#both built a sense of calmness around both important death. both told the main characters it was okay. both had them be happy right before

[dokjaism]

tought too much about aki and the hayakawa family

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 13

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 13 - Doubt

In the archaeological internship Lin Yan participated in, the Ming Tomb was undoubtedly a very peculiar place. The excavation work lasted three months. Before the excavation started, Lin Yan didn't even get any relevant background information. He asked his professor several times but never got a response. When he was told that would be staying at the tomb for only a week, he thought he was coming to be the team's water boy. Instead, he was unexpectedly sent to the site as soon as the plane touched down and was given one of the most important jobs of cleaning the body found in the main room of the tomb.

It was a medium-sized underground mysterious tomb. Bluestone blocks were built into arches. The apse in the room was about forty meters long. A large black lacquered coffin left slightly ajar rested peacefully on the stone platform. Lin Yan and the rest of the crew held their breath together. When the golden nanmu wood coffin lid was slowly lifted, and the gold, silver, jade and rosy brocade around the corpse were exposed, a soft cheer erupted from the tomb. Everyone couldn't help but celebrate that they found such an magnificent mausoleum that had been left completely untouched by tomb robbers. After a long while, all nonessential personnel evacuated one by one. Lin Yan remembered that the professor was the last one to leave the scene. When he left, he rested his hand heavily on his shoulders, as if he wanted to say something but never ended up getting anything out. In the empty and dark main room of the tomb, only Lin Yan and a few lights, both bright and dim, were left. Sometimes, the miner's lamp was often extinguished inexplicably. He later recalled that the owner of the tomb might have been watching him ever since then.

The corpse in the coffin had rotted into a skeleton, but the hair that remained was soft and shiny. However, when Lin Yan sat alone by the coffin and skimmed through some history books, doubts arose. The identity of the owner of the tomb was like the bronze of this mysterious palace, unrecognizable under the green rust. There was no record, no genealogy, nothing even mentioned in town and county chronologies. The tomb's eternal light placed in front of the coffin had long been dried up, and a two-foot-long black name card behind it was coated with thick old blood. The place where the name should be written was empty, and it turned out to be a non-character memorial tablet.

When the last artifact in the coffin was successfully taken out, Lin Yan was told he could return. It only took them seven days and no one had ever told him about the origin of the tomb that whole time.

The sun was shining on Friday morning, and the roses in the flower bed were rushing to bloom. There was a soft fragrance of something oily like burning opium in the air. Lin Yan parked his car at the school gate and hurried through the small square in front of the building to get to the professor's office. He was in such a rush that he went through the ground fountain in the square. After he took a few steps, bells and drums started playing and spurts of water shot from the jets, the surrounding area immediately turning into a forest of water columns shooting up.

"Shit. . ." He couldn't dodge them and got completely soaked. Lin Yan internally cursed as he rushed forward, wringing out the hem of his shirt. A few school girls had just come out of the main entrance of the building and giggled at the embarrassing scene.

Lin Yan blushed a little.

Shiny drops of water splashed off his hair and a droplet fell into his eye. When he raised his hand to wipe it away, his wrist was caught by someone. The cold fingertips wiped the drop off one of his eyelashes. Lin Yan blinked and stood there silently.

When he walked up the steps, he saw a new large poster on the left side of the automatic door. A gentle-looking middle-aged man with glasses was holding a pen, and his demeanour resembled an unopened folder in a stationery store. There was a large line next to him: Chen XX, a well-known Chinese history professor, is coming to our school to give a lecture. All students are welcome to participate. This will be a great chance to interact with the professor.

The tune played was one typically used by the Propaganda Department, the following rows of small letters are written with the specific time and content of the event. Lin Yan struggled to twist the hem of the wet T-shirt and walked towards the hall, muttering that this was probably the reason that the fountain suddenly turned on. Turning back, he frowned and stood in front of the poster for a minute. He always felt that the man on the poster was a bit familiar, but he couldn't remember who it was. After thinking about it for a while, Lin Yan shook his head and stepped through the hall.

The professor's office was on the fourth floor.

"Professor, are you kidding me? From the preliminary preparations to the end of the tomb excavation, so many people participated in it. How could it be possible that nothing about the tomb owner's origins could be found until now?"

"That tomb was already considered to be average to wealthy for the time period. Even if the owner of the tomb was not of official origin, there is always a record in historical records for wealthy businessmen."

University institutions were never busy on Fridays. Everyone was waiting for the weekend. Lin Yan’s professor was no exception. He was sitting in the office with his legs crossed when the drenched student burst into his office. Behind the table, he held a heavy purple sand teacup in his hand. Because he often went to the West in his early years, his skin was wrinkled by the wind and frost. His midsection was blessed by some middle-aged fat, and the bags under the eyes were hanging loosely behind the glasses.

The professor grew impatient with Lin Yan's aggressive tone, and patted a stack of books on the table: "Isn't that so? You see, I'm more worried about writing a report on the excavation. I've been busy for more than a month and I haven't made any progress."

Lin Yan leaned forward impatiently with his hands on the glass plate of the tabletop: "The mausoleum was left untouched. The body and burial items were intact. Isn't it possible to determine the identity of the tomb owner?"

This student had always been known for his politeness and patience. It was rare for him to be this anxious.

"That's the problem. Comparing the data compiled based on the unearthed cultural relics with the records at the time, I can only say that he's completely unknown." The professor put down the cup and tapped his finger on the cover of the book a few times: "Ming Dynasty history is not my specialty. Tell me, why don't you do some research yourself? The students in our school must be able to research independently. You should make good use of the school library resources."

Lin Yan shook his head disappointedly. Just like the professor said, there was a lot of historical data to go through. He wouldn't make any progress in the next three months. Even three years might not be enough time to go through all the information. By then, he would have run out of ten lives. What's more, he has searched through the relevant history books of the library for the past week and even asked Yin Zhou to search through the database in less legal ways, but the strange thing is that no matter what keywords they use - the age, name, location - he couldn't find any information. It was common sense that, in ancient times, even a talented person would be written about somewhere in the county annals, but this Xiao Yu was like a person from another world. The records passed over him like he had never existed.

The faint scent of book pages and wood was floating in the air, and the light blue shutters broke up the rays of sun leaking in. Lin Yan subconsciously glanced back, as if there should be a companion waiting to respond to his doubts. But Xiao Yu does exist, he thought.

Trying his best to stay calm, Lin Yan lowered his head and lowered his voice: "Teacher, this is really important to me, can you help. . ." While speaking, his gaze was fixed on the table. Under the glass plate were many old photos of the professor when he was young. There was a row of people wearing work clothes and hard hats in the black-and-white pictures. Compared to the middle-aged man with swollen eyes in front of him, there was a strange sense of contradiction in the gray-headed but happy-looking man in the pictures.

Time really did wonders.

The instructor tapped two fingers on the table. He didn't look at Lin Yan when he spoke. His eyes were a little dodged: "Why do you need to know the owner of the tomb? Do you need to write a paper?"

Lin Yan took a deep breath. He had always had a keen insight into people's emotions. When he had been sorting through clues last night, the situation that occurred in the tomb flashed in his mind. He had already had his doubts at the time, but he was so nervous and excited that he didn't think too much of it. For example, ever since he joined the team, everyone had been keeping secrets, and the professor also looked at him with that dodgy look when the excavators all left the tomb. The whole thing seemed to have been arranged long ago, so Lin Yan hadn't cared about interrupting the teacher's off-time and grabbed the phone to set up a meeting time.

"Professor, you should know why; this is a matter of life and death." After hesitating for a moment, Lin Yan frowned and said this sentence with emphasis. He pressed his hands on the table hard and turned away.

When I walked to the door of the office. He paused, one, two. . . Lin Yan counted silently in his heart.

Three.

"Wait." The professor's voice sounded from behind.

"Lin Yan, this project isn't under my control. I just heard that a lot of strange things happened when the tomb was opened. Someone came to me and asked you to go. I didn't agree with it. . . If you really want to know more, you can go ask the coordinator of the excavation yourself." The finger tapped twice on the desk. "His name is Chen, he'll be at our school next Monday for a lecture. There are posters downstairs." After speaking, he took a few volumes from the neatly arranged books and put them back on the table, gesturing that he could leave. "You can get more out of him than me"

"Last question." Lin Yan held the door frame and poked his face in: "Teacher, do you know Xiao Yu?"

"No, I don't." The answer was quick this time: "Who's that?"

Lin Yan sighed and held the railing as he quickly walked downstairs.

[xlady-saya]

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 3]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

He expects pain, he always expects pain.

His head hits the floor and his vision floods with red, the headache spreading like a fog through his skull. For a moment, he's back on a cold basement floor, and his legs won't work, they won't move.

The vision wobbles though, the voices of the past aren't as clear. It's been so long since he's been taken back to that place, to the body of a nineteen year old with nothing to save him. Even now, it's not as strong. The memory fades in and out until the roar of the crowd shatters it completely.

Neil's not on the basement floor, his father is dead. Yes, at the age of thirty-five he's come to accept that, to smile at the thought.

He knows something is wrong, because he does smile in his delirious state, and someone above him makes a choked, sobbing noise. His frown returns. He thinks it sounds like their team captain, and she's calling, yelling for someone...

There's a referee whistle and an uproar that follows. It's probably a few seconds, at most, but his awareness moves at a slug pace. He tastes copper and tries to grip his racquet, but he must've dropped it.

Must've...

Neil tries to move, but when he does his body jolts. Like being next to a speaker blasting sound, his spine vibrates and his cells scream. He thinks they might be breaking apart. Is that possible? He'll have to ask Aaron.

His eardrums ring from the cries of panic around him, but they're not his own. The gasps and screams of fear are not his, though they probably should be. Any other time, he'd be in an anxious stir, wondering if the puppet strings holding him up would finally snap.

He freezes, his body refusing to let him move.

But it's not pain.

If it were pain, he could power through it, he could move with a strain and a groan. If it were pain, he could cry and freak out and wonder what happened.

That's how he knows it's bad. This isn't a normal accident, a typical injury. This is something serious.

All at once it comes crashing down onto him, and he forces his eyes open.

The lights of the stadium are mind-numbingly bright and there's people trying to get his attention, but he doesn't care. Neil pushes the fingers someone is holding up aside, trying to sit up and hating himself when he can't. A few seconds. At most.

He tilts his head towards the goal, because even in his state he knows the Exy court by heart. That's how he's measuring time. It's only been seconds, because there's no way Andrew would take any longer to get to him.

He watches the blond sprint the remaining few feet, brutally shoving anyone out of the way. There's a snarl, and commands being barked.

"Back the fuck off."

"Don't touch him."

"Neil, can you hear me?"

Neil's throat is too dry to respond, but he squints his eyes up at Andrew, scanning his face in that infuriating way he does when he's trying to get a rise out of his boyfriend. Yes I can.

The hands around him grip him harder, probably enough to bruise, but Neil can't feel it at all. Ah, not good. Not good at all.

He expects Andrew's face to morph back into annoyance, or the begrudging amusement he always directs at Neil when he's being a little shit like that. Then he would know it's alright, it's not as bad as everyone is making it out to be.

It does not.

Andrew's expression remains stripped of his calm, of his restraint. All the things Andrew cultivates, the neutral indifference he shows the world...it's all gone.

Once again, because of Neil.

And Neil hates it, he wants to reach up and cradle Andrew's face in his hands and will him back into a sense of peace, into contentment.

Instead, all he sees is panic, a desperation he's familiar with but hoped to never see again. Like if Andrew could, he'd shelter Neil from the entire world, hide him away in his chest until he was all healed.

Neil tries to move again, one fruitless attempt to show Andrew he's alright.

All he gets is a sickening crack.

--

He doesn’t realize how silent the meeting room has become until he stops speaking.

Neil cuts himself off there, squinting down at the floor as the static buzzes around him and tries to cling to words that are no longer forming.

No, no.

Neil bites his lip.

"Sorry, that's not right," he says, slicing through his recount of Andrew's expression. He recalls the way Andrew’s hands tightened around Neil's trembling form as if he could put him back together all by himself. Neil still feels the light pressure on his skin, and reaches up to graze the back of his neck. He swears there's the slightest dip, another part of his body Andrew left a permanent mark on.

