#but because its ENGAGED i actually remember a bit more from the study session even though it was INTENSE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

llogllady99 · 4 years ago

Text

Au revoir

CHARACTERS | Levi, Erwin, Hange, Mike, Nanaba, Petra, Kuchel

RELATIONSHIPS | Erwin x Levi, Mike x Nanaba, Petra x Hange

GENRE | Reincarnation, Smut, Romance

IV | Alternate Universe- Reincarnation. Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Romance, Smut, Angst and fluff and smut, French Levi, Student Levi, Writer Erwin, Light angst, Alternate Universe - Coffee shops.

Summary | “Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.“

Levi.”

Erwin and Levi meet again in the modern world.Series

Levi will never admit to anyone that he thoroughly enjoyed reading romance novels. Yes, they were a bit too cheesy for his liking and maybe some of the passage were kind of forced, but the way they made his stomach drop and heart flutter was enough to keep him buying one novel after another. His first novel of such kind was: Madame Bovary, a book which he stole when his mother was away at work. At the green age of 12 Levi hid in the house’s library, right behind the couch and began absorbing the words hungrily, gaping and gasping in shock whenever Emma’s affair with Rodolphe or Leon would appear in the book. He didn’t necessarily enjoy the story as it was quite bland compared to the romcoms he and his mother would watch on Sundays, but was instead mesmerised by the rose scented perfume that lingered among the pages, a phenomenon which he didn’t encounter in other books because, as his mother told him later, Madame Bovary had been a vessel for Kuchel to deliver her love letters to the post office back when she was younger.

Coincidently, Levi was now holding the same book, enjoying it with a little more fervour and fascination as he himself, in his twenty-one years of life, had experienced some form or pretence of love at some point with maybe two or three of his lovers. Wetting his finger he turned the page and finished what was left of the chapter he was currently reading. He let the book down and stared out the window of the train he was embarked on in other to return to his childhood home: Marseille, France.

Levi remembered his past life. This life had treated him extremely kindly, almost as if the universe was apologising for the hell it put him through the last one. He was born and raised in the countryside, his childhood being characterised by stealing from vineyards, scraped knees, and dirty faces, a fun and ideal childhood. His mother, although having gone through a divorce when he was small, was now well and alive, indulging herself with a quality lifestyle and relaxing hobbies; his home forever full of jamon, quality wine, fresh sea food, and oil paintings in easels adjourning his hilltop village house’s balcony crowded with red boungainvillea. He had met Hange and Petra in the same village at the sea on a hot summer’s day, introducing himself brusquely, startling the girls, who lacked even an inch of recognition for him in their eyes. Levi quickly realised that not everyone remembered their past life and as such he should keep quiet. Nonetheless, the three quickly became inseparable, their bond not destroyed but only slightly deterred when him and Hange left for university, leaving Petra back home alone. Levi had left to study architecture at the university of Sorbonne and Hange to England to study Medicine at the Imperial College of London, surprising both herself and her friends when she had only applied at the university on a whim not even half expecting to get accepted, but she was the smartest person he knew and if anyone deserved it then it would undoubtedly be her.

Apart from them, Levi had not encountered anyone else from his past life, and by anyone else he only meant Erwin, his blonde, tall, and handsome commander. It was a disappointment that after so much time he still hadn’t managed to meet him, one which left him with an enormous hole in his stomach that would only get bigger every time he allowed himself to think about his past lover. He eventually lost hope and stopped looking for him all together. He had not told Hange and Petra about him however, instead choosing to keep his existence and unsuccessful search all to himself. After all, it is simply expression that gives reality to things. Never mind the fact that he would sound batshit crazy, but if he would have opened his mouth and openly voice the fact that he had not found him yet, then there would have been chances of not meeting him at all. He was still clinging to a thin thread of hope that Erwin will keep his promise of them reuniting again eventually.

At once, the train pulled in Marseille’s train station with a deafening horn, its locomotive letting out clouds of white vapour that swirled fast up in the azure sky, and announced its passengers that they have reached their destination. Levi stepped on the platform, and dragging his black suitcase behind him, he inhaled the fresh country air as a warm feeling came over him. He had arrived home.

On the other side of the globe, free lance writer Erwin Smith was packing his suitcase hurriedly, throwing clothes chaotically in his suitcase. He was terribly late for his flight.

Summer always turned unbearably hot in Miami, the dry heat and the omnipresent smell of sweat managing to deeply irritate Erwin. That had been his initial plan for the summer: change shirt after shirt as he walked the road from his apartment, a small 2 bedroom space that lacked air conditioners and that would turn into a literal oven during the hotter months of the year, and his publisher. Therefore, when Mike and Nanaba invited him to celebrate together their anniversary in Marseille, France, he didn’t hesitate to agree, he actually did with so much desperation that he worried even himself. He had quickly called his publisher making up some shitty excuse to extend his deadline, spattering something about how the sweet mediterranean breeze will to wonders to his inspiration. He lied, and quite horribly so, he had finished the chapter he was due but hadn’t edited it yet, a chore which he assigned himself for when he would return. Quickly closing his suitcase and praying that he didn’t leave everything behind, he ran out the apartment and waved his arm frantically in the direction of a cab that happened to be passing by.

Erwin also happened remembered his past life, something he cursed and treasured at the same time. He treasured the memory of Levi but cursed whenever he would wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat screaming as he felt the phantom pain from when he lost him arm, something that had somehow followed him into this life also. Just like Levi, Erwin also learned that not everyone remembered their past life. His first such experience had been when he woke up screaming when he was small due to a very unpleasant memory, one filled with titans, blood and the death of his comrades. His father had come to comfort him but dismissed everything as just a nightmare that sprouted from Erwin’s wild imagination. At the age of 16 he started writing everything he remembered before being reincarnated and then at the age of 24 after graduating from university he published a book retelling his story. Society, just like his father, quickly dismissed it under the false and shallow pretension of fiction. Erwin didn’t mind, and at an interview when he was asked what had inspired him to write such a masterpiece, he simple answered: “It’s as if I’ve lived this life before”. In retrospect, a bold statement, but one that had triggered incredulous looks and nervous laughs. It didn’t matter, as long as he was the one that knew the truth.

At the airport, he was met with a very angry Nanaba, that proceeded to punch him in the shoulder as soon as she spotted him coming through the automatic sliding doors, dressed with cargo short pants, white t-shirt and one of those hawaiian shirts, espadrilles not missing from completing his outfit. He apologised and shook Mike’s hand, that came up from Nanaba, trying to calm his petite lover from ending Erwin’s life then and there. His friends, like everyone else he had become acquainted with in this life, did not remember their past lives. They had met in college when he tried to hit on Nanaba and earned himself a punch from Mike, who apologised shortly after and bought him a drink.

“You are well aware we’re going to France, right?” Mike eyed his outfit, and scrunched his nose in something close but not quite to disgust.

“The eccentric writer facade ain’t holding up anymore, you seriously need to change outfits.” Nanaba also joined in.

“I was up writing, thence the messy outfit. I do actually have fancy clothes packed.” Erwin retorted, trying to save himself from their scrutinising gazes.

“Good, because I want to enjoy some of those pretentious wines they’re so famous from at one of those expensive terraces that overlook the sea without wanting to crawl under the table from being seen with a hobo like you. Now come on, plane’s not waiting for anyone.” Nanaba flipped him off, her way of reprimanding him.

“Au revoir America, bien venue France!” Erwin exclaimed, mixing french with english.

“How much did it take to learn those?” Mike asked, amused.

“Only 3 thorough Duolingo lessons, of course.”

Levi pushed the door of the little vintage cafe open and was immediately met with the sight of Hange engaging in quite a heated make-out session with Petra. His arrival at home yesterday was met with nothing more than pure joy, as he was bombarded by his mother’s kisses as soon as he walked into the house. They spent a quiet evening on the balcony, enjoying some tea and simply talking the evening away. It felt good to return, he missed the salted air, the chilly breeze, the pink flowers and green bushes, and the exquisite view of the mediterranean sea. Later, when the mosquitoes had started to annoy them, Levi and Kuchel retired back inside the living room, where he was urged by her to play her favourite piece on the piano that had dust on it from never being used anymore. Upon the arrival of the next day, Levi headed to Petra’s cafe, a small vintage shop, which she had opened up quite recently after successfully raising the funds necessary. It was right in the middle of the hill, its glass windows giving a clear view of the stony road and orange coloured walls and roads of the city.

“You guys should get a room, it’s gross.” He said, not one bit of disgust lacing his words. He truly was happy to see his friends again.

“Levi!!!!!” Hange squealed and broke away from Petra, practically jumping over the counter before she threw herself in his arms, hugging him tightly. Petra’s behaviour was hardly any different, surging on the other two and tumbling all three of them down to the floor. They stayed like that for a few minutes until the first customer of the day arrived with an awkward cough to get their attention. For the rest of the day, they chatted quietly, each with a cup of special Petra coffee in their hands, reminiscing about old childhood memories and the things they did while they were apart. Hange had successfully landed an internship at a renowned research company back in London and Petra bought her first place, somewhere they would surely go after she closed the cafe.

