...”

Ladybug caught his arm before he could jump into fray. "We've gotta be smart about this, this whole thing is a test, right?"

He glared at her hand on his arm and pulled away. "Fine, what is your plan, M’lady?"

She huffed and then glanced at Sentidog and Alya’s phone. "Okay, Alya, I need your phone for a second. Mind pulling up a recording?"

Alya nodded and handed her the phone. Ladybug handed it to Sentidog who bounded off, as the audio began playing. The Dunce Caps turned and followed the noise, leaving the entry unprotected.

The group walked up to it. Paon Lilas tried the door and frowned. "Locked."

"It's a puzzle," Féline Sombre said, pointing to the books above the doorway. She extended her staff to allow her to reach, and began rearranging the books.

"They're all classics, but," they clicked them into place, "They were out of order.”

The door opened. Paon Lilas raised a brow, "How… do you know the library’s organization system?"

Féline Sombre looked confused, "You don't?"

The group walked in, and Sentidog returned, no longer holding the phone, clearly having dropped it somewhere. (Alya meanwhile got out her tablet to record instead.)

Bibliotech sat on a floating platform of books. “Took you less time than I thought it would... Are you cheating?” He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, once I deal with you, I won’t have anything else in my way.”

Bibliotech flourished his pen in an P motion and moved to tap Ladybug with it. Paon Lilas jumped in front of her, taking the hit. He disappeared. The staff returned to Bibliotech’s hands.

Ladybug gasped. "Why did he do that? Ugh! Stupid bird- Lucky Charm!" A box fell into her hands.

Bibliotech focused on Ladybug. She used her yoyo as a shield on each hit, searching for how to use the cardboard box.

Féline Sombre extended her staff to meet Bibliotech, landing a solid kick. Bibliotech wrote another Revise note and created another platform for him to jump onto, away from Féline. The red meter went down.

"It's an ink pen." Ladybug whispered, "Féline, destroy the platform!"

"No problem, Bug! Cataclysm!" Féline Sombre touched Bibliotech’s platform, and he grabbed their hand. They yelped and stumbled to remain precariously on the platform. Ladybug whistled and Sentidog ran up and grabbed Féline Sombre’s leg. She shifted to a less unsteady part of the platform, trying to shake off Bibliotech’s grasp on her arm. He readied his pen.

"You forgot the lid!" Ladybug said, and threw the cardboard box up. Féline Sombre grabbed it with their free hand, and caught the tip of the pen from Bibliotech’s attack.

Bibliotech tried to pull back, but the Sentidog grabbed Bibliotech's staff, growling. Ladybug tied Bibliotech's arms in her yoyo and sentidog pulled the staff away and raced down the platforms. Féline shifted to keep a hold of Bibliotech.

Ladybug caught the dog as it jumped into her arms, giggling, "Good puppy."

It dropped the pen and she snapped it in half.

The butterfly fluttered out and the book platforms began to crumble. Féline grabbed Bibliotech and extended their staff to catch their fall, sliding down.

Ladybug caught the Akuma and threw the cardboard box in the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

Paon Lilas and the rest of the people reappeared. Paon instantly doubled over and coughed. His miraculous beeping.

Féline Sombre ran over to him, "Are you okay?"

He groaned, but nodded anyway. "Fine…Ya know, I was going for knocking the pen off-course but, taking the hit works too, I guess." He stumbled to a wobbling stand. Ladybug walked up to him, the sentidog on her heels. He ran.

"Wait!" Ladybug called. He turned a corner. She tried to follow him, but the aisle of books was empty. He was gone.

A mask of light appeared on her face. “Hey, Marinette. Hope you’re okay. They purified the akuma. I’m uh, pulling the amok, make sure to get your purse back from Ladybug. Sorry-” The mask disappeared, presumably because he had detransformed.

Sentidog was gone when Ladybug returned. She sighed. She was kinda going to miss that dog. Ladybug went to go help the librarian before her transformation dropped.

Adrien barely caught Duusu as the kwami tumbled out of the brooch, exhausted. He pressed himself flat against the bookshelf, taking deep breaths between bouts of coughing. Pulling out the mango chips for the kwami, he groaned and slid to the floor.

He didn't know how long he sat there. Next thing he knew, Marinette was crouched next to him. Her hand on his shoulder, gentle. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

He looked up, "Uh… No." He glanced back at the ground, his mind going back to his mother. Her illness. Her unsteadiness and coughs. He felt tears well up in his eyes. "I don't think so."

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml ladybug #adrien agreste #peacock!adrien #black cat!sabrina #sabrina raincomprix #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #Peon Lilas AU #lila rossi #fly away fic #fanart's fanfic #fanfic #miraculous swap #the reason I'm writing this so fast is 100% Broadway's fault #sickness tw

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junquisite · 4 years ago

Text

Escapades

WORD COUNT : 2.1K

WARNING : Suggestive

GENRE : Con Artist AU

She was staring at the mirror, trying to tie her hair up in a decent style when a pair of hands creeped from behind around her waist and she felt lips brushing on her bare neck.

“This dress is too showy. I don't want him to touch you in this.” Seungwoo mumbled in her neck and she smiled at his reflection.

“Just one more day.” she whispered as his grip tightened on her waist and slid down slowly, lower with each passing second. She felt the brush of lips turning to kisses and she sighed.

“You can't leave a mark Seungwoo. We can't ruin everything today at this point.” Byul whispered and Seungwoo groaned but unwillingly pulled away. He stared at her back as she dressed up, saw her putting on the heavy necklace that old man gifted her and imagined the different ways he can have his way with her with her only wearing that necklace.

“What are you thinking of? Get your mind out of the gutter.” she said with a small smile playing on her lips which Seugnwoo returned slowly.

“How do you know what i was thinking of?” he asked as he went down on his knees to help her wear the new pair of heels she got with the expensive designer dress she was wearing, by none other than that old man who’ll have his hands around her soon. He decided he’ll make her keep the heels on too with the necklace.

“You just get this look on your face, I can tell it from far away.” Byul said as his hands slowly raised away from her ankle to her knees.

“You said no where where he can see right?” Seungwoo mumbled with his lips pressed against her thighs visible from the high slit of the dress till her mid thighs, his hands slowly creeping up and under the dress, dangerously close to where she wanted him badly.

“We need to go down.” she whispered and then gasped, her hand coming up to her lips to not let the sound pass as she felt him bite at her inner thighs. She heard him chuckle and looked down to see him peeking from in between her dress and whined as he went back in and she felt his lips trailed the inside of her thighs.

There was a knock on the door which made her curse as she quickly looked at it and breathed a sigh of relief when saw it locked from the inside.

“Who is it?”

“Miss. Kim, Mr. Kang is expecting you down.” Byul heard from outside and heard Seungwoo curse softly as he separated himself from her.

“I’ll be down in 10 minutes.” she responded and heard the servant scurry off.

She turned to see Seungwoo wearing his tie and went to straighten it as he smiled down at her.

“Ready to go Miss. Kim Jisoo?” Seugnwoo asked Byul and she smiled.

“I am. Are you ready Mr. Im Jongin?” she asked and he nodded as he gave her his hand and she grabbed it, a soft smile gracing her lips as they left the room and separated their hands - him taking his place behind her.

“Aaah there she is, the bride of the hour!” a lady almost shouted as Byul reached the main party area and she smiled as she approached the lady standing with her to-be husband, Seungwoo a close step behind her.

“Jisoo-ah, you need to wear this all the time now.” the man she was supposed to marry said as she smiled and took the ring box and put on the 6 carat diamond ring as the lady beside her gasped.

“That's an impressionable diamond I must say.” she said and Byul smiled, she could practically hear the envy in her voice.

“Mr. Kang was nice enough to buy the ring my heart was set on.” she said as she felt the man slip his arm around her and felt Seungwoo stiffen behind her.

“And who's that if i may ask?” the lady asked Pointing at Seungwoo and Byul heard the old man beside her scoff.

“He’s the kind caretaker of my Jisoo here. He’s Jongin, a caretaker and a brotherly figure for Jisoo sent by her family.” he said and Byul smiled.

“Your family must be rich enough to have a caretaker for you?” the lady asked and Byul waved her hand. “It’s just something they thought i must always have - some sort of protection.” and pulled herself away from the old man and bowed at them.

“I’ll be taking my leave for now.” and went away, Seongwoo following her behind.

“Caretaker. I’ll never get used to it.” he mumbled as she strayed to a corner with a non-alcoholic drink in her hand, him behind her like a shadow as she surveyed the room.

“It's perfect. You can always stay with me.” she whispered as she saw one of the servers coming to her with an empty tray and bow at Seungwoo who carefully passed an envelope full of money to him.

They saw as he disappeared in the kitchen and came back with a tray full of drinks and started serving them, the drinks blood red and tempting.

“Aaah I think he have had one too many drinks.” one of the ladies chimed, equally red faced as the one beside her - barely able to stay straight on their feet but sober enough to comment about others. Typical rich people behaviour Byul thought as she tried to stop her to-be husband’s wandering hands - t Least in front of the wicked ladies.

“I think it’ll be best if i take him to bed.” Byul said but one of the ladies grabbed his hand.

“Let your caretaker take him, have one more drink with us dear Jisoo!” the lady said and Byul threw Seungwoo a helpless look who just smiled at her but she could sense the smirk under it.

“Take care of him Jongin-ssi!” one of the younger ladies said and Byul refrained herself from openly glaring at her - her looks were not decent, she was practically undressing Seungwoo with her eyes.

1 hour and only one drink for herself later, Byul managed to send all the guests away. The servants were given a night off to cool off before the stress of the wedding starts from the next day and they were finally home alone - her, Seugnwoo and the old 40-something man she was supposed to marry.

Detective Park rang the bell of the huge house and wondered if calling it a mansion would be better as the door opened to reveal a clearly tired servant and went inside to see the mood getting gloomier with every step.

A 40-something man - Kang Harin, CEO of a small but flourishing fishery business in the particular area, was throwing a child-like tantrum in his expensive looking but bare living room.

“That bitch took everything! She left nothing! She even took my designer suits!” The last line would have made the detective laugh if he didn't know that one of those suits was probably more then his monthly paycheck.

“Mr. Kang, I'm Detective Park, if you can just list all the items missing? You can add more stuff later but off the top of your head, what all is missing?”

The detective would have been dumb to ask what hapepend. He knew what happened. It was not the first time something like this took place - he has been monitoring other similar incidents that happened in other small parts of south korea in the past 7 years.

A couple - one of them would woo a rich person, the other some sort of person taking an important role - enough to be let around all the time but not important enough to be shifted the focus on to. And then before the marriage they'll disappear - with everything the person owned that was worth anything. The material would be later found out at different pawn shops stating they never took any stuff to be caught but only took the money.

An on duty officer came to him and handed him a list and he went through it - the list of articles stolen as of now. It had everything on it- from the jewellery to cash from the locker, cash from the hidden locker, gold from the office, electronics like mobiles and even the computer from the office, TV set and some of the small kitchen equipments, a couple of suits from the man’s closet, all of the designer bags and heels, all the jewellery he ever brought her and all the jewellery he owned (chains and rings) and even a few of expensive vases and art pieces that hanged on the wall. They left nothing!

“And there are no pictures left?” the detective asked the officer.

“We even questioned the visitors from yesterday's parties. No one had any pictures and one girl claimed to have clicked some but she said her phone stopped working in the morning suddenly. Some virus. Traces of the same virus were found in the security camera monitors of here and near this house and in the computer left with the message.” the officer said and detective Park raised an eyebrow, a message was new.

He went to the said laptop, apparently it won’t work but stuck on the screen it was showing. A picture of a Napkin with a kiss stain at the corner saying, It was fun but this was last. See you never!

He wondered vaguely if it was a message for him rather than the old man since he was the leader of a team made specifically to work on their case. Then he wondered if this was actually true and their last crime.

“So we again have nothing?” he asked the detective who had followed him.

“The man claims that they looked exactly like the sketches we have from the cases before just different hair? And roles too apparently. She was a lady of an old family and he was her caretaker. Names were Kim Jisoo and Im Jongin.” and Park sighed.

“Let's get going then. There's nothing more for us here.”

A week later

“Can I see your passport miss?” the airhostess at the entryway asked and Byul passed hers. Kang Daeum, it read.

“And yours sir?” Seungwoo passed his passport, the name reading Jung Jihoon.

“Have a safe flight ma’am, sir.” the hostess said and bowed down and they bowed back.

The clicks of her high designer heels were loud in the silent hallway to board the plane.

“Can't believe you kept those heels.” Seungwoo muttered from beside her as she smiled at him.

“You first decided at the pawnshop that you wanted to keep the necklace.” she said, her eyes no doubt holding the teasing that Seungwoo knew was bound to come behind her sunglasses. But he would never accept he was jealous.

“I like it though. You can keep on the heels too with the necklace whenever we get to the hotel.” he said, smirking as she lowered her sunglasses to stare at him, “Only those things on you though.” he ended, her hand shooting up to hit him on the chest, ready to yell if not for being at a public place as he chuckled.

After showing their boarding pass and settling down in the first class seats, he turned to her when she sighed, sliding down slightly in the comfortable chairs.

“Maybe you should consider dying your hair, I like this on you.” he said as he tugged at the blond wig she had on and she shrugged.

“Why not. We’re going to Bali, might as well look tropical.” she said and he laughed.

“Why not pink then?” he suggested and she smirked at him. “Only if you do blue.” and he smiled.

“Deal.”

It was late, night Seungwoo assumed since it was dark but who knows where they exactly were. All he knew was there was a vast expanse of water underneath the plane and the flight still had more than 7 hours left.

He saw on the side Byul shutting down her laptop.

“Are you tired?” he asked and she blinked at him taking out her headphones and shrugging.

“I can use some sleep.”

“I have other plans.” Seungwoo said as his hands sneaked underneath the blanket she had on her lap, squeezing her thighs as she looked at him, surprised.

“How do you feel about joining Miles high club?”

The smile that adorned her lips said she was in, and when she got up leaving the blanket behind, asking the air hostess where the restrooms were and winking at him before leaving, Seungwoo knew he had hit the jackpot with her.

Bali would be amazing, he whispered as he got up himself.

#victonwriters #victon smut #seungwoo smut #x1 smut #victon seungwoo #han seungwoo #victon scenarios #victon scenario #seungwoo scenarios #han seungwoo smut

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lemonpeter · 4 years ago

Text

STARKER, by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 7: Betrayal

A/N: !!! and the plot progresses, with this absurdly long chapter (I think it’s our longest yet)!! we would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far and any ideas you have about what’s coming in the future! - bloo & bri 💕

Warnings: nff scene in the beginning, heavier angst (it’s finally starting 😈), character death mention

Masterlist ao3

————

When they walked through the doors of the fancy restaurant with the French name that Peter didn't even want to attempt to pronounce, the couple was met with a young woman standing at the hostess station, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Barely looking up from the little podium where she obviously was 'hiding' her phone, she glanced at Peter as she spoke, not paying any attention to the older man beside him. "Sorry for the inconvenience, but unfortunately we're full tonight. I'd love to help you make a reservation for another time if you'd like." Her eyes moved back down as she fiddled with a pen absentmindedly.

Tony didn't respond, just smirked down at Peter from behind his dark sunglasses. 'Wait for it' he mouthed. He sniffed lightly, nose twitching.

And Peter, well he just stood there and did exactly that. His eyes wandered, landing on the small, gold metal rectangle pinned to the hostess’ black button up. Hailey, it read in flowing black script.

The woman looked up, finally, when neither of them said anything. Her eyes met Peter's again and she smiled at him, raising one of her eyebrows questioningly. "Is there a specific day you'd like?" She turned to the side and began clicking through options on the computer. "We could do next Tuesday evening, at seven-thirty?”

Tony took that as his chance, clearing his throat. He shifted and took a step closer to his husband, hand moving to rest on his lower back. “We have a reservation, actually.”

Hailey looked up, then, head turning to face Tony in response to the sound.

Peter had to bite back a laugh at the way the hostess' expression changed, leaning into Tony’s embrace.

Mouth gaping, she simply stared at them for a moment, eyes wide with shock. Then a deep flush overtook her face. Hailey hurried to speak, spluttering over her words as she straightened her posture. “Oh, God, I am- I am so sorry. Mr. Stark. So sorry, Let me just-.” With shaking hands, she began typing before turning to them a moment later, an embarrassed smile pulling at her lips. “Everything’s, um, all set for the private room you reserved, sir. M-mister Stark.”

“That’d be ‘Misters’ Stark,” Tony corrected, smiling down at Peter. He pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple, eyes closing briefly and making a delicate blush spread over his cheeks.

“Yes, of course. If you’ll both follow me, I’ll show you to your table.” Having reconstructed her mask of professionalism, Hailey grabbed two menus and gestured for the two men to follow her into the main area of the restaurant.

They walked through the deep, navy velvet curtains that were drawn and made their way through the dining area. There were tables scattered throughout, all occupied by people who looked like they had more money in their wallets than Peter had seen in his entire life up until that point.

He could feel all of their eyes on him, no doubt wondering who was so lucky as to be on the arm of Tony Stark. He could hear their scandalized whispers. And he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t know how to feel about the attention. But here he was, preening under their gazes. The teen loved everyone seeing that yes he, Peter Benjamin Parker, had somehow lucked out and captured the attention of the playboy. He certainly looked the part, in his powder blue button down (of which the top few buttons were undone, exposing a bit of his chest and the thin chains draped from his neck, but not open enough to give away the lingerie he was wearing underneath) and his tight gunmetal trousers, both by Gucci. He didn’t even want to know how much the outfit actually cost.

But he wanted everyone else to.

The warmth of Tony’s palm on the small of his back as they walked, his fingertips ghosting over the top of his ass, had something warm fizzling deep in Peter’s belly.

Once they reached the far end of the dining area, they were led into an alcove off to the side, separated by another dark curtain. There was a single table in the moderately sized room, set up for two. A bouquet of red roses sat in the middle of the white table cloth like a centerpiece. The lighting was inviting and intimate at the same time, and it was quiet, the conversations of the other patrons but a low murmur in the background.

Hailey sat the menus down on the table in their respective places before turning to the two patrons. “Here you go, gentlemen.” While the two of them sat down, Tony pulling Peter’s chair out for him, she reached for the glass pitcher of ice water and filled each of their glasses. “I’ll start you off with some water, and a server will be right with you. I hope you enjoy your visit with us here at La Brise Fraîche.” She shot them a quick smile before making a hasty exit, face once more taken over in a rosy blush.

Tony chuckled as he shifted his chair a bit closer to the table. Slipping off his sunglasses, he popped them into the pocket of his black suit jacket, in front of the little pocket square that matched Peter’s shirt. “She certainly changed her tune, huh baby?” He shot Peter a soft smile as he picked up his menu and gestured for the younger man to do the same.

Peter hummed in response to his husband’s teasing, following his lead and opening the menu in order to look it over. A frown soon formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes flicked from the parchment up to Tony’s face. “Tony,” he said softly, “this, uh, most of this is in French. I can’t- And there’s no prices on here. How do I…” He trailed off, uncertainly, all of his earlier confidence gone now that they were alone again. He felt extremely out of his element all of a sudden.

Reaching across the table, the older man brushed his fingers over the back of Peter’s hand. “It’s alright, Pete. What are you in the mood for, baby? We should definitely get some wine,” he said, winking.

Peter giggled and threw his head back a little. When he looked back over at Tony, his eyes were gleaming and he bit his lip, running the toe of his shoe from the inside of the man’s ankle up to his knee. “You trying to get me drunk, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s gaze darkened, causing Peter’s breath to catch in his throat. “Maybe I am, Mr. Stark.”

Their waiter approached them, then, slipping through the navy drapery. “Good evening gentlemen. I’m Jacques, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start the two of you off with something to drink?” He smiled at them both as he spoke with a light French accent, eyes flickering between them before focusing on Tony.

The billionaire cleared his throat, not even bothering to reach for the proffered wine list. “We’ll have whatever the finest Cab Sauvignon is, and how about a Sauvignon Blanc as well?” Though he phrased it as a question, it didn’t very much sound like one, and Peter squirmed in his seat at the authoritative tone of his voice.

God, how was he going to make it through this dinner? They hadn’t even ordered yet and he was already horny.

And it only got worse from there.

The wines Tony had chosen were really strong, Peter thought to himself as he fumbled a bit with his fork, trying to twist up some of the creamy pasta on the plate in front of him. It was some sort of mushroom-based sauce, and it looked delicious. And it would be, if the numerous other dishes they had ordered and already sampled, Tony insisting that he try a little bit of everything, were anything to go by.

He was flushed from the alcohol, and inebriated enough that he was no longer bothering with trying to hold back the little sounds of ecstasy that left his mouth at each bite of the incredible cuisine.

His eyes fluttered shut once he finally managed to twist up enough pasta to put in his mouth, and the soft noise he made sounded truly indecent. He heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath and sighed contentedly as he chewed the bite of food before opening his eyes again in order to get another forkful.

Feeling his husband’s eyes boring into his skin, Peter looked up from his plate. A small whimper escaped him at the hungry look in his eyes. “Tony?”

The older man licked at his bottom lip as his eyes roved over Peter’s face. His voice was somewhat rough when he spoke, leaning forward in his seat. “You’ve got a little something there, baby,” he said lowly, bringing his thumb to his mouth to lick it before reaching across the table to swipe the digit just under Peter’s bottom lip. The small smear of glistening white came off easily, and he pressed the pad of his thumb against Peter’s lips, prompting him to open.

Another whine escaped the teen as he did so immediately, granting Tony’s finger entrance. Peter began sucking on it lightly to clean the sauce off, and he hummed once the light cream dissipated and he’d swallowed it down, allowing him to focus on the sensation of Tony’s calloused skin on his tongue.

Tony groaned softly, shifting in his chair. “Mmm, that’s my good boy.” He pulled his thumb away, smirking at the displeased noise that came from his young lover as he reached down to adjust himself in his pants.

Peter caught the movement. His own cock, which had been slightly interested since they’d left the hotel thanks to how sexy he felt in the lingerie he had slipped on, gave a slight twitch. “You hard for me, Daddy,” he asked, blinking coquettishly at the man and reaching for one of his two wine glasses, bringing the one filled with the red wine to his lips. He made a bit of a show of running his tongue from the base of the goblet up to the rim, cleaning up a rivulet of the dark, blood red liquid that had dripped down while he drank.

“Always, baby boy,” Tony said softly, keeping his eyes on Peter as he took a bite of what was left of the steak au poivre in front of him.

They continued eating, and Peter continued his teasing, until their server arrived a few minutes later to check on them. The young boy was glad the table cloth was there to hide the erection in his lap, his flush intensifying as Jacques approached them. Tony, however, didn’t look phased, continuing to eat the rest of his food and sip at the full-bodied alcohol in his glass, eyes trained on his husband.

Beginning to clear away the empty plates, Jacques spoke up. “I hope everything has been to your satisfaction, gentlemen.” When they both responded in the affirmative, he continued. “Would you be interested in ordering anything for dessert? Tonight’s special is a beautiful lavender and honey posset, it’s absolutely to die for,” he intoned, making eye contact with Peter and smiling.

Tony scowled at the interaction, sniffing lightly and narrowing his eyes a bit. “Nope, I think we’re all set…” He trailed off at the pleading look Peter gave him, big brown eyes peering over at him dolefully.

“Please, Tony,” the younger man asked, foot once again moving to rub against the inside of his husband’s leg. “I’m not sure what a, um, posset is, but it sounds really yummy, and Jacques says it’s good.” He looked at Jacques briefly, who nodded, and then back at Tony. “This is about trying new things, right?” He bit his lip for good measure, just to punctuate his little performance.

With an eye roll, Tony caved, his hand wrapping around Peter’s ankle underneath the table. He squeezed it, not ungently. “Alright,” he said, sending Jacques a quick smile as he piled the last plate into his arms. “We’ll have one of the possets, then, please.”

And he’d obviously made the right choice, as he was now watching Peter suck the remnants of the custard off of his pointer finger like it was his job to ensure that the small glass jar was spotless. “That good, sweetie?”

Peter hummed around his finger, eyes flicking up to meet Tony’s, which were once again flashing at him dangerously. His body thrummed in response, every fiber of his being screaming out in want. “It’s so good, Daddy,” he whined softly, the hand not in his mouth pressing down on the bulge in his pants. “So good.”

Sitting up straighter in his chair, Tony took a deep breath before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He flipped through it for a moment before pulling out a stack of hundred dollar bills and slapping them down on the table. Standing, he walked around the table to Peter’s seat in order to gently pull him up and closer to him.

Peter followed willingly, stepping into Tony’s personal space and craning his neck up to that his lips could meet the older man’s. He moaned softly at the feeling of their clothed erections pressing up against each other.

“Let’s go, baby,” Tony whispered into his mouth, pulling away so that he could lead Peter out of the room and through the main dining area. He paid no mind to any of the other patrons, who were no doubt scandalized by the sight of the two of them, rumpled and clearly aroused.

Peter just flushed, grinning as he made eye contact with a few people, winking at an older lady who was looking at him with wide eyes.

Yeah, he liked people knowing he was Tony’s.

When they got back to the hotel, Tony backed Peter up against the door to the hotel room as he began to lavish his neck with kisses and bites while his hands gripped at Peter’s ass. “Fuck, baby, you look so pretty tonight,” he rasped, relishing in the way his husband jerked in his hold in response to a particularly sharp nip.

“Just for you,” Peter moaned, hands fumbling to remove Tony’s jacket. He threw it to the ground as it was shrugged off, gasping when he was lifted into the older man’s arms in order to be carried over to the bed and deposited on the covers. Kicking his shoes off, he watched as Tony did the same and rolled up the sleeves to his wrinkling white dress shirt.

Crawling on the bed to kneel over Peter, Tony reached for the buttons on the boy’s shirt and began undoing them. A low growl sounded in his throat at the first peek of black lace that became exposed. “What do we have here?”

Peter preened under his heavy gaze, pushing up onto his elbows so he could slip the shirt off his arms, exposing the black bodysuit he wore underneath. “Do you like it, Daddy?” He peered up at him from underneath his lashes.

“Like it? I love it, baby boy.” Tony trailed kisses down the teen’s chest, feeling the muscles in his abdomen twitch under in ministrations. When he reached the waistband of the dark trousers, he undid the button with practiced ease and pulled them down, pausing for Peter to lift his hips and throwing them to the floor once they were off. His eyes raked over Peter’s form, mesmerized by the sight of him spread out on the fluffy comforter, the inky lingerie creating a strong contrast. He could very clearly see Peter’s erection straining against the lace, and the wet spot that was glistening with precum.

“Daddy,” Peter whined, hips twitching upward in an attempt to get some friction. “Touch me, please.”

Tony hummed softly, eyes locking on Peter’s lips for a moment before he got off the bed in order to walk over to the kitchenette area. He rifled through the drawers for a moment, ignoring Peter’s indignant noises. When he found what he was looking for, he resumed his previous position.

Making eye contact with Peter, Tony uncapped the lid of the honey bottle and squeezed some out onto his pointer and middle fingers. “Get up, baby,” he said softly. “Kneel for me.”

Eyes wide, Peter followed the request, only wobbling a little bit as a result of the alcohol in his system.

“Now open,” Tony instructed as he brought his dripping finger’s to Peter’s lips. He groaned when the digits were enveloped in the warmth of the boy’s mouth, shivering when he started suckling, not unlike the way he treated the man’s cock. “Fuck, Peter.”

Bolstered by Tony’s words, and desperate for the sticky sweetness he was desperately chasing with his tongue, Peter whined in the back of his throat before he closed his eyes and began sucking in earnest.

Eyes blazing, Tony watched in awe as the teen fellated his fingers. His other hand moved up to grab at Peter’s unruly curls, using his grip to hold the boy still as he pressed his fingers further into his mouth.

Peter’s eyes flew open as he gagged around the intrusion, throat convulsing as Tony held him there. He whimpered, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. He gasped when Tony eventually removed his fingers, spluttering as thick saliva dripped down his chin. “Daddy- please,” he rasped, voice already a little wrecked. “More.” His eyes flickered to the honey bottle that was laying on the bed.