It's not a memory he's afraid of, or one he's sensitive about. It's just—

Neil looks up.

At this point, Blake and Rayah have gotten comfortable. They're sitting, shoes toed off and legs up on the comfy meeting room chairs. Rayah's manicured nails are eating through the thread of her stockings, body tight with nervous energy. They both blink, as if shaken out of some dream. Neil's never prided himself on being a good storyteller, but he guesses with a life as random and convoluted as his sometimes was, it's hard not to be a little interested.

Blake has the most apparent reaction, squinting at Neil before looking at Rayah for confirmation that Neil did indeed stop there. "...what?"

Rayah, forgoing all professionalism at this point, puts her hands in front of her as if to ask: and?

Normally, Neil might smile, but something begins to unfurl in his gut.

Yes, he knows what the problem is, but weighing the risk is a lot harder than he thought.

Can he entrust that kind of knowledge to these people? Is that reckless?

Is it really his life story if it's not at least a little dangerous?

He knows if Aaron were here, he would scoff, though more fondly. 'You always have to get those around you in trouble.'

Perhaps, but he'll be careful. If he relays this right...if he leaves blurry spots...

He can still get the important stuff across.

"I don't want to start there," Neil says, sighing. "Everyone knows what happened, it was all over the news."

Why waste time repeating details that can be viewed online in a video?

Before it was confirmed the injury was condemning Neil to an early retirement, most of the coverage had been about Andrew's severe reaction. His unwillingness to leave Neil's side, the way he shoved people away like they weighed nothing...

It annoyed Neil to no end how people's main reaction had been to finally say 'oh, so he does care.' For so long, that's all Neil wanted; he wanted people to accept Andrew's devotion, to acknowledge other sides of him that disproved the heartless whispers. Though, once that day happened, Neil realized people didn't deserve to see the evidence. Even when provided it, they twisted it and used it as even more of a reason to doubt them. After all, if Andrew cared so much, why didn't he show it more often?

Even now, decades later, Neil has to bite his tongue from going off into a rage fueled rant. He glares down at the floor, like he could burn the world to pieces.

Andrew put himself in such a vulnerable position just for Neil on that day, showing so much. Like Baltimore, his restraint was gone, focus turned entirely on Neil for the full span of his recovery. Andrew never viewed Neil as a weakness, far from it, but that intimacy was not something he readily liked to share.

For good reason, too. It belonged to them only, at least while they both lived. But on that day, it had been on full display for people to pick at, while internally Andrew's entire being probably screamed and twisted itself inside out.

Worried.

If Neil could've gone back in time, he would've been more careful, he would've made sure people didn't get to see Andrew like that and make their foul assumptions. In their years together, they'd made a silent, but unrealistic promise to try and spare each other pain. It was hypocritical of them, two people so familiar with how unforgiving the world could be. Would be. They never fooled themselves into believing things would always work out right away, or at all. Yet...they worked so hard to make sure neither of them had to experience fear.

And that day, Andrew had been terrified.

Neil knew it wasn't his fault, but old habits die hard. He'd been hung up on it for a while, always hellbent on protecting this person of his.

He and Andrew were insufferably the same in that way.

Months and months later, Andrew had flicked him in the forehead and told him to knock it off, that the past couldn't be changed. They could only move forward, and resume their fragile promise. No more martyr cards.

They both were all too familiar with how life could be disrupted, but Neil had still felt petty about it, about how people overlooked this commitment to one another based on a five minute clip. The urge to clear up Andrew's reputation had probably begun there, waiting to be ignited in his old age.

He wanted people to understand Andrew's actions that day weren't out of character in the slightest. They had no right to look on and judge.

Especially not with what happened later, the way they both had to mourn the life they'd built together, for fear it would be snatched away.

Yes, Neil kept those nights close to his heart, locked in his mind for no one else. Too raw, too exposed. Deadly.

But now, well, it's the most important part of this whole question, unavoidable. Andrew's immediate reaction to Neil's injury had been explosive, powerful, but not nearly as telling as what followed.

Rayah stutters, catching up with Neil's meaning. She leans forward, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. "Yes but...Andrew's reaction was so strong--"

"And again, everyone saw," Neil reiterates. He closes his eyes, trying to find patience he no longer has. If he ever did. He sags further into his wheelchair, contemplating it all. How to best go about it. "I just...this was supposed to be about the sides of Andrew people didn't see."

And maybe about sides of him too. Weird, how he tricked himself into that one.

"But it would help people understand your relationship more if you went more into detail about his protective side," Blake tries.

He's right, but that's exactly why Neil can't start there. It barely scratches the surface. He sighs, knowing this is already a stupid idea. Yet, if he's trying to share the true sides of how hard Andrew would've worked to keep him safe, he has no choice.

Neil nods, smile sad. Those hours spent in Andrew's arms, waiting for death, feel so far away now. Back then, his world had been crumbling, and now it's but a piece in the timeline.

He never let himself feel grateful for that, he realizes.

"Yes, but that was just a glimpse of it, albeit a violent one. It makes for something more engaging, climactic, I'll give you that." Neil huffs.

That's what's good for interviews, but Neil's made it clear he doesn't give a damn about that.

"But what I can give you is better, more important," he promises, because it's true. He swallows around the lump in his throat; even now, his mind is not so willing to give away the last of his private moments. But if not now, then when? "Andrew's protectiveness took a lot of forms, and I'm not saying the circumstances surrounding my retirement didn't affect him in the ways seen in the video..."

He knows they did. The panicked expression flashes in his mind once more.

"But I think what happened after that would make more sense," Neil says, and already the potential consequences make him shiver. Force of habit; his blood runs cold whenever he thinks of a black car, a loud cane hitting hardwood. "It would help people understand."

Blake and Rayah exchange a look, feet hitting the floor slowly. Neil assumes at this point they can sense his strain, the foreboding mingling with the air. "You mean...your recovery?"

"No," Neil whispers, and holds off, because Sydney comes in right on cue. Her entrance makes the two journalists jump right out of their seats, but her presence is so standard for Neil. He could hear her footsteps in the dark and immediately know it's her.

"Alright, I'm sure you all must be hun--uh," she stops, jumping a little herself at their reactions, about the air in the room around her. She blinks once, takeout menu in hand. Brown's. The usual, and Neil's favorite. It was Andrew's favorite place to take him on dates when he was retired, according to Andrew 'only old people eat here.'

It never failed to make Neil laugh.

Sydney's smile is cheery at first, especially when her eyes rest on him, but it falls soon after. As Neil grew older, he learned letting people in was actually a good thing most of the time. However, he's still painfully aware of the downsides.

Sydney tenses up from whatever look is on Neil's face. Years of caring for him have made her attuned to his mood, the subtle mannerisms which make up any one of his given reactions.

And she can sense dread like a smell, potent and coppery.

It must be something else that comes with the territory, of years spent at Andrew and Neil's side.

She's there next to him in an instant, checking his pulse and looking around at the table to see if anything's wrong. It makes Neil chuckle when she goes as far as to check his water, like it can be accidentally poisoned right in front of him.

She looks between Neil and his guests, takeout menu clutched in her hand to an almost distorting degree, but Neil reassures her no protection is needed. He touches her wrist as tight as he can, given his lack of grip, and presses down until she lets up on the menu.

She blinks down at where they touch, then back up again, brown eyes squinting in confusion.

As safe as Neil plans to be about this, he doesn't want her anywhere near them.

"Sydney. Brown's is fine. Get our usual okay?" Neil says, and hopes his stare is as piercing as he means it to be. He's never asked her like this; she always knows. They've shared the same lunch together for years, and she probably still knows Andrew's order too. It's deliberate, and while he hates ordering her around in such a way, it's necessary here. He'll make it up to her somehow.

But he needs her to leave.

"Yes, of course, but...is something the matter?" She asks slowly, staring him down.

Ah Sydney, she always knows too much for her own good. Neil can't help but smile at her. Her perceptiveness matches his own at times, and maybe that's why she was so comfortable attending to him. She seems to understand in an instant, so he doesn't baby her with trying to hide the gist of what he's about to get into.

"Go put in the order, close the meeting room door and whatever you do, don't let anyone else come in," Neil instructs, letting go of her with one last imploring squeeze. "Knock when you come back, I shouldn't be long."

He watches her swallow and nod, glancing back at the two reporters. They're sitting up straight again, but not due to any expected politeness. They're more than aware of how in the dark they are, but Neil is guessing they've read up on him well enough too.

They should know they're about to step in a little deeper.

"Okay," Sydney says, veneer of calm back in place. She takes Blake and Rayah's orders and then leaves, not bothering to linger. "Excuse me."

Neil waits until her steps completely fade from the outside hallway before he turns back to his guests, expression grave.

Old threats echo in his mind, reminding him of the old can of worms. He's not even sure if they even apply anymore, but he took them seriously enough when the Moriyamas gave them to him, he still shudders to think about defying them. He's probably been forgotten in that world at this point, but he can never be too safe.

"I'm going to make something clear about this part of the story," He begins, and shakes his head when Rayah grabs her recorder. Nothing recorded for this, only notes. If that's even smart… “For your own safety, you are not to ask too many questions about this particular incident. No names, no affiliations, not even questions about how they looked. You're going to wait until I'm dead and gone before you release it, and edit it so it's as vague as possible. Not the Andrew parts, but the rest. Don't let it fall into anyone else's hands."

He trusts himself to be careful enough where no connections can be made, no assumptions tied back to any one family past or present. But...insurance is paramount.

From the way the reporters look at each other, Neil almost wants to laugh at the assumptions they're making. The mob is in many ways a business; it's built upon negotiations, psychology, and ties. It's not entirely the bloody, underground image the movies portray.

But...it can be.

"Okay...what is this about?" Blake asks,

Neil smiles ruefully. "I'm sure you know all about my father's line of work." He grimaces, and amends: "The Butcher, I mean."

They nod instantly, probably unsure if it was okay to bring it up. In most cases, no, and he won't be doing it again. His father is good for context, nothing else.

"We...we know you gave up a lot to the FBI, that you got out of that life," Rayah says, like she's reading text right off his wiki article.

He guesses that's fair. No one knows much; his father's gang got caught, died, and Neil testified against the rest. Signed, sealed, done.

"That's what the news reports said, easy to spin," he responds, clicking his tongue. "Poor Neil Josten, a victim of one evil man and his gang. But it was never that simple, and I was never free, not for a long time."

He'd viewed it as freedom though. It was the best outcome he could've asked for, given all he'd been prepared for. He'd been given the unlikely chance to cultivate and build his life, but it always felt suspended, and they knew it. One wrong move for any of them, be it himself, Jean, or Kevin, and those chances would be revoked.

It hadn't really occurred to him how suffocating that reality was until his time ran out.

"You were still in the mob?"

Neil shrugs.

"I had some debts that needed to be paid, to people much much more powerful than my father. You would not even begin to understand how deep these organizations run or how influential they are. I was tied up in it for a lot of my career, and it all came to a head when I got hurt."

After the sickening crack, Neil doesn't remember much. But part of him had to know he'd never play again, and for him, that was a death sentence. He'd been prepared to make his case to the Moriyamas when he reached normal retirement age in his forties. He'd studied up on as much as he could, ready to show them how much of an asset he could be. He could still make them money, still be an important public figure. If nothing else, he could do menial tasks so they'd be benefited.

It didn't have to end with Exy, and he'd been hopeful Ichirou would see things his way.

The injury derailed his confidence in those plans, and as much as he'd prepared for that eventual confrontation, he could not ignore the very real threat:

What if Ichirou didn't care? What if he'd decided Neil's purpose had run its course?

It was something Andrew had not been willing to consider, but Neil had.

Neil sighs; he's not afraid of them anymore, whether or not that's a good thing is yet to be seen. Rayah and Blake stare back, not truly comprehending the seriousness. Why should they? They've never been so entrenched in those systems. They haven't seen what Neil has.

That's alright, he'll just have to do what he can and trust they'll take him seriously.

"I need your agreement that you get it, that you'll listen to me," he says, and for dramatic flair, he adds: "This is not a game."

He plays on their fears of movie mafias, and hopes it works. If he's being honest with himself, it's for selfish reasons. Neil would never want this to fall back on Kevin or the remaining Foxes.

"We understand Neil," Rayah states, hand over her heart. As if that means anything to him. "We'll be careful."