“So how’s it going for you Levi? You seeing anyone?” Hange interrupted a peaceful silence then took another sip of her coffee, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, no not really. I guess I’m still waiting for the right person.” Levi replied, his mind drifting off involuntarily to Erwin.

“That’s a pity, tell him Petra!”

“I guess so.” The strawberry blonde sighed, scrubbing the counter. She looked troubled, stressed if Levi knew any better.

“Everything all right?” He asked, hoping she would tell him what was bothering her.

“Theoretically yes, the cafe’s been growing in popularity and the number of costumers has increased exponentially and it has become harder and harder for me to keep up. It’s afternoon and I’m already exhausted.”

“Hire someone to help you.” He offered.

“I would have, I even put up a sign a while ago asking for help, but it’s summer and you know how it is. Everyone would rather bathe than work.” Petra leaned on the counter, huffing exhausted.

“You know, Hange and I could help you if you’d like, until the summer’s end and till you find someone.” Levi scooted over closer to Petra and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Sure! There is nothing we’d rather do, Pet.” Hange joined in, assuring her girlfriend.

“You guys, thank you.” Petra smiled brightly, exhaling in relief.

Their first day in Marseille had been spent at the beach until they were all fried. Well, Erwin had managed to get a nice tan, save for the red slight burns on his shoulders, those didn’t count. Nanaba had made sure to use sunscreen, but with her pale skin tone, she had turned into a lobster by mid afternoon. Deciding that it was enough sun for today, the three settled on exploring the city, in particular the ports, where smell of fresh caught fish would imbue their noses, the hill village, the sights recommended on the internet, like the colourful Noailles Market, Musée des Civilisatons de l’Europe et de la Méditerranée, and following a maniacal Nanaba that sprinted through every shop in La Panier.

As six o’clock came by, hunger made its presence known in their stomachs, they started searching for a restaurant. With an immense amount of luck and without too much time spent looking, the three had found themselves in Restaurant Peron, escorted to a four persons table right next to the clear glass that provided them with an extraordinary view of the sea, admiring the calm relentless waves and snow white moon that reflected itself on the clear water. When the waiter came, Erwin ordered, putting on his best french accent.

“Un Ricard, s’il vous plait.” He managed to make a fool out of himself, sounding exactly like an ignorant American. Un Ricard was an alcoholic beverage made with aniseed and spice that turns an enticing shade of yellow once water is added, a local must try. Nanaba ordered herself an Aperol sprits and Mike a whiskey on the rocks. The waiter bowed and went to get their drinks. While they waited the three engaged in casual conversation, their voices accompanied by the low murmur of the sea and other people’s conversation.

“I believe this has been quite a successful weekend, don’t you think, honey?” Nanaba asked Mike, leaning her face on her hands.

“Indeed. Happy 5th Anniversary, Nanaba!” Mike kissed her cheek tenderly. Erwin watched the display with nothing more than pure envy. It wasn’t fair that they had found each other despite not knowing their past life, it was utterly infuriating and it made Erwin seethe with anger and frustration, both emotions directed more at himself because he had not found him yet, Levi, his lover, his everything.

“Excuse me, monsieur. I brought the drinks.” The waiter interrupted them, making Erwin forever grateful as he was not sure how much more he could bare. He bowed and retrated, leaving them to enjoy their drinks. The Ricard Pastis Erwin had ordered had a creamy texture and yellow colour, bringing the glass to his lips, he tasted it, immediately scrunching up his nose from how strong it was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it, god knows his college years hard served for so much, so many nights spent drowning vodka and absinth bottles, he just hadn’t expected it to be so strong, he thought it would be like Nanaba’s Aperol, slightly bitter and sweet. Mike was sipping slowly on his whiskey and asked:

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“How about we stick to just visiting the town, my skin can’t take any more sun.” Nanaba proposed, hinting to her burnt shoulders that were covered with a very nice white blouse. Mike and Erwin both agreed.

Levi fumbled with the speakers’ wire trying to get them to connect with his phone. It was his first shift today together with Petra, Hange will come later tonight to take his place, something completely unnecessary as he would stay anyway. It was his turn to choose the playlist and he resorted to a simple jazz playlist that would blend in nicely in the background acting as white noise. Once that was settled, he wrapped around himself the black apron with the shop’s logo on it and went up to the counter, patiently waiting for the first costumer.

Their second day in Marseille was spent indulging in even more sightseeing. Nanaba woke them up at the crack of dawn, excited and completely oblivious to Mike’s and Erwin’s sower moods, dragging them with her to their first destination: Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde. Located in a breathtaking hilltop, this spectacular church is the most important landmark in Marseilles. The site was used in ancient times as an observation point, and during the Middle Ages, was the location of a pilgrimage chapel. Erwin enjoyed the renaissance architecture, admiring the big hemispherical dome with a big golden cross on top of it, the golden statuette of what he reckoned was Virgin Mary, the symmetrical high arches, and smaller, little angel statues. It was truly a sight to behold. Their next destination was also a historical landmark: Abbaye Saint-Victor, a house of worship once belonged to an abbey founded in the 5th century. The abbey's basilica is one of the oldest buildings in Marseilles that is still intact, with foundations dating back to Early Christian and Carolingian times. With its crenellated walls and towers, the foreboding exterior has the feel of a medieval fortress. Inside, the basilica reveals a simple and somber design, which gives it a special aura. The crypt houses sarcophagi of the 4th and 5th centuries, as well as the 11th-century tombstone of Abbot Isarnus. It fascinated Erwin immensely, so much so that he filled his gallery with the amount of selfies and normal pictures he took.

He lied when he said he would find his inspiration here, but he was not so sure that it was true. The city’s architecture and overall way of being, from the local’s lifestyle, to its history and vibe, Erwin was sure to use all of this while working on his new book. Wether he would add a spin off in the book, or make references and parallels to everything he saw here.

It was now mid-afternoon and Erwin was exhausted, the sun constantly warming his head had not done a great job of comforting him in the slightest. They were now in Le Panier again, Nanaba having decided that she did not see all of it the day before and that it was absolutely mandatory they go again. Not wanting to be a burden, although he would have much rather gone to his room, Erwin agreed and set on following closely the two before him who were very much engrossed in their own little world. The old town, like any other part of Marseille they had visited, was also magnificent, with its romanesque architecture, houses that were colourful and joined together, and paved streets. It also housed a lot of shade, making him able to cool down and gather up whatever strength he had left.

The thirst he had tried to ignore for the better part of the day had become unbearable, his throat dry like a desert. As such, Erwin made it his mission to find some place from where he could purchase a water bottle. They passed by jewellery stores and artisan themed shops, displaying their handmade products, like dresses with weird designs from cottons, crystals, wooden scultpures, etc. Finally, in a corner, they had found a small cafe: Haricots vapeur de Petra. Quite a long name for a cafe but who was he to judge. He asked Nanaba and Mike if they wanted to join him but they quickly refused, instead choosing to go ahead. Erwin announced them that they will be seeing each other at the hotel before dinner. That way he could spare a few hours relaxing at the small tables placed outside the cafe, enjoying whatever drinks they were serving. He pushed the front door open and was immediately assaulted by the scent of fresh brewed coffee. The cafe was very nice, inside was quite chilly as there was the air conditioner blowing. Its walls were made of brick, from them hanging several plants, portraits, and drawings of people having coffee and the like. It had small circular tables with purple plush chairs that contrasted perfect to the black counter that housed pastries of all kinds: croissants (of course), pains au chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and macarons of all kinds of colours. It was just like an ordinary American cafe.

“Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.

“Levi."

“Levi.”

That voice. It couldn’t be could it? Levi refused to look up, he was imagining things, it was because of the song, the song he played the man a life time ago. We’ll meet again was playing through the cafe’s speakers, it was only natural he would be thinking back to when he visited Erwin’s grave one last time. With his hands now shaking he continued to clean the glass even more frantically, wiping away inexistent water, droplets he imagined were still there.

“Levi, is that you?” Once would be considered a coincidence, but twice? Finally, the raven haired boy looked up, only to have his breath stuck in his throat. Right in front of him was Erwin freaking Smith, the man he loves even to this day, the time spent together and the promises still so fresh in his mind. Erwin had kept his promise, he found Levi.

“Erwin.” Levi croaked, overwhelmed by emotions. He ran around the counter, stopping for a moment in front of his lover to look at him again. Erwin was exactly the same, except for an almost unnoticeable tan, his hair was now sitting comfortably on his forehead, instead of being styled back with gel. Levi jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around the other's waist so tight, afraid to let go as he might disappear, proving only to be a figment of his imagination. He buried his face into Erwin's neck, inhaling the scent of cologne, sweat, and sunscreen. His lover snaked his hands around his waist and held him tightly, in the same desperate manner. Pulling away, Levi looked into his eyes again, relieved to see the same warm sapphire blue orbs staring right back at him. They were whole again, together again. Unable to hide his excitement anymore, the raven brought their lips together in a kiss, one in which they poured all of their emotions, the longing, love, and relief they had for one another were all present.