Smirking, Tony snatched it up. His hands moved to his belt and began unfastening it. “Want some more dessert, baby?”

***

Peter was going to be mortified when he realized that they were able to see everything that was going on. Every lingering touch or look, every...well, every time he was with Tony was being broadcasted to SHIELD through EDITH. No matter what was going on, sensitive and tame content alike, it was all being witnessed by the agents (plus, even more uncomfortably, May and Ned.)

Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware. So it didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon.

So Ned was forced to suffer through every moment of it in a room full of adults. Again, including Peter’s poor aunt. Hopefully she wasn’t paying attention, though, because it definitely would have been even more awkward for her to see. Or even think about.

Just. Ew.

Personally, he was trying to figure out if the situation was illegal. After all, Peter was seventeen. And even though technically it was all in his head, it was still explicitly sexual content that they were all witnessing, starring him.

Maybe it wasn’t the best or most relevant thing to be thinking over, but Ned was trying to ignore the reality of what was actually going on. Watching his best friend make bedroom eyes at and get railed by their deceased idol wasn’t something he was particularly fond of.

He just needed to distract himself from the...activities that kept occurring on the monitors. So he tried to keep his mind away from that part of the situation, legality and all.

What he really needed to focus on was getting Peter out. It had been nearly two weeks since Beck’s announcement that outed Peter’s identity. It had been almost two weeks since Peter had run away and gone into hiding.

They hadn’t even been able to make contact with him through May for days now. He was solely focused on Tony, just as he had been since the wedding. They weren’t sure how much longer that pattern would continue. Or if it would ever stop.

Everyone was getting more and more anxious by the day.

Ned hadn’t found any real solution yet. There were no cracks in the program, no hidden door in the code that he could sneak his way through. So far, it was all sealed tightly.

Usually, that would be considered a good thing. But it just made his job that much more stressful in the moment. They still had no location for Peter. They were yet to discover a way to shut down the illusion. All they had was the ability to send May in when Peter wanted his family there. Nothing else. And there hadn’t been much family bonding time lately.

“When do you think they’ll finally stop?” Paige wondered out loud, eyes firmly on the screen as she leaned over Ned’s shoulder.

The teen jumped at the sound of her voice, head whipping around until they nearly collided. He had no idea that she’d snuck up on him. “What? Oh.” He made a face as he processed her question. “I don’t know. Hopefully soon.” Although that was doubtful, if he was honest with himself.

She hummed in acknowledgment, nodding a little. Her eyes seemed to follow the movements on the monitor before she finally glanced away, seeming a bit flustered. “Yeah. They’ve been at it a while, huh.”

Ned had absolutely no desire to discuss his best friend’s sex life. Especially considering the circumstances. And the interest in the agent’s voice sparked something in him. Not annoyance, not at her, but something very close to that. He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. “They kinda have. But I’m trying to not pay that much attention to all of it. I’d like to have something of a normal friendship with Peter when he’s out. I can’t do that if I spend all this time watching him get-“

“Leeds,” Fury interrupted, standing over the two young people.

Paige instantly straightened up when she heard him, a light flush overtaking her cheeks as she pushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Yes, sir?” Ned answered, slowly looking up at the man.

“Any change? There has to be something you can do to get his attention.” The director worked to keep up his hard exterior, but was obviously uncomfortable. As was everyone else.

Except maybe Paige. But Ned didn’t want to think about why that was.

Ned sighed, fingers absently tapping at his keyboard. “No. Nothing yet, sir. I’ve been looking for a way to slip through into the program more frequently, but everything is airtight. Tony Stark knew what he was doing.” He couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice. Which was a little annoying, since the tech and designer in question was causing nothing but issues. “And Peter too, I guess,” he added, knowing that Peter had probably input quite a bit of his own code into the program.

“Do you think he knew that Peter would use the glasses for this?” Paige murmured.

Again with the interested tone. “Probably not,” Ned supplied, clicking away from the live-feed for a moment. He technically wasn’t supposed to do that, but it would make everyone more comfortable for the moment. And it made certain that agent Oliver would have to stop watching, at least for the time being. “I mean, maybe. But probably not.”

“Stark wasn’t exactly the picture of perfect morality, but I don’t think he ever imagined anything like this happening.” Fury shook his head, face contorted in visible discomfort. “Especially not from Parker. I knew he was a devious little shit but not like this.”

Ned was pretty much on the same page. He knew that Peter had his moments, but it was never anything more than normal teenage hormone-fueled...lust felt like too strong of a word, but nothing else was coming to mind. He’d never thought that Peter was even capable of the things he had seen playing out on the screen. Although, he really hadn’t thought about it too much. Or ever.

His best friend was objectively an attractive guy, but Ned had really never thought of him in anything but a platonic way. So this was a lot of stuff that he’d never wanted to see.

“I dunno, I don’t know much about him but he seems like the closeted-kinky type,” Paige offered with a slight smile pulling at her lips. “Y’know, eager to please and all? Maybe I’m the only one that sees it.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Ned said quickly, definitely louder than necessary. The annoyed-but-not feeling was back. He adjusted his glasses just so he could have something to do with his hands for a moment. “I’d rather just focus on getting him out. Or figuring out how to talk to him.”

“Leeds is right,” Fury agreed, looking at the screen again. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, and it pains me to say it, but I suggest you turn that back on. Just to be sure nothing gets missed. We need to send Ms. Parker back in as soon as he shows signs of wanting her back in.”

None of them believed that it would be happening anytime soon, but Ned begrudgingly clicked to the feed again.

“Great. Keep checking to see if there’s anywhere you can slip through, he’s already held onto that tech for too long.”

The man walked away, leaving Ned and Paige alone again.

Ned looked at the agent, giving her a smile. “So, any ideas? We’re still stuck with what we’ve got and I feel like I’ve tried everything.” He sighed heavily, looking back to the screen.

He expected to see more of the same, ‘the same’ being Peter engaging in some insanely sexual scene with no end in sight. But it seemed like they had finally stopped, as the screen was dark, Ned’s reflection looking back at him. Something that only happened when Peter fell asleep, therefore unable to keep the tech running.

“They’re asleep!” He announced to the room. Everyone seemed to collectively relax. No more having to watch a potential lawsuit.

And sleep was good news for Ned; that meant he was able to finally get some real work done without having to constantly check up on the feed. He would have about seven hours or so (going by how long the illusion was typically down for a night of rest) to work and figure out a way to shut things down without worrying about his friend waking up and realizing it. Maybe even stopping him.

Nothing had come of the other nights he’d been able to work, but he kept hoping that he’d get lucky soon. He was determined to save his best friend. He had to.

So he started the stopwatch to record how long Peter slept and then got to work.

***

Ned worked all night, but was still stuck exactly where he had been, in terms of progress. The only connection they had was through the small gap he’d been able to squeeze his own coding into to get May through. And he had a bad feeling that his ‘solution’ with that wouldn’t last for much longer.

He kept track of what Peter (and Tony, by extension) was doing as the morning went on, instantly becoming more focused when he heard a brief mention of family.

“I think it would be nice to spend another day with them,” Peter commented through the crackly speakers, seeming to pack up the countless bags that he’d acquired over the past couple of days.

Not-Tony hummed in agreement, moving to help his- husband? (Ned wasn’t quite sure how all of it worked. It was all just pretend, after all.) No matter what they were considered, Tony began helping Peter with gathering up his bags. “I think that’s a great idea. Haven’t seen them since the wedding, we should spend some time with them.”

“Yeah, just having everyone over would be nice. We could watch a movie or something. One of those old ones you like.”

Tony made an offended noise, glancing in Peter’s direction. “Just because it came out before, what, two thousand? Doesn’t make it old. You’re just a baby,” he teased.

“Cradle robber,” Peter shot back playfully, an easy smile on his face. Like what he said didn’t make Ned’s skin crawl. They joked so easily (Peter’s mind did, at least) and yet the age gap between the two seemed to become that much more apparent in the moment.

“Oh, quiet.” Tony waved one hand. “So are you thinking that you just want to go back to the tower? Or was there another idea in that pretty little brain of yours?”

“Just home. Please.” Apparently ‘home’ was the tower, where Tony had mentioned, because he nodded and smiled after the answer.

“That isn’t his home,” May said softly from somewhere behind Ned, causing the teen to turn around.

Ned leaned back in his chair, looking up at her. “I’m hoping that he remembers that,” he admitted. “But I’m sure he does,” he corrected quickly when he saw the woman’s expression fall.

“He has to. He can’t just- he can’t leave us like this. For someone who got him killed.” May’s voice took on a slightly angrier tone as she spoke. But the anger fizzled out just as quickly as it came. “I need to talk to him, Ned. Not just within his little script. I need to actually get through to him.”

The teen nodded slowly, watching her closely. He knew it was a bad idea. The mission so far was just to stick to the scene that Peter wanted and to follow his lead. Get close to him. May wasn’t nearly close enough yet. And Peter didn’t seem to be close to changing his mind in any way. “But Fury said-“

“I don’t care what he said,” May said sharply. “Peter needs his family. His real family. He needs me. Not the me he expects to play along with his little game.”

That was a dangerous thing to say, especially given how the director seemed to know everything that was going on. Ned hoped that Fury hadn’t heard her. That could possibly compromise the one advantage they had. “He does need you. But just- not yet. You have to go along with his scene right now. Just for a little while longer.”

The woman watched him, expression softening slightly. She knew that he was right. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than reach out to Peter and bring him home. To his actual home. “Okay. But I’m not going another week or whatever without him. I can’t do that shit. This has already gone on too long. He needs to be home. And if he doesn’t get it together, I’ll be bringing him back with or without SHIELD’s help.”

The last bit sounded like a threat, and it probably was. Ned knew that she missed Peter. He was her only remaining family member. And he missed him too, of course he did. He just knew that it was different because May had seen him break too many times before. And she didn’t want to see it again.

She left, presumably going back to the small room that had her setup for entering the illusion. If Peter was talking about family, she had better get ready to go in as soon as he expected her to.

She slipped the headset on and waited, heart aching as she watched Peter interacting with Tony through the screen. She’d never seen him look at anyone quite like that. With so much love in his eyes. It nearly broke her heart to think about how her goal was to take him away from that. But she felt less guilty when she thought about all she was bringing him back to.

His home. His family. His friends. Everything he needed was all here in the real world. And he’d find someone else to look at in that same way, she was sure of it. And when he did, it would be okay. Because it would be the right person and the right time.

Not a dead man who was the root of all his issues.

May held her breath as the scene changed before her eyes, transforming into the sleek and expensive interior of Stark tower once again. And as the couple relaxed in the living area, she saw how Peter’s expression shifted into one of more concentration.

And she heard the quiet ding of the elevator and knew it was time for her to slip into the fantasy again. She heard agent Oliver instructing her in the background, but she already knew what to do.

She let herself relax, getting pulled into the illusion until she was standing in the elevator with the rest of Peter’s ‘special guests.’ It still gave her an odd, sick feeling of deja vu to see Mary, Richard, and Ben all together like that. It was all wrong. But she had to act like everything was okay. Like she wasn’t horrified by being surrounded by family members (and her husband) that she’d already lost and grieved for years.

Her participation in the scene had to be perfectly in accordance with Peter’s intentions or it would all be ruined. At least that’s what she’d been told countless times. But as soon as the doors opened and she saw Peter again, every plan they’d ever discussed dropped to the bottom of her list of priorities.

She just wanted him to come home.

Peter glanced up once he heard the doors, beaming. “Perfect!” He held onto Tony’s arm gently, leaning against him. “Now everyone is here.”

They filed out of the elevator, going over to the couple. May couldn’t help but realize how off it all felt. Without Peter actively controlling the other figures, it was like they were hardly there. Nothing more than stand-ins.

It was terrifying to witness, making her that much more determined to bring the boy home. He couldn’t stay in this environment, living entirely in his mind with no real company. It would only do further damage to his mental state.

As soon as they were in a certain vicinity, the scene seemed to come to life. Suddenly there was soft chatter from the other people as they started carrying their own conversations.

May jumped when she felt a hand on her lower back, instantly wanting to bat the intruding touch away. She knew who it was before she even looked and forced herself to relax. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t her Ben. Letting herself get attached wouldn’t do her any favors. It couldn’t happen. She had to keep her focus on the goal of saving Peter. That’s what was important.

“It’s nice of them to have us over like this,” Not-Ben murmured to her. “Yknow, I like seeing Pete so happy.” He smiled a bit and May’s heart ached. There was the smile she remembered. Easy, slightly mischievous. All Ben.

“Yeah…,” she started, forgetting what they were talking about for a moment. All she could think about was her husband. She could finally have him back like this, maybe she saw the appeal-

No. She couldn’t let herself get sucked in.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been a huge fan of Tony Stark,” she whispered back, not caring about possible consequences. She had to keep her mind straight, and in that moment that required being honest.

“But he’s happy, May.” Ben’s eyes searched her face, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t seeing anything. And even if he did, he couldn’t do anything with the information he found. He was just another figment of Peter’s imagination.

“Yeah. For now,” she mumbled, looking away. She had to focus on what was wrong. So her brain didn’t get convinced that he really was her Ben.

He was too tall. Not by much, but just enough that it was noticeable. And it bothered her.

And he was too...muscular. Sure, he’d never been thin, but it wasn’t like this.

Then it clicked.

This Ben only existed as Peter saw him.

Of course her husband would have seemed like some big, strong man to the boy that he raised. He was Peter’s superhero. And Peter never saw anything different.

That fact shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

She fixed her expression, not letting her true feelings show. She still needed to focus on the task at hand, and that was getting close to Peter. She had to follow along with his scene and make sure everything was in place. Nothing could seem out of the ordinary from how he wanted it.

They all sat down, on a couch facing Peter and Tony.

Peter grinned at them, clapping his hands together happily. “Okay, so, I was thinking maybe we could play some games? That’s always fun, right?”

“Yeah, as long as you don’t cheat,” Ben mumbled with a smile. It was all just teasing.

“I would never! Mean.” The teen stuck his tongue out at him before laughing. “What should we play?”

“Monopoly?” Tony suggested, wrapping his arm around his husband’s waist.

“You’re so old,” Peter whined. Then he giggled, leaning into the touch. “Kidding. Monopoly would be fun, it just takes forever.” Good thing they had all the time in the world to play.

“And ruins families,” May said under her breath, but thankfully no one else seemed to catch it.

“No one has anything else going on, we can play for as long as we want,” the older man assured him. “Want me to go grab it?”

Peter nodded, smiling up at him. “Sure, baby. Thank you.”

Tony stood up to get the game, coming back only a moment later with the box in his hands. “I call being banker,” he said playfully. He sat down and started setting the game up on the table between all of them.

No one argued, just laughing as they kept joking and teasing each other about the entire thing.

As the night went on, the energy level never wavered. Everyone was happy and relaxed, excited to be around each other.

Everyone except for May.

She hid it well, playing along, but inside she was deeply bothered by all of it. Nothing felt right, no matter how the others were acting. None of them were real. It was just her and Peter.

She watched as Tony reached out for his “husband” again and her stomach flipped. She was tired of watching them behave like that and pretending it was okay.

“Don’t touch him.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them and the guilt set in instantly. She had just ruined the whole mission.

But now she could try things her own way.

Tony’s hand pulled away from Peter immediately, the confusion clear on his face. And May knew that the expression was only reflecting what her nephew was feeling.

“May, he can touch me. He’s my husband, after all. We got married, remember?” Peter shot her a smile, cuddling up to the other man. He tried to brush it off as how protective she always was. Maybe that was just bleeding into his projection of her.

“No, he isn’t, Peter.” May’s voice shook as she stood up, trying to move closer to him. “He isn’t real. You know that. None of this is real.”

“You’re not real,” he said quietly, eyes wide as he tried to figure out what was going on. That wasn’t supposed to happen. But as much as he tried to focus, she wouldn’t go back into place. Things wouldn’t go back to how he wanted them.

What was happening?

“Yes, I am. I’m the only real one here. It’s just you and me, Peter.” She met his eyes, looking desperate. “It’s me, baby. It’s actually me, I’m here. Please come home, this isn’t good for you. You need to come home and give the tech to Fury so-“

“No,” he said quickly, seeming to snap out of his confusion. “Tony gave it to me. It’s mine. No one else’s. And this is my home.” He glared at her, moving into Tony’s arms more.

How had SHIELD hacked May into the program? There shouldn’t have been any way for them to do that. He’d worked on the security coding himself, adding onto what Tony had already designed.

“Did I?” Tony mumbled, looking like he was trying to remember. What tech was being used? It seemed like they were just in the tower, nothing out of the ordinary.

But May ignored him. She continued tearfully. “Your home is with me. Your home is in the *real world*, not this thing you’ve made up! You can’t stay here!” She was getting more frantic.

“No, May. I can stay here. Maybe you should, too.” He watched her, trying to keep himself calm. He needed to regain control over the illusion. Maybe he wouldn’t have to lose anything. He just had to convince her to stay.

“I’ll be doing no such-“

“What’s the issue?” Ben cut in, moving to stand next to May. But he wasn’t going to help her. He was looking directly at her. “You could stay, couldn’t you. Right here. What’s the harm in that?” He grabbed her hands, brushing against her wedding ring.

The one she knew was buried in her closet, amongst the other things that reminded her of him too much to leave strewn about the apartment but she couldn’t bear to completely get rid of.

But it all felt so real.

“You’re dead,” she whispered, her own tone surprising her. She sounded terrified and just as weak as she had in the time right after he died. “I can’t stay. You’re gone and never coming back. All of you are.” Except for Peter, who didn’t want to be saved.

Ben smiled at her, like he’d expected the answer. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Like he had a thousand times when he was alive. “I’m here now, May. Isn’t that enough?”

She hated how real it all felt. How tempting it was. She hated how she could feel his lips against her skin and how easily it pulled her back into the denial she’d felt right after the accident.

Maybe she could stay. She could have him back, live out life like they were supposed to. They were supposed to be together until they were old and grey until finally going from natural causes. Old age. His murder couldn’t touch them here.

It would be so easy to just stay.

But she knew that she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. It would only destroy her mind to stay with him. And if she wasn’t taking care of her physical body then what would happen? She had to go. Staying wasn’t an option. She just had to convince him of that as well.

She stepped away from Ben, ignoring how much it hurt her to do so. Then she turned to Peter again, moving closer. Maybe if she could just hold him-

His eyes narrowed more as he watched her. He pushed her away when she tried to get closer again, instantly feeling guilty. But he wanted to keep her away. She was trying to take everything from him. If she didn’t want to stay, fine. She could go.

But he wasn’t going to lose this too.

“Get away from me,” Peter snapped, staying close to Tony. He looked almost protective, although he knew that physically it was impossible for anything to happen. “This is my home. Here. With him. And my family.”

May was still shocked at how he’d shoved her. He’d never behaved in such a way before, no matter how things had gotten. And he’d never been so angry, not at her. Not at anyone.

Where did her boy go? What happened to him?

“Peter, please,” she begged. “You can’t live like this. It might seem good for now, but you’re just going to hurt yourself. Please, you’ve gotta shut it down and tell us where you are. We’ll come get you and everything will be okay. SHIELD is working on fixing what happened with Mysterio, you can-“

“I’m not going anywhere! And I’m not telling you where I am, you’ll just make me stop!” There were tears welling in his eyes and his voice was shaking despite how strong he attempted to sound.

All May wanted to do was wipe those tears away and pull him in for a hug like she’d done countless times before. But she had a feeling that was a bad idea.

She felt so helpless, watching him from afar. She was losing him and she knew it.

That hurt more than anything else.

“Baby, please,” she murmured gently. “You can come home. Everything is going to be okay. We can get you some help,” she said slowly.

“I don’t need help. I need this.” And no one would take it away from him. “EDITH, find however she got in. Patch the hole. Make sure it won’t happen again.”

“Yes, Peter,” The AI answered, almost sounding nervous. If that was even something she was capable of.

Fear flashed through May as she stared at him. “Peter, please, don’t shut me out.”

“You’re not taking this from me. Everyone has taken everything from me!” Tears streamed down his face freely. “I get to keep this one thing. I get to have them all back. And you can’t take that. No one can. I won’t let you.”

“Peter, you need to come home. I miss you, we all miss you so much, baby. Please!”

“I miss you too. That’s why I wanted you here. But you messed it all up. You could have stayed here with me. With Uncle Ben.” He wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry, baby, you know I can’t.”

“So you have to leave.” He was informed that EDITH found the coding that had been put in and she started fixing it.

“I love you, Peter. Please, think about what you’re doing,” she begged him. She was pushed from the illusion, still able to see through her headset but she couldn’t interact anymore.

“I love you too. But I’ve already thought about it. This is where I belong.”

Her screen went dark.

She ripped the headset off and threw it, burying her face in her hands. She’d fucked it all up.

And she’d lost him. He didn’t want to come home.

He wasn’t going to come home.

Agent Oliver rushed in, wincing when the tech hit the wall. It was probably broken now, but that could be dealt with later. She’d just watched everything play out on the screen, just like the others had. May was the first priority. “Ma’am-“

“I’m going home.” She looked up, eyes red like she was holding back tears. She pushed her glasses up and sniffled. “I’m leaving. This entire operation is pointless.” She stood up, quickly leaving the room without looking back.

“Ms. Parker, please, we’ll figure out another way,” Paige followed after her.

“May?” Ned looked up from his computer, quickly wiping away his own tears. There was enough to deal with, he could hold it together. He still had to figure out how to save Peter. “Please, don’t go. Not yet.”

She looked at him, but shook her head. “I’m going home. I can’t...I can’t do this. I messed it up, you’ll be better off without me. I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry.”

As she walked away, she heard other people calling after her. Probably Fury, some other agents. But she didn’t turn around. She needed to get out.

Unlike Peter, all she wanted was to go home.

The drive to the building was short, her brain in a fog the entire time. She didn’t let herself feel. She couldn’t yet. Not until she was in the safety of the apartment.

Her car was parked and she was going up the elevator before she knew it. She blinked, slightly disoriented. She kept her eyes closed during the ride up, almost convinced that she would see Peter again when the door opened.

Of course, she didn’t. And she walked to the door of the apartment, posture defeated. Her whole body felt heavy, weighed down.

As soon as she put the key in the lock, the door opened and Happy pulled her into his arms.

“The kid called me,” he told her gently.

Her heart skipped a beat when he said that, hoping maybe he meant Peter. Maybe he changed his mind.

“The one you’ve been working with. At SHIELD,” he clarified, seeing the look on her face.

With that, she promptly dissolved into tears.

May Parker was a strong woman. She didn’t cry often. And even less often around other people.

But too much had happened, even for her. And she knew that Happy wouldn’t go anywhere no matter what she said. That he would stay, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. So she let herself cry, not holding anything back.

Everything was falling apart. Each tear that fell reminded her of it all. The guilt, the hurt, the anger she’d felt. The reopened wound of missing Ben. The aching void in her heart where Peter was missing.

Her boy didn’t want to be saved. So what was there that she could do?

Maybe this was just another loss that she’d have to learn to live with.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #SbPBP #B&B write #Peter’s EDITH!verse #starker angst #nff #mention of character death

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matrixaffiliate · 4 years ago

Text

Choreograph

New Story! FFN and AO3

Lily does not dance. She has no desire to be on national television. But when she's surprisingly selected as a contestant for Dancing With the Stars and she finds out how much money there is to fund her research on carbon capture, she becomes a reluctant contestant for the latest season. She just didn't count on being placed with the favorite dancer to win this year, James Potter.

This little story is for the wonderful @constancezin! (And if you go to her Tumblr you can see some amazing Harry Potter artwork!) She brought up the idea of a Dancing With the Stars (American) Jily AU and I volunteered to write a version of it for her. Thank you for sharing your ideas, @constancezin! I hope you love this little story!

Choreograph

"No, Mary," Lily shook her head and made another note in her notebook.

"Lily, you didn't even think about it!" Mary pouted.

"I didn't need to, Mary."

"But Lily," Mary whined.

"No, Mary." Lily closed the window in her computer and stood up. "I've never even been able to sit through an entire episode. I won't do it."

"Lily, think of the kind of publicity this would give you, and the companies that are looking to fund your research, and the public that would hail you!" Mary blocked the way out of her office.

"Mary," Lily sighed. "I don't dance."

"None of the contestants do," Marry shook her head. "That's the whole point! You get partnered with an accomplished ballroom performer, and they teach you how to do each week's dance, you perform it on national television, and the judges give you scores, but the viewing public keep you on the show by voting for you!"

Mary's explanation had grown progressively more and more animated as she went on. But Lily was not having it.

"Mary, no, I don't dance, I certainly don't dance in public, and I'd honestly rather have a go with a giant squid than dance on national television with some man that's more concerned with what his hair looks like than I am about mine."

"Lily, wait!" Mary cried as Lily pushed past her.

Lily turned in a huff. "What?"

"If you sign on and agree to perform for the first two weeks it's 125 thousand dollars."

Lily gawked.

"And," Mary smiled seeing that the money had caught Lily's attention, "you get more money for every week you stay on the show. The winner ends up with like 300 thousand dollars. Lily, just the 125 thousand would pay for the next iteration of the project. Imagine if you made it further? Think of what we could accomplish with the grand prize!"

Lily bit her lip, all of her resolve that she was not going to do this silly television show cracking.

"How did they even get my name, Mary?"

"I don't know but they contacted the company this morning and they want your answer by tomorrow."

Lily sighed and leaned against the wall. "Mary…"

"Lily, come on, the benefits are huge, think of everything we'd be able to do and how it could change our work on carbon capture!"

"You're sure I only need to stay on for the first two weeks to get the 125 thousand?"

"Yes, that's what they said."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Lily shook her head.

But really, she could. In exchange for two weeks of humiliation, she would get more money to put towards her research than two weeks' worth of grant filing would give her - it even came with equal levels of frustration.

"Oh my gosh! Are you going to do it?"

Lily rolled her eyes but nodded. "Yes, Mary, I'm probably going insane but you're right, the money is too much to walk away from."

Mary screamed and threw her arms around Lily. "This is going to be amazing! Oh, I hope you get James Potter or Sirius Black, they're so good! And really hot too! I wonder if we can put in a request for your first pick. Or at least tell them not to pair you with Albus Dumbledore, he and his partner are always one of the first voted off."

"Then let's hope I end up with him," Lily moved back towards her office. "Do you have the number I'm supposed to call?"

"Right here," Mary texted the number to her and Lily sat down before hitting dial.

Mary had raved about how great it was that she was doing the show, and kept going on about how amazing it would be for Lily to be paired with James Potter, who'd finished top five the last three years he'd been on the show, or Sirius Black, who'd won last season. Lily adamantly refused Mary's plea to spend an evening watching complications of greatest moments of James Potter and Sirius Black on YouTube.

A few days after she called and confirmed, Lily received a time and place to be at for paper signing and the promise of finding out who her partner was. Lily didn't care for the time out of her workday it would require, but she reminded herself this was the same sort of sacrifice of time that she would have to make applying for grants, but this came with a guarantee of funds whereas the grants were always anyone's guess as to whether or not the group would get the money. Besides, this money could be what gave her the breakthrough to a patented, marketable item in order to fund her bigger research ideas.

And the next day, Lily walked in the door of the office. But of course, the receptionist wasn't there to tell her what to do next. She let out an audible groan.

"Everything alright?"

The man addressing her was tall, with dark hair that was messy and stood on end. His square rimmed glasses framed warm hazel eyes that reminded her of her dad's favorite imported maple syrup; her mom always bought it for him for Christmas every year without fail.

James Potter looked good on camera, but he was blinding in person.

"Oh, yes, just, um, I'm not sure what to do next."

"I'm happy to point you where you need to be," he held out his hand, "I'm James by the way."

"It's nice to meet you," Lily took his hand and gave herself a firm mental shake to stop ogling him. "I'm the contestant that's going home the moment I have to rely on votes to stay in."

James laughed. "Is that so?"