And whether or not they actually are, it no longer matters. After all, this is his story. He'll choose what goes into it.

So finally, when the question comes, he's ready.

"What happened?"

--

The x-rays stare back at him.

Neil's honestly not sure why he's being shown them; he knows what they mean, but he didn't need to see the actual fractures to know the end result.

Neil doesn't move as the doctor finishes reviewing them, stepping back to let Neil process. He wonders if this is where the reaction is supposed to go. If this is where most patients would cry or scream or begin asking their delusional questions.

Maybe that's why the doctor looks so shocked when Neil does nothing. Neil leans back in the hospital bed, aching and unable to move his legs, carefully wrapped in casts. He's a little surprised himself. This is where he should be asking when he'll be able to play Exy again, right?

This is where he begins to panic, where he needs the press of a hand on his neck.

Well, he'd still gladly take that, but more so because he wants it, not because he needs it.

Andrew is a comforting, but imposing presence at his side. He hasn't slept or eaten anything since Neil was admitted, refusing to leave Neil alone for even a moment. His calm facade is back for everyone else, but Neil's been tracing the poorly locked away fear in those eyes for hours.

And now, here is confirmation of what they both already realize. Neil can't bear to look over at Andrew in the moment, but he can sense the tension, the tight coils of reality crashing down on the blond's shoulders.

The doctor looks between the both of them, before dropping what Neil supposes is the final bomb into the quiet air. But he knows.

"I know this is not easy to process," the doctor says, slow and unsure, but Neil only blinks at him. "In time, with the right amount of physical therapy, you'll be up and moving again, but it will be an adjustment. Competitive sports simply...won't be an option."

He stops listening after 'time' comes out of his mouth. Time. How funny.

There will potentially be no time for anything.

Neil wonders if he's being rational or pessimistic. He's always known what this moment could mean, and he's dreaded it. He would spend years with nightmares, flinching at black cars or preparing for how he could persuade. Lie. Anything.

Whatever he could do to keep this, to spare both himself and Andrew the pain.

Now, the life he's developed and the life he loves is being threatened, but the dread has decided to spare him. Maybe that's more of a sign of his final moments than anything else.

He doesn't want to run, or wallow, or waste what little time he might have left.

He only wants...

Neil finally looks over to Andrew, tilting his head just so. It hurts him far more to see the look on Andrew's face. It's expectant, waiting to follow Neil's plan of action. Whether it be to skip town or scream or gear up to fight...

Andrew's looking for something, ready for anything, and Neil can't give it to him.

I just want to be with you.

Andrew's eye twitches at the sigh which leaves Neil's lips, fond and gentle. Neil knows better than to touch him right then, but he wants to. He wants to tell Andrew to let go of all that strain, to just whisk him away and they can go on a date, they can rest or rewatch that one movie that freaks Neil out.

But Andrew only looks like he's fighting back a snarl at Neil's passiveness, and Neil won't waste time explaining. It's not hopelessness he feels, but the weird mixture in its place is no more warm or sweet. It's a different kind of pain, mixed with resignation.

It's so opposite of everything Neil has ever been, but he's not willing to let Andrew help him this time. It's not selfish, it's not the martyr card Andrew will accuse him of.

He's simply at the end of the line, and he's going to spend it how he wants.

Neil turns back to the doctor, just one question on his mind. "Can I go home? We can afford in-home care."

The doctor's jaw drops before he collects himself, not really in the mood to argue with star athletes whose careers just came to a halt. That, or he must know all about Neil Josten, and how he's not prone to listening to anyone's advice.

The doctor is silent for a minute too long, outside the limitations of Andrew's patience, and he flinches at the way the blond's hands tighten on the bed rails. Neil's heart skips a beat at the sound of Andrew's knuckles popping, at the redness of his hands.

The doctor takes the hint. "I'll get the paperwork set and get a wheelchair," he says. "A nurse can escort you--"

"No," Andrew says, the first word he's spoken in hours, and it leaves no room for argument. Neil smiles down at his hands, wrapped in white hospital bands and connected to wires. Yes, that's where he'll be selfish. He'll let Andrew watch out for him, for a little while longer.

Though, Neil is old enough now to know Andrew never minded.

The doctor waits for more, but gets nothing. He takes the x-rays with him when he goes, pity sweeping over them for reasons Neil no longer cares about. "Very well."

The door clicks shut, leaving only the sound of Andrew's harsh breathing mixed with the steady beep of vital monitors. Neil really does hate hospitals, but even more so today.

When they're alone, the roles reverse, and it's Andrew who won't look at him. The blond starts to pace the floor of Neil's private room, wearing the linoleum thin and only stopping to glare out the window. Whenever his phone rings, he silences it, before eventually just turning it off altogether.

And through it all, Neil can't help but smile at him. He doesn't think it's the pain meds; he's aware, clear headed.

There's guilt there too, but he knows Andrew won't have it. Neil once again wishes he could spare Andrew this anxiety, this helplessness. But well, at least Neil is here this time, for however long that is.

Andrew walks forward a little too fast after another sharp turn, and nearly trips. Then, he really does growl, fists shaking with the need to lash out at something. It's been awhile since he's seemed so rage filled, but Neil doesn't bother poking him about it. He's happy it's abnormal now, that he's so used to a calm, content Andrew.

Neil's heart squeezes in sadness unrelated to his career. He watches Andrew stop, the anger shaking him but rendering him unable to do much else but tremble. He stays put in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at Neil

Neil supposes he expected that.

"Andrew," he tries, a beckoning tone that Andrew is so weak to on most days. He means for it to be playful, but it comes out a small whisper, pleading. It gives too much away, and that's when Neil starts to feel the beginning edges of his own stress.

All he knows is he wants Andrew next to him, he wants to feel Andrew's pulse, his warmth. Right now, he thinks, come here. It's childish and unrealistic, he only just found out about the x-rays. Word wouldn't travel that fast, but to think that any moment could be his last and Andrew wouldn't be touching him.

Andrew tenses instantly, and while he doesn't meet Neil's gaze, he's at his side again just as fast, grip tight and unforgiving on Neil's hand. Never babying, but reminding Neil he's real too. They're together, and nothing will change that until they know Neil’s fate for sure.

Still, they need to address it. They've grown past the days of trying to read each other's minds. Neil can imagine how Andrew is feeling, but he'd rather not. He wants to hear it, he wants to hold all of it like he holds Andrew.

However, he's not surprised when Andrew cuts him off when he tries to open his mouth again. The grip on his hand is bruising now, but not commanding. It's desperate, and it cuts Neil even deeper.

Andrew exhales shakily, holding up their hands as if to speak, before placing them down on the stiff sheets once more. Neil's familiar with all sides of Andrew, even the unsure side, the hesitant one. It doesn't make it easier to process.

He wants to tell Andrew it's okay, they can both look out for one another, even when Neil's the one physically broken, but Andrew shakes his head.

Not yet.

"I don't want to talk about it," Andrew finally admits, voice rough and scratchy, and all Neil can do is nod. He's not trying to fight, not here, so he doesn't dare point out that eventually, they'll have to.

He just sighs, and brings Andrew's hand close to his chest so he can feel it beat, full and proud.

"Let's go home."

--

Over the next few days, he gets settled in, their bed modified and moved to better accommodate the nursing supplies Neil needs. Andrew still keeps it at the best vantage point, angled so he can watch the door. Andrew tried to make the case for getting a separate cot to allow Neil as much room as possible, but Neil refused.

He's going to have things remain as normal as possible, soaking up Andrew's presence as much as he can. While he can.

For the first time in years, Andrew's perch changes. Instead of having his back pressed to the wall, with Neil protecting him from the open room, he tucks Neil in instead, becoming his shield in yet another way.

It's a small barrier, it would buy Neil maybe...oh, a second of time, if he even could get away. It makes Neil pout; he likes it when he's the one keeping Andrew safe, but he knows he's in no position to physically do so.

Now, his attentiveness has to come in the form of hard conversations and requests, ones Andrew hasn't even let him bring up yet.

Neil tries more than a few times to comment on it, to lead them down the road of conversation Andrew is avoiding, but Andrew just bundles Neil up. More often than not, Andrew moves Neil's arm too, so it's wrapped around the blond's waist.

It's a deadly arrangement, because it's unbearably cozy. As much as he hates it, the medicine makes Neil sleep a lot, and he's always worried he's going to wake up to more than Andrew's attentive face and steady breathing.

Neil doesn't think Andrew has slept more than a few hours, but Neil can't judge. The dread he'd been relieved of at the hospital now sits like a veil, much worse now that he's home. There's more to cherish here, more to miss.

He doesn't want to be anywhere else, but at the same time he doesn't want it taken away.

The cats take to sleeping on his chest or curled into his side, little protectors themselves. Neil wonders if they have a sixth sense, if they can tell something is wrong. If they can, they're a lot more subtle about it than humans are.

The main example of that is Neil's Foxes. They all call, first in a frenzy and then on a strict face time schedule organized by Andrew. It lets Neil sleep, as much as he wishes he could talk to them forever.

Still, he can only take so much of the tension in the air when they do. His Foxes aren't sheltered, nor are they stupid. They're all too aware of Neil's contract and how it's about to run out. If Neil's being honest, he's shocked he's lasted this long with no word from Ichirou, but none of the Foxes dare to bring it up.

When Kevin calls, his face is haggard and eyes wide, but he barely gets a word out before Andrew threatens to hang up. The panic in Kevin's face dissolves into something sad, pitying, and Neil has to grab Andrew's hand to force it away from the button. His hand shakes in warning, but lets Neil guide him.

“Neil…” Kevin says, swallowing down what Neil guesses to be bile, because Kevin has always reacted so strongly to any indication of things going wrong. Neil nearly feels bad. Things haven’t gone wrong for Kevin in a long time, and he’s glad. As if sensing Neil’s guilt-ridden smile, Kevin blinks at him through the screen, fishing for answers he no longer needs. “What am I supposed to…”

Do?

And they say Neil asks stupid questions. He shakes his head fondly. “Nothing. You won’t have to do anything. You’re Kevin Day.”

You’re strong.

It’s something Neil’s known forever, though it took a while for Kevin to start acting like it. With all his progress, Neil can’t imagine this being a setback.

Kevin’s hanging jaw clamps shut.

It's then Neil really looks at Kevin, sees how he's aged. There's some silver that's starting to show in his hair on the side, a fact they all like to poke fun at, but his features are just as young as they ever were. Deep brown eyes locking away a cautious fire, a constant burn. He knows he and Kevin have never been the type to get all emotional with one another, but when he smiles at Kevin's worry, at the fire wanting to be let loose...

Well, he hopes Kevin can tell how much Neil appreciates him, how they don't have to hash out more painful things. Also, he hopes Kevin picks up on the subtle threat in Neil's eyes, a burn all his own. Kevin Day isn't supposed to be controlled by fear anymore, and that's going to be a rule regardless of if Neil is around to enforce it.

He lets them sit in silence like that until Kevin nods, and utters an impossibly small: “I promise.”

And naturally, Neil understands.

They talk about Kevin's game, about Thea, about some docu series Kevin is in love with. All the while, Neil nestles himself into Andrew's warmth, and forgets anything is wrong.

The rest of his team learns fast. Allison takes to scolding him in the way she always does, but meticulously avoids any mention of the future. Instead, she reminisces on the vacations she made him take with her; Rome, Spain, that one random town in Montana.

She gives him a mix of good and bad memories, the places they went, that one rude waiter she almost fought in the parking lot.

It makes him laugh, and he's glad to be able to exchange jabs with her. It's only at the end where her mask cracks and she lingers a bit too long, telling him goodnight one too many times.

The calls blend together, each with their awkward goodbyes.

In another hour, he’s listening to Katelyn’s excessive cheer, overcompensating for the gloom carrying through the phone lines. She’s holding a picture of the four of them, when they went to Alaska. “Remember when we made Andrew get in that plane to fly above the glacier? He was terrified!”

At least Katelyn knows how to get his mind off things: bring up Andrew.

She talks too much, like she always does, but Neil appreciates her stories about bitchy patients and scandalous coworkers when her vacation tales run out.