“Tu m’as trouvé!” Levi pulled back, out of breath.

“English please.” Erwin chuckled, running a hand through his hair, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his year before putting him down. Levi looked at him in confusion. If Erwin didn’t know french then that meant…

“We should perhaps talk. Wait here for a moment please.” He told him, pulling his hand away from where it was intertwined with the other’s. Taking a step back, he began untying his apron, then turned on his feet to head to the back where Petra was, baking pastries probably.

“Petra, can you cover for me? Something came up. Hange should be here soon, I hope you don’t mind.” At the sound of his voice, Petra turned around just as she was leaning down to grab the tray with freshly baked pastries from the oven. She searched his face, noticing the look of bewilderment, and made to grab his arm in comfort. Levi pulled away.

“I’ll tell you later, but please let me go!” Levi all but begged, making Petra shake her head with wide eyes as she still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Call me if anything happens.” She demanded. Levi thanked her then bolted out back to the front of the cafe where Erwin was waiting awkwardly in the door, never actually having left the spot. As soon as the blonde spotted him, he offered the other the usual warm smile.

“Why don’t you speak french, Erwin.” Levi asked him and gestured for the other to follow him out the cafe. Once outside they started walking on the direction of Levi’s house, unbeknownst yet to Erwin.

“I’m actually a tourist.” Erwin murmured, understanding finally the graveness of their situation.

“Where are you from then?” Levi croaked, his disappointment taking the best of him.

“USA, came here on vacation with some friends.”

“Américain.” Levi spat, his frustration finally showing. “How are we going to make it work Erwin?”

“I don’t know Levi, I believe that’s a problem for another time. I’m here for another week, let’s enjoy ourselves shall we?” Erwin took his hand and kissed it in an assuring manner, smiling again.

“Okay.”

And enjoy themselves they did. Making sure that Kuchel was out, Levi brought Erwin to his house, taking him through every room while he talked about his childhood, his vocabulary limited because his english wasn’t very good. Fortunately, Erwin was patient and didn’t push him, instead helped him by filling in the gaps with google translate or by using his own words when he understood the direction the story was headed in. At some point, they stumbled upon the piano and the blonde urged him to play it, Levi complying not only by second nature, thinking involuntarily to their time on their battlefield, but also by desire, pouring his heart and soul into each and every key he pressed, eliciting sounds that would later formed the master piece named Canon in D major. Erwin listened intently, absorbing every sound Levi produced, his gaze focused solely and completely on him. His lover playing the piano was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. The onyx black hair hung loosely in the air as Levi played, his brows furrowing in concentration, and shoulders tensing when he lifted each hand over the keyboard.

As the song came to an end, unable to hold himself back anymore, Erwin scooped Levi up in his arms and brought him to the couch, the other straddling his waist. It was all too much, the smell of Levi, the feel of Levi, the smooth alabaster skin, silky hair, minty breath, and citrus smelling musk. Levi, Levi, Levi. Erwin brought their lips together in a heated kiss, introducing his tongue shortly after, probing the entrance then entering fully. For a while, that was all they did. They kissed like teenagers, running their hands through each other’s bodies, remapping and rediscovering them. Slowly, Levi became more demanding and started to undo Erwin’s shirt, pulling it down his shoulders and caressed his hand over his chest, playing with the curly strands of blond hair that lined it, although scarce. He then kissed his neck and clavicle. All the while, Erwin had been undressing Levi, his fingers now at his entrance, working slowly but steadily their way in. In his arms, the raven writhed, low moans filling the room.

Done with the stretching, Erwin positioned himself at the other’s entrance, entering him slowly as to not hurt him. Once he was fully seated, he waited for Levi’s signal to move, a slow nod in the pit of his neck shortly after. Their rhythm was slow at first, an occasion to feel each other out, but as their moans got louder in volume, the pace, inevitably increased, turning the love making session into something more rushed and more carnal. They had all week ahead of them, they had plenty of time for slow and passionate love later. After a few more minutes each of them reached their climax, Levi first by tensing all of the sudden, his mouth open in a silent scream, then Erwin shortly after with a low groan. The smaller of the two slumped his forehead against the other’s chest and tried to recover, his panting waning.

“I love you.” Erwin brought his lover’s head up and looked him straight in the eye. Levi replied with a lop-sided me too before retaking his position in the crook of his neck, where he shortly passed out, the physical and emotional effort from the day finally taking their toll on his petite frame.

For the rest of the week, Levi showed Erwin the rest of Marseille, taking him sailing with Petra and Hange, snorkelling in the turquoise water, dining in other less famous restaurants that harboured a magnificent view nonetheless, and hiking. Levi also got to meet Nanaba and Mike, a meeting that was awkward at first but then turned casual as the chemistry they had in their past life never had quite gone away. It was now their last day, and they both chose to organise a brunch on a boat Erwin offered to rent. It had started out great, the interactions between the rest of the group going smoothly, but as night inched closer, Levi grew significantly more and more upset. The reason, revealed to him that night when they were alone, tucked in bed together, was none other than Erwin’s departure. It was time to say goodbye, their short week of heaven brought to an end by force of circumstance, a tragic end to an equally beautiful story. A soulmate who was not meant to be, at least not in this lifetime. They could try a long distance relationship, but that was inconvenient for both of them, they would soon fall apart, each having to take care of their lives. Levi had to work towards a degree and Erwin towards finishing a new book.

“Don’t go.” Levi suddenly croaked, turning towards him and taking his hands, kissing each of their knuckles. “I don’t want you leaving me again.”

Erwin turned his head away in thought. He was a writer, he could basically work from anywhere. In Paris he was sure to find a good publisher, working while also living with Levi in his apartment. If he put in a little effort he might manage it. But what about Nanaba and Mike? Would they understand? Would they still maintain their bond? Is he willing to give everything up for Levi? Erwin furrowed his brows, concentrating and thinking even more. Of course, he would go to the end of the earth for Levi, would rip his heart out of his chest and give it to him. Therefore, he voiced the only obvious answer for his lover’s request:

“I’ll stay.”

At the airport the next day Erwin hugged Levi and kissed him on the cheek, bidding his goodbye to his lover. After accepting to stay, they both decided that it would be best for Erwin to return to the states to get his affairs into order and when he would be finished he would return back to France and start his new life with Levi. So, with a waving hand, Erwin fell into step with Nanaba and Mike, who were waiting in line to board the plane. Levi smiled his way and said:

“Au revoir, Erwin Smith.”

58 notes · View notes

renjuseyo · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a Lucas x male reader where Lucas is trying to ask reader to prom but reader always gets distracted by friends or is too busy with school activities. Then when Lucas gets the chance to reader says no. But reader surprised Lucas with a date at the place Lucas asked him to be his boyfriend. P.S. They are already together for 2 years. P.P.S. I love your writings stay healthy and make sure to take care of yourself

-🧍🏽‍♂️

prom ; lucas

group: nct / wayv / superm

pairing: wong yukhei / reader (male)

synopsis: yukhei only has one goal in mind: to ask you out to prom in the most perfect way possible.

genre: fluff

i had a bit of writer’s block with this one, but i hope this is what you wanted anon! ^^ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated~~

“my plan is absolutely foolproof. there’s no possible way it could fail.”

“that’s what fools say.”

yukhei climbs to a seated position on his bed, folding his arms in a huff. “why would you say that, dude? way to encourage a guy.”

yangyang doesn’t even bat an eye, adding details to a sheep he’s doodling on his economics assignment. “well, when you put it like that, it’s going to spite the universe and make your plan fall apart on its head.”

dejun nods in agreement, tapping on his phone. he’s probably texting that guy he’s been eyeing from his history class, or playing solitaire like the old man he is at heart. “the universe loves playing tricks on happy, unsuspecting people.” he sets his phone down to look straight at yukhei. “happy, unsuspecting people like you. i love your confidence, but i’m just saying. don’t get all mopey if something does happen.”

he crosses his legs, pouting. “i get what you’re saying, but come on, how can a simple promposal go wrong?” dejun and yangyang give him a knowing look, one that screams there are several things that could go wrong, actually. “if it were a big, extravagant one, maybe, but come on. i’m taking (name) out to sushi and bringing him a bouquet of flowers. what’s the worst that could happen?”

“well, he could get food poisoning from the sushi.”

“or he pricks himself from the flowers.”

“or he-”

“i didn’t literally ask you guys!” yukhei interrupts, exasperated. dejun and yangyang give him a mischievous smirk. “you two are horrible.”

yangyang blows him an air kiss. “just here to give you a reality check, my love.”

the two had originally gone over to yukhei’s house for a study party, but seeing how dejun was on his bedroom floor playing solitaire, and yangyang was doodling sheep all over his assignment, they were doing anything but. somewhere along their “study session”, someone had brought up the topic of prom, which was to happen in four weeks. while the two of them had no big plans for promposals (because dejun is waiting for the guy from his history class to make the first move, and yangyang is perfectly content being single), yukhei had constructed a plan to ask his boyfriend of two years to prom.

yangyang sets his pencil down and spins around from his seat. “what happened to your love for big, extravagant promposals? i remember you gushing about that kind of stuff all the time,” he comments.