"I'm no one special, there's no fan base to keep me on the show." Lily shrugged and tried to push down the part of her that suddenly wanted James Potter to be her assigned dance partner.

"No fan base, huh?"

"Just my best friend, no one else is around to vote for me." Lily looked down at her phone and looked back around for the receptionist.

"I can show you where to go to get your paperwork signed and completed?"

She looked back up at him to see his hand shoved in his hair.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Lily nodded, feeling incredibly awkward at how scattered she must seem.

James grinned and started moving down one of the hallways. "So, what is your claim to have been invited to be a contestant on the show?"

Lily scoffed. "I have no idea. I'm a scientist, and I had a breakthrough on carbon capture last year that managed to make a brief mention on the four o'clock local news broadcast and most of the science journals. I've not done anything the general viewership is going to care about."

"Really? What's your name? If you don't mind my asking."

"Lily Evans," she smirked at him. "See you've never heard of me."

James looked sheepish, "Well, no, I haven't, but I mean the most important people are usually people that have no media presence in my opinion."

Lily laughed, "That's nice of you to say."

"So, you just really wanted to learn how to dance?" He leaned up against an open door jam.

Lily gave a nervous laugh. "Just hope you don't get paired with me. I don't dance, and I'm really only in this because the money from the first two weeks might be able to get me to a point where I can fund the research I want to do."

"A famous innovator like yourself needs the money?" James laughed at her. "You mean the grants aren't just spilling in?"

Lily scoffed, "Yeah I'm rolling in the dough right now. The Bentley out front is mine."

"Which one?"

Lily laughed, "The white '95 Corolla."

"Ah, a great year for Bentley Corollas," James laughed with her. The conversation went silent in an almost awkward way. James took a deep breath and gestured to the room they were standing outside of. "So, um, this is it. I guess I'll see you around then."

"Yeah, thank you, and good luck this season. I'm sure you'll do great."

"You too," his hand jumped back to his hair.

Lily nodded and stood awkwardly at the door a moment before remembering how to human.

"Well, I'll see you around."

"Yeah," James pushed off the wall, "See you."

Lily ducked into the office and was able to get her contract signed and all the particulars determined.

At the end of it all, the man that had been helping her clicked a few things on his computer.

"Alright, I've just sent the email with all your instructions and your partner for the show. You get eight tickets per show-"

"I'll only need one," Lily interrupted him as she opened the email on her phone.

"Boyfriend?" He smiled at her.

Lily's eyes went wide as she looked at the name of her partner.

"Um, no, but this says my partner is James Potter."

"Yep, producers assigned you two together on Monday."

"I, um, is that a good idea. I mean you saw all my paperwork; I'm probably going to be the first one voted off, and James is one of your best."

"I'm sure it will be fine, but if you'd like you can talk to the producers about it." He handed her a business card. "Here's all of Marlene's information, and I'm sure she can help you feel better about it. I wouldn't worry, though. James is good at what he does and that's what will really get you to through the show."

"Thanks," Lily nodded and moved to the door, already dialing Marlene's number.

"This is Marlene," she answered as Lily climbed in her car.

"Hi Marlene, this is Lily Evans, I'm one of your contestants this season."

"Yes, Lily! I just got the scan of all your paperwork. We're excited to have you. What can I do for you?"

"I know this is probably going to sound silly, but I need you to resign me. I know James is one of the favorites to win this year, and I have absolutely no coordination. I don't want to be the reason he doesn't make it to the top five. I'm sure you've got an athlete or something that can switch with me."

Marlene laughed. "Lily, I'm sure James would appreciate the sentiment, but we put a lot of thought into this and tried to make it fair for everyone. Besides, if you know then James just got his email. Don't worry, James is a good teacher and he'll make sure you can do your best out there."

"Marlene, really," Lily gripped her phone a little tighter, "I once had to perform in front of a middle school crowd and completely forgot the words to the song I'd signed on to sing. There's a real possibility that I'll get up there for the first dance and freeze and get sent home the first week."

"That's really sweet of you to be so concerned, Lily, but don't forget that it's the votes that keep you in, not necessarily your skill as a dancer or your points from the judges."

"And I'm a nobody scientist that has a fan base of zero."

Marlene laughed, "Just trust us. We've been doing this for years now. Stranger people than you have advanced to the top five."

Lily huffed, "Well, I guess I'll tell James I tried."

"Don't worry about James," Marlene dismissed. "He'll be just fine."

Lily tried to believe those words on the day she drove to the gym or whatever you'd call a building with rooms for them to practice in. These were the things that made Lily feel like she couldn't do this.

The camera crew was waiting for her and went through a whole bunch of things that Lily fully planned on ignoring before letting her finally go inside to meet James.

She opened the door and tried to smile. Then her eyes landed on James and she felt a little less nervous. The smile he directed her way made her heart stutter.

"No way!" He looked at the camera on him. "This woman's going to save the planet!"

Lily gave a nervous chuckle as she walked up to shake his hand. "I don't know about saving the planet."

James moved her proffered handshake into a dance position, bringing his hand to her back and spinning her around.

"The great Lily Evans is brilliant and humble, ladies and gentlemen."

Lily pulled out of his embrace and fidgeted with her hair.

"Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of time for you to reform that opinion. But I'm looking forward to working with you, James. I hope I can live up to your previous seasons. I'm sorry to say I'm a very inexperienced dancer."

"You never had me for a teacher." James waved off her concerns. "You'll see, we'll have you dancing like you've been doing it all your life in no time."

"Cut!"

Lily jumped. She had forgotten about the crew around them.

"Great work you two, we'll be back to film you again on Friday."

"Sounds good, see you then." James saluted as the crew cleared up and moved out of the dance studio.

"So, are you disappointed to not be assigned to me?" James chuckled once the door had been closed for a moment.

Lily bit her lip, "I would think you would be upset more than me. I even asked one of the producers to switch me to someone else so you could have a chance at winning this season."

"Yeah, Marlene told me about it." James chuckled. "But I'm the dancer, so let me worry about the dancing and you worry about climate science."

"I'm really not going to save the world," Lily sat down on one of the chairs against the wall. "I might ask the producers to cut that out."

"You can ask, but since we only did one take, they would need to have us film that whole first meeting over again. Don't worry about it. All it does is create interest in you which could gain us more votes."

Lily wanted to protest, but James put his hands on her shoulders and pulled back on them.

"What?"

"We have to fix your posture. I need you to be able to stand up straight all the time so we can get you into practice."

Lily frowned at it as she tried to sit up straighter.

"Here," James pulled her to stand up "Like this."

His hands pulled her shoulders back, but then smoothed down her spine, almost caressingly, to her hips where he brought them inline. Lily felt her mouth go dry.

"I bet all your past partners called you an awful taskmaster." She tried for humor to distance herself from the way her heart was pounding in her ears.

"My experience says that by the end of today you're going to call me all sorts of unpleasant names for what we're going to do."

Lily forced a laugh and suggested they get on with it. Their first dance was the foxtrot which seemed like a nice way to ease into this experience. But despite Lily's hopes, by the time seven o'clock rolled around she was sure she'd never make it through the next week of practices.

"You can go ahead and call me whatever you want," James sat down next to her as she collapsed in her chair.

"No," she panted, "I mean, I signed on for this, right? I can only be upset with myself. I'm just sorry I'm so bad at it."

"You're not bad at it," James shook his head and sat down next to her.

"James, there are mirrors on every wall, and I have eyes. I'm not good at this."

"You're too wrapped up in believing you're bad at this. Look, if I told you that there was no hope for climate science to make any real difference so why try, would you bite my head off?"

Lily laughed, "Yes, I probably wouldn't try to eat you, but I'd say you were wrong."

James looked dubious but continued. "Alright, I'm the dance expert in this room, and I say that you're not bad at this. You have a ton of the routine memorized now as far as where we're moving around the room on the floor and that's huge." He bumped her shoulder with his own. "Now say it with me, 'I can dance'."

Lily shook her head but chuckled, "I can dance."

"No one would believe that," James laughed. "Come on, again, like you mean it now."

Lily took a deep breath, "I can dance."

"Is that all you've got, Evans?" James goaded her.

"I CAN DANCE!" She yelled at him and laughed when he jumped up from his seat.

"Then dance, Lily!" He held out his hand to her and Lily pushed up to step into their routine again, James counting the steps as he led her around and around the room, her feet only stepping on his every third step this time, rather than every step they took together.

The days leading up to their first performance seemed to go both in slow motion and warp speed simultaneously. But soon it was Sunday and she and James were running through the routine for the last time before they'd do the dress rehearsal the next day.

"I'm still not getting it, James." Lily sat down on the floor and hung her head as she rested her arms on her legs.

"You're doing just fine," he sat down next to her.

"Don't lie to me."

James was silent for a long moment before he held out his hand to her.

"We're a team, Evans, and I would never lie to a teammate. Come on, let's try it again."

Lily sighed before taking his hand and letting him pull her up from the floor to run through the routine again.

She wished all of these hours she was putting in were paying off, but all it seemed to do was make her exhausted. She was in the office from seven till nearly eleven, then she would eat something while she drove to the dance studio and dance with James until seven or eight, and then drive home, sometimes to remember to eat something, before finally passing out cold until her alarm went off to start it all over again.

Dress rehearsal Monday morning seemed to only cement in her brain how much she didn't belong in this world. All the other contestants were so much more coordinated than her, and they seemed to be more at ease in the environment than she was.

Lily's nerves were overpowering and she botched their first run through. She couldn't manage to keep her dress from getting caught around her legs and her feet kept misstepping and James kept rubbing the part of her back that he used to signal her she was slouching. It was a disaster.

"James," one of the dancers approached them as Lily tried to get through the steps again.

James let her hand drop and stepped away. "Just sec, let me see what Sirius needs."

Lily turned and watched the two men talk quietly. James' hand pushed into his hair as he talked but he didn't look her way. She felt horrible about it all. James wasn't going to make it past the first elimination because he'd ended up with her and she was only doing these two weeks for the money. She had been assuaging her pride with the assurance that she just needed the 125 thousand dollars and then she could go back to her work and not worry about dancing ever again. But seeing how hard James was trying, and how patient and supportive he was with her as she floundered through the steps and routine, she didn't think she could walk away and leave him without a second thought. She cared too much to do that now.

As a friend, of course, she reminded herself.

James gave Sirius an attempt at a smile before moving back to Lily.

"Let's try it again," Lily squared her shoulders and smiled. "I think I can do it."

"Alright," James' smile didn't reach his eyes, but he stepped up to her and pulled her hand into his.

It wasn't perfect by any stretch but Lily could feel it was better, surer maybe. And she could tell that James felt it too as the weariness on his face slowly faded.

"You're getting it!" He laughed as they finished the routine. "See! You can dance!"

Lily grinned as she tried to catch her breath. "I just need to improve ten times more before tonight."

"We'll be fine," he nodded as the stagehand told them their time was up. "Let's see if they can pull up the hem of your dress another two or three inches and take out one of the panels before tonight. I think that will make a huge difference for you." He took her hand and Lily felt her breath catch at the feeling of his hand holding hers. "That was what Sirius pulled me aside for. He saw that the dress was too long and too full."

"That was nice of him," Lily tried to convince herself that the catch in her breath was just her being out of breath from the dance.

"Sirius is a good guy; we've been looking out for each other for a long time now." James grinned over at him as Sirius talked with Marlene.

He let go of her hand then and Lily tried to convince herself that the falling feeling she had when he released her hand was completely due to her exhaustion and had nothing to do with her wanting him to keep holding her hand.

James talked to the costume coordinator and Lily stood still as they went over the skirt of her dress until James felt sure it would be perfect for that evening's opening night, and the costume coordinator sent them to get out of their performance clothes. Then she was whisked away by the television crew to have her hair and makeup done with the other stars and dancers. In a whirlwind, it was suddenly their turn to dance.

Before the music started for their live performance, the stage lights were dim; a ticking sound started to give the countdown to start. Lily thought it sounded a lot like a time bomb.

"We've got this," James whispered.

And then the lights flashed on and the music started and Lily threw herself into the routine she'd been trying desperately to learn. There were a few stumbles, but James caught her through all of them, and in what felt both like an eternity and the blink of an eye, the music ended and people were applauding. Lily turned to the audience and found Mary jumping up and down and screaming through the noise. She waved as James pulled her over to the part of this competition Lily was dreading most of all, the judging.

They had, of course, seen her stumbles, but they were impressed with other things, McGonagall mentioned her excellent posture twice. Flitwick wasn't pleased with how they'd kept more or less to the steps with a couple of spins. But Slughorn kept telling them how wonderful it was that she had managed to learn the steps so well in such a short time.

"You're a natural!" He'd beamed at her.

James kept his arm around her middle as the judges gave their final scores, a five from both McGonagall and Slughorn, and a four from Flitwick.

"You were amazing," James spoke next to her ear as they moved backstage.

"Those scores say differently," Lily swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Hey," James pulled her to a far corner. "Those are good scores for week one. And no one is going home this week. You did an amazing job, believe me."

Lily nodded and tried to swallow again, "Ok."

She didn't particularly believe him, but she wasn't going to argue with him when there were cameras everywhere that could paint it as something awful.

They ended up finishing in the bottom five that night. And while Mary wanted to come over and stay up late talking about everything that had happened, Lily told her it would have to wait. She still needed to be at her desk by six the next morning.

When she managed to make it to the studio the next morning, James was already set to go.

"We've got the cha-cha this week." He motioned for her to come stand next to him. "We'll start just like we did with the foxtrot. I'll show you how to do the steps on your own and then we'll move to doing them together."

His smile was encouraging, and though the morning had already been full of work, Lily wanted to smile back at him. She wanted to be here with him. She didn't want to let James down.

Because they were friends, of course.

"Let's do this."

"Great," James reached into his bag and pulled out a Jenga set. "We start with this."

"With a game?" Lily watched perplexed as James set up the Jenga tower on one of the chairs, gesturing for her to sit opposite him and the game.

"There's a lot to be learned from Jenga."

"About dancing?"

"There's a dancing metaphor in almost anything, Evans. Now," he gestured to the tower, "Ladies first."

Lily pulled an easy block from the tower.

"That's a lame move," James smirked at her before pulling a block out that nearly toppled the tower down.

*I don't like to take enormous risks," Lily stuck her tongue out at him and found another easy block.

"That doesn't sound true at all. If it were, I don't think you would have agreed to this whole stunt."

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I only agreed to it because of the money."

James pulled a difficult block and half-heartedly tossed it at her. "And what is all this money going towards?"

Lily smiled; it was easy to talk about work. "I want to make carbon capture something that can be done in anyone's backyard. Think about it, what if every home in every suburb had a carbon capture system set up, but cheaper and easier than solar. If I can make this work, this could buy us more than just a few years, it could be buying us decades of time to find better ways of creating power than burning coal."

James stared at her silently, his eyes intense and dark as he looked directly into her own eyes.

"Sorry, I guess that was a little much." Lily pulled another easy block from the tower.

"No," James' smirk finally found its way back to his face, but he continued to stare at her. "No, I personally think it was inspiring."

Lily pulled another easy block to avoid his stare and then held her breath as James pulled one that nearly toppled the whole tower over.

"James," Lily kept her gaze on the game as she spoke, "Can you honestly tell me that I'm a good dancer?" She knew it was a silly question to ask, but if she was a good dancer, then why not be dancing right now instead of playing Jenga?

"Yes," he answered immediately, but Lily scoffed.

"Lily, listen, for having never danced in your life, you're doing really well! Don't try to compare yourself to Julianne Hough. We have a real chance here, and I've done this long enough to know."

Lily wanted to believe him, but she didn't, and it must have shown on her face.

"Lily, what if you believed me? What if you were to take the risk?" He pointed to a block in the Jenga tower that was wedged tightly between the surrounding blocks. "Take a risk, pull this block here."

"That could make the whole tower fall," Lily objected.

"But it might not, it might give you the advantage in the game. Just try, and accept that the tower is going to wobble a little bit; if it falls, we'll rebuild it again."

Lily eyed the block before cautiously pulling on it. The tower wobbled dangerously.

"It's going to fall," she pulled her hand back.

"Then let it fall," James shrugged.

"And if it does, I'll lose the game!"

"No," James grinned at her, "We're a team, remember, we win and lose together."

"Fine, then we lose the game if I make the tower fall."

"Not if we build the tower up again." He leaned forward. "Change your perspective, Evans. There's no losing, just new starting points. Now, pull that block out."

Lily looked into his warm hazel eyes and something about how he was looking at her made her feel like she could try.

"Fine, but don't get upset if I make this whole tower come crashing down around us."

James just laughed and nodded her on.

Lily pulled carefully on the block, drawing in a sharp breath when it started to pull the tower with it. But as she turned the block around and moved it small bits at a time, the block slowly pulled free of the tower.

"I did it!" She held the block above her head like a trophy and James' smile was so proud that Lily felt certain that she could look at that smile forever and never tire of it.

"You did it!" He cheered. Then he stood and held out his hand. "Now take a chance, and let's teach you how to cha-cha-cha."

Lily laughed and took his hand. By the end of the day, she felt like she had a better grip on not just the cha-cha, but dancing as well. A week in and her body already was in better shape and she wasn't as exhausted when she finally made it home that evening. The routine ended up much like their foxtrot, with little flair but with Lily's ability to do the steps well being their focus. She was also grateful that no one put her in something that looked more like a swimsuit than a costume for the cha-cha. She already had to pointedly ignore the quiet part of her mind that would react to James holding her as close as he had to for the dance, she didn't need to also be half-naked. Lily needed every barrier between her and James she could procure.

Their scores that week were better, though Flitwick still wanted to see more excitement in their routines. Still, he gave them a five, and McGonagall and Slughorn both gave them a six. Lily was just happy it kept her out of the bottom two. She was certain the moment she ended up there, it would be over, and James wouldn't get any further.

Their third week went well too. They danced the quickstep, which wasn't so different from the foxtrot in that she picked it up quickly, enough so that they were able to work some more complex moves into the dance as well. That was the performance that finally got Flitwick on her side, and they were safe from the bottom two again with three scores of six.

Lily walked into week four feeling like maybe she could do this. She felt fit and she was starting to feel budding confidence that she at least could learn to dance.

But she was back on her guard when she walked into the dance studio and James handed her a blindfold.

"No."

He laughed at her.

"Potter, there can't possibly be a good reason for me to wear a blindfold."

"Actually, Evans, you've pointed out the reason for this blindfold more times than I can count." He smirked at her.

"Oh, really? Explain then, why am I supposed to wear a blindfold?"

"Because, there are mirrors on every wall of this room," he gestured around them. "And I need you to do something before I get started on teaching you our dance this week."

"What dance do we have?" Lily fidgeted with the blindfold he'd pressed into her hands.

"I'll tell you after we do this little exercise."

"James, this better not be anything stupid."

"I promise, it isn't anything stupid. I need you to trust me."

Lily rolled her eyes. "I do trust you."

"No, I need you to fully trust me."

"You promise, this isn't going to be something weird?"

"Dancer's honor," James put his hand over his heart.

Lily examined the blindfold carefully before looking back at James.

"Okay, but remember, you promised."

"I promise." James nodded her on.

Lily took a deep breath and tied the blindfold over her eyes. She let her hands fall to her side and tried to not let the disoriented feeling that hit overcome her.

James' hand took hers, and it was so familiar now that Lily wondered briefly at how when this was over, she'd never feel it again. The thought left a small ache in her chest.

"Walk with me," he spoke quietly.

Lily took cautious steps forward, feeling awkward and anxious that she would trip and fall on her face.

James stopped her and let go of her hand and Lily immediately felt lost.

"Now," James' voice was suddenly behind her, "When I tell you to, I want you to put out your arms, and fall backward, trusting that I will catch you."

"You're kidding!" Lily almost pulled her blindfold off, but James put his hands gently on her shoulders, causing Lily's frantic heartbeat to spike.

"No, I told you, I need you to really trust me. This next dance needs you to trust me completely."

Lily bit her lip and reached back for James. He grabbed her hand.

"Take a risk, Lily." He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

"Are you ready?" He sounded like he was on the other side of the room.

"You promise you'll catch me?"

"I promise." He sounded farther away this time.

Lily clenched her fists and held her arms out to the sides.

"Fall," James' voice was calm, in stark contrast to the way Lily's heart was beating so fast she was certain she might faint.

It happened quickly, but a part of Lily felt like it was in slow motion. She locked her legs and shifted her weight backward over her heels, then past them. Her body shifted and she began falling. The fall kept her from breathing, but as James' arms caught her, she gasped in a deep breath.

"Take off your blindfold," James' smile was evident in his voice.

Lily pulled the blindfold off and smiled as she looked up at James.

"Hi."

James chuckled, "Do you trust me?"

Lily nodded.

"Look in the mirror."

She turned her head and watched her smile fall off her face. She was no more than five inches from the ground.

"You let me fall that far?!"

James pushed her back up on her feet. "A little less than that far, notice you didn't hit your head on the floor. But there was a purpose behind it."

Lily glared at him, "Alright, relate this to dancing, oh wise teacher."

"We're dancing the paso doble this week, and that's going to come with me pushing you outside of your comfort zone in a lot of ways this week. I need you to trust me."

Lily pursed her lips. "I do trust you, but let's get all of this out in the open, no more surprises."

James motioned for her to sit with him and they walked to the chairs as he explained.

"The paso doble is going to require you to act. I'm the bullfighter and you're my cape. I need you to cling to me. I need you to let me throw you and flip you and I need you to fall and know that I'm going to catch you. I need you to trust me."

Lily took a deep breath and kept her arms folded across her chest.

"So, we're done with the easy platonic dances?"

James grinned, "Don't worry, those will come back. But this dance is better when we act the part."

Lily tried to keep her emotions in check. She'd seen Mary's favorite paso doble dances from past seasons, and she knew what James was getting at. Lily had put conscious effort into not letting her mind linger on how close she and James had to be in many of these dances. She wouldn't let her thoughts pull up those moments where James would keep his hand on the small of her back. She ignored everything that suggested she might be attracted to James; because she was very attracted to James.

"Ok," Lily nodded slowly. "I think I can act the part."

"We're going to be raising the bar for ourselves with this dance," James rested his arms on his legs and moved closer to her. "Are you game, Evans?"

Lily wasn't sure if she really was game for this. She'd been doing a fine job pretending that she wasn't attracted to him, and it showed in her dancing, she never got too close, never stayed too long in his embrace, never thought about his hands on her, never thought about how his eyes would watch her like she was captivating to him.

"I, yeah, yeah I'm game."

James jumped up and held out his hand. "Then let's dance!"

It was too easy. James commented on how well she was picking up on her part, but really Lily just had to let some slack out on her very tightly controlled emotions. Clinging to James wasn't unnatural, having him throw her into a spin before pulling her back flush against him was an action that felt innate within her, and when James flipped her around his arm, she had no problem moving in sync with his actions. It was all what she naturally wanted to do.

"This is going to be amazing!" James grinned at her. "You've been holding back on me, Evans. We've got a real shot at winning if you keep this up."

Lily forced a chuckle to keep herself from admitting how much she was still holding back. James' magnetic pull was strong, and she'd been building stone around her to keep from falling into it. But she felt like that stone was crumbling under this need to "act the part" as James had put it.

There was very little acting involved for Lily.

And as the week went on, the more she let those stone walls crumble the more James praised her, the happier he looked, and the more excited he was.

When the dress rehearsal came, Lily found that she wasn't nearly as nervous as she had been in the weeks prior. She felt like she could do this, like she could dance, and she tried to ignore the part of herself that realized it was all because she'd let those walls she had built up break and crumble around her heart and give in to the magnetic pull that was James Potter.

Their live performance was stunning. Even Lily could tell when they finished that it was amazing. The judges gave her a standing ovation. Flitwick cheered her for her daring and willingness to push herself. They earned a ten from Slughorn and a nine from McGonagall and Flitwick. They finished first.

It was the start of a new phase for Lily. She went from being certain that she would have no fan base when she ended up in the bottom two to being a minor star. Talk shows wanted to have her and James on with them. Her dormant Twitter account was suddenly awash with followers. But they still needed to keep the momentum up. James pushed them harder and harder every week, and Lily felt like she had to give him everything she could because James deserved to win. They consistently finished in the top three for the next five weeks, even when Lily had to start learning two dances a week.

Everything was moving in fast forward, and Lily tried to keep it that way. Because if she was exhausted, then she would be too tired to dream about having James' hand run up her neck to cup her face, or his forehead pressed against hers as his breath came in heavy gasps, or his arms wrapped around her middle, or the way he watched her like he was holding himself back.

It was all an act, it was all for the dance, but the deepest darkest part of Lily's heart hated that it was an act, and wanted desperately for it all to end so that she could start trying to forget how hard she was falling for one James Potter.

"What's this?" James asked as she walked into the studio and handed him a gift bag.

"A congratulations gift," Lily tried to make it feel nonchalant even as her emotions ran at top speed through her. "I happen to know this is the first time you've made it to the last two weeks."

James' smile made her chest hurt. "That has everything to do with you though."

"You're the teacher," Lily shook her head.

"And you are my best student," James' gaze had shifted to the one he used when they were acting the part and Lily found it hard to breathe. She needed something, anything to get him to stop looking at her like that off the dance floor.

"Lily-"

"James-"

"You first," James gave a chuckle and shoved his hand in his hair.

"Aren't you going to open the present?"

James combed his hand through his hair and reached into the gift bag. He laughed when he pulled out a miniature replica of the show's trophy.

"In case we don't win, you'll have a trophy, and," Lily picked at a hair on her shirt, "And, I wanted you to know that all of this has meant so much to me, and I'm so glad I met you. Even if we don't win, this has been amazing."

James grinned at the little trophy and turned it around his fingers.

"Thanks, Lils, I'm glad we got to be friends."

Lily blocked off the part of her heart that died at James' use of the word friends. That's all they were supposed to be - friends.

"Me too."

They finished second that week. Slughorn said he'd never seen a tango he enjoyed more on the show. McGonagall praised their contemporary dance and everything they managed to work into it. Flitwick told her he couldn't believe how far she'd come.

But what had made the entire night was James holding her flush against him for most of the night. Lily told herself that it didn't mean anything to him, that this was how dancers were. But her heart wanted it to be real, and she indulged in pretending it was real.

"We're in the finals!" James spun her around after the broadcast had finished.

"We're in the finals!" Lily laughed and spun back into him.

James pulled her closer, "Hey, Lily-"

"James!" One of the stagehands came running over. "You left this in the dressing rooms." He handed him the little trophy that Lily had given James.

James thanked him but Lily had taken advantage of the moment to step out of his embrace.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow morning," she slung her bag higher on her shoulder and tried to not let the ache in her chest manifest itself through her face.

James looked momentarily torn. "Yeah, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Lily nodded and nearly ran to her car.

The last week of the competition was torture, and Lily was a glutton for punishment. James was constantly touching her, even if they weren't dancing: his arm was around her shoulders or his hand on her back, him smiling with his warm hazel eyes always watching her.

Lily had never been so torn in her entire life.

Finally, the finale came and Lily threw everything she had into the performances. She owed James that much. This was his career and since he'd helped her to get nearly 300 thousand dollars to pour into her research. She wanted to give James the real trophy, she wanted him to be able to say he won, that he was the best, because she honestly believed he was.

Their final dance was the contemporary, and when they finished, Lily was surprised when James pulled her into him, wrapping his arm around her neck and holding head against his own.

"You're perfect," he murmured into her ear, "Absolutely perfect."

"I think you are too," Lily clung to him through the cheers of the crowd.

"Lils-"

"Come on over you two!" The host interrupted him, and James sighed as he pulled back to lead them over to the judging, keeping her flush against him.

They scored first, and while Lily was ecstatic, a part of her wondered what James had meant to say before they had been interrupted. But as the night wore on, she never found out. There wasn't a quiet moment for the rest of the night, and especially not when they won the trophy.

Lily had felt like the air was sucked out of her when they announced she and James had won. And then she thought she might faint when James pulled her into him for how tightly he held her. It seemed like whatever spark she might have felt when they finished their final dance ended with the dance as well. She went home feeling a little empty after it all.