“What about Sandra? Is she still being an asshole?” He asks, an invitation to talk about anything other than his injury. It’s not that he’s in the mindset to really care, and he suspects Katelyn doesn’t either. She’s on autopilot, in need of direction. Despite every attempt to veer them away, she’s biting her lip raw during her pauses, scanning Neil up and down.

Concerned. Too much so for his liking, and he throws another topic at her.

“O-oh yeah, you won’t believe what she did yesterday Neil! She—”

And Katelyn latches onto whatever prompt he gives her, so unwilling to upset him. No matter how much it’s eating at her to behave so selfishly, she’ll do it for him without question.

It's also a welcome distraction to the way Aaron keeps glancing over at Andrew on their call, gaze strained and worried. Neil is glad he's not the only one thinking of Andrew's feelings, but not even Aaron's prodding gets Andrew to talk to Neil about the elephant in the room.

“Andrew, have you been eating?” Aaron asks, and gets nothing. That’s not exactly common anymore, and Aaron glares at the silent treatment. “Neil’s not a baby, you can leave him for a few—”

“Sweetie,” Katelyn whispers, placing a hand over Aaron’s. Her eyes echo an acceptance that hasn’t processed for Aaron yet. He looks at her in disbelief, and then back at his brother, almost pleading with him.

The call ends quietly, even with Katelyn doing her best to fill the void.

Neil can’t blame Aaron for his denial. Aaron wants to pretend it’s all normal, that Neil will be here day after day, forever. Funny, how he’s just like his brother in that moment, unwilling to swallow reality.

Neil stares at him before they hang up, willing him to see the logic. Neil wants nothing more than for Andrew to take care of himself.

But things are not normal. As long as Aaron frames things from that lens, Andrew will never listen.

Neil tries though, on his end. He tries and tries, and feels his patience running thin. He doesn't want them to be left with anything unsaid. He wants to hear Andrew's voice, even if it trembles.

"If you don't rest, you won't get any better," Andrew says during one call break, trailing off. Neil can only sigh at the tone, throat too closed up to snark. He wants to ask Andrew if he's talking to himself, because obviously he's being the delusional one this time.

Neil wonders if he should consider this a good thing, that Andrew has let himself have hope.

Neil hides his expression in his pillow, unwilling to let Andrew see an ounce of the realization that he can't fulfill it.

The calls pile up, and Andrew's grip on Neil's waist tightens with each passing comment.

Dan and Matt try to fill Neil in on as much of their lives as they can in order to offer him a distraction. They're horrible at avoiding the topic of Exy, fumbling every time they do, but it makes Neil smile each time. He hasn't let it sink in that he'll never play again, but it doesn't hurt as much as he thought. It's more of a dull ache, a yearning to run free and win, but one he can manage. Exy stopped being his entire world some time ago.

Nicky, the one Neil considers responsible for that realization, is all about Neil's recovery. It's almost daunting, since Neil hadn't exactly let himself think about anything past the end of this week.

But Nicky doesn't let Neil or Andrew escape the conversation, and Neil has to fight back his smile.

“Andrew! Don’t ignore me, I want to know that you’re taking care of our boy,” he nags, scrolling through his laptop too fast for him to be able to actually read anything. Neil imagines the cursor bouncing off the sides of the screen. “I’ve been reading some articles…what treatment plan do they have Neil on? Is the hospital even reputable? I’m getting Aaron in on this or so help me—”

Nicky has come to read Andrew well, in his own way; he asks Andrew a plethora of questions because he knows it gives Andrew something to focus on. A task, a purpose. He asks about every mundane detail, from Neil's medication to his sleep schedule, to physical therapy and onward.

“I say you create a color-coded schedule, so you don’t miss appointments. And buy a real calendar for fuck’s sake! We can start planning things to do when you’re better Neil!”

Andrew tenses at that one, but it doesn’t deter Nicky in the slightest.

He doesn't shy away from the idealistic future, because he must sense it's what Andrew needs. Nicky probably needs it too.

"And Neil, no getting into any fights," Nicky scolds, pointing his finger into his phone's camera thirty minutes later. Neil has barely said a word. "We can't have you backsliding."

Neil huffs, nodding along with him. Andrew has relaxed a little bit where Neil is lying on top of him, but not nearly enough for Neil to be satisfied. That's how Neil knows his boyfriend is more than aware of their situation; Andrew's not delusional, only stubborn.

The world will have to pry Neil out of his cold, dead hands, and that's exactly what Neil's afraid of.

"What if I don't start the fight?" Neil asks, against his better judgement. It's supposed to be lighthearted, but it comes out more serious than he'd planned. Shit.

For the first time in hours, Andrew's gaze slides to him and stays there, peeling him back until there's nothing but rawness. Nicky's laughter dissolves slowly, hanging in the air with Neil's words. Neil tries his best to send Nicky an apologetic look for breaking his efforts, for reminding them all of the other possible option. The probable one.

But, Nicky has a reputation as the strong one.

He huffs, throwing Neil a sad smile, like Neil is so stupid and he loves him for it. Nicky's not there, but Neil tenses, like he's being crushed in one of his hugs anyways.

"It's okay," Nicky says, glancing between the two of them. "Andrew will—Andrew will keep you safe."

Nicky swallows, breathing choppy, but nothing compared to Neil's. Neil's might stop altogether, but Nicky doesn't back down until Neil gives him that same, tired smile.

Neil hears his words from years prior, echo in his head.

Andrew will protect you.

Neil's smile quivers at the edges, and for someone who seldom cries, Neil feels like he's been skirting the edge all day. His face hurts like he's been sobbing, muscles pulled taut and eyes red from how much he's had to rub them. His throat is raw from how many times he's choked on every emotion, good and bad, but no tears come to expel the chemicals of rage and despair. It's like he's bottling those up too, savoring them for as long as possible.

"I always do," Andrew eventually comments, the usual deadpan, and Neil's heart nearly bursts in his chest. He can't stand Andrew sometimes, is what he wants to say, but that's not true at all. Instead, Neil burrows into Andrew's chest, uncaring that Nicky can see, and can't bring himself to say anything else.

Nicky signs off cheerily, saying he'll talk to Neil soon, and Neil's body hiccups in response.

He can't anymore.

He just can't avoid it, he won't.

Neil listens to the sound of Andrew placing his phone on the nightstand to charge, and then hears him shake one of the pill bottles, weighing when it'll be best to give Neil the next dose. The sound pisses him off.

He doesn't want medicine, he doesn't want to sleep.

Even as he thinks it, just resting against the pillow makes his limbs feel heavy, dragged underwater by rocks. It's so easy to give into the lull, to the noise around him blending together into blurbs and nonsense. Funny enough, it's Andrew's touch that snaps him out of it.

It's typically the last push Neil needs before falling back under, but this time when Andrew's thumb lingers over Neil's face, tracing the shell of his ear, Neil can't put it off any longer.

Maybe it's how much he loves that touch, how much it means to him. He's not sure. He just knows he has to get a reaction, he wants Andrew to see him.

Neil moves to shift, and the inevitable happens. Andrew's hand darts out to stop him, already beginning the gentle process of rolling Neil over himself. That's when Neil tenses, staring up at Andrew with defiance in his eyes.

The blond is wearing a tank top, muscles on full display, so Neil catches the exact moment Andrew freezes up, shoulders coiled in preparation for a fight. Neil would smirk in any other situation; he'd never hurt Andrew, but his being never ceases to scream: threat.

In Andrew's case, Neil has the power to bare down on his throat, spilling all his emotions onto the clean sheets.

Andrew's eyes, so tired and dark, spark to life. Yes, Neil thinks. That's what I want, come back to me.

But Andrew's expression is one of warning, one that says 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Neil can't hold off anymore.

Without breaking eye contact, Neil moves again, and winces at the pain that shoots up his body. Andrew clamps down on his waist, stopping him, and then pushes down again for extra reinforcement. The gesture yells at Neil to stop, to not do this, but that just makes Neil squirm more.

"Neil," Andrew warns, breaking their eye contact. Neil can't help but glare; he feels like he's been doing almost nothing but staring at Andrew, taking in the contours of his face and the faded freckles leftover from summer. Any little detail, Neil has latched on. His memory is nothing like Andrew's, but he's sure he'd be able to recount every mole and curve if asked. It might mean nothing if he's six feet under. There will be no one in the afterlife for him to tell, to remind, but he's Neil Josten. He's stubborn as all hell, and won't let himself forget even something as minor as the crooked line of Andrew's nose.

Yet, Andrew won't look at him, won't address the hurt bubbling in his chest, just as strong as Neil's. That's not what they do anymore; they've always shared, and this will not be the exception.

Neil pushes Andrew's hands away and moves, but okay...he's not the smartest. That time hurts, and Neil's wince turns into a full-on groan.

But it's fine, he thinks, not laughing at the joke. It's fine, because it's the last straw.

Andrew rips the excess blankets off the bed, kneeling onto the mattress until he's boxing Neil in, but it's less an intimidation tactic than a request. Stay, stay right there. When he speaks, it's a horrible mix of anger and desperation, a calmness cracked clean in half. "Stop trying to move, and stop fucking staring at me," Andrew says, and Neil shakes his head.

"There's no point--" Neil tries, willing Andrew to understand what he's talking about. But oh, from the way the blond flinches, Neil knows he does. "I'm going to try to fight however I can, but—"

A hand claps over his mouth, and Andrew's capacity for gentleness is fraying. Neil knows it's his fault, but he doesn't mind. He wants Andrew to show him whatever he's feeling, even if they both hate it. Andrew looks down at him, and Neil catches the slip up. The way Andrew's gaze traces over the top of Neil's nose, the shape of his brows. Taking everything in, just to make sure his perfect memory got nothing wrong.

Realizing this, Andrew scowls, and buries his face in Neil's neck to stop the urge.

Andrew is careful in his panic regardless, maneuvering so he's not pressing down on Neil too hard. His legs are angled away but unwilling to release Neil completely for fear of him hurting himself more. Neil sighs, relaxing his muscles in a show of surrender.

Okay. He won't move anymore.

"Hey..." Neil whispers into the quiet Andrew leaves in the wake of his smothered rage, raising his hand slowly to card through the blond's hair. It's textured and unkempt, but Neil missed the feel of it. He's no stranger to comforting Andrew, but the blond hasn't let him do as much in the last few days.

Neil presses down on Andrew's neck when his panting starts to dissipate, and counts the cars that pass outside on the street below.

"I can't stand that look on your face," Andrew states eventually, and he turns his head to the side so his voice is clear. Nothing unheard. "Like you're giving up. Like you're trying to take me in for the last time."

Like it's thank you, goodbye.

Andrew would know that look well, Neil supposes.

Neil cannot accept it. The hurt burns through his vocal cords at the vulnerability, apparent even through Andrew's neutral tone; he never wants Andrew to feel like that, but he also wants Andrew to be alive. Prosperous. "You're the one always championing rationality. You know things aren't fair, but now what?" Neil whispers, and his fingers halt in their ministrations, cramping up from the weight of it all. He finally chokes on a sob. "Just because it's me? You can't accept it?"

Andrew surges up, unable to avoid it any longer. His hands come up around Neil's face, digging into old scars. Those problems feel so old now.

"Nothing is going to happen to you," Andrew spits out, and Neil's skull vibrates from the force of the grip.

"You can't promise that anymore," Neil says, but he can't shake his head when Andrew is holding him so tight. Andrew scowls down at him, and a loud noise from outside makes them both jump. Neil's panic filters in, rushed like he's on a countdown all over again. "They're going to come. They're going to take me away."

He bites back adding: 'and you're going to let them.'

He knows that's unrealistic to ask and stupid to assume, but Andrew must hear the insinuation anyways.

There's a long pause, broken up only by Andrew's humorless laugh. It sends shivers down Neil's spine. Dark, lifeless. Neil doesn't miss that sound. He knows what Andrew's real laugh is like.

"Are they?" Andrew asks, tone razor sharp. Despite this, his grip lessens, thumb gently swiping over the nearest burn mark. "Neil, you must not know me as well as I thought."

It's selfish, Neil knows that much. It's selfish to ask Andrew to let him be the sacrificial lamb again. It's not how they do things, it's not what Neil promised. But he doesn't want a world without Andrew, even if he's no longer in it with him.

"Andrew..." He tries, but it's fruitless. Andrew rolls over and adjusts Neil carefully, pulling him up so as to not cause anymore of the mind-numbing pain from earlier. Neil fits so easily against him, and he doesn't fight it this time.