“(name) doesn’t like being in the spotlight. i think i’ll just make him uncomfortable if i pull one of those stunts with people nearby,” yukhei explains. he would be lying if he said he’s never thought of creating the most memorable promposal for him. hey, it’s not his fault he just wants to flaunt his cute boyfriend for the world to see.

dejun and yangyang nod in understanding, except they don’t, because they relish in the spotlight. “well, prom is in four weeks. will you even have the time to ask him?” dejun asks. “your boyfriend practically drowns himself in homework. plus, he’s on the student council.”

“we both may be busy with school and clubs, but mark my words when i say i’ll get to him!”

“well, as taken as you and your boyfriend are, i hope you realize that there are still people who’ll be lining up to ask you two,” yangyang points out.

yukhei pats his chest, a confident smile making it way back to his lips. “i’m not worried that someone else will woo him. he has me, after all!”

yangyang gags. “gross. i feel sorry for him.”

dejun nods in agreement, cringing. “me too... yangyang, come on, let’s actually be studious and do our homework, unlike that one there,” he sneers, pulling out a pen from his pencil pouch.

yukhei looks at them, exasperated. “oh now you two choose to do your homework?! where was this attitude when i told you two to work on it earlier?!” he exclaims.

dejun shrugs. “i have no idea what you’re talking about. as far as i’m concerned, yangyang and i are students who actually focus on our work.” he gestures at himself and said boy, but the way he’s hunched over his economics assignment doodling more sheep completely contradicts his words. “seriously yangyang? work with me here!” he shrieks, smacking his back.

the younger hisses in pain, glaring at him. “leave me alone! let me draw in peace!”

the older snorts, swiping his pencil away from him. yangyang makes a noise of protest, lunging at dejun to retrieve his pencil, and soon the two are engaged in a fight, limbs tangled together. yukhei can only watch in disappointment. sure, he’s chaotic, but his energy is no match for them. their energy seems to multiply when the two of them are together.

yukhei turns his attention back to the calculus textbook on his lap, ignoring the fight ensuing before him. though his mind is mainly focused on the problems on the pages, a part of him recalls dejun’s words. there isn’t many reasons for him to be worried about his plans backfiring, but then again, the universe has always loved to meddle with people’s affairs. he just hopes it will treat him kindly this time around.

though it’s your final year of high school, you and yukhei only share one class together, to his dismay. even in the hour he gets to spend with you, you’re too busy focusing on the lesson at hand. there’s always lunchtime, too, but both of you have your own respective friend groups, so even if you two are dating, you two spend more time eating with your friends than with each other. he doesn’t really mind, but now that he plans on enacting his plan, not seeing you often will make things harder.

after the bell rings, signalling the beginning of lunch, he makes a beeline out of the door and dashes towards the cafeteria. thanks to a secret source (which is really just shotaro and really isn’t a secret), he learns that you usually eat lunch on the roof of the school.

when he pushes open the door to the roof, he’s relieved to see you with your friends. at the sound of a newcomer, you all turn to look at the door. “yukhei?” you ask, surprised.

his smile widens upon seeing you. “hey (name)!” he chirps.

your friend sungchan raises a brow. “not often we see you here, lucas. do you need something?” he asks.

“yeah, i actually need to talk to you, (name).”

you stand up, slinging your backpack over his shoulder. “sorry, can it wait? we kind of have plans,” you tell him.

yukhei gives them a quizzical look, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you or your friends. “it’s jisung’s birthday today,” jaemin explains. “we’re treating him to food later.”

he recognizes the name; jisung is a first year student who has become increasingly popular thanks to his position on the dance team. he’s also one of your friends and someone you tutor. now that he thinks about it, he recalls yangyang mentioning something about his birthday this morning, but he didn’t pay much attention. maybe he should have. “oh, okay. well, are you free later today?” he asks, sending you a hopeful look.

judging from your apologetic smile, he already can guess the answer is no. “sorry, we’re holding a surprise party for him later. i think i’m probably going to stay over at his house, too.”

renjun, who’s standing beside you, gags. “you two are so sweet, it’s kind of sickening.”

you turn to glare at him, who snickers at your look. “how? and you’re one to talk, mr. i-miss-jeno-even-though-i-saw-him-twenty-minutes-ago,” you spit. his expression is quick to contort to one of embarrassment, spluttering at the name of his boyfriend. yukhei feels like you don’t even realize his presence anymore.

to regain your attention, he clears his throat. “can you spare just a minute? i promise it’ll be quick.”

you turn to face him, but not before sticking your tongue out at a glowering renjun. “oh, s-” you’re cut off when your phone dings, and you glance at the screen to read the notification. a few seconds later, you look back up at him. “on second thought, i don’t think i can, sorry. chenle just texted me saying he and jisung just left mr. jung’s classroom. we should get going now.”

your friends nod and begin packing their belongings. once they’re all set, they walk towards the doorway leading back into the building, where he’s standing. they all pour into the small doorway, leaving you and yukhei alone. “sorry, how about next time?”

yukhei nods. it’s not like he can stop you from celebrating your friend’s birthday, unless he wants to be perceived as a jerk. “no worries, go celebrate jisung’s birthday. make his day a memorable one,” he reassures, smiling.

making sure your friends are far enough, you lean forward and peck him on the lips, catching him off guard. once you lean back, you smirk upon seeing his flustered expression. “catch you another time~”

and with that, you jog back inside to catch up to your friends, leaving a blushing yukhei behind. sure, his first attempt didn’t quite go the way he expected, but he’s not particularly disappointed, considering how he got a kiss from you. plus, there are plenty of other times to ask you again.

perhaps asking you to prom might be harder than yukhei had anticipated.

after jisung’s birthday, he had waited to catch you again when you were free, but you were occupied with homework, as well as duties of being on the student council. apparently jisung’s birthday was the only day you were free. as much as he sympathizes with you, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. he hasn’t even been able to talk to you, let alone treat you to a proper meal.

after several weeks of not talking to you, he decides it’s time to take matters into his own hands. if he can’t take you out on a proper date, then he’ll just bring it to you! after inquiring his friends yerim and mark for your schedule, he learns that fridays are normally your free days. he recalls the previous fridays where you were too busy to hang out with him, catching up on projects and avoiding deadlines, so he hopes that this friday you’ll be free.

after school one afternoon, yukhei catches you by your locker, talking to two people he recognizes from the student council. as soon as you see him, you wave the two farewell, and they go their separate ways. he leans against your locker door, smiling down at you. “hello my sweet~” he greets.

though you smile back at him, he can tell you’re drained, judging from the way your eyes flutter close and the yawn that rips out of your throat. “hi,” you greet. “sorry, it’s been a long week.”

he watches as you sluggishly shut the door. “tired?” he asks, draping an arm over your shoulder.

he hums in delight as you lean into his arm, warm and snug. “that’s an understatement,” you tiredly sigh. “i thought being the secretary was easier than the president, but i’m exhausted. all this filing and meetings can really kick a guy’s ass. i finally finished my biology report, but i still have to study for the history test that’s on tuesday. i don’t know how mark does it, being the president and captain of the basketball team. he doesn’t even have bad grades, either.”

yukhei laughs upon hearing you rant, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “i’m sure it must be hard. do you think your tired self is up for sushi, though?”

at the mention of food, you instantly perk up. “you know i can never say no to food.”

once you two walk out of the building, pushing through the swarms of students gathered by the entrance, you both head towards the bus stop. five minutes later, you both board the bus and are lucky enough to snag seats. in the ten minutes it takes to get to the sushi restaurant you two often frequent, he’s surprised to see you fast asleep on his shoulder. you really must be tired, because you don’t normally fall asleep so quickly.

ten minutes later, he nudges you awake (he has to refrain from pinching your cheeks at your dazed state), and you both step off the vehicle. five minutes of walking later, you approach the restaurant. for a friday evening, he supposes he’s lucky to have gotten there without it being packed.

you both greet the waitress by the entrance, who leads you both to a booth near the back. after serving you both your beverages and menus, she slinks away, presumably to attend to other patrons. as you browse through the menu, wondering what to order, yukhei glances at you, who seems too concentrated on the menu before you to notice him. he mentally reviews his plan for what seems to be the twentieth time today: order food, eat, pretend to go to the restroom and head to the flower shop next door, and woo you into going to prom with him. what could possibly go wrong?