"Where are you going to put it?" Mary was holding the trophy in Lily's office as Lily tried to catch up on some of the things she had missed in the three months she'd spent competing.

"I don't know," Lily laughed at the mammoth thing. She'd spent that morning doing interviews with James and was only now making it into her lab after lunch. The interviews had been weird, not because she and James were the winners, but because James had been almost shy around her. He managed to turn it off for the cameras, but he seemed much less confident and sure of himself when it was just the two of them.

"I wonder where James is going to put his," Mary tried to carefully set Lily's trophy down on her desk. "Why did you bring yours here?"

"I was asked to have it with me for the interview." Lily frowned at one of the emails and flagged it so she could come back to it.

"What if you kept it here?" Mary teased her.

"Very funny," Lily laughed, "don't you have work to do?"

"Actually, now that you've brought in all this research money, I do." Mary blew her a kiss before sliding out the door.

Lily sighed as she looked at the trophy now on her desk. She picked it up and set it in a drawer in her desk and flinched at the clanging noise it made. The interviews had been weird, but it had also been hard. It had been hard to see James and not touch him. It had been hard to see James and not fall into the rhythm that they'd set for themselves during the competition. But it was for the best. She needed to get these feelings out of her system; they may have been why she was able to win the competition with him, but now she had to stop; those feelings were not reciprocated, but they were also wildly inappropriate.

At least she had her research to throw herself into. She could hide in her research until her heart put itself back together.

"So, this is where you save the planet?"

Lily looked up to see James leaning against her door frame.

"Hi!" She jumped up with a smile but then paused, not sure what to do next. "Um, yeah, I, this is my office."

James shoved his hand in his hair. "Hope it's alright I looked you up."

"Of course, I," Lily struggled to think of what to do or what to say. Her office suddenly felt fifty yards across. "What's up?"

James gripped his hair. "I know this could be out of line, and you can totally throw me out, but um, would you want to grab dinner with me sometime?"

Lily could feel her heartbeat in her ears. "Like, like a date?"

James looked at her with that same stare he'd used when they were performing, the one that had made Lily wish he wasn't acting because it looked like he wanted her. "Yeah, a date."

Lily felt her smile break wide across her face. "I'd really like to get dinner with you."

James' whole face lit up like the stage lights when their dances would start, "Tonight? Can I pick you up here at 5?"

"Yeah," Lily laughed, feeling like all the awkwardness from that morning was fading away.

"Great," James pushed off the door frame, "I'll see you in four hours."

Lily watched him walk away and it felt like he pulled the air out of her with it.

That was it? She had been so wrapped up in crossing a line, in doing something wrong, that she had never let herself even consider what life with James might look like. But she knew James, and she knew that he was anything but status quo; he was nothing like the stagnant air that surrounded her. James took risks.

And he once told her she could too.

Lily bolted from her office.

"James!" She watched him turn the corner at the end of the hall and went running after him. "James!"

Lily nearly fell as she rounded the corner, but James jumped for her, his arm keeping her from hitting the floor.

"Alright there, Evans?" James looked down at her with apprehension.

"Yeah, just," Lily swallowed, "um, I." Lily summoned all her courage and stepped up to him, pushing forward to lightly press her lips to his. James stiffened and Lily immediately pulled away. "Ok, I, um, I'll see you in a few hours."

She moved to step back but James grabbed her arm and pulled her back into him, his arms wrapped around her back, his hands pressing against her spine and holding her close to his chest. His lips captured hers and Lily sighed as she fisted her hands in his t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks," James rested his forehead against hers and smiled down at her.

"Me too," Lily laughed as she smiled back up at him. "And now I'm not going to get anything done today."

"Want to take off? Start our date early?" James moved closer to speak against her lips.

A part of Lily within her brain immediately responded with no, that she had work to do. But the part that had James' lips ghosting over hers overruled all objections. After all, she could take risks.

"I need to grab my purse," Lily pressed forward to kiss him again.

James moved his hand to take hers and then began dancing them down the hall to her office.

"Let's get out of here."

Lily laughed and once they'd made it to her office, she shut down her computer before grabbing her purse. She took James' proffered hand and leaned over to kiss him.

"Lily, did you get…" Mary trailed off. Her shocked face quickly turned to an excited smile as Lily pulled her lips from James'. "Never mind, never mind, I saw nothing, my lips are sealed, and I want a ticket for next season as my Christmas present this year!" She gave an excited squeal and then retreated out of Lily's office.

"Think you can get her a ticket?" Lily laughed up at James.

"Probably," he shrugged, "but I'll look into that later." He kissed her. "Now, I want to find a place to be with you that doesn't involve anything to do with either of our jobs."

"That's an idea I can get behind." Lily kissed him before letting James lead her out of her office and on to their date.

#Choreograph #jily #james x lily #james potter x lily evans #dancing with the stars au #dancing with the stars #American au #muggle au #james potter #lily evans #marauders au #marauders #marauders muggle au #fluff #romance #fluffy

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etherealino · 5 years ago

Text

mixtape: on track – scb

synopsis: “i can’t let you go, how can i ever let you go?”

genre: idolverse!au, post breakup!au, radio dj!reader, angst, fluff uwu

warning(s): one curse word. changbin went ooc, oops.

word count: 3423

a/n: i had this plot since forever and when mixtape: on track was released, i realized it fit changbin so well. djbdjsdj,,,,,, hope this doesn’t suck :]

“First song of tonight, my people, Song Request by Lee So Ra, featuring BTS’ Suga. Just send in your requests, problems or if you just wanna say hi, just mention me, @/sleeplessy/n.” You said through the microphone and you lowered the volume of the microphone, muting it as the song played through the whole station—in every radio, that is.

Every night, all you did was talk about everything that comes into your mind—you’re good at it, actually. Plus, to everyone seeking advice comes to you, one of the reasons why you can’t lose topics to talk about. That was your job. From 11 pm to 3 am, for four hours that’s what you do.

This was your job ever since you broke up with your boyfriend of 2 years. Your boyfriend was none other than Seo Changbin of Stray Kids. You two were so happy, you were sure of it. Changbin was making you happy, you were making him happy. You knew you two were drifting apart when fights became a sudden routine every night, shouting until voices get hoarse. Then just this one night, Changbin came home, he picked a fight with you probably due to how stressed he is and he took it out on you. You two were on each other’s throats once more, when suddenly you shouted, “You know what? Let’s just break up. It’s best for the both of us.” You know you should’ve took it back when you saw Changbin’s expression fall, but then he glared at you again, but you still saw the tears pooling in his eyes, even though he shouted back, “Fine! I’ll pick my stuff up tomorrow.” Then, just like that, he left.

And ever since then, you can’t sleep properly. So you thought, it would be nice to look for a job instead of stressing over on how to sleep. And here you are, Sleepless Night with Y/N from 11 pm to 3 am—you became everyone’s favorite DJ in just a snap of a finger, it’s crazy when you think about it. You always loved the idea of being a radio DJ, if you were being honest. It’s been two months since you and Changbin broke up, and ever since then, you never listened to Stray Kids anymore, knowing you would just end up going to YouTube and binge his videos and fancams all day long—then cry.

You heard that Stray Kids have been having soft concepts lately, different from their usual concepts, and sometimes—a lot of times—Stray Kids’ songs were everyone’s requests, but you pretended not to see. Stray Kids would always have a guesting in your station, and you knowing the schedule would not go to the time allotted for them to avoid seeing Changbin. It’s been two months, but you were still undeniably hung up on Changbin. Everyone could see right through you.

“Once again, people, that was Song Request by Lee So Ra, featuring BTS’ Suga. How have you guys been? Still can’t sleep according to your tweets.” You said as you let out a small chuckle. You scrolled through the computer in front of you, looking at the tweets that were sent in as you talked about nonsense. “Shout out to some users that says they want to be in a relationship asap. Take your time, my people, savor it while it lasts instead of rushing, hm?”

Truth be told, you were looking for a certain user. This user would always say hi, giving you an update on what happened in their day. It would always end with, “How was your day? :)”. They would always tweet something that cheers you up. They would just randomly tweet you heart memes, even at daytime. Weird enough, even though you followed this user, they never sent you a dm. There was this weird feeling at the pit of your stomach that wants you to send them a message, but you also didn’t want to. So, you let it be.

Weird enough, they never sent anything today. You frowned, going to their profile, refreshing the page but nothing. It’s crazy when you think about it, missing someone you never met at all. But there was just something about this user that gravitates you towards them.

You didn’t even notice at all until your phone silently went off, vibrating, serving as a signal that it was already 2:30 in the morning. You have 30 minutes to wrap up the show. You always have that alarm or else, you will get carried away and you don’t want to ruin the schedule. “Time check, it’s now 2:30 in the morning, my people, send in your problems and I will try my best to give you the best advice I can.” You announced. Your Twitter blew up and you scrolled and scrolled. You went back up, refreshing your notifications. And finally, your favorite user has sent you a tweet. But it was different from their usual tweets. “From user sleeplesscb,” you announced. It was honestly unusual, they never send in a problem to ask for an advice, so you were kind of worried for them. “Hi, DJ Y/N, I used to have a girlfriend, she really means a lot to me. It’s been awhile since we broke up but I can’t seem to let her go. I really wish I could turn back time to take everything back so we would still be together.” You read. You sighed, biting your lip. “Well, user, if you really do love her, let her know. If you’re lucky, she might feel the same way as you. Tell her how you feel, make her feel loved and do everything you think you should do before you regret it.”

What if this is Changbin and he wants to—

You pushed the thought away, shaking your head as you bit your lip. It couldn’t be Changbin—it’s impossible. Changbin’s too busy for stuff like this. More importantly, Changbin would never feel that way. You just have to accept that your once shared love with Changbin is just now one-sided.

“If you end up really doing what I just said and doesn’t end good, you can hunt me and shoot me down.” You chuckled as you refreshed the page once more and you saw that the user sent another tweet saying, “Can you play Mixtape: On Track by Stray Kids? Heard that the group’s rapper, Changbin wrote it and it’s how I feel.” You bit your lip. Are you ready? You inwardly sigh, giving yourself a nod. Just this once, for them. “Since it was your problem that I gave advice, I suppose I can grant your request.” You announced, searching the song to play it. You took a deep breath before announcing, “Here’s Mixtape: On Track by Stray Kids.”

Even a fool knows this, you’re the best thing I’ve got.

Just that line. That single line was enough to make tears pool in your eyes. Changbin’s voice went through the whole station and you muted the microphone again to prevent any noises to be heard—your sniffles, to be specific. You listened to the whole song. Just like what you expected, Stray Kids are still great—greater, even. But the fact that Changbin wrote this song made your heart flutter. He probably wrote it after your breakup, but you refused to listen. Funny how the universe just finds way to make you do what you’re supposed to, even if you’re against it. Did he actually write this for you or he just got an inspiration out of it? You don’t know, but it feels nice to hear the boys again—Changbin, especially.

You feel like jumping and throwing the things around you when Changbin’s part, “I can’t let you go.” came. You wanted to scream. You felt that. Changbin put so much emotion into this song, more tears streamed down your face and you sighed. Then it was followed by Felix repeating it. Then another line from Changbin, “How can I ever let you go?”

“Yeah, how could you?” You whispered as you aggressively wiping your cheeks as if you were actually talking to Changbin. By the last line, it was Changbin again, he changed the first line to “I know it because I’m a fool and can’t live without you.”

You really wished he really did write it for you. You wanted him back more than anything. How could you be so stupid to yell those words that led to your breakup?

When the song was finally done, you finally turned the microphone on. “And that’s it for today’s show everyone. I feel like I was a little bit boring today, it was tiring today after all. I promise to make it up to you tomorrow!” You said through the microphone and to your surprise you actually sound stable as if you weren’t a crying mess just before. “Time check, 2:55 in the morning, may you finally sleep in peace after a whole night of soft love songs. Tune in again tomorrow—or later tonight, rather for more advices, blabbering about whatnots, and songs to play for your situations as cheesy as that sounds. This is DJ Y/N, signing off, leaving you with Day6’s I Smile. Good night, everybody.”

And just as you said, she played Day6’s I Smile and queued more songs that are enough until the next program which would be at 8 am. You turned the microphone off, removing the headphones off your head as you neatly placed it to where it belongs. You went out of the studio room, the radio producer smiling at you. You closed the door behind as you went to pick your bag and coat. “I’ll see you tonight.” You said to her and she smiles.

“You did great today, just like always.” She said with a smile and you bowed, thanking her for the compliment. “Stay safe, take care driving.”

“Yes, stay safe, too.” You said as you waved bye to her. You exited the building of your radio station, going to the parking lot, ready to go home. You climbed in, starting the engine on as you decided to listen to the songs you’ve queued. The drive home was peaceful. City lights and soft music as you drive at the middle of the night; just your aesthetic, this was what you used to do with Changbin. Yes, Changbin was still at the back your head. You really wanted to know if it was for you. But other than that, you wanted to know how is he doing. Did he go through the same as you did? Was he better now? How is he? Did he find another person to finally replace you?

As you arrived home, a soft sigh escapes your lips. Why were you thinking about Changbin again? Oh, because that’s what you always think of every night. Can he sleep peacefully every night unlike you? Can he move around without thinking about you? Does he listen to your program every night?

Anyway, you got off your car with your coat and bag as you arrived in front of your house. Head down as you fiddled with your keys, walking up to your doorstep. You sigh. You were tired, but you were not sleepy. You have this tendency to be a bit clumsy when tired. So, as you were walking to your doorstep, you dropped your keys. You sigh loudly, bending down, sitting on the back of your legs to pick it up.

But someone has beat you to it.

You looked at the shoes in front of you, freezing. His scent finally filled your nostrils, his hand that was holding your keys out for you, the oversized black hoodie. You’d know those anywhere, everywhere. You bit your lip, looking up at the person to confirm if it really was him. And it was. You don’t need any confirmation to know it was him. Just his scent alone was enough to prove that it was him.

You shakily grabbed your keys, standing up as you look into his eyes.

Was it really him? Or did everything got into your head that it led you into imagining things?

He breathed out as if he was nervous, then he spoke, stuttering, “H-Hi.”

It really is him. It’s Changbin.

“What are you doing here?” You mumbled, not being able to properly process what’s happening. Why is he here? Is he here to get the shirt he forgot to take with him? Psh.

Changbin clears his throat, looking at the ground then up to you. “The DJ in the radio said, I..” Changbin trails off as he tries to find the right words. “I should tell you how I really feel about you, and.. I..” Changbin trails off once more, being really nervous as he avoids your eyes.

Woah, wait.

Your eyes widen as you look at Changbin. “That user was you?”

Changbin looks up, nodding as he says nothing. You bit your lip, but a soft chuckle escapes your lips. That’s why you keep on gravitating towards the user. Seriously, how does the universe does that? You looked at Changbin who was looking down as he breathed out, trying to find the courage to speak up to you.

“Fuck it.” Changbin whispers to himself then turns to look in your eyes. Then he started to speak, “Firstly, I’m sorry for taking all the stress out to you every night when we were still together. It was really shitty of me to do that. I’m sorry I wasted the chance you gave me. I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I’m sorry for failing your expectations on me. I’m sorry I never became the man who you wanted. I’m just.. sorry for being shitty at showing you how much you mean to me. You should have someone who would love you the way the universe wants you to be loved—the way you deserve.

“I’m in a very big risk right now—we are in a big risk right now. Anyone could be somewhere here, take pictures of us and expose us, but I don’t care. But if ever we get into trouble because of it, I will protect you even if I’m at risk. I just want to let you know what I’ve been hiding for the past two months. It was eating me up. I was just happy on making you smile through the memes I send, through the little messages I sent, but I craved for more, Y/N. I want you back.

“I was in love with you. We were happy but we suddenly drifted apart because of me and my stupid pride. I knew better than that, but still I picked a fight with you almost every night when all you did was try to calm my nerves. I shouldn’t have let it get that far for you to yell those words. Up until now, Y/N, I’m still in love with you. You’re always here. You’re a part of me, Y/N. Every minute of every hour, you’re all that I think about. It bothers me to think that what if you already found someone else. Every time you giggle through the radio because of my messages, I regret my actions of letting you go just like that even more. I love you, Y/N. I still do.”

Changbin finishes with nervousness swimming in his eyes as he looked at you, but you only blankly stared at him. He knows that look. You’re not interested anymore, he thinks, but he was so wrong. He’s the only thing you wanted, nothing else.

“Before anything else, I know you haven’t been listening to our songs, considering you never played any of our songs despite a lot has requested and it’s impossible for you not to see it. But what I’m trying to say is, the song I requested was written for you.” Changbin says as he nods as if he was approving into his words, thinking he said the right words. He looks at you, who still blankly looked at him. “You.. can hit me now.”

“I can’t believe it was you.” You mumbled as you looked down, then to your side—everywhere but Changbin. Changbin chuckles nervously.

“I thought you were going to find out since I put my initials at the end.” Changbin said. Right. The ‘scb’ in the end. You were a bit oblivious to things. Okay, you just didn’t want to get your hopes high.

“How’d you know I have a radio program every night?” You asked as you look at him.

Changbin shrugs, looking at the ground. “Stress was getting into me, so I went out to get a bit of fresh air. Drove into the city in the middle of the night, around 1 in the morning, just like we used to. I turned the radio on and then I Loved You by Day6 was playing. I decided to stay on that station for a bit because it was one of your favorites. And then, I heard your voice.” Changbin explains. He looks at you, biting his lower lip, then he softly adds. “You know I know your voice anywhere—everywhere.”

You lick your lips, looking at the side. You shake your head lightly as you feel tears pool in your eyes. “I hate you.” You mumbled, just as the tears have cascaded down your face. Changbin looks at you, lowering his head as if he was ashamed.

“I know.” Changbin mumbles back.

“I hate you for making me love you so much. Why is it so much easier to love you than hating you? Up until now, it still feels like the first day when we broke up.” You said, wiping your tears off. Changbin holds himself from reaching out to pull you in his arms.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Changbin apologizes and he looks into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you to forgive me, I really will.”

You cock your head to the side lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Anything?” You repeated, asking with emphasis. Changbin nods as he looks at the ground, not being able to say anything knowing where would this lead to. He can seriously imagine you saying ‘Never show up to me ever again.’ He was so scared, but if it would make you happy, he’ll do it.

“Stay with me.”

Changbin’s head snaps up, eyes looking into your tear-filled ones. Stay with you? Didn’t you hate him? “Objections? Hey, let me tell you, I got this job because I didn’t want to dwell into stressing myself because I can’t sleep. So I said, why make a job out of it. You know why I can’t sleep?” You said and Changbin shakes his head. “Because I can only properly sleep with you beside me. You owe me two months of peaceful sleep!” You pouted as you told Changbin these things. Changbin couldn’t help but chuckle, smiling at how you suddenly turned cute. “Stay with me, Changbin. Please.”

Changbin cautiously takes a step, and when you don’t take a step back, he takes this a sign that he can pull you in his arms for a hug. So, he did. Changbin wrap his arms around your shoulders as you wrap your own around his torso. You laugh lightly through your sniffles, finally feeling complete after two months. Changbin kisses your temple, keeping his lips there as you tighten your grip on him.

“Every night, if you want.” Changbin mumbles.

After two months, you finally slept properly and peacefully again. When you woke up, Changbin was already awake, playing with your hair with a wide smile on his face, giving you a kiss on your nose, forehead, cheeks and finally on your lips. You two were back and you were sure that you two are stronger this time. The universe really does have a funny way to make things right again. And as you are working, talking about the most random things, your eyes shift outside the studio where the waiting room is, you see Changbin watching you with a smile on his face. He gives you a wink, lightly raising his fist, mouthing, “Fighting! I love you.”

“A great person just told me that you deserve to be loved the way the universe wants you to be, so don’t rush into anything, the right person is just there.” You said through the microphone with a wide smile.

You mouthed back, “I love you, too.”

sksks when changbin sang that did you feel that? i cant relate and i felt that.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshot #stray kids drabbles #stray kids blurbs #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #changbin blurbs #changbin oneshot #changbin drabbles #changbin fluff #changbin angst #changbin x reader #rain's work

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marvellouslymadmim · 3 years ago

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Hey! Aspiring fanfic writer here; I was wondering if you could talk a bit about your writing/editing process and how long it all takes.

Thanks!

Welp, roughly the same extremely long amount of time it takes to actually answer an ask, tbh 🙃

So...I only know how my brain works, and I can only tell you what works for me might not work for you, and that's OK. I'm breaking into two separate bits, because I almost never do writing and editing at the same time.

And as far as a timeline, honestly it just depends. On life factors, what my hormones are doing at the time (jfc like the week before my period, I have zero creativity, motivation, or attention span), if I'm having trouble with a particular scene, if I'm getting consistent positive feedback (yes, I can totally admit that I write faster when I know a particular reviewer is following along with every update), etc.

WRITING:

First, you gotta just...be fixated, I guess. Particularly if it's an AU, I sit with it for a long time before I ever write a word. I go over scenes, think about how the world changes, what stays the same, what *has* to stay the same to keep the characters true to their canon personalities. I sit with the characters for a long time, too--not just the main characters, but the supporting cast, too. In order to predict someone's future, you have to know their past. Most of our present actions are actually reactions to past events, when you think about it. The better you know your version of the character, the easier every other aspect of writing will be. I don't know how it is for other people, but I don't ever "feel" like I'm writing. I feel like I'm "witnessing", and the characters are simply doing whatever they wish. (***this is gonna be a thing during the editing process, too, so hang on to that)

Then once I have a general idea, I choose a title. Generally, I do not even start a word document until I have a proper title to put on it. The title is part of the theme and aesthetic to me, and it grounds me in the overall arc.

Once that's done, it's time for outlining. I generally wait until I feel this weird almost tingling in my left arm (weirder still bc I'm right handed) and I'm practically vibrating with a need to WRITE THIS STORY NOW. Then I put on some Bear McCreary (honestly, any videogame soundtrack will do, as they are literally designed to help you maintain focus and keep pace) and fucking go to town. For me, it helps to do this with pen and paper, so that I can go back up and squiggle little notes in the margin, rearrange the order, etc, far faster than I could on a computer.

Important note: the outline is not the end-all be-all. Some things don't make it to the final print. Some minor storylines get tossed or characters simply...take a different path than I expect. I will continue re-writing and updating the outline as I go along. On average, I usually have 5-8 outlines per story, and they're often 3-10 pages long. I also have a posted outline, which is a log of all the scenes that did make it to the final product.

Then, it's the actual writing, at long last. I have found that I write best at the start of my day, before the noise and static of daily life comes in. So I wake up around 5am and spend 90minutes writing before beginning my workday routine. I have the Word app on my phone and may continue adding bits in throughout the day at work, if I get a moment. However, after 5pm my brain is usually fried and no more creativity happens. On weekends, I try to have one morning where I "sleep in" til 6am, and then write until at least 10am, sometimes 2pm, if I can get away with it.

The hardest part still is knowing when to transition and when to skip to the next chapter/scene/whatever. This is like...zero percent helpful, but I liken it to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it." It may seem like a scene is circling, and sometimes it means you gotta leave the room a bit earlier bc the scene has already served its purpose. Other times, it means ya gotta stay with it a bit longer, because there's something the character is trying to say. Give them patience, and give yourself patience, too. Explore the scene and its dynamics. You won't know til you know and even then, sometimes you won't be entirely sure. That's ok, too. Part of the process. Remember editing will happen and you can decide then (hell, you can literally re-edit after it's been published, I've done that before too and added a note on the next chapter for any readers who might have read the first version 🤷🏻‍♀️ not ideal but still functional).

EDITING:

I do simple edits (spelling, grammar, etc) just about every morning as I reread what I wrote the day before, which is a refresher course for the day's writing session. But big "real" editing generally doesn't happen until right before posting.

Now, here's the ***issue from writing: sometimes, something just "doesn't work" in a scene. Again, you'll know it when you see it. The words a character is saying feels clunky. The pacing feels off. Something just...ain't right. More often than not, it means either I haven't truly sat with a character long enough to know their true motivations/backstory, or I am not giving characters the proper time/space/impediment to make the actions or say the things they're currently making/saying. I'm trying to force the flow, rather than letting it ebb and breathe when it needs to.

Absolute ProTip: You spent HOURS writing this scene. It's got some REALLY GOOD moments and lines in it. It doesn't work but you can't just delete it. It's your LIFE. I struggle with this A LOT, and I have found a solution: create a second "outtakes" document to cut and paste those scenes into. Sometimes I still keep moments or bits of dialog. Sometimes I later use bits in a later scene. Sometimes I never look at it again but I still feel secure in knowing that if I wanted to go back and use the original scene instead, I totally can. I don't think I've actually ever gone back to the original, tbh, but it reduced my anxiety about deleting the scene and starting over.

So back to the scene that doesn't work. I take it apart, figure out *at what exact point* it stops working, then work back up a few lines to see where the shift actually begins. More often than not, it's because I'm having characters express their feelings in ways they actually wouldn't. (people very very very rarely actually say what they're thinking/feeling, and you have to relay it in other ways). So I have to keep the internal monologue of what they're actually feeling/thinking, while figuring out how that actually translates via tone, body language, and what they do and don't say.

The "something ain't working stage" can take LITERAL WEEKS. I sometimes have to walk away for awhile, or tackle it only on days when I know I have hours upon hours to truly work on it. I keep circling back around, and eventually, the knot works itself out. Persistence, and insistence that "good enough" isn't actually good enough, are key. (this is why you have to fixated on the story you want to tell--because some days, it's going to take every ounce of that obsession to keep you going and keep you on the track of telling the story you wanted to tell, rather than settling or switching to an easier tack)

Sometimes, editing is a breeze. I don't change much, I may go a little more into the character's inner world here or there. Once you've been doing this for awhile, you'll just know when a story hits all its marks--and you'll also know when it's not, when it could be more or do more, and you can figure out how to get it there. There isn't a precise formula for it, it's more like cooking without an actual recipe to follow--a dash here, a bit there, you'll know it when you taste it.

And I'll leave you with this unsolicited bit: just write. Write often, write about everything, write what makes YOU passionate and happy, and absolutely write for yourself. Edit the fuck out of it, if you need to. Get a beta reader, if you need to. Get someone to just bounce ideas off, if you need to. And don't post it until you're truly ready and it's something you genuinely want to share. If someone gives constructive criticism, take in on the chin and move on (keep the notes, if you think they're valid, and toss em if you don't--you'll never be everyone's style of writer, so know that sometimes, people just won't be the target audience). Know that you'll grow and you'll learn and you'll find your own voice and like any skill, you'll develop a second nature about it--all those parts where I say "you'll know it when you see it" or "you'll feel it" absolutely come from spending a literal lifetime (28 years) writing stories, and thirteen years of writing fanfic in particular. It's ok if you don't see it or feel it right away. It takes practice. And you will have an audience at every skill level, no matter what (finding that audience? different story altogether...).

All totaled, this process can take anywhere from 3months to over a year. Stories are like children, I've found: they each develop at their own pace, and some may need more time and assistance than others. But they're still pretty wonderful. (except the bratty stories. they're the worst 🙄)

#thanks anon!#asks #writing asks #writing reference #i guess?#i hope it helps!!#fic writing

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saeysooo · 5 years ago

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♚ julian devorak x reader {call boy} ||

♡ Chapter One: The Occurrence ♡ story tw: nsfw, prostitution ♡ rich female reader ; modern au ♡ link to prologue here!

“Asra you didn’t have to do this,” The call boy teased at his sleeves, bluish-grey eyes staring down at the tips of his black-laced, leather-clad feet. Images passed by, lights bright amongst the vast city of Vesuvia. To him, Vesuvia was always better when the sun went down.

“I’m a grown man. I’m more than capable enough to handle myself.”

But the derisive snort that came from the receptionist’s lips were enough to bring a sneer upon Julian’s face, nose curling discontentedly. Of course Asra still sought to found a way to subtly insult him. Why wouldn’t Asra be mocking him at this time?

But was that so uncommon? No.

The two have know one another for years, and Asra knew the call boy like the back of their hand.