He's so tired of fighting, if it can be called that. In the end it's just the two of them doing what they always do: stubbornly holding onto one another. It's mutual, wanted, and Neil was shortsighted to think Andrew ever saw this gesture as detrimental.

At a certain point...he guesses it's just love.

And that makes him hold on even tighter.

"You're not going anywhere," Andrew reminds, and pries Neil's fingers off his shirt one by one until he can lace their hands together. Neil hadn't realized he'd been physically echoing his wants, stretching out the fabric til it's warped. "Stop it."

Neil laughs at the familiarity of it. It's breathy, and it soon gets swallowed up by the sounds of the covers as he burrows in closer.

This is just how it'll be.

Neil won't convince Andrew to accept it, but that's alright. He'll just have to do what he can when his fate arrives at their door. If he had it his way though, he'd sit like this forever, with Andrew so close and real.

A few more calls pass after Neil naps, and it's Renee who finally stands up to Andrew in her own way. He should've seen that coming. No one else would be quite as acquainted with darkness, with the cruelty of the world.

She's finishing up telling Neil about the book she's been reading, and her goodbye trails off. "Just..." She whispers, smiling in the same old way. Yet, her next words are nothing like the pragmatic Renee he's come to appreciate. He guesses everyone has their limits. "Don't go, Neil."

Neil's face falls, and he says nothing. There's nothing to say, and she nods. Neil doesn't have time to think of anything else though, because Andrew doesn't allow the call to continue.

Stiffly, he leans forward to disconnect the phone. "Goodbye Renee."

The dismissal is firm, but Renee's smile remains until the very last moment.

Neil is grateful, knowing someone will be around who gets it.

Andrew says nothing, busying himself with Neil's blankets, and Neil prods at him until he stops. "You have to forgive her."

"I don't have to do anything," Andrew reminds, fluffing Neil's pillow. Or...more like punching it. Neil sincerely hopes they don't spar anytime in the near future. "She shouldn't have said that."

"She said it because she knew she'd be the only one who could," Neil says, and Andrew's silence is telling.

Because you'll need her.

Renee is too important for Andrew to cut off long term, even if he hates that she can see what he refuses to. She'll be there for him, no matter what.

Thinking he'll get no reply for all his trouble, Neil leans back onto the newly fluffed pillow and startles when Andrew speaks again.

The blond's hand slides over his waist, fitting Neil against him snugly before rolling onto his back again. He's never not watching the door.

"Tell me something," Andrew starts.

"Always."

Andrew rolls his eyes at the sentiment, but meets Neil's gaze. Neil wrinkles his nose in the way that usually makes Andrew kiss him, but no such luck. Ah, so it won't be a fun question.

Andrew searches for a long time, the way he does to make sure Neil won't lie.

Right now, Neil wouldn't dream of it.

"Why now?" Andrew asks, and holds up his finger at Neil's confusion. "My scared little rabbit, always afraid of being caught by the wolf. Death is staring you down, but when you saw those x-rays, there was no panic."

Neil slumps a little more, turning just enough to avoid being scolded; he doesn't need the reminder, he feels the emotions fly back into him. In the moment, he'd simply felt resignation. He recalled his plans of course, as clipped and disorganized as they were given what happened. Ways he can appeal to Ichirou, ways he can prove his worth that don't involve his game.

There was no immediate panic sure, because there's only so many ways this can go.

But there was fear.

He doesn't question why for very long, since the answer is lying right next to him, breath held and waiting.

Slowly, Neil rests his hand over Andrew's heart, and feels the pace pick up almost instantly. Alive, pumping, never stopping. Andrew has been a constant for so many years, and he's a survivor, just like Neil. He has so much to offer, so much Neil appreciates and admires about him. He thinks of every touch and kiss, all the flicks of Andrew's fingers and deliberate presses into his skin.

Neil's hand curls into a fist, and he's fixated even now, right where his skin meets Andrew's. "I'm not scared of dying anymore, about someone chopping me up and ending all my potential."

He'd reached his potential. He'd helped score the winning goal at the Olympics, he was in the hall of fame. He's won countless championships.

"Andrew, I'm just terrified of leaving you here," Neil says with a great amount of strain, face contorting at the thought. An ugly, overprotective snarl, but not nearly as threatening as usual. It dissolves soon into something far more pitiful and packed with yearning. "Of not being with you."

"Stop," Andrew says again, more urgent this time. Neil can't even point out how predictable he's becoming, how his threats mean nothing these days. Andrew is aware, he just can't help it. It's the only way he can fight those thoughts of Neil's, and it's still not enough. Andrew's arms tremble as they wrap around Neil, a fortress. He's in a cocoon, safe from anything the world can throw at him. Andrew's rage is palpable, and once again, there's nothing to take out his helplessness on. So he repeats and repeats: "Just stop."

And there's that unspoken promise Neil can't refute, no matter how many things are trying to prove it otherwise.

"Nothing could ever take you away from me."

And with that ringing in his head, Neil falls under.

[ghostsofmemories]

WIP Introduction - The Lake Won’t Let Us Dream

So, this book has been theoretically brewing for a few months but I’ve been super busy with poetry and life, so it was on hold. Technically, I’m still busy with poetry and life, but I decided I want to start it because it makes me happy and I’m having a particularly rough month that looks like will turn into a rough year, so, new WIP time.

This project became a ‘thing’ when my sister and I were talking about the place we grew up. Everyone who’s lived there has a very special attachment to it, and it’ll always be home to me, but a lot of bad things happen there all the time. We came up with a theory that it’s cursed - if you live there, you’re doomed to have bad luck for the rest of your life unless you leave the state entirely. That’s the only way to get out of the curse. And if you move back into  state, you’re re-cursed until you leave again.

We built up a crap ton of evidence for this. Everyone who’s lived in this town either has terrible health, terrible luck financial, is followed by death everywhere, has/had an abusive home life/childhood, or had a house burn down or got struck by lightning or something along those lines. It’s a super small town and my mom + grandparents all grew up there, so we counted the people that have lived there that aren’t still struggling today, and there’s 7. Four of them moved to Montana, two to Florida, and one to Tennessee. 

Anyway, back to the book. I was really enamored at the kind of cursed hometown gothic thing we had created for ourselves, where bad things happen for no reason and people give up trying to explain why, they just coast between all the bad things. And so I took my hometown, kicked all the people out of it, and stuck characters there. Here’s how it goes:

Eden Milne

Our narrator. She gives off mythical, majestic vibes but also very violent ones, sometimes. They don’t really conflict with her, they just... fit. She was raised by her grandmother and now she’s finally old enough to start her own life, but she can’t because her grandma can’t live on her own and they can’t afford to put her in a home. Eden also feels like she owes it to her grandma to take care of her since she raised her after her mother overdosed.

She has a sense of fascination for the world and everything in it, and has always been pretty content with her hometown, but she knows how things go here. It’s not talked about, but everyone knows that until you leave, things will only get worse.

She seems very kind and almost goddess-like in some ways, but she has a lot of thoughts that she doesn’t like to talk about (for example: how she’s slowly grown to despise having to take care of her grandmother, but also loves her. She can also be very manipulative at times).

Points of interest for character: big insomniac, total workaholic, kind of a bitch sometimes, biracial (black/white), gutsy, impulsive to the point of stupidity at times, yet always super graceful about it somehow because that’s how she is.

Addison Hunt

Eden’s grandma. Very sweet lady who’s gone almost completely blind over the years and can no longer take care of herself. Her husband died 1 year prior to the story and her daughter (Eden’s mom) overdosed 19 years before the story. All she really has is her house and her granddaughter, and she would die before watching either one get hurt.

She’s so nice and innocent that she sometimes fails to see the bad parts of people. She’s also incredibly inept at hiding her sadness for Eden.

Points of interest: doesn’t really get angry ever, sometimes people are weird to her because her granddaughter is black and she isn’t, a very calming presence to be around. Quite a lovely lady, but she’s pretty depressed.

Charlie Paltros

Love interest??? We’ll see. I haven’t decided yet. But there’s definitely chemistry. This boy is from the same graduating class as Eden, and the main thing they have in common is they’re both stuck taking care of people when they’re at the point in their lives where they’re supposed to be in college, finding their passions in life, and partying. Only he’s taking care of his younger sisters so his parents can work dead-end jobs at the nearest grocery store - the only place within a daily walking distance that they can work, since they don’t have a car.

Except, the thing is, the problem is his house burning down and his family dies. His mom and sisters all died in the fire, and his dad dies a few days later in the hospital. And he realizes pretty quickly he didn’t hate taking care of people. He wants to take care of someone, but turns out he’s a lot more in need of being taken care of (since he doesn’t even have a HOUSE).

He’s a character I honestly don’t know much about yet, but that’s chill because we learn as we go.

Points of interest: asexual biromantic (I knew this about him immediately upon creating his character, no clue why), does not care to be stereotyped, just wants someone to help. 

Also, origin tidbit that’s actually kind of important in the story much later on: His mother was born in Mexico and moved to the United States, where she met his father, who’s parents were from Mexico and raised him in the U.S. He speaks Spanish just as well in English, but he’s confused because neither feel like his native language. He’s been told he has an accent in both.

There’s definitely more to come, but I don’t really have much else to say about this story besides that no, the town isn’t totally cursed. What’s actually going on is a poverty cycle. Bad things happen everywhere, it’s just that when they happen in this specific place, they affect people a lot worse and they have a harder time getting back on their feet.

However, it’s at least a little cursed, because there’s no other good explanation for the drownings and the fires and car accidents. Maybe we’ll see a bit of magical realism, maybe not. I actually have no idea.

[santalsaburablog]

Adventures of Santal. Chapter 4: New Planet

There is boundless hope in the only chance.

     It's finished! By a lucky coincidence, Santal manages to escape from captivity and avoid an unenviable fate! Now, traveling like a hare in a box on a Rodian ship, she is filled with the hope of returning home. Meanwhile, on Coruscant in the Jedi Temple, life goes on as usual ...

     The massive building of the Temple towered over a kilometer above the rest of Galactic City, built on an ancient source of power located inside the mountain. There was a free space around, the Street of Processions, from which the best view of the Temple opened. From the outside, the building looked like a tall, stepped ziggurat with five spiers at the top, symbolizing the Jedi's pursuit of enlightenment.

     The central and highest spire, surrounded by four smaller ones, is also known as the Temple Spire. It is considered the main one: it contains the ancient texts of the Jedi founders, and in this sacred place the Jedi indulge in meditation.

     In the first of four smaller spiers, the twelve members of the Jedi High Council sit on various affairs of the Republic. The High Council plays a vital role in that it has the power to decide the fate of the entire Jedi Order and thus to a certain extent influence the Galactic Republic as well.

     It was there that Grand Master of the Jedi Order Yoda went early in the morning. He walked slowly, leaning on a cane.

     “Good morning, Master Unduli.

     “Good morning, Master Yoda.

     Both masters bowed respectfully to each other. And then each went his own way.

     When Yoda entered, everyone was already there. Seeing the green head, everyone immediately stood up. The twelve councilors bowed their heads. Someone clasped his hands behind his back, someone folded them in front of him. Someone simply lowered freely on the sides. Together they began:

- May the Force be with us all. And may the peace of our Temple be with us. An abode open for thought and conversation. The sphere of mutual respect and the dominance of a noble goal. Let each take his place as an equal among equals. May our work be done in trust, Free from the shackles of conceit and envy At this and subsequent meetings.

     They all sat down. You could start.

                                                             ***

- What is it? - Elina Sabura lamented. Nobi almost ran next to her, afraid to leave behind his bustling wife.

     In the morning, the poor summer girl could not find a place for herself. Her named niece is missing! Elina sensed something was wrong in the morning. On ordinary days Santal got up before everyone else, walked a little in her room. And then she went to them and woke them up if, in her opinion, they fell asleep. And today she and her husband woke up in a calm atmosphere. Nobody touched.

     The aunt went into her niece's room and froze on the threshold. The bed is not made. Not a trace of the girl. Letanka was about to faint. What a fool she is! I didn’t look! But Elina even at night through her sleep heard some shuffling, but did not attach any importance to it. And my husband muttered, they say, don't worry, it's just the wind. But she calmed down and did not check! Fool tailhead! Lecca would have been cut off for her stupidity!