(upon saying this statement, he learns that’s the worst possible thing you could say. at least, if you want the universe to mess with your plans.)

after discussing what you two will order, he waves down the waitress from earlier, who gets both of your orders. you two spend around five minutes catching up on your lives, talking about upcoming events and games at school. soon your food arrives, and you both dig in. he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you until he sees the way your eyes twinkle as you happily recall the time the vending machine malfunctioned and gave you two bags of skittles instead of one. it’s endearing, seeing you get excited over the little things.

as you pluck some calamari out of a small bowl, he realizes it’s time to put his plan in action. “hey (name), i’m going to the bathroom. feel free to order some more food if you want, it’s all on me~”

“when you put it that way, it’s like you’re begging to go broke,” you joke, though you nod nonetheless. yukhei gets up and makes a beeline to the restroom. he stands in front of the entrance, peeking behind the wall to make sure you don’t see him. a few seconds later, he quietly sneaks back towards the entrance. luckily, you’re too occupied with the food to notice him.

he steps out of the store and heads straight for the flower shop next door. when he steps inside, the bell above the door jingles, signalling a newcomer. “welcome to yong’s flowers~!” a florist chirps.

“hey hyung,” he greets. the florist turns away from a pot of tulips, revealing a bright smile and even brighter hair. “i came here for the flowers i was telling you about.”

the florist nods, heading towards the back. when he returns, he brandishes a bouquet of red roses to him. “here you go!”

when yukhei moves his hand to his pocket, the florist waves a dismissive hand. “don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. i hope things go well with you and (name)~” he hums, giving him a cheeky smirk.

normally he would decline the kind offer, but he needs to get back to the restaurant soon, otherwise you’ll get suspicious. “thanks, taeyong-hyung. i’ll pay you back next time! wish me luck!” with that, he waves him farewell and exits the store.

he runs straight back to the restaurant, bouquet in hand. the waitress from earlier seems to notice the new addition, sending him a knowing smile. he pays no mind to it though, simply heading straight to you. he notices three new plates on the table, but hey, he isn’t complaining. you haven’t had the chance to properly eat the past week, if you count salads as a proper meal. when you look up from your salmon belly, your eyes widen at the roses in his hands.

it’s now or never, he supposes. he sits on his seat, bashfully sliding the bouquet to you. “i’ve been wanting to do this for the past week, but you’ve been pretty busy, so i haven’t been able to catch you alone. but (name) (last name), would you do me the honor of being my prom date?” he asks, sending you a hopeful look and a bright smile to top off the look.

silence envelops the room, save for chefs yelling and the stove roaring back in the kitchen. from the corner of his eyes, yukhei realizes that the lack of patrons means extravagant movements like his are bound to be noticed by everyone. plus, he wasn’t exactly quiet when he popped the question. he usually doesn’t care, anyways, thriving in the attention. even now, he has nothing to be worried about. besides, he knows what your answer will be.

apparently not.

eyes still wide, you slowly remove the wooden chopsticks from your lips, placing it on your empty plate. he assumes your eyes are still wide out of shock, but when the silence gets too loud for his liking, his smile falters. “(name)...?”

you rapidly blink back to reality. “oh, right, sorry. um...” you take in your surroundings, and he suddenly wonders if this was too flashy for your liking. he watches you with bated breath; you look like you’re doing some mental calculations, eyebrows furrowed like they are when you encounter a particularly difficult question on a test. after you ponder the several options laid out in your head, you take a deep breath, giving him your most sincere look. “i’m sorry, i don’t think i can accept this.”

those nine words and thirty-one letters are enough to crush yukhei’s spirit, evident by the way he visibly deflates. he quickly regains his composure, hoping the smile he has is enough to assure you he’s fine. but from the way you grimace, he can tell he’s doing a poor job at it. “it’s not your fault yukhei, i promise! it’s just...” your voice falters, and the same, contemplative look from earlier returns. “i have something important i have to do that day. i’m sorry.”

no one seems to have seen this rejection coming, and he mentally reprimands himself for thinking of every scenario except the one where you reject him. apparently he looks so devastated that the curious eyes from earlier immediately turn their attention elsewhere, probably not wanting to put him in the spotlight any further. sure, he feels embarrassed, but most importantly, he’s curious. what could you possibly have to do on prom? it’s a friday night, meaning you should be free... maybe you’re occupied with student council duties? but if that’s the case, you would just tell him that. there’s no reason to hide it.

maybe you just don’t want to go with him.

the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he tries to shake it off. “oh, okay. don’t worry about it,” he says, tone flat. you try to change the topic and compliment the roses and thank him for the food, but no matter what you say, the ugly feeling of disappointment still settles itself in his stomach.

the rest of your dinner is relatively uneventful. yukhei doesn’t want to make you feel more guilty than you already feel, so he tries his best to engage himself in your conversations. after you two eat your fill, he pays for you both (and is surprised to see that the waitress from earlier docks off the price of a few plates. does he really look that pitiful?) and leaves the restaurant. the sun has set, and it won’t be long before the sky darkens.

he approaches the bus stop, waiting for your bus to take you home. “well, i guess we part ways now. see you next week?” he asks.

you nod, clutching the bouquet of roses in your hands. though you had rejected his promposal, he still pushed you to take the roses, claiming he wouldn’t have anywhere to place them at home when in reality, he just didn’t want to be reminded of his failure. “yeah.” you send him another apologetic smile. “again, i’m really sorry. i promise you it isn’t because of you, it’s just...” your voice trails off again. “i have plans.”

he makes the mistake of wondering if these plans mean you’ve accepted someone else’s offer. no, that can’t be it... we’ve been dating for two years. he wouldn’t just accept someone else’s offer. (name) isn’t like that, he attempts to reason. pushing these thoughts away before he says something he’ll regret, he nods. “don’t worry about it, it’s okay.” as if on cue, the bus begins to roll up in front of you two before coming to a halt. “well, your bus is here. get home safe.”

you smile, letting a few people off before boarding the bus. “you too. thanks for the meal and the flowers,” you thank.

he waves, making sure you’re safely aboard before beginning his journey back home. as he does, his phone goes off a few times, and when he checks them, he sees messages from taeyong, dejun, and yangyang. he assumes they’re texting to see how things turned out with you and him.

yukhei pockets his phone and continues walking.

after that failed promposal, yukhei distances himself from you for a few days. seeing you will only bring unwarranted frustration, and the last thing he wants is to blame you for something that isn’t your fault. he decides to distract himself by hanging out with his friends. while his friends prove to be a useful distraction, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you.

no one knows why you’ve turned down his promposal. everyone who knew about his not-so-secret plan had fully expected you to accept with open arms. even your friends were genuinely shocked. as they chattered among themselves, wondering what could have prompted the rejection (because what secretive plans could you possibly have during prom?), he noticed that only renjun and sungchan remained silent. looking back, perhaps they knew more than they let on, but at the moment, he was too focused on getting answers from your friends to notice.

it’s been two weeks since that incident, and there are only two more weeks until prom. dejun and yangyang had came over for a sleepover, and right now he’s lying upside-down on his bed, listening to dejun rant about how history boy (who he later learns goes by hendery) finally asked him out to prom. yangyang’s sitting beneath him, scrolling through tiktok, unamused.

“it wasn’t anything extravagant. he asked me for a pencil like usual, and who am i to say no?” dejun begins.

yangyang shoots him an incredulous look. “anyone who asks you for a pencil everyday without making an effort to bring their own are just pathetic. didn’t you say he forgot to give you back your nice mechanical pencils for a week?”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, but he paid me back by buying me a pack of twelve. and they were the nice papermate ones, too! anyways, as i was saying,” he continues, “i gave it to him like normal, and class went by as usual. but when he was returning it to me after class, there was a note attached to it asking me to prom-”

“and you’re swooning over that? i took you for someone who cried over love confessions in the rain, not promposals written on lined paper during history,” yangyang interrupts again. now that yukhei thinks about it, it does sound a little funny. like him, dejun has always liked romantic gestures. he never would’ve thought a written note would be the thing to sweep him off his feet.

he huffs in embarrassment, glaring at the younger. “be quiet. when you have someone to actually swoon over, you’ll understand what i mean.”

yangyang rolls his eyes. “good thing i’ll be single forever.”

now that they’re on the subject of promposals, he makes the mistake of thinking back to two weeks ago. “i’m glad to hear that you’re happy. i hope you’ll have fun with hendery,” he comments.

at this, dejun and yangyang quickly turn to face him. they seem to have remembered the incident, too, evident from the guilty look in their eyes. “i’m sorry, i forgot...” dejun’s voice trails off, and yukhei suddenly wants to erase the pitying look in his eyes.

instead, he waves a dismissive hand. “it’s all good. if it comes down to it, i’ll just take yangyang with me, right?”

yangyang shrugs. “or we can just stay at my place and binge video-games and order pizza.” he pauses to ponder his suggestion before shrugging. now that he doesn’t plan on taking you, there’s no reason to go and spend the night dancing in a stuffy suit.

just then, his phone buzzes. when he glances to read the new notification, he expects everything except a message from you. since that event, you both hadn’t talked to each other very often. while it was probably because you were swamped with school and student council duties, he can’t help but wonder if you were avoiding him like he was with you.

(name) <3: hey! are you busy right now? [06:59 PM]

“who is it?” yangyang asks, sitting up to peek over his shoulder. yukhei doesn’t move his phone away fast enough, because then the younger frowns. “(name) finally texted you after what, weeks of not talking to you?”

he frowns. “in his defense, i was doing the same, too.”