“Stop whining already. This is your first call where new clientele requested you by name! When does that ever happen?” The fluffy haired receptionist teased, hands gripping the steering wheel rather tightly, “And I, uh, looked up her name... Did you know she’s the leading entrepreneur for Vesuvia Enterprise? She’s probably loaded! You hit the jackpot, Ilya!”

And as much as Julian wanted to convince himself that Asra was just over-exaggerating, it wasn’t a lie; Asra never lied when it came to information on new clients. They pointed out how it was mainly for assurance of workers safety with callers; to assure their staff would make it back to the building the next day.

“I looked at her request form. It seemed like she didn’t want you to do any planning for tonight. All she wrote was that she had it all covered.” The lump in the back of Julian’s throat grew, knowing too well as to why the businesswoman would say such a thing...

—♔—

“H-Hello..?” The auburn-locked man spoke hesitantly into the phone, hands trembling with trepidation. His breath caught in the back of his throat, her voice smooth and daunting with the clever agrestal of wild verdure.

“So~ You’re Julian Devorak?” Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Julian was never this nervous with a caller like this. Hell, he’d never even spoken with a caller before a meeting! Asra was the one who did all the talking and intel verifications before a request form was issued.

But she was insistent to send a message to him personally, promising to the receptionist that it would just be a moment.

And by gods did she sound attractive to Julian, her tonality alone daring the mere call boy to speak: “...Yes-” “Hm. Sounds like a bottom’s name.”

His eyes widened, choking on a way for words. Did he hear her correctly? Why did he feel like his face was on fire? And why was Asra looking at him like that? Questions stormed the back of Julian Devorak’s mind, wandering for a response.

Finding the courage to speak again though was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me... Listen Julian Devorak, I am... A very busy woman; I don’t have the time for pointless babble, so let’s cut to the chase why don’t we?” He couldn’t help but listen in, rather insulted with the amount of times she had spoken over him. Nonetheless, Julian’s intrigue got the best of him, sighing in defeat. It seemed like that’s all she wanted to hear, practically feeling her smirk on his ear through the end of the line.

“Tonight, 10 pm. My house. I’ve sent your outfit to your facility. All arrangements are to be my doing; Just bring your cute face in fancy clothes, why don’t you?”

—♔—

“Julian, you know... If something happens you can still call me. I know things are still messy but-” Julian sharply inhaled, “You’re really bringing this up now? Asra. I’m fine, see? I’m wearing these ridiculous clothes and I’m going to be back home to tuck Portia into bed. Everything’s fine! Tonight’s job is no different than any other one I have done. Got it?”

The silence was penetrating, rancid amongst the space between the two individuals. It seemed like Asra accepted their fate, allowing Julian to bare the weight on his back alone... Like he always has. The red head was the first to break the silence, melancholy laced in his shaky voice. He was nervous to say the least.

“I’ll see you tomorrow... Okay?” And ever so hesitantly, Julian popped open the car door, standing before the building. The farther he seemingly looked up, the more he felt as if the building never ended; Extending upwards to touch the sky with it’s great expanse. Lights illuminated, speckled amongst for him to decipher who were night owls and who weren’t. Before his fingers could touch the door handle, The bellwoman beat him to it, offering a smile the mousy man’s way.

Each and every heavy footstep he took, he managed to venture forth, shoes clacking against the white marble grounds he stood upon, his hand brushing against the receptionists desk, pulling away hesitantly. For a moment, Julian was tempted to tap onto the desk and reach the man’s attention himself.

But when he peaked up from the computer, pushing his glasses down to get a look of the call boy, Julian froze. “Are you new? What’s your name?”

“Oh, right! Uh- Julian Devorak?” The receptionist didn’t even have to look back to his screen to knowingly point a finger to the right.

Julian furrowed his brows, hesitantly stepping away to go towards where the rather rude receptionist was pointing, seeing a guard raise a hand to him. Breaking the first barrier was more intimidating than the red head thought it would be, though somehow he kept his composure upright.

He was escorted by two security women through the hallway, leading him to a rather pristine elevator square. Iron gates were pulled open by a liftwoman, revealing it to be an old-fashioned escalator. It was her turn to raise a gloved hand, motioning for him to come towards her. Julian sheepishly entered, standing rather distant, idle even beside her. Ding...

“I presume you’re Julian Devorak?” The lady spoke, a small chuckle resonating through the enclosed space. He shifted, sending a nod her way.

“I am... How do you know who I am?” Ding...

“Well, all of the staff here knows of you. Ms. L/N was rather insistent on making you feel welcomed here... I take it the staff wasn’t that sort?” He nodded once more, “They aren’t the brightest. Don’t take it so hard, believe me... I’m Sae; Been operating the elevators for Ms. L/N since I could remember.”

She took ahold of his hand, giving it a rather hardy shake. Julian stumbling forward from the force of her pull, while retracting his hand back into his opposing one the moment she let go. Her hands rested upon her hips, turning to face forward once again.

“Oh, I see. Well, this may not be the most appropriate thing to ask, but perhaps you would have an answer? Uh... Do you have any advice?” the rotund woman laughed, raising an eyebrow to the lanky and awkward man, “It’s not my place to say anything of Ms. L/N... Between you and me, we shouldn’t even be talking to one another right now.” Ding...

The escalator rode to the topmost floor, the same white marble touching his visage once more. Ivory pillars amazed him and Italianate designs astounded him, butlers pulling the familiar iron doors open for him, revealing the pinnacle of the entrepreneur’s success within her penthouse.

It was almost surreal to Julian, to an extent where he ended up looking back past his shoulder:

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, Mr. Devorak. Best wishes to you.” Ding...

#julian devorak #julian devorak x reader #x reader #julian arcana #the arcana #arcana x reader #the arcana game #tw #julian arcana x reader #female reader #julian devorak x reader smut #arcana smut #the arcana smut #julian devorak smut #x female reader

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas ninwrites!

For @ninwrites. I was so thrilled to get you for Secret Santa this year as your Malec fics are some of the very first that I ever read when I fell into Shadowhunters way back in 2016. You gave me so many great prompts this year that I really struggled deciding what to write, especially because I know we share so many common interests! Part of me wanted to write a sweeping sci-fi, and another part of me wanted to write a clever procedural, and then I know how much you love superheroes and I also love superheroes, so that could've easily happened ...

But in the end, I decided to strip everything down and write a story about second chances. About seemingly unrequited yearning and human connection and liminal spaces and time unravelling backwards and friends-to-almost lovers-to-strangers until serendipity intervenes. Of course, I went drastically over the word limit but this happens every year so I am no longer surprised.

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this little microcosm of a story!

Tags: malec | rated: t | extended oneshot | human AU, roadtrip, friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, surrealism

Read on AO3

*****

saudade in the key of highways

saudade

/saʊˈdɑːdə/

noun

(especially with reference to songs or poetry) a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. It is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, and well-being, which now trigger the senses and make one experience the pain of separation from those joyous sensations. However it acknowledges that to long for the past would detract from the excitement you feel towards the future.

"as we fall / into the common, suspended disbelief of love, you ask / will I still be / here tomorrow, next week, tonight you ask am I really here."

— Olga Broumas, Beginning with O; “Bitterness”

first chord

There is rhythm to this loneliness.1

The endless darkness. Passing headlights; the hum of the engine; the splutter of the heater fighting against the cold that claws and scratches at the windshield. The highway, deserted, is like a strange and eerie dream that travels on and on and never ends.

The rental car: new. Nondescript in its newness. Two hands on the wheel; the faded hum of the radio, a soft accompaniment to the bright beam of the headlights. The car has a cassette player, but no cassettes. It never has any cassettes.

There’s a gas station like a beacon in the distance: a faint glow of sodium yellow that slinks along the horizon but never draws closer, spilling light like fuel out across the open fields.

Alec prefers driving at night. There is never any need to ask for directions because he never passes anyone he could ask for directions; he might be the only car he’s seen in fifty miles.

The radio crackles, then laughs, ‘ we know it’s only November but nothing gets us in the mood for Christmas like -’

Almost immediately, the signal drops, but the interluding white noise is familiar too. It fills the silence with unimportance, an invisible presence in the passenger seat who doesn’t require conversation or stops to stretch their legs, but is company enough for long drives across the country.

Moments on the road are filled like this: a hundred similar soundtracks for a hundred indistinct highways, their miles wearing down the tread on Alec’s tires and the lines of Alec’s palms, where he grips the steering wheel for hours without a break, in much the same way.

‘So if you’re listening at home, or you’re stuck on a late-night shift, or if you’re driving cross-country and need a pick-me-up, give us a ring and tell us about your favourite ever Christmas song!’ says the radio. ‘But to get us started, we have Marnie from Portland on line one -’

Alec punches the buttons on the radio until he finds a classic rock station. He taps the steering wheel, not to the beat of the song, but to dispel some of the restless energy that tingles in his fingertips.

A sign on the roadside passes him by at high speed; it tells him that he’s a hundred miles from nowhere in particular - but at the last intersection, a similar sign told him he was a hundred-and-one, and now he’s acutely aware of creeping ever closer to his destination.

It’s a destination he’s not sure he wants to reach. A destination he calls home.

There is rhythm to this loneliness . Alec is used to it: the anxious churning of his stomach, the longing for the road to continue beyond its end; the endless, perpetual, and pointless journey of back-and-forths.

One: drive across the width of the country. Indiana, Iowa, Nebraska, Oregon, again and again. A country of ochre-yellow wheat; plains and flatlands; tractors abandoned on the roadside.

Two: report to the local field office, where he’s given a desk too small for his long legs and a computer he doesn’t have a password to. Talk to the county sheriff who snaps at him, ‘ the FBI has no business out here, we can handle this on our own ,’ and then to the man who refuses to open his door wide enough for Alec to get a good look at his face, but whose eyes skip over Alec’s badge and land on the gun on his hip and he thinks the same thing as the sheriff.

Three: avert his eyes from the body lying on the steel table in the morgue. Pretend that federal intervention was warranted, even though he knows this case is another crime of opportunity and the sheriff was right. The sheriff is always right. ‘ Waste of the FBI’s time, if you ask me. ’

Four: write up another field report that uses all the same words as the one before. Mail it back to Washington. Hopefully it will reach the Assistant Director before he does.

Then, five, begin the drive home.

Rinse. Repeat. Repeat again. Avoid his mother’s calls when he stops for the night at an interstate motel. Make excuses not to see his father when he’s in town. Pretend like he’s not bothered missing out on another promotion, because that would mean moving to a desk job and he likes being out in the field.

He likes driving. This is the mantra he repeats in his head rather than listening to the song on the radio.

There is rhythm to this loneliness .

The car’s engine rumbles on an empty stomach and Alec glances down at the fuel meter, ticking ever closer to the red with each passing and uncountable mile. The gas station in the distance begins to draw closer, finally allowing Alec to catch up, as its cluster of lights shift and reform into the familiar shape of civilisation.

Alec’s turn signal lights up the immediate stretch of highway with flashing orange and a click-click-click sound in the front seat of the car. There’s no-one behind him and no-one ahead of him, but he slows almost to a stop as he eases the car off the road and onto the crunch of hard-packed sand.

A single streetlamp overlooks the highway, casting a pool of unsettled yellow-white light across a phone booth that stands slanted upon the roadside. The gas station lingers a little further back: a small, stout building with a flat roof and a pile of browning-Christmas trees propped up out front. Its two gas pumps advertise diesel at a discounted price, but one of them appears to be out of order.

Beside the gas station, there is a diner; it’s old and clapped-out and almost empty at this time of night, but the bright light beaming through its windows in all directions is painful to look at. The movement of people inside is like a scene playing out in an old movie, stuck on repeat over and over again, the tape unable to skip forward. A repeated moment, and one which Alec has played his part in too many times to count.

Again, his stomach rumbles loudly and he guides the car to a stop before pulling up the handbrake.

He’s alone at the pumps. As he steps out of the car, the silence greets him; the wind falls and the road is swallowed up behind him by an encroaching night, compressing the universe into a single point. A single flicker in time.

Alec retrieves his service weapon from the glove box and clips it onto his belt, pats his chest for his badge tucked into his breast pocket, before drawing his overcoat tight around him. He won’t linger out here, not when it feels like something just out of sight is holding its breath and shifting in and out of bounds; he’s far too afraid of falling back into the passage of time.

Instead, he turns towards the diner; the bell above the door jingles the same as it always does. The TV in the corner is on mute but hums with static. The sound of plates clattering in the kitchen is enough to drown out his shoes on the chequered floor as the waitress looks up at him but doesn’t say hello.

Corner booths are best placed for people-watching and people-hiding and Alec, in his non-descript suit that matches his non-descript car, sinks onto the squeaky red-leather bench without being seen at all. He sighs heavily, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder that has been bothering him for the last fifty miles.

There are scuffs on the leather and old coffee stains on the table, but he fishes his keys, wallet, and badge out of his pocket and tosses them on top of the menu; he already knows what he’s going to order and there’s no need to look. He’s been craving something greasy since he left Portland this morning, fuelled only by a cup of filter coffee from the machine in the motel lobby.

Alec grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, a soft groan catching in his throat. In the same moment, the lights overhead seem to flicker, although not for long. Must be a short circuit. The waitress rubbing down the bar doesn’t look up, focused too intently on a coffee-ring stain that isn’t really there.

Diners late at night are strange places. Liminal places. Places of beginnings and endings and threshold moments and tangled journeys, forever caught in that feeling of arriving or departing - but the longer one lingers, the more reality begins to distort.

Alec is not alone in the diner, but the diner is alone in the night that laps and recedes against the windows that look out over the parking lot. Beyond, the gas station hums with a familiar argon sound, bright and electric and not-quite-right in the dark and, behind that, the edge of the highway outlines this displaced moment.

There is nothing else. Alec’s eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, and for all he knows of the endless fields of wheat that stretch out to the horizon, he cannot see them. The bell above the door chimes again and a young couple slips into the diner, their arms slung low around each other’s waists, giggling as they take up two stools against the bar. Three seats down from them, an old man in a trucker hat and a Chicago Bulls’ jersey is frowning at the TV above his head, trying to lip-read the late-night news anchor because there are no subtitles. In the far corner of the diner, a group of teenagers are tossing fries at each other and one of them makes a milkshake bullseye.

Alec doesn’t know why these people are here, in the middle of a late-night nowhere. He can’t remember the name of the last town he passed through, but it wasn’t more than a handful of houses and a couple of telephone poles kept upright by plywood and nails.

He glances back out at the parking lot, but his rental is the only car there. Strange.

Strange, but not unexpected. He has learned not to question it, these fragments of unaligned reality, because soon enough he’ll be on his way again, a burger in his belly and bacon grease smeared across the corner of his mouth, and this diner will cease to exist as soon as he’s out of sight and over the ridge of the highway.

Perhaps it will appear again somewhere else. Perhaps he will come across this place again, another mile or two down the road, inhabited by a different group of late-night travellers who will watch him from the corners of their eyes but not say a word, because a lone man in a cheap suit is no more out of place here than they are at two in the morning.

The waitress brings over his burger and a side of fries, setting a mug down in front of him and filling it up with coffee from her pot. Alec nods at her in thanks and she blows a bubble of gum that pops across her mouth and sticks to her teeth, before she retreats behind the register and starts again on that stain.

Alec doesn’t waste any time tucking a napkin into his shirt collar. His tie is cheap and he doesn’t really care if he ruins it; there’s a spare in the bag in the trunk of his car anyway. He takes a large swig of coffee, and then a bite out of his burger, and ketchup and burger juice leak out through his fingers, splattering on the paper wrapper that covers his plate.

It tastes the same as it always does. His stomach growls loudly as he takes another bite and ketchup drips down his thumb.

Movement through the window catches his eye. He looks up and there, on the very edge of the light emanating from the gas station, is a man in the phonebooth next to the road. His back is to Alec but he’s gesturing wildly as he talks into the receiver, and the wind, now returned, billows through his long woollen coat.

A slice of tomato falls out of Alec’s burger with a distinct plop . He’s not sure why the man draws his attention, but Alec has long since learned to trust his gut - it’s an invaluable skill to have in the Bureau , his father would say. It will get you places. It will make people see you as someone they can trust to watch their back. You can’t buy that sort of loyalty, Alec.

The man is tall. He has dark hair and long legs and he grips the edge of the phonebooth with his free hand. He seems to be having a very intense conversation, unlike the hum of background noise that surrounds Alec now.

The man is an anomaly. He is not someone Alec has seen at a diner before - not a truant teenager or a trucker or a pair of lovers on a late-night tryst - and he doesn’t fit the narrative.

Alec wolfs down the rest of his burger, barely pausing for breath, and washes it down with a swig of coffee that burns slightly too hot. He leaves his fries untouched and throws down a twenty dollar bill, stuffing his badge and wallet into his pockets as he makes for the door.

The bell jingles a third time. Alec wipes the back of his hand across his mouth as he steps out into the cold, no doubt smearing ketchup across his chin. He knows his suit is creased and his shirt is rumpled from the drive, his hair upswept by the sudden gust of wind that threatens to knock him off his feet, and he can almost hear Jace laughing in his ear, alright, G-Man?

Alec passes by his car and heads straight for the phonebooth, but the closer he gets, the more he can hear of the man’s one-sided conversation.

“And there’s no way you can get a guy out here tonight?” the man is saying. “I can pay extra for the trouble. Uh-huh. Yes. Yes, it’s pretty urgent.”

Alec draws to a stop when the length of his shadow steps upon the backs of the man’s shoes. He shoves his hands into his pockets so as to appear as unthreatening as possible when the man inevitably turns around, but -

“I don’t see how a service can advertise itself as 24-hour and then not be available in an emergency,” the man says into the phone. He sounds stressed; there’s something about the cadence of his voice that rumbles through Alec’s chest and draws the hair on the back of his neck up on end. Something decades-old familiar. “The least you can do is give me the number for another rental service. A cab company. Something. Anything .”

The man turns away from the phonebooth, catching sight of Alec from the corner of his eye and holding up a finger as if to say hold on a minute , but he stops, whatever words on his tongue extinguished into roadside dust.

Alec’s eyes widen. He knows this man.

Fuck. He more than knows this man. He remembers the first time they met, the firm confidence of his handshake, the bright colours of his shirt, the way Alec thought, at the time, this man is going to change you .

It’s Magnus. Magnus Bane.

Alec never expected to see Magnus again. Not since -

Well, not since then .

“Magnus,” says Alec, like an exhale. And God , his mouth has not formed that name in years; he’s heard it, sometimes, inside his memories, but never beyond. “What are you -”

Magnus stares at him in disbelief, and Alec can hear the man on the other end of the phone line asking hey, are you still there? Hello? where Magnus holds the receiver away from his ear.

Something doesn’t make sense here, but Alec can’t put his finger on it. Not once has he met someone at a diner who he recognises. They’re all meant to be faceless people; people he could meet again a hundred times and still not recognise.

But Alec would recognise Magnus Bane with his eyes closed. It’s been years, and yet the feeling that floods his chest now, is -

An ache.

“Yes, sorry,” Magnus says suddenly, half-turning back to this phone call. His disbelief becomes a scowl. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call them myself. Thank you. Okay. Goodnight.”

The man on the other end of the line hangs up first and the dial tone echoes in the night for a moment, and then another, and then another.

Alec swallows thickly. He draws his hands out of his pockets and folds them behind his back, clenching his fingers in a tight grip where they can’t be seen.

Carefully, Magnus sets the phone down inside the phonebooth, and turns back to Alec, and then - he smiles.

“Alexander Lightwood,” he says, with a shake of his head. His smile grows broad, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “God, what are the chances? Any other night, and I’d think this was a figment of my imagination, but with the way today’s been going, I-” He stops himself and takes a half-step forward. “I haven’t seen you since -”

“Since before Quantico,” Alec interrupts. He knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. “Ten years. Yeah.”

Ten years, three months, and twenty one days. Alec has been counting. If he looked down at his watch, he would know the amount of time that has passed to the minute, to the second, in fact, but he’s not about to admit to that.

He never expected to see Magnus again, and yet -

He hoped.

“Ten years, really?” Magnus remarks, folding his arms across his chest. Alec follows the movement with his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it must be. 1985, wasn’t it? Christ, that makes me feel old.”

He looks Alec up and down, focusing on Alec’s dust-scuffed shoes, and then on the gun that sits snug on his hip. The corner of his mouth lifts, and his smile becomes a little more genuine.

“I see it’s Special Agent Lightwood now, though. Congratulations.”

“Alec’s still fine,” Alec says quickly. “I mean - you can still call me Alec. That’s fine.”

“Alec,” says Magnus, sounding it out. He’s always held Alec’s name with a special sort of care, but now, he says it like he’s saying it for the very first time. “Alexander.”

Alec doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Magnus, at the space between them that is too large for strangers who have just met, and which belongs only to two people who once knew each other well.

Serendipity laughs at Alec now; it sounds like the dull hum of neon light in a desert. It sounds like a hundred unanswered phone calls stretching back years.

“Alec -?”

“Sorry, this is - this is weird, I’m being weird,” Alec blurts. “I didn’t, uh - I really didn’t expect to see you, especially - especially here . I mean-” He squeezes his fingers tightly behind his back to stop himself from talking with his hands. “What, uh, what are you doing out here? I thought you still lived in L.A.?”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Where to start?” he says softly, “I had some car trouble. The tire blew like a mile back and I swerved off the road and hit the fence. It won’t start now, which is something of a mild nuisance - because apparently we’re so deep in the ass-end of nowhere that I can’t get a mechanic to look at it until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest - but not as much of a nuisance as the meeting I will definitely miss if I’m stranded out here for the next God-forsaken twenty-four hours.”

Alec’s eyes flick to the highway, as if he might be able to see a mile into the distance and find the 1970 Dodge Challenger that Magnus had, far too many years ago and long-since sold for scrap, wrecked upon the roadside. It is, of course, too dark to see much of anything.

“I don’t even know if I’ll be able to call a cab out here,” Magnus continues, his mouth drawn down into a frown. “And I’m far too old to be hitch-hiking. The thrill of climbing into a potential serial killer’s car lost its appeal some decades ago.” With a brush of his fingers, he flicks away hair from his temple and huffs. “I suppose if I started walking now, I might reach Salt Lake by, I don’t know, Friday morning at best.”

Alec’s eyes snap back to Magnus. “You’re heading East?” he asks, far too eagerly. “Are you coming home?”

Something minute pinches in Magnus’ expression at that word. Home . Alec doesn’t miss it.

Magnus shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and he looks away, but there’s nothing there to pretend to be looking at. “No, not quite. If I had the time to drop by and see everyone, I would, but - I’m due in Baltimore in four days for a meeting with our investors.” He smiles wryly to himself. “And I thought it would be, oh, I don’t know, meditative or something equally asinine to make the drive across the country myself, rather than fly. See the sights. Enjoy being off-grid. Which, in hindsight, was very, very stupid.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Magnus shrugs. “Wait, I suppose. There’s not much else I can do. My cell phone is out of battery and I used up the last of my change on the payphone, so it looks like I’m stuck here until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Alec says awkwardly.

“Yeah,” agrees Magnus.

In the glow of the gas station, reality trembles, hollowing out the shadows on Magnus’ face and flickering across the back of Alec’s knuckles. The motion of coming and going calls Alec back to the road and he glances back at his rental car.

It makes sense to offer Magnus a lift. Alec is heading in that direction, and he has an empty passenger seat and a working heater in the car, and a Bureau credit card in his back pocket.

It makes sense, and yet, he still hesitates.

“Well,” Magnus announces, “I don’t want to keep you. I might as well see what sort of coffee this place has on offer if I’m to be stuck here until tomorrow. I don’t suppose I could interest you in a drink before you go -”

“I’m actually on my way back to D.C.,” Alec says, thumbing over his shoulder at the car. He wets his lower lip with his tongue. “Baltimore’s not that far of a detour, so I, uh. I could give you a lift. If you want.”

“If I want?” Magnus repeats.

Alec swallows and nods. “If you want.”

Magnus’ face softens and he smiles at Alec. “Well, I’m not going to say no, am I? Although I don’t think I’m going to get my deposit back on my car.”

He looks over Alec’s shoulder at the rental. His expression changes, and if Alec were a kind stranger offering a ride to a man in trouble in the middle of the night, perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

But they’re not strangers, and in Magnus’ eyes, there is something Alec can’t quite place. It seems a little wistful. A little sad.

He says, “I would like that very much, Agent Lightwood.”

interlude

It’s 1985 and a man stands on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as a car turns right at the end of the street and disappears. He waits, half-expecting it to come back, circling around the block and pulling up beside him, the window already rolled down, but it doesn’t.

Ten years pass, and it doesn’t, and the man has to live with it.

Empty spaces and hands on the steering wheel and loneliness and want . In the end, that’s what everything boils down to.

I want you to come back. I want to see you again. I wanted you to stay.

This is the rhythm Alec knows well, played out in the key of highways.

I want something I still don’t have a name for.

second chord

The soundtrack to night-driving is a composition of three things: the car heater as it puffs out warm air; the rental wheezing in the cold, coughing and spluttering with seasonal flu; and the deep stretch of silence.

Usually, Alec welcomes the silence.

In the passenger seat, Magnus shrugs out of his overcoat and tosses it into the backseat, scrubbing his hands together in front of his mouth as he wills circulation back into his fingers. His shirt, open at the throat, looks thin and flimsy and hardly warm enough for a Midwest winter, but the soft shimmer of the satin is devoid of the harsh shadows that cut across Alec’s chest like the black line of a seatbelt.

Alec forces himself to look away. Keep your eyes on the road, he tells himself. And think of something to say before he thinks you’ve forgotten how to talk entirely. He fiddles with the dial on the radio until he finds the company of static, but it morphs all too quickly into Wham!’s Last Christmas .

Alec grumbles below his breath.

“Still a Grinch, I see,” Magnus says with a smirk. “Where’s your festive cheer?”

Alec returns both his hands to the wheel. “It’s too early for Christmas songs,” he replies, “Thanksgiving was literally three days ago and it’s not even December yet.”

“Are you saying the dulcet tones of George Michael don’t do it for you?”

“I prefer Mariah Carey,” Alec mutters. It makes Magnus laugh.

Alec glances at him from the corner of his eye as Magnus begins tapping his finger to the beat of the song against the door handle.

Alec, too, feels restless, but in a different way. He can’t stop looking, stealing glances at Magnus in the rearview mirror. Perhaps he is a trick of the light. Maybe Alec has been driving too long without a break and now he’s seeing people from his past who shouldn’t be here - but are.

Nothing that happens on the road is real, after all.

He digs his fingernail into the skin of his thumb and begins picking.

He’s lived this moment before; he knows he has. Him and Magnus alone in the front seat of a car and Alec’s tongue heavy in his mouth with all the things he doesn’t know how to say, and all the things he couldn’t say ten years ago, because he wasn’t brave enough then.

Hell, he’s hardly brave enough now. He wonders if Magnus remembers any of it.

The space between them is too large for small talk. Conversations that begin with All I Want For Christmas Is You is overrated though, now that you mention it , or so, how is your mother?, or even do you remember the last day we saw each other? are not enough to bridge the gap carved out by a decade of silence.

The thought stretches Alec so painfully thin. He picks at his thumbnail until it begins to sting, then winces, and draws it to his mouth to soothe it with his tongue.

“So,” Magnus begins, in the same instance. He’s still drumming his fingers to the beat of the radio, but now he’s slightly out of time. “What are you doing all the way out here in Idaho?”

Alec could laugh. “I was in Portland,” he says, “Local P.D. request FBI consultation on a case, so. Yeah. Turned out they didn’t need my help.”

“And they made you drive all the way out there?” Magnus asks, and Alec nods. “Sounds grim.” He stops tapping and runs his index finger across the dark polish on his thumb in thought. “Are you still living at home?”

Alec clenches his hands on the steering wheel. “No, I - I moved,” he says. “Uh, not long after I graduated the Academy, actually, but only to D.C.”

“Ah,” Magnus remarks. He pauses for a moment long enough to become awkward. “Still close enough to see your mom on the weekends, though.”