     - Calm down, Elina. It is not your fault. - Nobi, distinguished by his dark green skin, put his hand on his wife's shoulder. “I’m ...

     - Do not say anything! You didn’t make a promise to your pregnant girlfriend that you would take care of her baby if something happened. So most of the responsibility lies with me! O Strength, what to do? What to do?!

     - Maybe the police? Or call the Jedi? Nobi suggested.

     - No! - Elina barked. The husband staggered back. - You can't call the Jedi! They are already busy all the time. And generally speaking. If they find Santal, they won't give them back! She's got ... - Letanka stopped short.

     Despite this, her husband added two and two without difficulty.

     "So is she ... a Jedi?" - The man was surprised to learn something new about the girl he raised for three years.

     - Yes. More precisely, she can become one. All the essentials - sensitivity to Strength and character traits - she has. - Elina decided that there was no need to deny it. If the husband already understood everything. - But I will not allow this.

     - Why? Why are you doing this? - In fact, Nobi had a lot of questions, but nevertheless he decided to ask such in order to find out everything he wanted.

     “You see, when I was younger, two Jedi saved me from a terrible fate. These were her parents. If not for them, I would have been a slave to the Hutts to this day. Low bow to them for that! We became friends. And two months before the death of Adir, that was the name of Santal's mother, she said that she was expecting a child. And then, on my own initiative, I decided to become her nanny. Although they wanted to raise the baby themselves. But I still gave my word that if something happened, I would take care of her or him. How she looked into the water! - Letanka sobbed.

     - Well, if you are so good to the Jedi, then why the "little ones"? - Nobi still did not fully understand. “And you didn't tell me that you were a slave!

     Twi'lek was shocked: how bad it was! And his wife was silent, keeping everything to herself! Well, how can you ?!

     “I'm ashamed of what happened. I still remember how difficult it was for me to come to my senses at first. I felt dirty and humiliated. You have no idea what I endured there!

     - So tell me! I will listen to you! Don't think that I will love you less! Nobi exclaimed hotly.

     Elina was dumbfounded. Never before had her husband been so determined. And she made up her mind. She told how she had to dance in a meager outfit, live in mud, eat scraps. But that's not the worst part. She was once beaten for disobedience. On the very first day of slavery, the Hutt wrapped its tail around it and held it for some time. Sometimes, he hugged and licked. Or he could just try to stick his tongue in his mouth or in his ass. It took a long time. Elina felt like a whole year. It was owned by two Hutts. The first one lost at cards. Bastian killed the second one.

     After that, she became very suspicious. She began to lead a sedentary lifestyle. After the miraculous return, she vowed never to leave her home planet again. Never! Enough! Seen enough of the world! This is what she wanted to teach Santal: to be a homebody, to hate and be afraid of the Hutts. That's why I told her several times before going to bed almost every night that there were giant slugs on Tatooine that would eat her. And Santal believed, although she still ran away during the day to observe nature. A bully, but such a nice baby! Letanka always wanted to lightly pat the girl on the cheek.

     Elina thought about it. Oh, how she would like to kill at least one slug! Well, okay. Bastian fulfilled the dream for her. We must be content with what we have.

     Most of all, she was afraid not so much of Santal falling into slavery to the Hutts, as of the fact that someone would catch her, take her away to no one knows where, beat her, and she and Nobi would never see their niece again! Such thoughts made me want to cry.

     - Look. - Nobi made to pay attention to himself. - No shoes. Maybe she ran away?

     - What for? What have we done to her? - Elina threw up her hands.

     - Nothing. But you know how curious she is. I saw something and went to look. And I was lost.

     “If you're right, then she’s here somewhere. 

But on the other hand, she would find her way home. Santal is not stupid. She must have been stolen after all. Lured and stolen! Poor thing! It can be anywhere: in a slave market, in slavery, in space ... Suddenly, somewhere on the street, freezes and cries? - Letanka grabbed her head, sat up and howled.

     Nobi walked over and gave his wife a weak slap in the face, wanting to revive her.

     - Calm down! I think I came up with it. Actually, I don't understand why you don't want Santal to become a Jedi. Not everyone can be one. This is one of the noblest professions. These wonderful creatures help people disinterestedly. Keep peace in the galaxy ...

     - I know without you! - Elina interrupted him. - Yes, they are wonderful. Should I not know. But it seems to me that everyone, except for Adira and her husband Bastian, is a little bit. Jedi steal children! The parents probably disagree, and they take it away. To join your ranks.

     - Yes, where did you get it?

     - My grandmother told me so. Until she died when I was five. Only mother and father remained. Glory to the Force, while they are healthy.

     - And here I am an orphan almost from birth. From early childhood by itself, - said sad Nobi. - How did yours bless us? I am still surprised.

     “You made a good impression on them. They saw before them a simple but noble Twi'lek with a kind heart and a pure soul.

     Nobi blushed, but almost immediately turned serious.

     - So how will we look for Santal?

     - We ourselves will walk down the street. And at the same time we will write an ad that a three-year-old human girl has disappeared. Name is Santal Sabura. Let's describe the appearance in detail. Let them search for her throughout the galaxy.

     - Well done, dear. - In Elina's soul, hope flared up with a bright flame.

     - Thanks. Just a question. Will we write about the reward?

     - I do not know. I personally think no reward is needed. Let them return for free. Santal is not a thing, she is the daughter of the great Jedi. It means that it is priceless.

     - I agree. Let's start. Where is her picture?

     - In a drawer.

                                                           ***

     Santal woke up from hitting her head on the wall of the box. It felt like she realized that they had arrived. Without waiting for anyone, the girl wanted to get out of the box. But - what an attack! - did not work. Santal was frightened. She began to feel like she was suffocating.

     However, the Force was kind to the baby. Firstly, there were fruits in the box, and they were quite tasty. So the girl who woke up ate ate, although she got her nightie dirty, because she crushed two pieces. Secondly, not so little time has passed since the lid was opened. Realizing that she had a great chance, Santal got out with a little difficulty and jumped to the floor. And then, quietly stealthily, she walked to the exit, while no one sees.

     - Hey! Who are you? What are you ... - Still, one of the two noticed her. Namely, the one with blue pigmentation.

     For Santal, this call was like a signal. The baby started at full speed. Stopped only two blocks later. When I first turned around, I realized that they were not running after her.

     In an amicable way, one could ask to take him home. But Santal was already a scientist. She couldn't get caught a second time! In the end, there are two of them. And she herself barely fought off even one uncle. What can we say about two! Suddenly, they also want to give somewhere. No! What did he say? Pv ... pl ... no. How do they growl? Rrr ... prrr-give birth! Right! Pro-give!

     Santal almost jumped for joy. She learned a new word! Hooray! Then, deciding not to stay in one place, having a snack with fruits from that box and leaving three in reserve, she went wherever she looked. Wander around the city.

     That uncle showed her how prudent he is. She may have run away from him, but all the same. He tried with all his might to keep her. And his: "I had to make sure that nobody was following me." And she, Santal, is it worse? It means that it is also necessary to do so. Try to predict who will do what. It seemed to her an exciting game.

     The girl all the time looked around and watched the world around her. How interesting it turns out to be! But dangerous too, she remembered to remind herself. So my aunt was right and wrong at the same time.

     In general, Santal Sabura took a lot of steps during the day. I went to many places. I saw a lot of things. By the evening I was completely exhausted. And this despite the fact that she sat down and rested more than once. And all the same, the legs were erased. All in red pieces! The girl even took off her shoes and saw a bubble on each foot. Santal put on her shoes again and went. Oh, how hard it was! And it hurts to come.

     At this point, the girl despaired. She is on an unfamiliar planet, all alone. And she rubbed her legs. And it was already getting dark. And if someone sticks to her? Here her aunt told her that during the day it is dangerous for young children to walk without adults. And even worse at night. All sorts of monsters wake up. Remembering this, Sabura was seriously scared. Now and then look, he will cry again.

     But here I wanted to turn my head to the left for some reason. And there, very close, there was a blue stripe. This conclusion was drawn by the eyes. The strip was so attractive that the girl decided that it was her parents who were giving her a sign: she had to go there. And she went. Slowly, but went.

     I got there in about an hour. During this time, the girl kept looking around her, shuddering, reacting to the slightest rustle. I was afraid to meet a monster or that uncle.

     Santal stopped and ... was stunned. She had never seen such beauty before. So it was not in vain that I suffered. After all, there was a lot of water in front of her! So much so that the opposite bank was not visible. The water formed a white line as it approached. And sounds are a delight to the ears.

     Santal was so happy that she took off her shoes and started jumping on the soft and light earth. The girl really enjoyed running and jumping - it seemed to her that the pain had subsided. And then she climbed into the water, but, however, immediately got out - it's cold, and the nightie got wet. I had to take it off and put it next to the shoes. The girl entered slowly, ankle-deep, then knee-deep and finally waist-deep. She began to walk, jump and wave her arms, causing the spray to fly in different directions. And when she got tired, she went out, sat on the ground to dry. And so for the whole night more than five times. Santal could no longer count.

     It is worth noting that the girl was thirsty all the time away from home, and upon arrival on the new planet she was generally burning. Therefore, after seeing so much water, she could not resist and filled her mouth. And after a couple of moments she spat it out. Salty water turned out! But at least she rinsed her mouth.

     And also at the very edge of the water Santal found a very beautiful and unusual thing. The girl decided to take it as a keepsake. Then she ate the last fruit, because I couldn't stand it anymore.

     From malnutrition over time, she began to feel sick at times. Santal even began to think that he would die. However, in this situation, there was one plus: she will be able to meet with her parents. If they are there. But she didn't know if it was so or not. And since she didn’t know, then she had to fight for life.

At dawn, Santal noticed three things. First, at this moment the landscape became even more beautiful. The earth turned out to be not only soft, but also white. And the water is pale blue. The place looked like Tatooine. But there are two suns that burned mercilessly. And here is one thing, and it is very pleasant to expose a naked body under it. You will immediately get warm.

     Santal decided to play enough one last time and go in search of food. But at the same time she firmly decided that someday she would return here. The main thing is not to forget.

     The girl walked calmly through the streets. Having stolen five fruits, I went on for a walk. No, this planet is much better. There are trees, grass. Yes, Santal knew the meaning of the word “nature” and everything connected with it: “landscape”, “tree”, “leaves”, “mountains”, “plains”, “hills”. Only she hadn't seen it before. My aunt once mentioned that the terrain is different on all planets. Somewhere there is snow all the time, somewhere solid forests. And on her home planet there are mountains, a desert, even an ice cap somewhere, but she never saw it.

     After walking in a picturesque place - which was called a park, but the girl found out about it later - Sabura sat down next to a tree to rest and eat. Then she did not notice how she dozed off. I woke up only when someone began to poke something hard at her. The girl roused herself to answer, but the stranger began first:

     - Hello, child.

     Santal looked around until she found the owner of the voice.

[furuba-imagines]

A Glimmer of Hope [1]

A/N: I shall be posting requests over the weekend. I started writing this story around 2016 (it’s on my quotev and FanFiction.Net) but bc of the rebooted anime I decided to reboot my own story as well the new anime’s honour :3

Word Count: 2706

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sad character past, mentions of family abuse. Crappy format bc it was posted on mobile app. I’ll fix it up later. For now, enjoy!!

Pairing: Eventual Kyo x Oc

Story Notes:

Bold text is Amélie’s thoughts and inner dialogue.

Italicised text is when Amélie is narrating bits of the story like Tohru does in the anime as well as flashbacks (I will let you know what’s a flashback and what’s not though)

ONE - ENCOUNTERS

Amélie smiled to herself as she breathed in the fresh morning air. She marvelled at how beautiful and blue the sky was and how the white fluffy clouds looked as if they were painted in gentle strokes.

'Oooh yeah, that sun feels so warm.'

The sun shone bright, warming up her pale skin, erasing the goose bumps that littered her exposed arms. Turning back to the small black tent that she currently called home, her lip twitched and formed into a forlorn smile as she looked at the photograph sitting atop a folded pile of clothes in a simple brown wooden picture frame. It was a picture of her when she was six, posing with her mum and dad. Everything was so happy and bright back then... but a dark storm washed all that happiness away and she hasn't really felt it since. Despite the accident that befell them happening so long ago, it still got to her. It still haunted her dreams at night and plagued her thoughts during daylight. She wished she could just stop feeling – it would make things so much easier.