“yeah, but you had a reason to. because you were upset,” dejun corrected. “did he seriously not once question why you suddenly stopped talking to him?”

he rolls his eyes. “you two make it sound more serious than it actually is. plus, he’s been busy with school. it’s not like his world revolves around me.” he pointedly decides to not add the part where it’s the opposite for him.

you: what do you need? :) [07:00 PM]

yangyang snorts. “with a smiley? dude, you’re whipped.”

“shut up.”

(name) <3: i was wondering if you could meet me at the gym at school in an hour? i’m pretty sure i left something by the bleachers, and i don’t really want to go alone;;; [07:04 PM]

yukhei raises a questioning eyebrow. did you seriously not notice how he had been avoiding you? you’ve always been sharp, so this was surprising. dejun, who’s now seated on his opposite side, seems to notice this, too. “wow, he’s really acting like nothing happened. if he knew you were upset with him, he wouldn’t have contacted you in the first place.”

“if he left something in the gym, it’s not a surprise he’d ask me. i have a spare key to the gym, after all.”

“why do you have it? shouldn’t that be mark?”

he shrugs. “he always loses his things, so he told me to hold on to it.”

yangyang nudges his shoulder. “well? what are you going to tell him?”

of course yukhei’s going to go. it’s almost dark, so it’s not safe for anyone to be out by themselves. plus, as disappointed as he is with his botched attempt of a promposal, it’s you. he can never get mad at people for long, much less if it’s you.

you: sure~ do you need a ride there? [07:06 PM]

(name) <3: no, but thanks for the offer ^^ see you then! [07:08 PM]

he turns off his phone and looks up at his friends, who are looking at him with an expectant look. “don’t give me that look. it’ll be quick, i promise.”

yangyang rolls his eyes. “that’s what you said last time, and then you ended up sleeping over at (name)’s house. do you know how awkward it was, telling your mom that you practically ditched us?”

an hour later, yukhei waves farewell to dejun and yangyang, who decided to play video-games in his room to pass time. as he gets into his car and drives back to their school, he wonders what you could’ve possibly forgotten that was so important.

ten minutes later, he parks to a stop and gets out of his car. after locking it, he walks towards the gym, though he sees no signs of you.

you: hey, i just got here. are you here yet? :0 [08:20 PM]

not long after, you reply back.

(name) <3: hey!! sorry, i’ll be right there [08:20 PM]

unsure of what to do to pass time, yukhei leans against the gym doors. out of curiosity, he decides to rattle the handle to see if it’s actually locked. to his shock, the door swings open upon being pushed, leading him to a pitch black room. the alarms installed in his head, the ones from being tricked into a haunted house by his friends, go off in his head, but unsurprisingly, curiosity trumps his fear. thus, mustering all of the courage in him, he shakily turns on the flashlight on his phone and timidly steps into the gymnasium.

it’s dark and empty, like it should be. so why were the doors unlocked, he wonders? the janitor at school is quite meticulous, so he couldn’t have looked over unlocked doors. maybe...

no, this is not a horror movie, he stubbornly thinks to himself. don’t scare yourself like that! as if on cue, a loud thud echoes throughout the gym, and he stills, unable to move a single limb. this is it. oh my god, am i going to die?

from what yukhei can tell, there seems to be two - maybe three - guys, distinctly whispering among themselves by the corner. the alarms from earlier are urging him to bolt out of the gym and tell you he couldn’t make it, but fear takes over, and he’s frozen.

“...sungchan, you idiot! you’re going to give up our position!” a familiar voice hisses.

“it’s not my fault it’s too dark! you know long limbs and the dark don’t mix well together!” another whispers.

wait. now that he can hear them, the voices sound a lot like renjun’s and sungchan’s.

“renjun? sungchan?” yukhei nervously calls out. because as familiar as those voices are, they could very well be impostors that plan on killing him in the middle of the night. “is that you two?”

he can practically hear them freeze; if the lights were on, they’d probably be comically staring at each other with wide eyes. suddenly, a third voice can be heard. “i knew i should’ve asked jeno or jaemin instead,” he quietly grumbles.

he knows that voice all too well.

before he can say another word, the lights suddenly switch on, blinding him. a few seconds after he’s adjusted to the light, he blinks, and sees you standing underneath the basketball hoop, head buried behind a poster board and a bouquet of red tulips with rose petals scattered by your feet. renjun and sungchan are standing by the light switch, awkwardly waving at him. when he turns his attention back to you, his eyes widen at the poster. there are doodles of hearts and basketballs on its borders, but it’s the words in the middle that catches his attention.

will you go to prom with me?

“what... what is all of this?” yukhei asks, dumbfounded.

seeing how you’re flushed with embarrassment, refusing to remove your head from the poster, renjun steps up. “it’s a promposal. what else could this be?”

his eyes wander back to your shrunken frame, and he can see you timidly peeking behind the poster board. “um... surprise?”

still stunned, he slowly walks to you, shoes brushing against the rose petals. “i can tell... but, i thought...?”

knowing what’s to come, you sheepishly smile. “i spent a long time trying to come up with something that you’d like, since i know you like big, romantic gestures. i turned you down because i wanted to be the one who asked you,” you explain, fiddling with the bouquet.

“wait, wait. when you said you had plans that day...?”

“i was lying,” you laugh. “i didn’t expect you to ask me, so i just came up with a lame excuse on the whim. i’m really sorry for upsetting you, but i didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

now yukhei knows why renjun and sungchan were so quiet the day he asked your friends about your alleged plans on prom. there are still a few questions he has, but he’s relieved to see everything led to this surprise. at least now he doesn’t need to fret about his insecurities.

“how’d you get in here?” he asks, intertwining his fingers with yours.

you hum, relishing this newfound warmth. “i begged the janitor to leave the doors unlocked. i told him you had keys, and he knows that i’m more reliable compared to others,” you answer.

“so all of the times when you said you were busy...”

you laugh, throwing your head back. “that was the one thing i wasn’t lying about. school and the student council really was kicking my ass.” you point your chin towards renjun and sungchan, who wave. “they helped me with some of the preparations, like ordering the flowers and making the poster.”

yukhei nods. “everything makes so much more sense now... but i just have one more question.” you look at him with curious eyes. “why the gym of all places?”

you shoot him an incredulous look. “did you seriously forget?” judging by the confused look he gives you, you can tell he really did. “you remember the game against the jyp team two years ago, before basketball season ended?” he nods. “right before you guys played them, you pointed straight at me and asked me to be your boyfriend if you guys won.”

he flushes at the memory; in a stand jam-packed with spectators, he remembers only having eyes on you, the cute boy from algebra. prior to that game, you two were already acquainted, even going on a few dates here and there. there was an obvious attraction between you two, but no one had officially initiated anything until that day. he remembers you spluttering in embarrassment, having nearly everyone bore their eyes into you, as well as coming scarily close to losing against the opposing team. but alas, he and his team had triumphed, and while they celebrated, you bashfully accepted his offer and spent way too long making out in the back of his car.

he can’t believe he forgot that he had asked you to be his in this exact place two years ago.

he’s pulled out of his head when you clear your throat, brandishing the bouquet of tulips before him. “you never answered my question,” you whisper.

yukhei doesn’t even need to think about his answer. “of course it’s a yes,” he exclaims, leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. you giggle against them, wrapping your arms around his neck. there’s cheering from across the room, but he only sees you. right now, you’re standing before him, suddenly brighter than ever, and he wouldn’t trade this sight for the world, even if it meant having to go through two weeks of unnecessary frustration to get here.

it’s only prom, not a marriage proposal. there isn’t a reason why they should be acting like newlyweds, yet here they are. but even if they’re only third year students in high school, he knows, without a shred of doubt that he’s in love with you. even if they don’t truly grasp the idea of what love really is, the sheer fullness he feels when he’s with you couldn’t possibly be from anything else.

“you know,” he begins, “i asked you on a simple sushi date because i knew you didn’t like big, flashy things. but here you are, pulling this stunt because you know i like them. we’re just a perfect match, aren’t we?” you roll at your eyes at his cockiness, as well as his suggestive eyebrows, but the smile on your face tells him you agree.

yukhei’s peppering your face with kisses, and all you can do is giggle as you take them. “they act like they’re getting married,” he hears sungchan comment from afar.

“they might as well be. god, couples are so gross.”

“you’re one to talk. you and jeno-hyung act like that all of the time.”

“what! sungchan, come on, don’t joke around like that. we don’t.”

“yeah right.”

“but we don’t, right? ...RIGHT?”

#nct #nct u #wayv #superm #kpop #cpop #nct x reader #nct x male reader #wayv x reader #wayv x male reader #superm x reader #superm x male reader #lucas #wong yukhei #lucas x reader #lucas x male reader #renjuseyo : nct #renjuseyo : fics

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yukipri · 4 years ago

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Marco’s Bauble Part 2 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Ended up writing a continuation of the first Marco’s bauble post, thank you so much to everyone who commented and inspired me to write more ^ ^

This was posted on my Patreon earlier this week!