Alec nods again. Close enough , yes , but he doesn’t say it out loud. Close enough for New England ghosts to haunt every intersection between the city and his parents’ big white house in the country whenever he makes the drive upstate.

In ten years, he’s barely moved fifty miles, and Magnus -

Well. The same cannot be said for Magnus.

Magnus clears his throat, louder than the hum of the radio. “And your parents?” he asks. “Isabelle?” He scans the horizon, fixed on the markings in the road disappearing beneath the wheels of the car. “How are they? Well, I hope?”

“Same as always,” Alec shrugs. “Overbearing. Dad’s retired now, and Iz moved to New York for work last year. Max is in college, so mom’s started questioning him about his life choices instead of mine.”

“Only took thirty-five years,” Magnus chuckles. “How is your mom? Are you seeing them for the holidays?”

Alec makes a noise that amounts to yeah, something like that .

What he doesn’t say is this: his parents’ marriage has been strained a while now - not as many years as Magnus has been gone, but close enough - and Alec is thirty years too old to be used as ammunition, or worse, a bartering tool in a messy ending. The divorce is only a matter of time now.

If only the road continued on forever, he would not have to go back home for the holidays. He wouldn’t have to sit through another Christmas of icy silences and thinly-veiled insults and his mother trying to butter him up while his father does the same to Isabelle. He wouldn’t have to lie awake in his childhood bedroom and listen to his parents screaming at each other downstairs, all the while wishing for the tap-tap-tap of pebbles thrown against his window, begging for it to be open.

A lot has changed since Magnus last saw him, and Alec didn’t have to move across the country for that.

A lot has changed since Alec stood on the sidewalk and watched Magnus’ car turn the corner at the end of the street for the very last time and not come back.

A semi-truck appears in the distance: first, as a pin-prick of light, and then as two beams of headlights striking the highway and the growl of its engine. The whole car rumbles and Alec grips tight to the steering wheel as the headlights blind him and shapes dance across his eyes. The light bleaches through Magnus’ dark hair and streaks across the skin visible beneath the open collar of his shirt; he holds his hand over his brow and winces.

The truck is thunder: a brief jolt and a flash, and then it’s gone, an aftershock of red light disappearing in the rearview mirror.

For a while, there is only silence. A mile, maybe more. Long past the truck vanishing from view, its light fading into the dark; and it’s the sort of silence that is thick and heavy and awkward.

At the five mile mark, Magnus inhales and turns in his seat to look at Alec.

“So, the FBI,” he says, like he has an obligation to fill the quiet, because letting it stew is somehow worse. “What’s that like? Maryse must be proud.”

“Yeah,” Alec mumbles. “She is.”

“It suits you, you know? Alec Lightwood, Special Agent. Not that I didn’t always know that it would.”

Alec’s mouth twitches, a smile in another lifetime. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Magnus gestures with his hand. There are rings on his fingers that fail to catch the thin and distant light, but his fingers, long and slender, draw focus.

“You’re smart. Logical. Far too severe for your own good, which I imagine serves you well in law enforcement. You’ve always had a keen sense of justice,” he explains. His voice softens. “You know I’ve always thought that about you.”

Alec swallows thickly. “Magnus, you don’t have to -”

“And besides,” Magnus interrupts. “I always knew you’d look good in a suit.”

Alec looks down at himself. “What, even a suit off the rack?”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything.”

Shakily, Alec laughs under his breath, but he relaxes his hands on the wheel and his knuckles fade from white back to pink. He lets the tense line in his shoulders fall flat.

“I don’t really have anyone to give me advice on what I should be wearing anymore,” he admits. “Or what colour ties match my -”

“Complexion?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Green. It’s dark green,” Magnus says. He smiles to himself, amused by something far back in time. “Do you remember that time when-”

“Yes,” Alec says. Yes, of course I remember. I haven’t forgotten a single thing . “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I still have that tie, the one you picked out for me that Christmas.”

“And the pocket square? They were a matching set -”

“Still the only pocket square I own,” says Alec.

Magnus chuckles to himself, swiping his thumb across his lower lip in thought. The nostalgia becomes him; his expression softens with the memory of something fond.

The same cannot be said for Alec.

If only pocket squares could be metaphors for other things. For years gone by and silences that were once not this awkward and filled with jilted conversation. Or for a place once frequented but now abandoned; or a past that Alec still calls his now .

Alec is too clumsy at this; he doesn’t know how to step back into a space once occupied with ease, making smalltalk and laughing about Christmases in 1979 as if they were yesterday and they haven’t gone ten years without talking.

He’s not like Magnus; he couldn’t drop everything and leave it all behind. He didn’t get to move on. He had nowhere to go, trapped in this endless back-and-forth of travelling, always returning to the very same place once departed.

interlude

On a postcard never sent:

What is worse: the separation, or the place where we will meet again, afterwards, that looks and feels like nowhere and is no longer familiar?

I miss you. I am afraid that I will no longer know you when I see you again.

third chord

Two motel room doors. Two identical rooms with identical twin beds and box-set TVs with only five channels and VCRs that don’t really work. Two sets of keys, although the weight of the fob in Alec’s hand feels more like brass than cheap white plastic.

He’s been here before: a shared dorm room, long, long ago. And then, after that, two houses on the same suburban street, sharing the same zip code. And then, finally, two cities, half a world apart.

He and Magnus, half a lifetime spent apart.

Alec did not notice the growing distance until it was too late; in hindsight, he’s not sure if that hurts more or less, to be blindsided by a farawayness he never saw coming. But here, now, there’s five-and-a-half feet of space between his shoulder and Magnus’, standing in front of their respective motel room doors, and happenstance has crossed their lines again.

Alec looks down at the key in his hand and then back up.

Beside him, Magnus casts a long and lonely shadow, thin and black as it stretches back into the dark. The wind ruffles his hair and plunders the pockets of his coat in an act of midnight robbery. The cold has chapped his lips already and he grumbles below his breath as he jams his key into the lock with frost-bitten fingers.

Alec doesn’t mean to be looking, but he is. He’s not sure he’s looked away since Magnus stepped out of that phone booth, as if slipping through a gap in time connecting two unrelated places that somehow ended up overlapped.

Magnus’ door clicks and he pushes it open with a soft, “aha!”, flipping on the light inside. The light tumbles out of the room - cheap, yellow, glaring - and Magnus bends down to grab his bag from his feet.

He pauses, then, in his open doorway.

“Well, then,” he says, looking at Alec with a half smile. “Until tomorrow, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” says Alec. He clenches the key in his palm until the metal digs into his fingers. If Magnus notices, he doesn’t let on. “Listen, Magnus. About what happened, when you left-”

“I’m glad, you know,” Magnus interrupts. “For whatever serendipitous force brought you to that gas station tonight. It’s good to see you. I mean it.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Alec replies. “I didn’t think - I didn’t think that day was going to be goodbye. I didn’t realise. If I’d known, Magnus ...”

“I didn’t either,” replies Magnus. His voice becomes softer. His eyes, too. Apologetic in a way that might take Alec years to unravel - or seconds. “But these things happen. You can’t stay stuck in one place forever, Agent Lightwood.”

Alec nods stiffly but says nothing.

Magnus offers him another smile, leaning heavily on his door frame.

“Alexander?” he asks, as if oblivious.

Alec squeezes the key tighter in his hand. “Yeah?”

A pause, then. Deliberate and weighted, and for a moment, Alec wonders if Magnus is going to answer the question that hasn’t been asked.

(Do you remember the day you left?)

(Let’s not talk about it. Let’s not talk. It’s in the past and we’re both different people now.)

But, instead:

“I’ll see you in the morning, Alec,” he says. “Goodnight. And thank you, again.”

The door closes and the light vanishes, and Alec is left suddenly in the darkness, gazing at the space once occupied. The night around him is cold. A whisper sets heavily upon his tongue but goes unspoken.

Everything always goes unspoken.

interlude

Somewhere between here and 1985, there is a man who doesn’t regret letting his feelings go unsaid. There is a man who moved on with his life; a man who doesn’t live in a moment years ago, with someone else’s hand playing idly in his hair.

There is a man who meets an old friend at a gas station in rural Idaho and it doesn’t hurt in a way he can’t ever explain.

Alec wishes that he knew him.

fourth chord

It’s always night, on the road.

As with endless highways and endless diners, other things begin to repeat themselves too. Alec prefers driving at night. It’s quiet; he can hear himself think; he can run red lights without being pulled over, without anybody in the world seeing him at all. He affords himself this one little thrill, the knowledge that the power to swerve off the road is clenched in his fists.

A fuel tanker passes the car on the opposite side of the highway, the sound of its exhaust like a fog horn parting thick cloud; for a moment, the low hum of the radio is wiped from existence. Alec eases the car over into the middle of the lane with the barest adjustment of the wheel, avoiding the spray of wet grit kicked up by the truck’s wheel arches. As the rumble fades, the melody of late-night jazz begins anew.

He glances sideways at Magnus in the passenger seat. His temple rests against the window and his eyes are closed but he’s not asleep; Alec can tell by the way he’s drawing his thumb in tiny concentric circles against his index finger again, as if deep in thought.

It was always a tell of his.

There is so much of him that hasn’t changed. So much of him that has crossed the threshold from Alec’s memory and fanned out into reality, and Alec is not quite sure where it all meets and blends together. Magnus is half a stranger and half a man ten years younger than he is now, with expensive clothes and the same aftershave and a twinkle in his eye and a strange, unspoken grief on his face whenever he thinks Alec isn’t looking.

But Alec is always looking.

There are memories in the footwell and on the dashboard and in the usually-unoccupied passenger seat of his rental car. Memories that Alec often revisits on other long and inconsequential journeys as a way to pass the time as the odometer climbs.

Magnus is always the main feature of those memories.

It’s 1978 and Alec is a junior in college and Magnus is stumbling into a lecture hall half-an-hour late with a thermos in his hand. He’s wearing the shortest shorts Alec has ever seen, and he’s slumping into the seat next to Alec, whispering in Alec’s ear that he’s so hungover he’s about to revisit Thanksgiving dinner.

Then, it’s 1981 and Magnus is trading secrets with Isabelle at a drive-in movie theater while Alec buys the popcorn; and he’s flattering Maryse’s cooking while leant across the kitchen island, chin in his hand; and he’s slamming the door to his and Alec’s shared dorm, before sneaking back in an hour later, only to find Alec waiting up for him with an apology at the ready.

It’s 1982 and he’s laughing. He’s giving Alec the grand tour of his mother’s home, three streets down from the house where Alec’s parents live. I can’t believe it took moving away to college for us to meet , he says to Alec. We’ve lived this close for so long and we didn’t even know.

It’s 1984 and he’s curling his hand over the back of Alec’s neck, feeling out the knobs in Alec’s spine. His breath is warm against Alec’s jaw as he whispers gentle words into Alec’s ear.

It’s 1985 and he’s packing up his car for the very last time.

Yesterday is tangled in Magnus’ hair. Memories twist time out of alignment and rearrange it into something, and someone, that Alec does not recognise. Ahead of them, in the distance, on the horizon, is a year from a decade ago.

But here in the car, moonlight makes crosses on Magnus’ body. He is beautiful, still. Older, more refined, more improbable , but the composition of him is something that makes Alec’s heart ache as if he’s eighteen again and they’ve only just met.

The mole above his eyebrow is too familiar.

The lines around his eyes that appeared only after his mother passed. Alec remembers that summer well. He remembers listening to Magnus cry as he stood in Magnus’ kitchen doing the dishes that had been neglected for a week.

The map of his hands. A journey that Alec never took but longed for. Longed for and left to gather dust, like an atlas tucked away on the highest shelf of a bookcase.

In the dark, Magnus cracks open one eye, as if aware of being scrutinised. Alec turns his attention back to the road, but it is too late. He’s been caught.

“What is it?” Magnus asks, and his voice is smooth and rich and fills the car like music, even so shortly after waking. “Are we out of gas already?”

“No,” says Alec. “We’ll be fine for a while.”

“Hungry, then? We could stop for a late dinner. Or early breakfast. I’m not entirely sure what time it is, but I can always eat.”

Alec doesn’t reply, but he presses his mouth into a thin line.

Magnus’ eyes narrow. “What is it?”

“What’s what?”

Magnus scoffs. “You’ve always been many things, Alec, but able to lie to me is not one of them.” He laughs a little. “You think I’ve forgotten the look on your face when you’re trying not to spill your heart?”

No , Alec thinks. No, of course you haven’t. You should’ve, but you haven’t. You should’ve, because then at least one of us could say they moved on.

Alec exhales through his nose and flexes his fingers on the steering wheel. He glances in the rearview mirror, but there’s nothing behind them for miles. Much like pocket squares, perhaps that is a metaphor too.

“You never called,” he says, trying to sound casual.

Immediately, Magnus tenses. He shifts in his seat and sits up a little straighter, angling himself to look at Alec.

“I did,” he says, “At the start. You never answered.”

“You were in L.A. The time zones -”

“Oh, come on,” Magnus laughs. “You could’ve called me, you had my number. I know you did, because I wrote it down for you and left it on your bedside table, the day I moved.”

Alec squeezes his eyes closed; for a brief moment of respite, the road ahead of him vanishes. He thinks about letting go of the wheel at 90 miles per hour - not because he wants to, but because the thought of picking up the phone and hearing Magnus’ voice on the other end was always something that felt like driving his car into a ditch.

It’s the fear of impact. It’s the old hurt of being abandoned. It’s the longing to have run after Magnus’ car and asked to go with him that day in 1985. It’s all such a blur. Alec cannot sift between it all.

Magnus sighs heavily, knocking his head back against the seat. He looks at Alec from the corner of his eye and studies him at length.

“Maybe we should stop,” he says slowly. “The next town, find a diner. Get some food.”

“It’s fine. I’d prefer to keep driving,” Alec says, “If we keep stopping, you won’t make your meeting in time.”

Magnus frowns.

You clearly want to talk about it , Alec imagines him saying. Evidently, there are things that went unsaid.

Magnus says none of those things. His phone begins to ring and it shatters the strange tension in the front seat, splitting it like a sudden burst of lightning. Magnus twists around and reaches into the backseat, rummaging through his bag. He returns with a cellphone in his hand, pulling out the antenna and flipping it open.

He meets Alec’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he presses it to his ear.

“Magnus, speaking.”

Magnus listens to the voice on the other end of the line and taps his fingers on his knee. He makes a low noise of disapproval to whomever he’s speaking.

“Yes, yes, Raphael, I know,” he says. “My battery died and I didn’t have a chance to charge it - do you know how much payphones cost? Do I look like the sort of person who carries change in his pocket?” A brief pause. “Don’t answer that.”

Alec reaches for the dial on the radio, intending to turn the volume down, but Magnus’ free hand darts out and swats his fingers away.

He mouths the word no and returns to his phone call, but Alec’s hand remains outstretched.

There’s a tingle in his fingertips, a short spark of static that leapt from Magnus to him, and he stares down at his hand as if he’s been burned.

And it makes Alec realise, oh.

So you’re lonely -lonely.

“I’ll be in Baltimore in four days. I ran into an old friend who offered me a lift,” Magnus continues into his phone. He listens to the other speaker for a moment, glancing briefly at Alec’s hand and frowning. “You’re lucky I phoned you at all after all that car trouble. It was a courtesy only.”

The radio briefly breaks into static before the song resumes again. Magnus begins drumming his fingers on his leg, listening intently to his phone call. He uhms and ahs and says something about investors and capital and shareholders and begins talking numbers that are too big for Alec to really understand.

He opens up the glove box and pulls out an old diner napkin that Alec shoved in there three states ago, and scribbles down a note, but he has to tap his pen against his thigh for the ink to flow.

Alec curls his hand into a fist and rests it on his thigh, but the tingle doesn’t go away. He listens to Magnus talk - this whole other person that Alec doesn’t know, but who he was clearly always meant to be - but all he can think about is how long he has gone without being touched.

Do you know? he thinks. Do you know that the last person who touched me was you? Do you realise at all?

interlude

Driving is like running. The rhythm of the road; the splattering of rain against the windshield; the thrum of a heartbeat as the speedometer tips over ninety. Clear head. Relentless motion.

Forward, forward, forward, always and forever. Try to keep up. Don’t stop. Keep going. Don’t look back.

fifth chord

The diner is the first sign of civilisation that Alec has seen in over a hundred miles - and it is the same diner as it always is, an eminent glow on the 3AM horizon that creeps closer and closer like a spaceship hovering over the fields and drawing circles in the wheat and the barley.

It draws circles around Alec too, this singular moment in time. This microcosm that exists in the form of red leather seats and bright, fluorescent light, and the same empty parking lot and abandoned phonebooth on the highway verge. The waitress changes; sometimes, the group of teenagers in the booth at the back is an old couple embarking on a long trip south before they get too old to make the drive; and instead of a man at the bar watching the baseball, every few miles there will be an off-duty sheriff nursing a cup of diner coffee.

In the end, it’s all the same. A small pocket universe that Alec has crossed a thousand times in a thousand different rental cars.

Perhaps the people in the diner do not exist outside of it. Perhaps they are like pictures on a TV screen that cease to be once the lights have gone off and the static has fizzled and died.

Perhaps they exist only because Alec and Magnus are passing through, creating the world around them as they go. The Midwest has that quality about it.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate diner food,” Magnus says as Alec holds the door open for him and the bell jingles above their heads. “L.A. is on a health kick right now. Everything is kale. Try ordering a steak at any restaurant within a half-mile of downtown and they’ll have the bouncer throw you out on the sidewalk with your drink still in your hand.”

“Not sure they know what kale is out here,” Alec murmurs, leading the way to a booth by the window. He slides onto the bench as Magnus slumps down across from him, dramatically throwing his head back and closing his eyes. “You’re probably safe here.”

Magnus cracks open one eye to look at Alec. Beneath the table, his toes nudge against Alec’s, and then he shifts so that their knees knock together too. He throws a grin at Alec and expects a volley.

Alec tucks a smile into the corner of his mouth and rolls his eyes. He feels fragile, but he’s always been good at acting like he’s not. He picks up the menu and pretends like he doesn’t already know it like the back of his hand.

The waitress approaches their table with a megawatt smile that only brightens when Magnus turns his focus on her, casting her in spotlight. She laughs, tucks her hair behind her ear, and asks where they’re from. Magnus says Los Angeles. The waitress tells him she has a dream of becoming a singer and moving out West, seeing Hollywood and all that .

Alec has never been, but there was a summer back when Alec was in college, where Isabelle decided to follow a boy to California, swept up in the promise of love and adventure and new opportunities. Jace and Alec had protested, their mother had expressly forbid it, but Izzy had gone anyway, and it had ended in heartbreak six months later, as these things always do.

“Everybody in L.A. is from somewhere else,” Izzy had told him, when she came home for Christmas and Alec picked her up at the airport, her life packed up into suitcases in tow. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re drawn there because of all the - you know, all the sparkle. The glamour, Alec. But really, people there are just running away from somewhere else. Somewhere they don’t really want to be.”

“You don’t want to be here?” Alec had asked.

Izzy shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s more … you don’t realise what was good in the place you left until you’re somewhere else. But then you’re too far to phone, or it costs too much to get a plane ticket, or you just don’t want to give people back home the satisfaction of knowing that they were right.”

Back in the diner, the waitress scribbles down their order on her notepad, pours Alec a coffee, and then tells Magnus she’ll be right back with his seltzer water.

Alec can’t help himself. “Seltzer water,” he murmurs. “And you say you don’t fit in in Los Angeles.”

Magnus laughs. “I didn’t say that .”

The diner coffee is cheap and watery; the burger Alec gets has no bacon, but too many gherkins soaked in brine. The fries are soggy, left bathing in grease all evening, but the waitress brings them an extra portion at no extra charge, because she mistakes Magnus’ friendly conversation for flirtation. Her number is tucked on a napkin beneath the plate.

Magnus rolls his eyes as he shows Alec, but he’s too good a person to crumple it up and toss it to the side. Instead, he slides the napkin into the pocket of his jacket, a keepsake. A souvenir of someone else’s dreams for the future. In that sense, it almost seems precious.

“What?” Magnus asks when he notices Alec staring. “What’s the matter?”

Alec turns his attention back to his food, pulling out a soggy gherkin from his burger and draping it across the edge of his plate. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?”

Alec’s eyes dart to the pocket of Magnus’ jacket and then away again.

“Alec,” Magnus gently scolds. His smile becomes sympathetic. “Just ask me what you want to ask.”

“Are you gonna call her?”

Magnus shrugs. “Probably not. But who knows. Sometimes the people you meet by accident re-enter your life further down the line and become important. I don’t know where her story might take her.”

“What about your story?”

“My story?”

Alec nods, but says nothing.

Magnus leans forward across the table. “You know my story, Alec.”

A man lights a cigarette at the table two rows behind them; he draws smoke into his lungs and it escapes through his nose, a thin grey stream falling upwards, towards the tiled ceiling. Alec watches him tap the filter on the ashtray in the middle of his table and a clump of ash disintegrates from the lit end; it lands silently, like snow. Like dust on the highway.

Magnus follows Alec’s line of sight and turns in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at the man. When he looks back, he has one eyebrow raised expectantly.

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the diner - acrid, bitter, and faintly earthy. It takes Alec back to college, to sitting out on the back porch of Magnus’ mother’s house before Magnus sold it because he couldn’t bear to look at it any more. He can picture the pack of Morley's tucked beneath Magnus’ thigh. He can still remember the way the unlit cigarette bobbed between Magnus’ teeth as he told his secrets to both Alec and the dark.

“I quit, you know,” says Magnus, in the present. “They say it’s bad for you.”

“I always told you it was.”

Magnus smirks at him and leans forward again, his elbows resting on the table. He steals a limp fry from Alec’s plate and pops it into his mouth. “I listened, didn’t I?” He nods over his shoulder towards the cigarette-smoking man. “What do you think his story is?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think his story is? Why is he here, alone at a diner in the back-end of Wyoming, past midnight in the depths of November? Smoking a cigarette? He must have a story.”

Alec’s never really thought about it. He’s always imagined the inhabitants of the diner as a backdrop, not as characters in their own story.

He looks harder at the man now: he’s older than both Alec and Magnus, salt-and-pepper hair thinning at the back. Once handsome, perhaps, but the years have stretched out his face and made his jaw sag. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit, his shirt rumpled and his tie missing, the top button of his collar undone. He takes a deep puff of his cigarette, looks at it, and then extinguishes the lit end, grinding it into the ashtray.

“I don’t know,” Alec says slowly, looking back at Magnus. “Some sort of business trip?”

Magnus’ mouth lifts at the corners, drawing Alec in. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so. You see how he’s fingertips aren’t yellow? He’s clearly not a smoker, but he’s stressed enough to do it now.” Magnus reaches across the table and taps his finger against Alec’s fourth knuckle on his left hand. “And he’s not wearing a wedding ring, although looks like he was until recently. You see the mark?”

Alec steals a glance at the man, and then shuffles forward on the bench, so that he might drop his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Divorced, then?” he proposes.

“Maybe,” Magnus grins, “Or cheating, and he’s about to go back home and face his wife and pretend like his fishing trip with the guys from the office didn’t turn up much success, so they’re going to try again next weekend. He’s probably never fished in his life.”

Alec laughs then, loud enough to draw some attention. The sound is foreign in his mouth and a flush surges up the back of his neck as he sinks lower in his seat, hunching his shoulders and biting down on his smile.

Magnus looks delighted; in his eyes, Alec sees the reflection of the fluorescent lights above their heads, laid out like stars.

“You just made all that up from looking at him?” Alec asks.

Magnus beams at him. He reaches out and touches Alec’s fourth knuckle again. “Why, of course,” he says, and then he nods his chin towards the sheriff sat alone at the bar, making smalltalk with the waitress. “Now, how about him?”

sixth chord

The sun rises over the endless Nebraskan fields in shards of light.

Alec adjusts the rearview mirror. He will remember this moment later in figments of pale winter blue, snow-hazed pink, and November sky through the passenger window as Magnus gazes out across the passing countryside: a blank canvas for a painter to fill with bodies.

The color changes depending on where Alec chooses to angle the reflection of the mirror. Slightly to the left, and Magnus’ hands are stained in a pale wavering indigo, a purple so rare that it is only ever seen in the fleeting hour between twilight and sunrise. Move the mirror to the right, and that colour becomes orange, then gold.

Magnus swipes his hand across the condensation forming on the inside of the window, smearing colour across the landscape, but the story he might paint is hidden from view. Alec knows the start and he knows the middle - the brushstrokes the ones Alec remembers, but it’s the details that differ now - and it’s the end of the story that is vague and undefined in sepia.

Alec thinks about cigarettes again. He wants to ask Magnus who it was that finally got him to quit. Or when exactly he started drinking seltzer water instead of shitty beer from Walmart, or decided that listening to the dial tone while waiting for Alec to pick up the phone was too much.

‘Let’s start the morning right with some ‘old but gold’ ,’ announces the radio. ‘ We’re going back twelve years to 1983 with this first track …’

Magnus makes a nose of protest in the passenger seat. The indigo has already faded from his hands, moving on to become something else, something more.

Faithfully by Journey begins to play. Alec recognises the song; in much the same way that a breath of fresh air on a cold winter morning can take him back to another place and another time, the first note paints a picture in his memories.

“This song played at Isabelle’s quincea ñ era,” he remarks. “D’you remember?”

“I remember,” Magnus says, tipping his head back against the seat and staring up at the roof of the car. He closes his eyes and basks in the light of the early morning sun. His smile grows gold. “That was the summer she dragged us all to see them in concert, wasn’t it? Jace had me make a tape for her, for the party. She played it on repeat all night.” Magnus pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I also remember asking you to dance to this.”

Alec remembers that too. “Dad didn’t like that. He was pissed.”

”I’m not surprised. He tolerated me, at best. He was clearly jealous.”

Alec huffs on a laugh. “Jealous? How’s that, exactly?”

“Mhm, jealous,” Magnus reminisces. “Specifically of when I spun you around and dropped you on your ass in the grass and you laughed like I’d never heard you laugh before.”

Alec’s neck grows warm, a flush curling around his throat. He pinches at the skin between his thumb and forefinger where his hands both rest on the wheel.

“I was drunk,” he says, like an excuse. “I don’t remember much after that.”

That’s a lie. He was drunk, but he remembers being sprawled out across the grass and staring at the sky and laughing, until Magnus dropped down beside him, his hands planted either side of Alec’s head as he bent over him, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. And he had laughed it off like it was nothing, pulling Alec back to his feet, but Alec spent the rest of the summer picking that feeling out of his teeth.

Magnus turns his head to gaze out the window again. The curve of his smile speaks of fondness, of a quieted sense of longing and looking back. He seems at peace.

“I was drunk too,” he says, after a beat, to the countryside.

And oh, Alec wants that. He covets that like he covets touch. To be able to look back and not feel all this … regret.

Isabelle’s fifteenth birthday was the first and only time they kissed. Magnus probably doesn’t even remember that night, not beyond the dancing, the beer, the spinning around and around in dizzying circles. There’s no way he would remember a kiss that wasn’t really a kiss.

Alec never once told him how he wanted to do it again.

That was the problem, in the end.

interlude

“You haven’t moved on?” says a man, once, in a bar. He’s tall and handsome, with curly blonde hair and large hands that Alec has imagined once or twice upon his chest, although it never makes his heart leap like it should.

His name is Andrew. He works in the building next door to the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington. They met at a coffee cart on the corner of the block, and this, now, is their third date.

Alec had thought it was going well.

“What?” says Alec, turning to look at Andrew, leant beside him at the bar. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t moved on from whoever it is that you loved first,” says Andrew. He pulls his American Express from his wallet and passes it to the bartender to settle their tab, but they’ve only had one drink so far. “And you know, that’s okay. I get it. The first is always different, especially when it gets left unfinished. But I can’t see this working between us if you’re still in that place. You’re a good guy, Alec, but I deserve more than that.”

seventh chord

“Take the next left.”