With a heavy sigh, Amélie grabbed her school bag and guitar and secured them both around her back and shoulder respectively. She cast one last glance at the picture before zipping up the tent and making sure it was secure, not that she was worried about anyone breaking in. Not many people passed by this area.

'See you guys soon. I love you.'

Even so, she didn't keep her more valuable belongings in the tent, like her piano keyboard. She kept that safely locked up in the school music room. Normally, she'd leave her guitar there too but she wanted to work on the new song she was writing. But she never kept both instruments in the tent at the same time in case something did happen. She didn't want to risk it no matter how small the chance. A part from the picture, her guitar and piano were the only things she had left of her parents. They were both musicians – her mum sang and wrote and her dad played. Music was one of the only things she still found happiness in. She hoped that one day her music would be played across the world for people to enjoy.

Amélie tugged at her uniform, wishing she had a mirror to check herself with. Amélie was never very fond of the girl's uniform so she wore the boy's one instead. She traded in her skirt and blouse for the pants and collared shirt and paired it with her own plain black Doc Martin's. She felt more comfortable in them than the lace up shoes the school provided. The school faculty stopped carding her after the first two weeks she refused to change. She also liked the fact that she didn't have to worry about boys trying to sneak-a-peak up her skirt. The last boy who tried walked away with a swollen cheek, bruised eye and busted lip. She stood by her actions however.

'The little shit deserved it. He had it coming if you ask me.'

Amélie hadn't always lived in a tent. After the death of her parents, her French side of her family were given custody over her but she wouldn't really call them family. The first thing they did was disown her, cast her out and hand her over to the state orphanage as soon as they could. She ended up living there until she was thirteen after her Japanese side of the family finding out about her and adopting her. Amélie would've preferred to stay at the orphanage since they were more of a family than her actual relatives. By the age of sixteen she had endured enough of their abuse and torment and ran away. She ended up staying at both her friends, Uotani and Hanajima's place for a while upon their insistence but the guilt became too much so she lied about having found good accommodation. In reality, she kept moving from hotel to hotel until she was forced to live in the tent she was living in currently. A glamorous life she liked to sarcastically call it, but she was grateful at least that she wasn't living on the sidewalks or under a bridge somewhere.

"Il ya toujours un arc en ciel après la tempéte!" She quoted to herself. There's always a rainbow after a storm. It was something her mother used to quote quite often.

The forest that she walked through she found to be quite calming and beautiful with all the tall trees and lush greenery. With that being said, feeling a little adventurous this morning and wanting to delay school as much as she could, she decided to take a different route. The more she drifted away from her usual path, the more the forest became increasingly unfamiliar until she had no idea where she was going.

"Fuck sakes," She cursed. 'Why would you even try straying from the main path with your horrible sense of direction? I'm such an idiot sometimes.'

However, much to her surprise, something in the peripherals of her vision captured her attention and halting her steps. To her far right, down a hill was a large clearing that lead to a traditional Japanese looking house. Amélie should've known that a forest as beautiful as this one had to have some kind of estate built upon it. With her curiosity piqued to the max, she couldn't help herself and decided to investigate.

‘A little snooping wouldn't hurt anybody.'

"It's called trespassing Amélie and its illegal," she reminded herself but proceeded to ignore her own warning.

Amélie was careful as she made her way down the hill. Hiding behind a bush, she did a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear before approaching the house.

'At least they don't have to worry about annoying neighbours. Must be nice to live here.'

Coming up close to the porch, Amélie couldn't help but be drawn to little ornaments sitting on a wooden rack. Upon closer inspection, she recognised them as the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac. She smiled to herself.

"They look so well made and detailed. I wonder how long it took to paint them all..."

"Hello, this is a surprise. We don't get many young girls wondering around these parts."

Amélie bristled at the sudden voice and stumbled backwards, almost falling flat on her ass.

'Shit, shit! You've done fucked up now! Run before he calls the cops on you for trespassing! On second thought... he doesn't look too mad. Just play it cool and maybe you can leave without getting into any trouble.'

"I'm so sorry sir! I was just admiring I swear! I'm not here to cause you any trouble." She barely managed to string her words together without fumbling over them.

The man just chuckled and waved a hand at her. "It's quite alright, no harm done." The man's smile turned pensive. "I just find it hard to imagine that a teenager like yourself would find this place interesting." He mused.

'Oh thank goodness, I'm not in trouble.'

Amélie was quick to shake her head as she knelt in front of the rack, the man following suit. "No, it's a very lovely place. And I especially love these little zodiac ornaments here. Did you make them?" She asked.

"Yes I did. They're a favourite of mine too you could say."

Amélie scanned every rock that had been painted with detail and precision but a frown soon formed on her face when she noticed something missing.

"Of course you left out the cat just like everyone else." She muttered. It was more to herself than to the man in front of her although she realised she must've spoken too loud because of his surprised expression.

"The cat? Oh right, I see. You're referring to the old zodiac folktale." He said in realisation and Amélie nodded.

"I used to get dad to tell me the story sometimes before bed. I've always thought the cat had just as much importance to the story as any of the other animals did. I always felt for him."

_____________________

>>>Flashback<<<

_____________________

Little Amélie laid in her bed all snuggled and tucked beneath her plush blankets.

"Goodnight princess," Mr. Hoshimi smiled down at his daughter and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. As soon as he stood up to leave though, Amélie grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt and tugged on it.

"Wait! Can you tell me that story about the animals again? Pwease?" She pouted, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. The elder man quickly fell for her doe eyes and hopeful smile and found himself smiling along with her.

"Oh wow could I ever say no to that cute face?" he cooed, sitting back down onto the bed.

"A long, long time ago, god decided to invite all of the animals to a glorious banquet. He sent out word for all of them to come to his house the following evening and he told them not to be late.

"Can you name all the animals Amélie?"

Amélie sat up straight and proudly listed all the animals – The dog and the dragon, the rabbit and tiger, the rat and the pig, the cow and horse, the sheep and the rooster, the monkey, the snake... "And my favourite, the cat!" She cheered.

Mr. Hoshimi just laughed and tucked Amélie back underneath the sheets and continued with the story.

"However, when the mischievous rat heard the news, he decided to play a trick on his fellow neighbour – the cat. He told the cat that the party was the day after tomorrow."

Amélie turned her nose up and scowled. "I hate this part," She grumbled with a huff. "The poor kitty cat deserves better..."

"The very next day, all of the animals lined up for the celebrations with the rat leading the way, riding all the way on the back of the cow. Everyone had a wonderful time, except for the foolish cat who missed the whole thing." Mr. Hoshimi finished.

When he looked down at his daughter, he chuckled at her grumpy pout and furrowed brows.

"Amélie honey, why so grumpy?" He asked, but he knew why. She always got mad at the rat for tricking the cat, even though it was only just a story, Amélie had vowed to be the protector of all cats.

"Because the rat was so mean! If I was the cat, I would've kicked the rats butt for being such a... well, a butt!" She exclaimed, balling her hands into tiny fists.

"And if mummy heard you talk like that, she'd have yours."

Amelie giggled sheepishly before a thought popped into her head. "Do you think the cat would like it if I started a year of the cat?!"

Mr. Hoshimi just smiled. "I'm sure he would love that honey."

_______________________

>>> End of Flashback <<<

_______________________

The kimono wearing man smirked and tapped his fingers against his chin in thought. "Funny, I wonder how he would feel after hearing that story, knowing he has a little fan."

Snapping out of her reverie, she looked at him with a confused tilt of her head. "I'm sorry, who?"

The man shook his head and part of her wondered if she was actually meant to hear what he had said or not.

"Oh nevermind. So, what year were you born in?" He asked, quickly distracting her by changing the subject and Amélie went along with it.

"Year of the Ox," she replied.

The man nodded but Amélie noticed his eyes drift to her uniform. Most people found it odd that she wore the boy's uniform so she was used to it by now. She was about to speak, but he beat her to it.

"I apologise, I don't mean to stare. I've just never seen a girl wear the boy's uniform before. I must say though, you pull it off quite well."

Amélie's cheeks flushed at the compliment. She was the worst when it came to accepting flattery and compliments.

"Thank you."

"You're not from around her are you?" He asked suddenly in a curious tone.

Amélie had been waiting for that question. Something she was often asked about also.

"It's my accent isn't it?" She supplied with a smirk.

'I'm glad it isn't too thick for people to understand me.'

"It is quite nice to listen to. I mean, aside from your pretty fa-"

Whatever the man was going to say next came to an abrupt stop and was replaced with a pained gasp as something landed on his head. It was a schoolbag, just like the one Amélie and most other high school students had.

'Oh shoot, did not expect that.'

"My head!"

"Will you at least try to control yourself?" A new voice sighed.

Amélie's eyes trailed up the person's arm that held the bag until she reached their face and her eyes widen in shock.

'No way, Yuki lives here?! If I get caught with him, that stupid fan club of his won't let me hear the end of it.'

Yuki turned his attention away from the man to Amélie. "Good morning Miss Hoshimi, I'm sorry for my cousin. He's bit of a flirt but's he's harmless. It's best to just ignore him."

"Oh no, it's alright. We were just talking is all; he's good company."

The man, Yuki's cousin, rubbed the sore spot on his head. "What do you have in there? A dictionary or something?"

Yuki barely batted an eyelash at his whining. "Two dictionaries actually," he sighed in exasperation as he slid the schoolbag onto his back, adjusting the straps so it fit comfortably on his shoulders.

Yuki's cousin rubbed his head one last time. "So, you two know each other?" He asked, pointing between the two of them.

"Miss Hoshimi and I are in the same class."

Amélie dipped her head in a respectful bow. "The name's Amélie, pleasure to meet you." She officially greeted.

"Same here. I'm Shigure Sohma and Yuki here is my little cousin." He explained with a friendly smile.

"And what brings you to our house this morning?" Yuki asked in his usual soft and polite voice.

Amélie offered them a nervous smile, rubbing the back of her neck. 'I can't exactly tell them that I live in the middle of the forest. They'll probably laugh at me. I need to think of something good to say and fast!'

"Oh uh, well you know, I live... nearby." She trailed off lamely. It wasn't a complete lie.

'Oh yeah, that's such a good cover up.'

She gulped when she noticed their stunned expressions and wished they would change the subject. She didn't do well under pressure.

"Around here? Really?"

"You do? Where?" Yuki pressed. Amélie was hyperaware of how clammy the palms of her hands were becoming.

'Abort! Abort!'

"I don't mean to be rude but I should probably head to school. I haven't been late in a while and I wanted to keep my record clean this semester."

'As if they cared or needed to know that last bit.'

She bowed to them once again. "It was nice chatting with you. Have a good day." She said in a hurry, quickly turning on her heel and walking away.

'Don't look back. Just keep walking...'

"Miss Hoshimi?" Yuki called out after her.

Amélie sighed inwardly. 'Dammit.'

Putting on a smile, she turned to face him. "Yeah?"

"Since you're here, why don't we walk to school together?" He suggested.

'Say no. It's not worth the wrath of the fan club.'

"Sure, I don't see why not?" She accepted with a forced smile.

The entire walk was done so in an awkward silence as neither Yuki nor Amélie spoke a word or even looked at each other. And to make matters worse, they did eventually run into the Prince Yuki Fan Club, prompting both teens to ignore their chants and poses which only made it all the more awkward until they parted their separated ways.

'I better prepare myself for their onslaught of pathetic questioning.'

Amélie groaned. She could feel the headache coming on already...

[paragonrobits]

Prompt: Kankri/Porrim having a good old fashioned black romp. (The specifics and rating of which I leave up to you.

“You are certain of this, are you?” Porrim asked, and herthroat rumbled noisily. It wasn't exactly a sound that matched theslightly unsure tone of her voice. What she said, and what wasdriving her were almost two completely different things.

Kankri was perceptive, even if too filled with all-consuming angerto filter it properly. But he was getting better at it, and hesuspected that Porrim's drives weren't exactly in synch with what shethought. People thought that rainbow drinkers were romantic figures;dashing and tragic beings driven to drink blood and tenderly lappingat the veins of a lover.