Follow up to On Thatch, Marco, & the Whitebeards - Marco’s Bauble #1 , please read this one first ^ ^

Contains Koala x Luffy, Thatch x Luffy, and Marco x Luffy with bg Ace & Sabo, wow is that a combination of ships I never expected to see, but whelp here we are....

It's during one of Koala's Fishman Karate sessions when That Thing falls out of Luffy's pocket.

At first, Koala thinks she must have imagined it, because why would Luffy have one of those.

But then Luffy drops the stance she's been struggling to hold, concentration shattered, and pounces on the little thing that's trying to roll away from her on the deck.

"Ah, my Mystery Rock!" the mermaid cries, reaffirming that no, Koala didn't imagine it.

Koala stares with dawning horror as Luffy scoops the thing up, rolling the shiny blue bauble between her palms to make sure it hasn't been damaged. She's moving to stick it back into her inner vest pocket when Koala stops her.

"Luffy...where did you get that?"

"Oh this?" Luffy's eyes light up, and she shoves the thing right up and personal in Koala's face.

Koala can see it clearly, the aquamarine glass with shards of multi-faceted crystal and gold flakes embedded in it, with a small, dark core made up of none other than seastone. It's unmistakable.

"Thatch gave it to me!" Luffy continues, and Koala's already moving, spinning on her heel towards the kitchen because she is going to throttle that damn cook--before Luffy adds, "It's not from him though! It's from his friend! The pineapple-bird man!"

Koala freezes, her fury towards Thatch dwindling, but she still feels her heart pounding louder than it should be. She has no idea what a pineapple-bird man is, but the point still stands: a man had given Luffy her "Mystery Rock."

"Luffy," she says, trying to keep her voice light, hoping it isn't cracking with the hysteria she feels inside. "Do you know what that is?"

"It has a sea rock inside!" Luffy says, proud that she's remembered what Ace told her. It's seastone, but close enough, Koala thinks. "It's got glass and stuff on the outside, so I can touch it without getting tired! But it still feels like the sea! It's my magical Mystery Rock!"

Koala nods and smiles, even though she feels her lips strain. "Anything else?"

Luffy blinks. She couldn't be more obvious about pulling a blank, for which Koala is immensely grateful.

Okay, okay. So. Luffy knows what the object is, but probably doesn't know what it means. Which means Koala can relax. For now.

She forces herself to take a deep breath. She shouldn't jump to any conclusions.

"It's a very nice Mystery Rock," Koala smiles sincerely, and it really really is.

Nicer than Luffy's likely aware of.

"How about we take a break for today. Do you want to go show Ace the basic water pulse you can do now?" Koala suggests, and Luffy beams with her whole face and Koala's blinded. It lasts only an instant before Luffy's stretching her arms to grab a rail, slingshotting herself away in the blink of an eye, leaving Koala feeling like a cloud just passed over the sun.

Koala heaves a huge sigh. She's never been more grateful for the lack of Sabo's presence during Fishman Karate sessions, because if Sabo had seen Luffy's "Mystery Rock," and if he had asked Koala to explain its significance...well.

Things would not be pretty.

And despite how objectively beautiful the bauble is, things are already very Not Pretty inside Koala now. She has some words for Thatch's friend.

Thatch's surprised when Koala of all people enters the kitchen (Lil Lesbian No. 2, he'd secretly nicknamed her). He'd just kicked Sanji out with the trays of desserts and beverages they'd made, telling the younger man to go enjoy the sun while Thatch finishes cleaning up and starts prepping for dinner.

Thatch honestly wishes he could be the one to present the sweets to Luffy, but he's also mature enough to let this opportunity go to Sanji. The boy'd practically been twitching with excitement while adding the last loving touches to the parfaits.

It's fine, Thatch is an adult. And by staying in the kitchen, Thatch also gets to prepare and therefore present the enormous steak that'll be part of dinner (and which is Luffy honestly going to be more excited for, a parfait or sea king steak?).

Either way, Thatch's just about finished, and checks his dials one last time before turning to give his visitor his undivided attention.

"So, did the parfaits interrupt your time monopolizing my future fiancee, or...?"

Lil Lesbian No. 2 smiles sweetly, or rather bares her teeth, and doesn't return Thatch's greeting. Rude.

"Thatch, who gave Luffy the seastone trinket?" she demands without prelude. And huh, so that's what they're going to talk about. Thatch blinks. No, he hasn't forgotten about it, and yes, he's still bitter, but he's also a bit alarmed by Koala's intensity. It's just a nice gift...right?

"One of my crew mates," he says cautiously, not seeing any reason to lie. "My friend. Marco."

"Marco the Phoenix, First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates," Koala mumbles, and Thatch can see her pulling up all the mental files she has on him. Thatch has learned that the young revolutionary has a terrifying mental database of pretty much anyone who's made a name for themselves in any way, and reminds himself to never take his teasing too far, because he does not want to make an enemy of her.

Her blackmail-compiling finished, Koala smiles thinly. "So Thatch, do you know what that bauble is?"

Thatch feels like he's being tested, and whatever he says is going to be wrong. "It's a fancy thing you can buy at Fishman island? Costs a small fortune? The mer ladies always seem super happy get them as gifts? I'm not sure what you're asking here," he shrugs helplessly under her glare. He really doesn't know anything else. Fishman island may be Pops' territory, but he's certainly no expert on their culture beyond studying their cuisine.

"And your friend, does he think the same?"

"I don't know what that bird-brain thinks! If you're going to kill him, go after him, not me," Thatch groans. "Are you going to actually tell me what's wrong, or...?"

Koala seems to debate about something, and Thatch hears Sabo muttered under her breath. She then starts to chuckle, and it's a dark, unpleasant sound. Thatch is more than a little concerned.

"Oh the mer ladies like receiving them alright," she mutters.

She takes a deep breath, like she's hyping herself up for something, and now Thatch is tense too.

"Does your friend know," she says, voice so painfully sweet it's gone bitter, "that he's given Luffy the human equivalent of an engagement ring?"

Thatch stops breathing.

A beat, then,

"THAT BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!"

Ace pops his head into the kitchen. "Anything wrong?"

"NOTHING!" Koala and Thatch scream in unison, and Ace jolts backwards in alarm.

"Alright...then. I'll...be back later?" Ace blinks like a puppy confused as to why he'd just been kicked, but he still shuffles back outside, politely closing the door behind him.

Thatch feels pretty awful about making his little brother slink out of his own ship's kitchen, but holy shit does he not want Ace to hear this right now.

Luffy with an engagement ring.

Ace'd explode, then Merry would burn, and then everyone would drown and that's a very sad ending to their short-lived adventure.

"The fuck," he hisses to Koala, just in case Ace is still lurking outside.

"That's what I want to say to your First Division Commander!" she spits back, and alright, fine, maybe she has every right to be upset. "Who does he think he is, giving Luffy something like that? I haven't even asked her out yet!"

Thatch isn't sure that last part is entirely necessary, and mumbles, "My future fiancee," but Koala steamrolls right over him.

"Did he do it intentionally, or is he just an ignorant human like you?"

Thatch wisely keeps his You're human too comment to himself. "Again, I'm not him, I don't know!"

Thatch thinks Marco doesn't know the weight of the gift he's sent. At least, he hopes so. No one on the Moby Dick believes Thatch because they think Marco's always a stuffy mother hen, but Thatch knows Marco can play some pretty nasty pranks when he wants to. But Marco wouldn't pull something like this, it doesn't feel in character for him. He can be a pain in Thatch's ass, but he wouldn't drag in Ace's little brother who he hasn't even met yet. But then again, it also feels weird for Marco to not have looked up the significance of something he spent his own money on. It's all very strange and confusing.

Even so, Thatch is with Koala this time, and is totally okay throwing his older brother under the ship so to speak, because the bastard hasn't even met Luffy, and there's no way he'll support this "engagement," or whatever the hell this is.

"You know," Koala says, far too pleasantly for the mood. "Sabo's going to kill him when he finds out."

Thatch shrugs, he has no intention of helping his friend. "Eh, Marco can handle it, he's strong."

"No, you don't understand," Koala insists, and oh there's that sadism back in her expression. "Ever heard of the Fort Gray incident? That was all Sabo. And Sabo's going to murder your friend."

Thatch has heard of that, few on the Grand Line haven't. And...oh. Maybe Chief of Staff is actually a pretty terrifying title after all. "Marco's fine, he's strong?" he repeats, a little less confident.

Koala snorts, and spitefully grabs a handful of the caramelized pecans on the countertop and shovels them in her face as Thatch squawks protest. He was going to use those!

"I can't wait till Ace hears, because then there'll be two of them," she cronches as Thatch sadly rummages in the cabinets for more pecans. "So now the question is, do we warn your friend or not?"

Thatch isn't feeling particularly charitable, but he also feels betrayed and wants to know what Marco was thinking. The next time one of those damn birds comes, he thinks. He has some questions to ask the Phoenix.

The incident refers to the mission in Sabo's flashback in the anime expanded content at the end of Dressrosa. I dun think it actually had a name/location (could be wrong), so made it up and yes my naming sense is creative I know LMAO.