Alec scowls at the road before turning to look at Magnus. He is bent over an atlas he found beneath the passenger seat - it’s not Alec’s and must’ve been left behind by whoever rented the car before him. The pages are dog-eared and coffee ring-stained, and Magnus’ finger is pressed against the thin line of the highway that divides Nebraska in two.

“What? Why? This is the quickest way.”

Magnus glances up, a look of mischief on his face. He grins at Alec.

“There’s something I want to see and we’ll be passing right by. Seems like a shame to miss it while we’re here.”

“What is it?”

Magnus’ tongue pokes out between his teeth as his smile broadens. He mimes locking his mouth with an invisible key, tucking it into his shirt pocket.

Alec huffs. “Magnus, we’re in Nebraska. All they have here is grass. And nothing. And more grass, and more nothing.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Magnus folds the atlas up and sets it on his lap. He pats it with his hands. “What’s so wrong with a little spontaneity?”

“Uh, the fact that you have to be in Baltimore in three days? For an important meeting?” Alec says, gesturing with his flat palm at the road ahead. “You know I’m still on the clock, right? This is Bureau time you want to waste.”

“It’ll be an hour’s detour. We can afford it.”

“ Magnus .”

Magnus just grins at him. It’s the same grin that used to get Alec into so much trouble back in college; it leans against his doorframe with arms folded and a come-hither look in its eyes, and Alec has never been able to say no. Not to Magnus.

Magnus laughs. “Wow, they really did shove that stick right on up your ass at Quantico, didn’t they?”

Alec glares at him, but Magnus reaches out and pats Alec on the forearm, gently curling his fingers around Alec’s wrist. His touch, unfairly, is warm.

“Come on. The turning’s coming up,” he says. “Time to make a decision, Agent Lightwood. You don’t always have to play by the rules. Live a little.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but flicks the turn signal and merges into the outside lane, slowing as the turning approaches. Magnus beams at him and his laughter is buoyant, delighted as he claps Alec on the shoulder. His hand lingers, fingers pressing into Alec’s shirt, thumb against Alec’s pulse point.

Alec takes the turning.

He takes the turning and he wishes, only once, that Magnus might tell him exactly what those rules are. For a situation like this, he wonders, when you’re in the front seat of a car on an endless highway with a man you haven’t seen in years and who, once upon a time, you would’ve followed anywhere.

Although, in the end, not everywhere.

A sign on the roadside welcomes them to Alliance, Nebraska, but instead of houses and street lamps, it’s grass that stretches for miles in every flat direction, endless swathes of frostbitten green. The road, now, is dirt and dust, and in the distance, a single white building and a cluster of standing stones appear as a landmark on the horizon.

Alec slows the car, but as the stones come into focus, he realises they’re not stones at all.

“Are those … cars ?” Alec asks, squinting into the distance. He looks sharply at Magnus. “Magnus, what -?”

Magnus holds up the atlas, his finger pressed against a roadside attraction labelled Carhenge .

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Alec says.

“Stonehenge replicated entirely out of cars, you mean?”

“Yes. That .”

“Well, it’s not as exciting as the World’s Biggest Ball of Paint , sure,” Magnus grins. “But when in Rome, Alexander. When in Rome.”

Alec pulls off the road, passing by the visitor’s sign that reads: Carhenge and Car Art Reserve. Welcome! The parking lot, little more than a field worn thin by tire treads, is scarred by muddy trenches that have frozen solid in the night and not yet thawed, and the rental’s suspension works hard to navigate them.

Alec huffs as he pulls up the handbrake and cuts the engine, but Magnus is already twisting in his seat to reach for his coat. He shoots Alec a cavalier grin as he opens the car door and tumbles out into the cold, and the blast of icy-cold air hits Alec square in the face.

Alec grimaces, but in front of the car, Magnus knocks his knuckles against the hood and gestures for Alec to follow him. Alec grumbles and pats himself down for his keys-wallet-ID-gun , before grabbing his own coat and shoving open the driver’s door.

The only other vehicle in the parking lot is a campervan, shiny and white and sparkling in the winter sunlight, either a midlife crisis or an early retirement investment. An older couple - a man and a woman - are standing in front of it, peering over a large DSLR camera. He’s in socks and sandals and she has binoculars looped around her neck, and if the weather was any warmer, Alec is sure they would both be in cargo shorts too.

“What attracts people to places like this?” Alec mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning up the collar of his overcoat as he hurries after Magnus. He hunches his shoulders, but the wind feels like it’s gusting through him, with nothing to stop or hinder it across the plains. “Why would you drive all the way out here to see … this ?”

“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey, Alexander,” Magnus teases, walking backwards so that he can face Alec. “Why do we do anything without purpose? Because it’s there, and because we can.”

Behind him, the large circle of cars stands out of the landscape, spray-painted grey to look even less like standing stones. Alec grits his teeth.

“It’s about those little moments that break up a long drive,” Magnus continues, nudging Alec’s arm. “Or making small and inconsequential memories that can be revisited whenever one needs something slightly absurd to fall back on. It’s something to do with another person, even if that person is insistent on being a grouch the entire time we’re here-”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Alec grumbles. “Let’s just hurry up and look because it’s fucking freezing out here and I wanna get back in the car.”

Alec’s dress shoes sink straight into the mud as they traipse across the grass towards the circle of cars; the squelch-squelch-squelch of his feet is loud enough to be heard over the wind. Along the horizon, the sun is weeping yellow, low in the sky and sinking moment by moment towards sunset, and the shadows that stretch out lengthways from the stones-that-are-not-stones are long and warped.

Alec stops when his toes meet one such shadow and he looks up at the stack of cars towering over him. He tilts his head to the side, but it looks no better from an angle. Magnus steps away from him, meandering over towards an information sign.

“ ‘Carhenge is formed from vintage American automobiles, all covered with gray spray paint,’ ” he reads out. “‘ Built by Jim Reinders, it was dedicated at the June 1987 summer solstice in memory of his father. ’ Huh. How about that.”

“My dad would kill me,” Alec mutters.

“Oh, yes, mine too,” says Magnus. He bends down and squints at the smaller text on the sign. “‘ Carhenge consists of 39 automobiles arranged in a circle measuring about 96 feet in diameter.’ ”

“That seems excessive.”

“I think it’s strangely compelling, actually,” Magnus says. “There’s something about roadside Americana that has its own distinct charm. It’s a product of human eccentricities and I like that.”

“Oh yeah, and what are you seeing?” Alec says, gesturing with his hand. “Because all I see is a 15ft tall metal monstrosity.”

Magnus wanders back over to him, pressing up against Alec’s arm for the sake of warmth. He folds his arms across his chest, shoving his hands under his arms, and huffs out warm air that forms white clouds. He gazes up at the monolith above them.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Alexander,” he says. He frowns then, studying the twisted shapes of metal and fibreglass as if they’re some extraordinary work of art kept behind velvet ropes and a glass case and only allowed to be looked upon for a fleeting moment, and not an old car barely spared from rusting. “Michelangelo despised the roof of the Sistine Chapel, and yet it’s one of the most impressive feats of Renaissance art that still exists.”

“ Magnus ,” Alec presses.

“Mhm?”

Alec pauses. He studies Magnus’ face in profile: the line of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw, the purse of his lips as he contemplates some deeper meaning that passes Alec by. High in his cheeks, the cold paints his skin red.

Alec thinks he understands a little, then. Nobody really comes to Alliance, Nebraska to see thirty-nine vintage cars spray painted grey and stacked together like some prehistoric monument from halfway across the world. There are other things worth looking at.

Alec shrinks down into the collar of his coat. “Michelangelo is overrated anyway,” he grumbles.

interlude

Here is the creation of a new memory: the orange-gold of a sunset, the cold metal of a rental car against the back of Alec’s thighs, and the warmth of a cheap coffee in his hands, steam rising and obscuring the face. The sky, shifting into navy, into darkness, into the pitting of stars as the temperature plummets and each breath becomes a plume of smoke rising heavenward.

Here, sat together on the hood of the car, Magnus touches him. Not an accidental brush of the fingers or a friendly hand on the arm while driving, but instead, Magnus tips his head to the side, letting his temple rest on Alec’s shoulder.

Here, Magnus’ whispered name crosses Alec’s lips. A question posed to the night, painful and tender and purple like a bruise (‘ what are you doing? ’), but Magnus doesn’t reply. He hums and turns his head and presses his nose to Alec’s coat.

Alec’s doesn’t dare move. Magnus’ hair tickles his jaw, and Alec wants to turn his head and press his nose there and breathe him in, but he doesn’t. Ten years ago, maybe. But not now.

So, he looks up, and he exhales as the last fragments of the sun shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. The night sky, in its infiniteness, mirrors the high plains of the Midwest: how endless, how deep, how black it all is, away from the city.

How less lonely it is with another body tucked against his shoulder. How much it hurts.

eighth chord

They find a cheap motel, afterwards, on the outskirts of the Alliance city limits. This time, there’s only one room left. One room with two twin beds made up in ugly floral sheets, and a TV without cable, and a minifridge, because that’s how it always is; how it’s meant to be; how it was, once, years ago.

Standing in the doorway of the room, Alec thinks back to their college dorm. He thinks about being eighteen and away from his parents’ home for the very first time - only one city over, but far enough, far enough to breathe - and Magnus crashing into that room, laden with boxes and a bright smile.

He thinks, aged eighteen, God, he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen .

He thinks, aged thirty-something, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

Magnus, in the present, slumps down on the bed furthest from the door with a heavy sigh and immediately toes off his shoes and flings off his coat. His suitcase is beside him on the bed, but Alec’s bag - Alec’s bag is still clenched tightly in his fingers.

He doesn’t move from the doorway. He can still feel Magnus’ head against his shoulder, Magnus’ weight against his side, and he’s not sure he’s taken a proper breath since; but then Magnus looks up and catches his eye and tilts his head as if to say, what next, Alexander?

He offers Alec a smile which Alec can’t return.

Alec swallows thickly and nudges the door closed with his hip. He pads over to the other bed, his feet sinking into the plush carpet and leaving tracks, and he sets his bag down on the very end of the mattress, and -

What next, Alexander?

There was never a what next . That’s the problem; it’s always been the problem. Alec, afraid to put a name to the feelings in his chest and step outside his comfort zone, and Magnus, unwilling to push him. This is the point they always reached: the touches, the glances, the wondering. The waiting for someone to do something. Around and around again, until Magnus couldn’t do it anymore.

This is always the point. The moment, repeated, just like the highway. Just like the diner.

Magnus exhales and cards a hand through his hair, combing it back against his head. He looks away from Alec, eyes drifting across the room until they settle on the cheap plywood door that leads to the ensuite.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, and then he’s up, grabbing a towel off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

The shutting of the bathroom door is too soft and too careful, and Alec sinks down onto the end of his bed and rests his head in his hands. He closes his eyes and focuses on the outline of his badge in his jacket pocket, digging into his chest. The weight of his service weapon on his hip. The scratchy linen of the bed, the stains on the ceiling, the fuzzy TV as it cycles back and forth through the few sparse channels, even though the remote is on the bedside table and out of Alec’s reach.

He tries not to listen to the sound of rushing water through the walls.

He goes to shower, after. When Magnus emerges from the bathroom with wet hair and a freshly-scrubbed face, there are no words exchanged as Alec passes him by.

The bathroom is small and full of steam, windowless and ventless and hot like a sauna and that’s definitely a fire hazard. Alec peels out of his suit and tugs the tie from his collar. His undershirt goes next, and then his belt, which hits the floor with a heavy clank. He stares at himself in the mirror but the reflection that stares back at him is blurred by condensation, and Alec’s finger is drawn to it, if only to leave a mark.

He wonders what Magnus would say if Alec told him of how he would write Magnus’ name in the steam on his mirror in the days after he left, standing in front of it to watch until it faded.

And it faded every time, until Alec stopped doing it.

He steps out of his pants and underwear, a puddle of creased suiting on the floor, and climbs into the shower, turning the dial up as hot as it goes. He stands beneath the spray until it scalds his skin pink, and then, once done, sits on the edge of the tub with a towel wrapped around his waist and finds himself craving a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke, not really. He just needs something to do with his hands.

When he leaves the bathroom, the TV is quiet and the light is off. A faint, electric glow escapes the bottom of the curtains, the same blue colour as the NO VACANCIES sign that overlooks the parking lot outside.

Magnus has his back to the bathroom door, his hands tucked beneath the pillow where he rests his head. He’s not asleep yet; Alec can tell from his breathing, not yet slowed. He will be able to count every long second that Alec spends staring at him, watching the rise and fall of his body beneath the covers, and he will be able to hear the moment Alec sighs and turns and leaves, padding across the room to his own empty bed.

Alec has lost count of the number of times he’s rolled over in the dark of a shuttered room that smells of mothballs and stale cigarette smoke, and reached for something that’s never been there. That hasn’t been there for years.

His mattress dips in the middle with the weight of one body. The pillow scratches at his cheek. He sets his service weapon on the bedside table, within easy reach, but hides his badge within the pocket of his jacket, out of sight but not quite out of mind. This is how it always is.

He listens to the rustle of blankets from the other bed and wonders, briefly, if Magnus has turned to look at him in the dark. He wonders what Magnus’ expression might be, and if Magnus stares at him now with the same sort of regret that Alec fails to hide.

He is still in love with Magnus. He never stopped being in love with Magnus. This, too, is still the same.

interlude

In a wealth of human experience, the worst, by far, is what if .

ninth chord

Magnus taps his fingers against the car door, beating out an inconsistent rhythm. Alec knows it’s not a love song, but it could be something similar - a song about lost chances or maybe second chances. Sometimes, it’s difficult to distinguish between the two.

‘ THE PEOPLE OF IOWA WELCOME YOU ,’ reads a passing road sign, and it catches Magnus’ attention for a moment long enough to falter his rhythm. ‘ FIELDS OF OPPORTUNITIES. ’

There is little else to distinguish the crossing of the state line: the fields still stretch in endless directions, swathed in a fog the colour of glass. They set off late from the motel this morning because Magnus overslept and then insisted on breakfast, and refused to ask for the cheque until he had seen Alec consume something other than filter coffee.

He had offered to drive too, but Alec remembers what his driving is like: one arm propped on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio, eyes barely on the road because, to Magnus, highways are straight lines from point A to point B and he has no time for speed traps or taking corners slowly or braking .

Alec, meanwhile, always has his hands at ten and two.

“Alexander, can I ask you something?”

Alec reaches for the dial of the radio and turns it down; this time, Magnus doesn’t try to stop him.

“I’m not stopping at another Carhenge,” Alec says. “Once is enough.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and continues tapping his finger against the car door.

“No,” he says, “No, I’ve seen my fill, I think.”

“But?”

Magnus smiles a little. “What makes you think there’s a but?”

“Because you haven’t said a word since I told you there’s no way in Hell you’re driving,” Alec chuckles. “And you’ve been thinking about something. I can tell. You do this thing with your hand -” He mimics the rubbing of his thumb and forefinger together, and then the touching of his ear. “And then you touch your ear. You used to have that piercing, remember? You’d always fiddle with it when something was on your mind.”

Magnus tugs gently at his earlobe. “I didn’t think I was so easy to read.”

“You’re not,” Alec smiles, “I’ve just known you too long. Or, uh. Knew you too long.”

Magnus hums at that. He begins spinning one of his fingers around his forefinger.

“Do you think I’ve changed? Since then?”

Alec shrugs. He’s never been that good of a liar, not in front of Magnus. And Magnus knows that; he told Alec as much, two days ago “A bit. It would be weird if you hadn’t.”

“Hm,” Magnus considers. “You’ve changed, you know. And it’s like the strangest sense of deja-vu, because I know I know you, and yet there are these little details, these little things that seem slightly off. That I don’t recognise and I don’t know where they came from.” Abruptly, he stops fiddling with his ring and curls his fingers into the palm of his hand. He smiles wryly to himself. “And why should I? You don’t stay the same person your whole life.”

“I don’t think I’ve changed,” Alec murmurs, chewing on his lip. “I’m pretty much the same person I was back then.”

Magnus shakes his head, his smile fading. “That’s not true. I can see it in your face. You laugh more. You roll your eyes at me. Tell me no. You didn’t used to do that and I would drag you into so much shit , Alec. God, I was such a bad influence on you back then.” He pauses then, and his expression sobers. “But then, sometimes, when I catch you looking at me now, you seem ...”

He trails off, searching for the words with a flick of his hand. Alec doesn’t know what he means.

“I seem like what?” he asks.

“You seem so sad .”

Alec laughs in disbelief. “Sad? What - Magnus - I’m not sad, what do I have to be sad about?”

Magnus runs his thumb over his lower lip in thought. “That’s what I wanted to ask. Last night, in that motel room, I wondered - well. I wanted to ask if you resented me, after I left.”

Alec’s hands clench on the wheel. “If I resented you?” he repeats carefully. “Magnus, I didn’t resent you. Where’s this come from? What - what sort of question is that?”

“A genuine one,” says Magnus. “Just humour me a little. I want to know.”

Alec’s heart thumps in his chest. He forces himself to stay focused on the road. “Why are you asking about this now?”

“Why not two days ago when I found you at that gas station, you mean?”

No , Alec thinks. Not then. Before. Ten years ago, maybe.

Why didn’t you ask me then?

“Yeah,” Alec lies. “Something like that.”

Magnus frowns. “Do you not want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Do you?”

Magnus hesitates. He presses his mouth into a flat line and with his clenched fists, he taps his knuckles against the glass of the passenger window. The beat is one-two three-four , like a pair of heartbeats.

“I want to make sure you know why I had to go,” he says, eventually. “You understand that, right?”

“Right,” says Alec, unconvincingly.

Magnus huffs and leans his head into his hand, rubbing at his temple. When he continues, his words are addressed to the horizon and the straight line that leads them there and disappears into a singular point in time and space.

“I know I hurt you, Alec,” he says. “And I think you’re still hurt, in a way, because you’re both the most obtuse person I’ve ever met and yet the only person who I was always able to - who I can always see . And ... can I be honest here?”

Alec nods, but says nothing.

“Right, well,” Magnus continues. “How do I explain this? It’s … it’s frustrating . Sometimes. The way you keep looking at me out the corner of your eye like it causes you suffering to do so but you can’t help yourself. The way you didn’t pick up any of my phone calls, back then. The way we just … the way we just ended. Snuffed out like a candle.”

“But you’re the one who left , Magnus,” Alec interjects. “You’re the one who - it wasn’t me. I didn’t decide that.”

“I didn’t want to be stuck there. I wanted a career, Alec, I wanted to see what else there is ,” Magnus says, gesturing with his free hand to the open road and empty Iowan landscape. He sounds weary. “And there is so much else, so much more than a nice house in a nice neighbourhood with a white-picket fence and a dog and two-point-five kids. I couldn’t wait around for you to - I didn’t want to live the life my mom lived. She never left that place, not once. The same four walls, the same dead-end Middle American town until the end of her days. And that ... that was too small for me.”

He talks about getting out the same way painters talk about muses, the same way a traveler searches for God in the landscape: something they had to see before they died. A holy calling.

He always has.

Perhaps Alec is the ghost lingering at those New England intersections that keeps Magnus far and away from home. Alec, too afraid to cross over the threshold of a highway, destined to haunt the same small town for the rest of his life.

Too afraid to wander so far from home that he might not be allowed back. Too afraid to say something that he can’t recant, even if it’s the truth.

Alec chews on the inside of his cheek. “Didn’t you ever ... didn’t you ever think about that sort of life? With the house, and the yard, and the dog?” he begins. “Just a little? Just a bit?”

Magnus shakes his head. “I didn’t want that,” he murmurs. “It’s not me. You know that. And after my mother passed and I sold the house, I - God, sometimes I would sit on the front porch and watch all the cars go by, passing through that town like it was nothing, like it wasn’t even a blip on their map, and I would think the world moves on without you . It doesn’t care if you don’t catch up. It doesn’t care if you’re - if you’re waiting for someone to say something they never want to say.”

He glances at Alec as he says it, and Alec realises then that he knows.

Magnus knows. Perhaps he’s known a while; perhaps he’s known since they were young that Alec loves him but refuses to say it. It is Alec’s worst kept secret, after all.

“I had to get out, Alec,” Magnus continues. “Sometimes I thought, if I stayed, I’d suffocate.”

I was suffocating too , Alec thinks. A gay man in the early 80s didn’t get to breathe . That’s just how it was.

Magnus, of course, already knows that. Alec would only be preaching to the choir if he said it aloud.

Instead, he mumbles, “I wanted to say it.”

“What was that?”

“I wanted to say it,” Alec repeats. He sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek and wishes he could squeeze his eyes closed for just a moment - but there’s the road. There’s always the road. “I just - I couldn’t. Not then. But I wanted to say it. The thing you were waiting for. From me.”

Magnus’ mouth falls open a fraction, as if, somehow, he is surprised by such a revelation. Alec feels Magnus’ stare boring into the side of his face and he fights every muscle in his body not to turn and look back, because he knows exactly what he’ll find in Magnus’ eyes and he’s not sure he can stomach it.

He has looked at Alec this way before. Hell, a thousand times before. He’s trying to understand Alec - why here and why now, why are you finally saying something after all these years of pulling me along at the other end of a string, leaving me hoping and desperate and in love with someone who couldn’t ever say it back - but Alec is not that complicated.

He’s just scared. Scared of change. Scared of veering off the side of the highway that he has driven all his life, even though a part of him wants to know what it feels like. A part of him longs for the impact because, at least then, it will all be over.

And Magnus -

Magnus has always been so difficult to pin down, so close to chewing through his own foot to get away (and Alec had always hoped he’d never quite manage it, so that he might stay with Alec, forever, in some selfish vision of the future). It’s inside of him, that need to wander and see the world and meet new people and learn from them and be better and be something . The need to throw the roadmap out the window at high speed.

“Was that -” Alec begins, but clears his throat again. “Was that not enough? For you to stay, I mean?”

Magnus’ expression softens. His shoulders slump and his hand falls away from his temple and his mouth curves upwards at the corner and he says nothing. In his eyes, however, Alec finds an answer.

Sometimes, you cannot wait to be loved at someone else’s pace. Sometimes, you deserve more than that. I deserved more than that.

And maybe -

And maybe I’m still waiting.

interlude

Another postcard, this time purchased from a roadside gas station and then left crumpled in the glove box of a rental car:

I loved you then. I love you now. I still don’t know how to say it.

tenth chord

The day Magnus left was a Sunday. The beginning of August, 1985. The sun was bright that morning, harsh on the roof of Magnus’ new car as he piled boxes and suitcases into the trunk.

Alec had not understood what ending meant until he was standing on the sidewalk and watching Magnus pack up his life into ten square feet. He had not understood that some endings aren’t peaceful or satisfying or tie up all the loose threads of a story tangled by the writer; some endings are excoriations. They leave you raw and wounded.

The realisation, now, is that letting Magnus go a second time will be a worse experience than the first. This time, Alec already knows what it’s going to feel like.

In the rental car, the heater works hard to circulate warm air into the front seat. The windshield wipers battle against the thick blanket of fog that has rolled in across Lake Michigan and which obscures the signposts for Chicago from view. Frost covers rural Illinois in a comb of silver, not quite yet snow, but soon. Soon enough, the country will be white and glistening in the low sunlight as far as the eye can see.

Magnus has his coat draped over him like a blanket, his arms backwards through the sleeves and his head resting against the window. He hasn’t slept, but he’s been quiet for a while now, watching the world pass by with little commentary, save for when a song to which he knows the words plays on the radio.

On the side of the road, timber-frame houses disappear in and out of existence, reappearing in various states of disrepair. A barn, an old farmhouse, a disused gas station, a tiny church built on stilts that extends out over a frozen lake on a wooden walkway.

Magnus makes a noise of interest as they pass it by, turning in his seat to look back at it as it vanishes into the fog.

“Did you see that?” he asks. These are the first words he’s said to Alec in nearly a hundred miles. “That church.”

Alec glances in the rearview mirror but, as always, they are the only car on the road and the fog swallows up the passing seconds behind them. He’s not sure how long they’ve been on this road without a turning, nothing but an undeviated line for miles, and sooner or later, the end of the road is going to take them by surprise.

Alec takes his foot off the gas and presses down on the brake instead, and the car lurches to a near-stop. Magnus jolts forward in his seat, his seat belt cutting into his chest and stopping his momentum. He turns to stare at Alec, but Alec throws his arm over the back of his seat, knocks the gearstick into reverse, and spins the car into a three-point U-turn.

Magnus sits up in his seat, his coat slipping down from his shoulders and onto the floor.

“Baltimore not on the cards anymore?” Magnus asks, as Alec turns the car around and begins driving back the way they came. “Alec, what’s going on?”

Alec leans forward over the steering wheel, squinting out into the fog. The shape of the gas station reforms out of white cloud, and then, beside it, the shimmer of the frozen lake and the small church that sits atop it. A place for prayer amidst the smell of petrol fumes and gasoline and road dust.

A traveller’s chapel , Alec notes. It seems apt.

The church is small and squat and built of dark, gnarled wood, falling apart at the seams. From a distance, it seems almost black, but the need to pull off the road possesses Alec and he pulls into the parking lot of the gas station, before locking the handbrake.

Once parked, he turns to look at Magnus, both hands still clenched on the wheel. The radio crackles with white noise, interspersed with the tune of a Christmas song that Alec doesn’t recognise. Magnus reaches out and turns the volume down.

There’s never really been a need for words.

Alec unclips his seatbelt first. He doesn’t pat himself down for keys-wallet-ID-gun . He grabs his coat from the backseat and leaps out into the cold, and doesn’t look back when he hears the passenger door slam and Magnus follow after him, albeit at a distance.

What Alec finds is this: the wind is brittle and the walkway that leads out over the lake creaks and groans beneath Alec’s weight, but doesn’t make a noise for Magnus. On the highway behind them, a truck rumbles past, but the fog is so deep that Alec cannot see it, save for the glow of its headlights. There is a small placard nailed to the outside of the church that reads: Visit Your Roadside Chapel and a big red arrow points down at the doorway.

Alec reaches for the doorknob and gives it a twist. Behind him, he can feel Magnus watching him, arms folded across his chest to ward off the cold, in silence. He says nothing to Alec, no witty remark about the FBI’s predilection for breaking and entering, no tired smile, no weary remark about how he’s tired of waiting, which they both know means far more than it seems.

The door to the church is not locked and it opens with a fair shove, and out spills the smell of damp wood and dust and old smoke. Magnus coughs lightly, wafting his hand in front of his mouth, but Alec steps inside.

The church itself is small and cramped, barely wider than the span of Alec’s arms from wall to wall, and the cold sweeps through the gaps in the walls, carrying with it the earthy smell of burning. There are no church pews, but a padded piece of wood for kneeling in prayer sits beneath a floor-to-ceiling cross, and bible verses are scratched into the plywood walls in a messy hand. Empty beer cans and extinguished cigarettes litter the floor, and cobwebs are strung like garlands above Alec’s head, which he reaches up to swipe away.

A row of candles stand where the altar should be. Soot still clings to the wicks, as if freshly extinguished.

Alec steps forward and his feet crunch on dried leaves that have blown in through the door. He lifts his foot and looks down and finds a crumpled receipt stuck to the sole of his shoe, grey with running ink and dozens of footprints that have come before Alec’s. The date on the receipt is fifteen years ago. It was issued in Dallas, Texas.

This is a space of comings and goings. Of passing throughs. The afterimages of a thousand travellers linger here like memories and, carved into the cross above Alec’s head, he notices the words: what is more important to the traveller, the journey or the destination?

The silence sings, or maybe it hisses, like the wind rustling through the endless miles of wheatfields between here and where they’ve come from.

What is more important to the traveller, the fact that we got lost along the way, or that we made it back here, in the end, and met again?

Alec looks back over his shoulder, and Magnus is there, standing in the open doorway, waiting. His nose is red with the cold. The light behind him casts him in the pale yellow of a winter twilight. He is watching Alec with an expression that Alec doesn’t understand.

“Magnus?” Alec asks, low and gentle.