“I am certain,” Kankri said, laying against a human-style bedbuilt for Porrim's size, because expecting her to be able to sit on acouch built for the scale of him or a human was absurd. She was fartoo tall, much too large, and too thickly voluptuous (and in thespecial sense of trolls, who tended to be more extreme in their bodytypes than humans were) to fit on a human couch. He doubted her legswould even be able to avoid slipping off such a smaller bit offurniture.

She lay atop him, not so much straddling him as her thighs,enormously big and extremely firm, squeezed the entirety of his lowerbody. They were both dressed, if a touch lightly, but theirexcitement was obvious. Porrim's bulge coiled against his belly andthigh, teasing at the general area of his nook. He was doing thesame, and it was clear that his bulge was proportionately larger thanhers, relative to the respective sizes of their bodies. She shiftedher hips, slow and heavy and only a hint of the urgency she waskeeping hidden, and he panted, unable to stop himself from slidingagainst her. Coils of muscle bigger than his arm kept him pinned andhe made a good show of pretending to try to wriggle free withoutactually putting any effort into it.

Porrim smiled faintly, the thickness of her lipstinted a brilliant jade green. Already she'd left a trail oflip-marks over his front, mainly trailing down towards his waist, andwith a few bite marks where she'd taken the opportunity to indulgesome other hungers. Even withher towering over and around him, her bulge slithering fiercelyunderneath her dress, and her form situated at an angle that heactually couldn't see much of her face over her large rumblespheres(a posture that was hard to maintain and Porrim worked hard to getthe look just right),he knew the need seething in her, stored up until the right moment tounleash it all, and he felt the impish urge to stoke it.

He leaned up, forward,raising himself as much as he could. Seeing an opening, Porrimloosened her leg's grip of him, and as soon as he was up enough to beable to look her in the eyes thanks to an adjustment in angle, sheclamped her thighs firmly down on him again. “Trying to escape?”she said, raising an eyebrow and trying to get into character. TheSeductive Head Rainbow Drinker; it was a persona she enjoyed carryingout in these little games, much as she liked him to be the SnarlingBloodbag Who Won't Own Up to It. Kankri, for his part, liked to tweakher snout a bit in these games, push it as far as he could, and beconstantly pleased at the influence he had over her.

Control. Not being just atoy to someone, not the mutant prize. This was very important to him,and she tailored their games accordingly.

The shift of herhips so that as much of her was pressing against him as possible, thehitch of her breath as she felt him writhe beneath her, her teethvisibly lengthening as he smirked at her; oh yes. She had it bad.Even now he could feel her adjusting her grip on him so she wasfeeling as much of him as possible and exploring him through touchalone. She knew all his body intimately, better than anyone saveLatula and perhaps Meenah: the size and ridges of his bulgealong with the curious aspects of such, all the little differencesfrom a normal bulge from his mutations and the sea-dweller aspectsthat cropped up all over his body, and especially the effects ofmutantblood genetic material. It heightened the senses, turning atouch into a skin-searing dance of ecstatic extremes, and ramped upher already fearsome libido into pitch passion demanded that claws bedragged, his body be positively ravaged, andit said something about her iron-clad control over every slightgesture and body language that he was one of the few people who couldactually tell she was so wired up.

He would never haveactually told her this, because it would spoil the lovely blackromgame between them and a main rule was that you had to make everythingneedlessly complex and figure it out for themselves, but he admiredher self-control. He really did. Kankri had not had a pleasant life;he intimately knew all the most terrible and vile things that couldhappen to a troll with a... bad culler.

('Don't think aboutthat', he told himself, trying not to think about purple lips andalien thoughts slicing into his brain and feeling like he was a dool,all porcelain and false perfection and someone's property. 'Focus onPorrim'. He untensed, leaning into her comfortingly heavy form, andperhaps it wasn't a coincidence that trolls viewed a motherly formlike Porrim's as protective and fierce.)

And, because of that, hevalued self-control above almost any other virtue. Not acting on thefirst impulse that came into your mind. Forcing yourself to be betterthan your instincts wanted you to be. He'd spent his life caginghimself, the anger hissing out of every slight gap even when he wastrying to be kind. And so Porrim, grappling between the constantpulls of her own monstrous hungers and the demands of being ajadeblood... it was admirable.

No point in telling herthat. It'd spoil the game.

He looked up at her now, obsidian-dark skin shimmering like waterunder sunlight and beneath it came the pale glow; fearsomely bright,and a primal part of his mind recoiled in terror. Her tattoos tintedit a pale and almost sickly green, and this glow was like a mark ofthe unnatural, the fearsome, the frightening. She didn't look, rightthen and there, like a troll.

Porrim looked like a monster.

He also understood the way she gripped his arm so tightly andthen made her claws to retract out of his skin, her bulge coilinginto his nook with such need that it actually hurt before sheremembered herself, or when she kissed his neck and he could feelher jaws struggling not to bitedeep-

He gazed into Porrim's eyes, a hint ofjade just visible behind the glow, and he saw a friend. He saw akismesis. But he also saw something out of forgotten dayfire stories,a nightmare out of the most blood-drenched and fearful days of theirhistory. He'd seen her ripping imps to pieces and screaming herfrustration that they had no blood to drink or bones to crack; thestruggle between actually using those saws or to just tear with teethand claw and horn.

'This is Porrim Maryam', he remindedhimself, trying to focus on certain details. 'She is not a monster.'Concentrate on the long and towering horns, so tall that itemphasized her maturity; don't think about how every inch of them iscruel and hooked, how she could drive them into his chest and yankout bloody streams of flesh. He raised a hand and traced his clawsagainst the carvings

Her claws just brushed against his chin, sliding under the softplates and lingering there. The sharp edges rubbed against theborders between the chitinous lines of his jaw and the softer fleshjust tinted a shade of red too bright to afford him the dignity ofself-determination – and for a moment Kankri was glad Beforuswas gone before he remembered that he ought to mourn all it couldhave been, but the system that would see him at the mercy of everyonearound him was gone, and he did not mourn that – and her claws dugin just right, at theplaces where his underdeveloped armor had enough give for him to feelthe faint sting of her scratch.

“Softshelled,” Porrimchuckled, with just the edge of a growl in there. And a hunger theretoo, something monstrous and terrible that would make even Alternia'sbloodthirsty populace afraid. Rainbow drinkers had been fetishized inBeforus, and objects of morbid fascination in Alternia, and for llthe differences both worlds had an awareness of the dangerof rainbow drinkers. Kankrilooked up, standing just a bit back so he could actually see Porrim'sface properly over the softer edges of her own body.

Light shimmered from nearly everyinch of her, seeping from underneath her skin and pulsing through herouter armor. What should have been as pitch as her feelings gleamedalmost white instead, bordering on yellow tinged with her jade blood,and the effect was eerie. Lightwas dangerous. Brightness was death, and Porrim was dangerous.

Perhaps, Kankri mused as hedragged his blunt claws alongside her palm in a pattern that made hergrowls turn to a faint purring, it was something to bear in mind.Porrim tried to act like a culler to all of them, soothing the littlenasty edges between them and ease their arguments, calm the flares ofviolence or vacilation between them and keep them on some kind of aneven keel, doing her best to maintain a level head, and yet missingso many little details and pretending that they were not there at allif she only saw them afterwards. And for all of that, she hungeredin a way that was mostinappropriate for a culler, even if she was just acting like one.

Porrim was a killer. He looked upagain, over her curvaceous and thick form, and it was easy to mistakethe swells of muscle for just more softness. That her broad hipscould power a stride or leap to catapult herself into him, fangsfirst. That it was so easy to think of those long claws, delicatelyembroidered with faint traceries of the precious materialsappropriate to her station, flicking into his belly and disembowelinghim with hardly any effort at all. And of those fangs, just barelyvisible behind heavy lips quirked into a taunting smirk, meeting inhis throat. He could just imagine the faint click of them comingtogether, her throat flexing where she twisted up and took his throatwith it.

He did not have to imagine thatat all. Frustrated with curiosity, he had once gone into the dreambubbles to see for himself the answer to a question no one had reallywanted to know: how often, across the time lines, had Porrim actuallywound up severely injuring him, or even killing him? A vacillationbetween pitch and pale that, with troll tempers and Porrim'srepressed instincts and urges,got too violent. Or Porrim justslipping enough thatthe rainbow drinker's need to feed mixed with her own feelings forKankri in the worst way possible. Or a falling out between them thathe, even at his moments of pretending he was better than he was so hedidn't have to think about the horrors of his grubhood, knew he couldnever possibly come out ahead in.

He had seen the results forhimself. He did not have the heart to tell Porrim how badly it couldgo wrong between them, or how often. Hedid realize why, at last, Porrim frightened him from the tips of hishorns to the stubbly swimmer's claws at his toes. Why he might jerkaway at the slight shift of a momvement tht looked too much like asudden spring, or he was so keenly attentive of where her claws were.

He was a Seer. He remembered,however distantly, all the ways his blood had been spilled. Porrimdid not. After much thought, Kankri decided that it would be best notto say anything. Even a kismesis wouldn't want to know bout all thetimes they murdered you.

He extended a hand up. Past themuscular arm, just barely grazing across spiralling tattoosindicating her rank before she had left the brooding caverns to liveher own life. He slid his blunt claws against her arm in the way heknew she liked, and she gave a rumbling purr. The cadence was right,the sound was lovely, but something about it wasn't quite trollish.Well, he knew all about not being exactly what conventionalwisdom held a troll should be.

She relaxed, back arching and hairrippling as muscles smoothed out. Impishly, his claw slid out towardsthe armored edge of a large rumblesphere. His wrist twitched, hisfingers crooked at just the right angle for maximum irritation-

Smack!

Porrim surged back, incidentllyslamming her broad hips into his body, to his delighted cheer. “Whatthe hell, Kankri!?” Porrim snarled, white shining more fearsomely,eyes going pure yellow and her teeth bared like daggers.

Kankri smirked. “I can't haveany vacciliation, dear Porrim,” he said, voice calm and with just ahint of teasing.

“You complete ass.” Shetwisted her hips in, bulge grinding against him so hard that thepleasure mixed into something like pain, but sweet, and sodeliciously pitch.

“Oh...” he gasped in, out,tried to find his breath. “I know you like it.”

She chuckled nastily, lightflaring even more brightly, so much that he had to shut his eyes inself-defense. Her hands settled onto his shoulders, digging in,almost enough to draw his mutant, heretic blood, this close tohurting...

Not holding back at all, save forconcern about what a rainbow drinker's strength could do to someoneso much more frail. But it wasn't about blood, and her whole bodytrembled with the effort of restraint. Porrim wasn't holding backjust because he was small or a mutant or she thoguht he was toodelictae to touch...

Not treating him like he was madeof glass was more important than he could readily explain. Heconveyed his gratitude with a hip movement, a bit of bulge twistingthat elicted a satisfied rumble from Porrim even through her angryhissing.

“Oh, you complete pain in theass,” she said, but with relish.

“Bite me, Porrim,” He daredher, menaing it in the colloiquial sense, before he realized hismistake.

She grinned, or perhaps bared hermonster's teeth. Her lips were heavy and full, and should not haveshown her teeth to such fearsome effect. They seemed to lengthen inher jaw, forcing her mouth open. “If you insist,” she saidsweetly, lowering her mouth to his neck with sudden speed, and in away that suggested that she would stop if he wanted.

He did not particularly want herto stop; in fact he wanted her very much to do it, and as they hadnegotiated, lack of overt fight was a signal in itself, and her lipspressed against his neck in just the spot she knew he liked, kissingdown on him. Her body pressed fiercely against him, her weightpushing him deeper down, and then her teeth met his warm skin andjust gently bit down, and through.

He managed to repress a slightsigh, raising his hands up to dig into her sides, which was about asfar as he could reach, producing a throaty rumble from Porrim.

Pitch, he thought with a slightlydelirious thrill as she drank from him and made some very interestingnoises all the while. Pitch, not too delictae not to treatroughly, yes, YES, good.

Things, thereafter, shortlybecame rather louder. Latula, who had the bad timing to accept Kankrias a roommte, shoved a pillow over her horns and grumbled, doing herbest to ignore the noise.

“Of course I had to get themtogether,” She complained later to Meenah, who just laughed.