“Yes?” he replies.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Magnus’ mouth tips upwards at the corner. “I said I quit, remember?” he says, but he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a shiny, silver Zippo lighter, engraved with his initials. He places it in Alec’s outstretched hand, but his touch lingers against Alec’s wrist and the staccato of his pulse. “Here.”

Alec turns to the candles and flicks his thumb along the lighter. The flame is summoned into existence, its light dancing across Alec’s thumbnail as he lights the wick of the tallest candle.

He lights it for his mother, and then, once it catches, he lights another for Izzy, and then one for Jace and Max and his father. He recites the Catholic rotes his grandmother taught him beneath his breath, in Spanish, a whisper. Then, a prayer for Magnus, and for his mother too, wherever she might be.

And lastly, a prayer for himself, aged eighteen and away from home for the very first time. Aged twenty-three and in his graduation gown, Magus’ mortarboard on his head and Magnus’ arm around his shoulders, laughing in his ear. Aged ten years younger than he is now and standing on the sidewalk of his parents’ house, watching Magnus’ car pull away.

Magnus joins him at his side, his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. An inch of space exists between their shoulders, but, even now, Alec can feel the warmth of him through his coat.

Alec has missed this. He will miss it again, he’s all too sure, but maybe it’s okay to have it only for a moment.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it has to be.

“Alexander?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said yesterday,” Magnus says quietly. He tugs on the sleeve of Alec’s coat and turns Alec to face him. His eyes are bright - not wet, but earnest - and drop to Alec’s lips before returning upwards. “That it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. You know that, right?”

He squeezes Alec’s arm. He wants Alec to understand something that still remains out-of-focus.

“What do you mean?” Alec asks.

“I am sorry for the way we left things,” Magnus says, “And I’m sorry that it hurt more than I realised it would. I really am. But it doesn’t have to end the same way this time. You can change the way you remember it. Make it mean something, something fond that you can look back on. You can make it good, if you want.”

Alec frowns. They’re a day away from Baltimore. In forty-eight hours, Alec will be back home in D.C., and in a week, Magnus will return to L.A. and the life he has built there, where he drinks seltzer water and no longer smokes and talks a mile-a-minute on an expensive cell phone about investments and equity and big-ticket numbers, and is loved by Alec at a distance.

It’s not like the highway extends into the sea. All roads eventually end, and this one must too, amounting to nothing more than four days in a nondescript rental car with Christmas music playing on the radio, but -

This doesn’t have to end the same way this time.

“Doesn’t it?” Alec asks, unable to help himself.

Magnus shakes his head and lets go of Alec’s arm. He takes a step forward and lifts the last unlit candle, holding its wick to the flame of another until it catches.

“No,” he says. “No, it doesn’t.”

interlude

Nothing that happens on the road is real. This is what Alec tells himself between diners and gas stations and faded markings down the centre of the highway.

I can love you now, while the engine’s still running. And you might love me too, while the engine’s still running. Sometimes I think that you do, when I look at you from the corner of my eye.

In the distance, Chicago rises from the fog, lit up in one thousand pin-pricks of light. It makes the world glow in the colour of cities and concrete and it feels a bit like a dream after so long passing through nowheres.

If we drive far enough, we might make it back to the place we once called ‘now’. If we drive fast enough, maybe that day will end differently and you’ll stay.

The speedometer tips over ninety and the countryside blurs into rooftops and stop lights and traffic backed up across the bridge that spans the highway. Streetlights line the side of the road and pass across the rental car in flashes of strobe and yellow.

“I don’t want you to stay there,” says Magnus, in one such patch of light. Sometimes, it’s like he can read Alec’s mind. “I want you to write a different ending, Alec. I want you to want it.”

eleventh chord

Chicago is behind them as they cross into Indiana with the stroke of midnight, a dull orange glow that seems too bright for the eyes after so many repeated nights driving in near blackness.

Their destination is getting closer, and Alec eyes each passing road sign that counts down the miles to Cleveland, then Pittsburgh, then Baltimore, then home with a heaviness in his heart that beats a slow rhythm.

It’s the rhythm that he knows - that lonely beat that matches the roll of the odometer on the dashboard - and yet it seems too fast now, accelerating towards an end point at which he has a choice to make.

He tries to match it, that rhythm. He tries to strike a chord with the bouncing of his leg in the footwell, with the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel. He glances across at the passenger seat to see if Magnus is looking back at him, but he’s not - he’s staring ahead through the windshield and holding himself unnaturally still.

Alec wants to slow down below the speed limit; put his foot on the brake; stall the car. Drive it off the side of the road and into a ditch and then shrug and say, guess we’re stranded for another night ‘til the tow-truck can get here . And maybe that’s dishonest - or too honest, because the thought of spending the night in the car together, crowded around the heater as if it’s a bonfire keeping them warm, does something strange to Alec’s insides - but the relentless momentum if the car is no longer a balm on his nerves.

He can’t help but think about what lies in wait at the end of the road. Another goodbye. A polite smile and a parting hug and some kind and empty and wistful words; longing and loneliness and more of the same heartbreak, made worse by the fact he knows, now, what they could’ve had, if things had ended differently the first time.

Alec doesn’t want to leave this car; he wants to keep Magnus here forever, the two of them trapped in this rocking motion of roads and highways, where Magnus tells him over and over again that it doesn’t have to end and Alec believes him.

Alec wants to keep driving off the very edge of the continent and into the Atlantic Ocean. He wants to arrive in Baltimore and say, take me with you . He thinks about grabbing Magnus’ hand when he steps out of the car, and saying, don’t leave me behind this time. Take me with you. Take me somewhere that isn’t here. I’ve had enough of coming and going back to the same place as before. You’re right about that. You’ve always been right about me.

Magnus shifts in the passenger seat, clearing his throat.

“We should probably find a motel. It’s getting late,” he says. He doesn’t need to say it, because Alec is already thinking it: tonight is the last night. Tomorrow, Alec will be in his own bed, and Magnus, in some fancy hotel room paid for on a corporate credit card. “We both need a good night’s sleep. For tomorrow.”

“Right,” Alec echoes. He clenches his jaw. “Tomorrow.”

The air in the car is thick and heavy, so Alec reaches for the radio to try and suffocate his own thoughts. He skips through the stations until he finds one that sticks, and then turns up the volume. The voice of a man quoting late-night scripture fills the front seat:

‘So, flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord for a pure heart.’

Magnus exhales through his nose and runs his palms up and down his legs, digging his fingers into his thighs. His eyes catch Alec’s in the rearview mirror.

A decision, then. Alec has seen this look before.

“I really think we need to find a motel,” Magnus says again, more forcibly this time. “Let’s check the map. Can you pull over?”

“Huh?” says Alec, “Just switch the light on, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Pick somewhere that sounds good and tell me which exit I need to take.”

“Alec,” Magnus insists. “Pull over.”

Alec looks at him, confused. “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. I just need you to stop driving, please.”

“Okay, uh. Okay. Hang on, I’ll just -” The turn signal flashes and Alec steers the car off the side of the highway and onto the grassy verge. The tires sink into the mud and the car jostles them from side to side until, finally, coming to a stand still.

Magnus unclips his seatbelt and reaches for the glove box, retrieving the atlas from inside. He spreads it out on the dashboard between them, running his fingers down the page until he finds where they are, and then flicks on the cabin light above their heads.

The car becomes an island, then. The sky is clear and the road behind them is almost empty, and the world outside is completely black and they are floating in an endless void. And all that exists is Magnus leaning across the gearstick and grabbing Alec’s hand and pressing his fingertip to a point on the map and saying, “there.”

“There?” asks Alec, looking up at Magnus’ face. His voice is a whisper now. “What’s there? A motel?”

“A motel,” Magnus agrees, shifting forward on his seat, closer to Alec. His grip on Alec’s wrist is vice-tight, his rings cold against Alec’s skin. “What do you think?”

Alec pauses. There is an unasked question here, hidden in the silence between words. It’s a proposition and Alec wants to get the answer right.

But Alec also wants to kiss him. He can smell Magnus’ cologne, the aftershave patted onto the slope of his jaw in the bathroom of a cheap motel that morning. He can feel the heat of him. He can feel the flutter of Magnus’ pulse where Magnus’ thumb is pressed insistently against his skin.

He wants to kiss him and muster the courage he could never find before, and he wants to say fuck it . Give him that moment of undoing, or redoing, or whatever the fuck it is that he wants the last few years to have meant.

He’s pretty sure that’s what Magnus wants too.

“Alexander?”

Kiss me now while the engine’s still running.

“I don’t want this to end.”

“I know you don’t,” says Magnus. “I don’t either.”

“No. No, Magnus, you don’t know. You don’t - you can’t ,” Alec insists. “You can’t know because I never said anything. That’s the whole point. I never said anything, even though we both knew how I felt. We both knew. And despite all that, we still didn’t do anything about it because in the end, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. I loved you and I think you loved me and it didn’t matter.”

He and Magnus exist in a not-time. This place isn’t real; Alec can speak to these feelings and not be beholden to them in the morning, or at the end of the road, or wherever it is that they’re heading. Not if he doesn’t want to.

But he does want. He wants more than one man with a body can bear.

I loved you then but it didn’t matter. But it matters now because I can say it. Because we have circled around and found each other again after all this time and that -

That has to mean something.

Magnus’ hand relaxes on Alec’s wrist; his fingertips brush across the back of Alec’s knuckles, across the roadmap between them on the console. It is tentative and questioning and even now, still says, you can drive away if you need to.

Alec inhales deeply. He shakes his head.

He meets Magnus’ eyes on purpose.

“I was afraid that the next time you walked into my life, I wouldn’t know how we fit together,” he whispers. “I was worried that something inside of me, inside of you, would’ve changed, because things always change after this long, but - it hasn’t.”

Beneath Alec’s palm, Washington lies hidden. In the dark, the paper rustles.

“You haven’t, Magnus. Not when it comes to me.”

interlude

The radio sings, ‘It will never be the same, baby.

We will always be the same, baby.’

twelfth chord

Alec’s hand shakes as he fumbles with the key in the motel room door.

Magnus stands a half step behind him, his breath forming white clouds that float and dissipate over Alec’s shoulder. The smell of his aftershave carries. There’s a deliberate space left between their bodies, greater than the distance that has existed between them in the car for the last four days.

It’s the furthest they’ve been apart since Alec approached that phone booth back in Idaho.

“Fuck,” Alec mutters, as the key sticks in the lock and refuses to turn. His palm is sweaty and anticipation licks up the side of his throat where the collar of his shirt is too tight. “Sorry, just give me a sec-”

Magnus leans over his shoulder and takes the key from him, sliding it into the lock with ease. The door clicks, and then swings open.

This motel room is just like all the rest: two beds, one TV, the oddly stained carpet. Thin plywood walls. A single light that plunges the whole room into that low-res yellow of cheap nighttime lodgings.

Alec places both their bags on one of the beds, exhales, and then, when he turns back, Magnus is standing against the closed door. His head is tilted back, his chin aloft, and his arms are folded across his chest, the sleeves of his coat tight around his arms.

His eyes are dark and molten. Where Alec is an unlit cigarette, he is the match.

And that’s enough. All things end and all endings are terrible in their own way, and Alec doesn’t know why he shouldn’t lean into the inevitable if it’s something he can’t avoid.

He abandons the bags and steps towards Magnus, grabs him by the lapels of his overcoat, and kisses him.

Immediately, Magnus opens his mouth to Alec; the sound he makes into the kiss has the hairs on the back of Alec’s neck standing on end. They stagger back against the door with a thud , and Magnus grabs at Alec’s coat, shoving it from his shoulders, then pulling Alec’s shirt out of his belt, his hands slipping beneath Alec’s undershirt so that he can feel skin.

Something rattles around inside of Alec and maybe it’s his heart come loose at last. He kisses Magnus ever deeper for it; his chest aches; his heart aches. He should’ve kissed Magnus sooner, and yet it feels like this is the only moment in time and space where it’s meant to happen: some dingy motel in rural America where it’s just the two of them and Alec has made a choice where he refuses to let this separation be the same as the last.

They’ve never needed to speak. The span of time hasn’t changed the connection between them; Alec could be his twenty-three year old self; he could be his eighteen year old self; his self from five days ago, picking up the keys to a rental car in the backwoods of Oregon state - he would still be in love with Magnus, whether or not he has said it out loud.

Alec cups the sides of Magnus’ jaw and tilts his head back, deepening the kiss. Magnus’ tongue presses into his mouth, his hand flat against the small of Alec’s back, his fingers pressed against Alec’s spine. He pulls Alec closer until their bodies are flush.

And oh, it’s so easy for Alec to lose himself to the push and pull of it: the lick of Magnus’ tongue, the pliance of his mouth. His hands are so warm as they settle on the slope of Alec’s waist.

Alec feels like he’s standing in the middle of a highway, staring down the headlights of an oncoming truck, willing it to move first or be moved . His heart is pounding loudly in his chest. The light is so bright that he is blind to everything else.

Is this driving off the edge of the road or is this the impact?

The kiss leads to the bed. The bed leads to shucked clothes and kicked-off shoes and Alec tossing his badge and service weapon blindly onto the bedside table as Magnus kisses down his throat and the blood rushes to Alec’s head.

Magnus pins him back against the starchy motel pillows, one hand splayed on Alec’s chest - stay still, don’t move - while his other hand cups Alec’s hip and his thumb slips into the band of Alec’s underwear.

No. It is the destination.

Magnus runs his hands down the inside of Alec’s legs, his palms smoothing across Alec’s thighs. His eyes meet Alec’s as he presses his mouth against Alec’s knee.

Alec’s eyes fall closed.

He wants to say something about endings, to gasp, to whisper it. He wants to ask what happens next: if he is to leave Magnus on the side of the road in Baltimore tomorrow and never hear from him again; or if Magnus will fly back to Los Angeles in a week’s time and only look back on this moment as one of those pocket memories of his, something fond to warm him on colder nights.

Alec doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be an uncalled telephone number in Magnus’ diary again; he doesn’t want to stop here , with Magnus’ mouth slowly kissing up his inner thigh. He cannot let Magnus slip through his fingers a second time, so he reaches out and pulls Magnus towards him, up the length of his body, crushing his mouth against Magnus’ and swallowing Magnus’ untethered gasp. He kisses Magnus’ jaw, and then the side of Magnus’ neck, and then he presses his nose to Magnus’ shoulder and breathes him in.

He says nothing, but he has to screw tight his eyes to stop himself from doing something stupid, like letting a stray tear roll down his cheek and wet the pillow. Magnus wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, words whispered in Alec’s ear that he’s been waiting ten years to hear and which Magnus thinks must all be said in one night.

Alec is too old for messes of the heart like this, but maybe that’s the problem: how long they’ve delayed this particular end, to the point that neither of them know how to exist in a world after .

interlude

The final postcard never sent:

“The boy in the yellow shirt walks like there is all the room in the world. I am standing on the edge of what is an ending world.” 2

I read this in a book that Catarina leant me. I think it’s about us, or at least it’s about me, the first time I laid eyes on you.

Come to L.A.

thirteenth chord

Alec wakes up alone in the bed, his arm outstretched across the mattress, his hand palm-up to the ceiling. There is an ache in his legs, bruises scattered across his thighs like the shattered glass of a windshield spread across the road. The smell of sex hangs heavy both in the air and on his skin where sweat has dried and not been scrubbed away, and when he tries to speak, his voice is hoarse and raspy.

Beside him on the bed, the pillow is cooling - but not yet cold.

Disappointment curls in Alec’s gut, but in his head - well, that’s empty, devoid of the constant noise that has existed there for the past few days, if not years. He hasn’t noticed until now that it mimics the sound of a car engine, a forever rumble.

There is simplicity to the silence now. The carpet is cold when Alec’s feet hit the floor, a draught slicing beneath the bed. Magnus’ suitcase is gone from the other bed; his clothes gathered from the floor. The smell of his cologne has faded, replaced by the musty smell of floral bedsheets and mothballs and wallpaper that has absorbed the smoke of a hundred cigarettes.

The only evidence of Magnus being here is his absence.

His absence - and the way Alec’s mouth tingles when he brings his fingers up to touch his lower lip.

Alec brushes his teeth to the sound of the faucet running, water gushing down the drain. He splashes his face and dresses in the crumpled clothes from yesterday that still smell like the front seat of the rental car and shakes carpet fibres out of his overcoat where it still lies by the door.

Keys. Wallet. ID. Gun. He moves through the motions on autopilot, patting his pockets and then his chest as he mentally tallies up the parts of himself worth collecting - but then stops. Standing in the middle of the motel room with his bag in his hand, he turns to look at the unmade bed, the sheets kicked into a pile, a backdrop to a journey he has taken so many times before.

The difference, now, is in the details. It feels significant. It’s worth remembering.

Crossing to the window, he throws open the curtains and sunlight streams into the room, flooding every dark corner. Alec squints against the light, raising his hand to his face to shield his eyes. A faint sheen of frost forms fractals on the outside of the glass and, beyond that, the roof of the rental car, the prelude to the first snow of winter.

Leant against the side of the car is Magnus.

Alec inhales deeply, his breath clouding upon the window. The cold draws down into his lungs - a sharp ache inside of him that he holds for a count - and then he exhales. Deflates. Sinks back into a rhythm that is both familiar and somehow different to the one he has known for so long, as if the world now beats in imperfect time.

Magnus is propped against the hood of the car with his eyes closed and his head tipped back to catch the sun, and he doesn’t stir when Alec shuts the motel room door behind him and the gravel of the parking lot crunches beneath his shoes. On the side of Magnus’ neck, there is a hickey bitten darkly into his skin. It’s the colour of rare indigo.

Alec doesn’t feel the need to avert his gaze now.

“Have you ever been on a roadtrip?” Magnus asks, opening his eyes when he feels Alec’s shadow cross his body.

Alec frowns at him as he bends down to grab Magnus’ suitcase, before tossing both their bags into the backseat. “Isn’t this a roadtrip?”

Magnus waves his hand aimlessly. “No, this is serendipity, Alexander. I’m talking about a comprehensive tour of all the worst diner coffee in the continental United States. Hiking in the Grand Canyon. Exploring the redwood forests of the Pacific Northwest.” He looks at Alec and smiles a coy smile, pushing away from the car. “You know, in Indiana, they have the World’s Largest Ball of Paint? I’d like to see that sometime. All the best roadside Americana that the country has to offer.”

Alec rounds the car to the driver’s door, opens it, but doesn’t get in. He leans his arms on the roof of the car and Magnus, on the other side, turns to face him.

“But Baltimore,” says Alec.

Magnus’ smile softens. “But Baltimore,” he agrees, across the span of the roof. He glances at his watch. “Providing we don’t hit gridlock outside the city, I should be right on time for my meeting and Raphael won’t have the pleasure of removing my head from my shoulders. You always were excellent at keeping me punctual.”

Alec smiles quietly, ducking his head. “Yeah, well, one of us had to live in the real world.”

He climbs into the car and Magnus follows, folding himself into the passenger seat and draping his coat across his lap. He buckles himself in and then leans back to look at Alec as Alec slots the key into the ignition.

“What?” Alec asks. He reaches up to touch his neck, in the same place where the bruise forms on Magnus’ throat, but can’t find any tenderness. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Magnus says gently. “No, not at all. I was just thinking that sometimes the real world is rather overrated. In my experience, the longer one can put off returning to it, the better.”

Alec turns the key and the car splutters into life. The heater blows warm air into the front seat, condensing upon the windshield, and when Alec reaches out to direct the flow of air downwards, Magnus covers Alec’s hand with his.

It’s a reflection of the night before, but without the urgency.

Magnus curls his fingers around Alec’s hand and brushes his thumb over Alec’s knuckles. Then, he brings Alec’s hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to Alec’s fingers, his eyes falling closed and his eyelashes casting feathered shadows on his face.

Alec holds his breath. He waits for Magnus to say something, to say so let’s not go back to the real world yet because I’m happy here , but he doesn’t.

Happy is too vague a concept. Not that Alec isn’t happy here, in this particular not-real moment, but it’s a feeling that belongs to strange, liminal motels and repeated diners. It is hard to grasp, and harder still to fathom how it might slip into the spaces occupied by a life back in the city at the end of the road.

Magnus sets Alec’s hand down on the gearstick between them, and settles back into his seat, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. He tips his seat back and rests his head against the window as Alec puts the car into reverse.

The road is quiet but not deserted. Alec knows that they will meet traffic before too long, but, for a moment, he imagines the highway stretching beyond the horizon and continuing into the sky, winter-blue and endlessly deep, leading above and beyond the curve of the Earth.

There’s a very thin dusting of snow on the hard shoulder, and the sun, shockingly bright, refracts off it with a white glare. It’s the sort of daylight that possesses Alec, that fills him up and makes him feel separate from his body.

If Alec rolled down the window, that daylight would spill in and flood the car, crisp and cold and foreign. But here in the warmth, he unspools a story in his half-awake mind: him and Magnus and the unending road. If they stop moving, they’ll die. If they stop driving, they’ll die. There was a Keanu Reeves movie about that recently , Alec thinks. It probably didn’t end well.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Alec glances sideways at Magnus. “What happened to quitting?”

“Oh, I did,” says Magnus. He produces an unopened pack of Morley’s from the folds of his coat and inspects it curiously. “But I got this from the motel reception this morning on a whim and it feels like a waste otherwise.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says, but he cracks open the driver’s window and the cold rushes in. The wind ruffles through his hair, funneled by the cuffs of his jacket up the length of his sleeves and into his coat. A shiver ripples down his spine and he grimaces.

Beside him, Magnus pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth and cups his hand around his lighter as he lights it, before holding it out to Alec.

“I haven’t smoked in years,” Alec says, but he takes the cigarette anyway and taps the lit end against the ashtray on the console. “You can’t laugh.”

Magnus lights a second cigarette, the clink of his lighter sharp, like metal. He draws in a deep breath, pulling smoke down into his lungs, and then exhales. The grey plume rises towards the roof, only to be sucked suddenly out of the open window.

Magnus coughs, clearing his throat, and takes the cigarette from his mouth, only to pull a face at it.

“Tastes like what I imagine licking the floor of that motel would be like,” he says, before stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray. He frowns at the packet in his hand, before throwing it into the glove box. “Let’s stop at the next gas station. I need something to wash that out of my mouth.”

“Okay,” says Alec, unable to stop himself from smiling. His cigarette warms his fingers. His stomach growls at the thought of cheap diner coffee and a greasy bacon burger for breakfast. He presses his foot down on the gas and shifts the engine up a gear.

A passing road sign reads: Baltimore, 405 km . About a five hour drive.

Alec will miss this rental car.

interlude

In the dark of a motel on the night before, Magnus’ eyes are almost black. Alec studies him from across the pillow, their noses nearly touching. Magnus’ hand, splayed on Alec’s ribs, draws gentle circles into Alec’s skin, while Alec’s ankle lies tangled with both of Magnus’ legs.

Magnus’ body is warm. It’s rhythm is familiar in the way that it matches Alec: how he moves, how he breathes, how the sound of his heartbeat disturbs the silence of the motel room.

If Magnus were to speak, he would say, ‘something is only beautiful because it does not last forever .’ But he does not speak, so Alec cannot say back, ‘ that’s not true. You’ve always been beautiful .’

Instead, he leans forward and he kisses Magnus and he earns a soft groan for his troubles as Magnus curves into him like the other side of a parenthesis, ‘til now unpaired.

Magnus’ hand slides upwards, cupping the back of Alec’s head. His thumb caresses the shell of Alec’s ear and the soft hair above it.

He pulls himself against Alec’s chest, his other hand trapped between them, pressed over Alec’s heart.

He kisses Alec back.

outro

The woman in the apartment above Alec’s has Christmas lights in her window: red and green flash in alternating patterns and Mariah Carey’s faint warble can be heard from the sidewalk as Alec gazes up at his building and allows himself to watch, if only for a moment.

His bag is heavy on his shoulder and his suit is stiff across his back; the thought of a shower is calling him home, but he wants to linger outside a little longer. The cold is sharp against his face and draws a red flush to his cheeks. His breath escapes him in white clouds, tumbling upwards. Baltimore lingers on his skin with the memory of a parting kiss.

He is, now, alone.

On his doorstep, his neighbour has left him an early Christmas card; she has done the same for the last few years, concerned for the young man who lives alone and never has his family visit once December comes around. As Alec unlocks his front door, he slips his finger beneath the seal of the envelope and tears it open, and the message inside is the same as it always is, wishing him and his loved ones well for the holidays.

He places the card on the sideboard by the door as he toes off his shoes, and wanders into his living room, dumping his bag on the floor as he goes.

The stillness in his apartment is strange: the air is musty, the windows unopened for nearly two weeks now, and while there’s no dust on his coffee table yet, the scattered paperwork and unwashed coffee mug are somehow disturbed by his presence.

There are dishes in his kitchen sink and his bed is still unmade; the space is exactly as he left it, and returning to it feels a little like disembarking an airplane after a long journey spent cramped in one mindset, and now having to reacclimatise to solid ground.

Alec is not sure why he expected his apartment to be changed. Even in some small way, like the rotating characters at a diner, or the different coloured carpet at each roadside motel, or the occupancy of his passenger seat by a man he thought he’d never see again, he hoped for something new. Something welcomed but unrecognised, symbolic of a new start or, perhaps, a second chance.

Oh. Maybe he’s the one a little changed, then.

It’s not about the destination , after all , he tells himself, reaching for the remote to turn the TV on for background noise. It’s about the journey.

Briefly, he wonders if this happens every time: if each successive back-and-forth across America wears him down just a little, like the treads on car tires, and it’s only now that he has changed enough to notice that he no longer fits into the routine once occupied with ease. In his footsteps, he brings the liminality of the road into his own apartment, the threshold moment between one state of being and the next.

And Alec is okay with that.

He locks his service weapon in the safe on his desk. Loosens his tie. Pulls a bent postcard from Carhenge, Nebraska, a receipt from a gas station just outside of Baltimore, and a nearly-full pack of Morley’s from his jacket pocket and sets them all on the coffee table, before throwing his coat over the back of the couch to take to the dry cleaners tomorrow.

His suit jacket goes next - two days old and creased around the elbows - and then his belt, a heavy thunk on the floor, before he pads into the bathroom and turns on the shower so that the water might have time to heat up before he gets in.

He strips down to his underwear and wanders back out into his living room, and it’s then that he notices the red flashing light on his answering machine: a voicemail.

He hits the play button - ‘ you have three unread messages ,’ says the disembodied voice - and he pours himself a glass of water as he listens first to Jace ramble on about not coming home for the holidays, and then to his mother discuss her plans to visit her solicitor next week.

Alec empties his glass and sets it in the sink to be washed later. He heads back to the bathroom, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, and the answering machine beeps to signify the final message.

‘ Alexander, it’s me. ’

Alec stops and turns to stare at his answering machine as if it might come alive in front of him.

‘ You’re probably not even back in D.C. yet, but - well ,’ says Magnus. ‘ I made it on time to the meeting, in case you’re interested. I’m never going to hear the end of it from Rafael, of course, and he’s never going to let me drive anywhere alone again, but it’s looking like we’ll be able to close a deal before Christmas. It sounds like I’m going to be back and forth between L.A. and Baltimore a lot next quarter.’

In the background, Alec can hear the sound of people, of a bustling street, of taxi cabs blasting their horns as Magnus tries to hail one down.

‘ But I all that aside, this couldn’t wait and, I suppose, serendipity can only get you so far.’

Alec reaches for the handset, poised above the redial button, but then something in Magnus’ tone changes. In his words, Alec can hear the sound of his smile.

‘ How far is the drive from Los Angeles to Indiana?’ Magnus asks. ‘No, wait, how far is the drive from Baltimore to Indiana? I’ve been thinking a little more about the World’s Biggest Ball of Paint. Perhaps you’d like to see it with me.’

The beat of Alec’s heart shifts in its rhythm once again. He holds his breath. He imagines himself taking a step over that imaginary threshold.

‘There are too many things I haven’t told you yet. ’

*****

“They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there - and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see.”

― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

#ninwrites #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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