The beginning might feel choppy bc there was a big Koala x Lu part at the beginning that I chopped off bc it felt too irrelevant to the topic. Might clean that up for a separate post tho ^ ^;

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated! <3

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 3

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #MarLu #ThatchLu #Marco the Phoenix #Monkey D. Luffy #Thatch #Koala #KoaLu #genderbend #text headcanons #longpost #long post #yeah i'm tired and didn't have time to write a new post tonight ^ ^;#but yeah anyway here i am with a handful of ships that no one has every heard of before AHAHAHHAA

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anneshirleycuffbert · 5 years ago

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YOU ASK AND I DELIVER !!

AWAE Alternate Universe: not-officially-dating shirbert at Queen’s College (stand-alone fic)

Summary: Everyone knows that Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe are practically an item, despite the lack of official announcement that the two are courting. Well, everyone except Royal Gardner. Will the two finally own up to their feelings for each other?

Gilbert Blythe stared at an aggravated Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, who was presently glaring at the trigonometry problems in her textbook.

He felt his heart flutter as Anne bit her lip, trying to focus on solving the fourth equation. The two had made it a habit to study together within their first two weeks of attending Queen’s College, and Gilbert didn’t know how much longer he could bear having Anne at such close proximity yet far from him in matters of the heart.

The study group started out with all the Avonlea students, but the number dwindled by early-October when other pressing matters, like courting and social engagements, presented itself. Anne and Gilbert, unsurprisingly, were the only two who had stuck it out thus far throughout the year. Diana Barry would never tell Anne this, but she felt it right for her to bow out and join a secret study group that Jane and Prissy Andrews were in, not wanting to be a third wheel to an unofficial couple.

It was now mid-November, and the two students were sitting at their usual table on the second floor of the library.

Anne groaned and looked up at her study partner and friend. Gilbert flitted his eyes down to his notebook before she could notice he’d been staring.

“This is impossible. I’m not getting this at all, Gil!”

Gilbert coloured. He loved the new nickname with which Anne called him. He definitely preferred it over Slateface, a name she would tease him with when occasion called for it. “Gil” spoke of friendliness and familiarity. Fondness.

The curly-haired boy cleared his throat. “What’s confusing to you?”

Instead of explaining what she didn’t understand, Anne began her classic rant on the perils of trigonometry and why it should not be mandatory to learn. She then glared at Gilbert, which startled him.

“What?” Gilbert said, feeling defensive.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not?” Gilbert immediately felt the corners of his mouth drop.

“But you were!”

Gilbert’s half-masked smile turned into a full blown grin. He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, you’re just so...” he trailed off, trying to find the right word to describe Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

“So what?” Anne’s brows furrowed in confusion, her lips slightly pouting.

Beautiful, Gilbert wanted to say, focusing all his energy on not glancing down at Anne’s lips which he suddenly wanted to kiss, then and there.

“I don’t know,” Gilbert shrugged, defeated.

Anne frowned at him and opened her mouth to speak, when a familiar voice called her name.

Anne and Gilbert turned to find Royal Gardner approaching their table. Gilbert’s hand reflexively clenched tighter around his pencil.

“Hello Anne,” Roy greeted cheerfully. He glanced at Gilbert briefly. “Gilbert.”

Gilbert only offered him a tight smile and curt nod.

Anne smiled politely. “Hello Roy. How are you this afternoon?”

“Swell. I actually came over to congratulate you.”

Anne blinked, confused. “On what?”

“You don’t know?”

“Clearly not, since she’s asking what you’re talking about,” Gilbert muttered quietly. Anne kicked him under the table.

“Why, you won the Avery scholarship!”

“What?”

“I was looking at the announcement board outside the registrar’s office this morning to find they had posted the recipients of the various scholarships. You’re one of them, Anne. Congratulations!��

“Are you serious?” Anne pinched herself, and when she flinched, her eyes widened.

“Come, see for yourself,” Roy motioned for Anne to come with him and she bounded out of her chair.

She glanced back at Gilbert. “I’ll be right back!”

The sound of a pencil snapping in half made Gilbert jump in his seat. He frowned when he realized that he had broken his pencil.

It wasn’t that he was angry about Anne getting the Avery scholarship, no. Gilbert was always proud of Anne’s achievements and believed in her when no one else would. Gilbert Blythe was aggravated. But with whom?

Anne’s frantic voice rang through the library floor and Gilbert looked up from his broken pencil.

Behind her trailed a grinning Roy Gardner, and Gilbert knew just with whom he was aggravated.

“Gilbert! Gil!” Anne flew past the desks that students were sat focused in until the redhead began making a commotion.

Gilbert stood up. The moment his eyes landed on a joyful Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, a genuine smile made its way onto his lips. He stumbled a bit when Anne propelled herself to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing.

“Oof!”

“Gil, you got the Gold Medal! Congratulations! You got the gold medal!”

“And you?” His voice was muffled in her hair.

Anne pulled away to look him in his soft hazel brown eyes. Her grin was radiant. “I got the Avery!”

Gilbert laughed and in a surge of celebration and joy for the both of them, embraced Anne and spun her around.

“Congratulations, Carrots,” he grinned at the redhead who was very flushed.

“Congratulations, Slateface,” said Anne, out of breath.

Gilbert noticed Roy standing a few feet away, watching them. Gilbert’s face grew serious and he motioned to Roy with a shrug. “Gardner is waiting for you.”

Anne, looking confused, turned. “Oh, he’s waiting for the paper I edited for him. I’ll go give it to him now.”

Gilbert sat down in his seat and watched as Anne grabbed a folder from her bag and walked over to Roy.

“I made some notes on the side,” Anne began explaining her edits to a very invested Roy. Her back was now facing Gilbert.

“Oh, this is fantastic! Thank you, Anne. This is exactly why I asked you to edit my essay. You’re absolutely brilliant,” he smiled.

Anne nodded and said something Gilbert couldn’t quite make out.

“You give yourself too little credit. Thanks again, Anne,” Roy said. “I’ll see you in Writing Club?”

As Gilbert sensed the conversation coming to a close, he propped up one of the books he was supposed to be reading instead of eavesdropping on Anne. He was going to pretend he didn’t hear anything but when Anne sat down across from him with a wide grin on her face, he couldn’t help it.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Gilbert muttered, grumpy after having just watched Roy Gardner flirt with Anne.

Anne, without missing a beat and without looking up from her book, replied with, “I don’t know, Gilbert. How are you?”

The two friends froze as they realized the implication of more that had escaped from Anne’s mouth without permission.

“I’m fine,” Gilbert choked out, sounding on the verge of tears.

Anne kept her gaze on her book, feeling her face flush a deep red at her response and Gilbert’s reply. Quiet occupied the space between them for a few agonizing seconds before Gilbert allowed hope to settle in his heart.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Anne?” Worry trickled into his voice at the sound of her stunned silence. “Carrots?”

Slowly, her eyes traveled up from her book to Gilbert’s red face. When her eyes landed on his familiar kind ones, she felt her tense muscles relax a little.

Anne sighed. This was Gilbert, her best friend. She had been content to let things stay the way they were because she loved their friendship. But more than their friendship, Anne loved Gilbert, and she could tell by the stolen glances and laughter from past study sessions and inside jokes and the way his eyes bore into her, like they did now, that he felt the same way.

Anne broke eye contact from the intensity of it all. How could she risk their friendship? What if Gilbert didn’t even feel the same way and she just tricked herself into thinking his kindness and friendship and the way he looked at her was more than it actually was?

Gilbert’s eyes furrowed in confusion and frustration. After the whole situation with Winifred, he knew Anne was the girl he truly loved, the girl he was in love with. But he had made the mistake of letting go of the momentum it took years to build in the progression of their relationship. Gilbert had left a letter declaring his love to Anne, which Anne, for reasons unbeknownst to him, did not receive. Hazel mentioned a letter Anne left for him but had mysteriously vanished.

Neither refused to disclose the contents of their letters and so here they were, back to pining and feelings of unrequited love that they knew deep down were anything but.

Anne had just about made her mind to continue this act of just friends, remembering the feelings of a broken heart she‘d experienced when Gilbert was courting Winifred. The voice of reason in her mind brought up the fact that Gilbert had broken things off with Winnie. Anne bit her lip to keep the tears threatening to spill from her eyes at bay.

Gilbert felt desperation surge through him. “Anne.”

Anne looked at him with shiny eyes. “Gil, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” said Gilbert, determined now. “I don’t know exactly how to say this so I’m just going to say it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Anne felt the corners of her mouth tipping up. “Gil?”

“Sorry,” Gilbert breathed out. “Just gathering my courage.”

The sound of Anne’s laughter gave him all he needed.

“Anne, I know some time ago we had sent each other letters,” he began. “That neither of us ever received. I thought I could go on without you knowing how I feel about you. I can’t anymore. I can’t sit by while others ask to court you–“

“No one’s asked to court me,” Anne rolled her eyes. “And I doubt anyone will.”

“But they will. Roy Gardner has had his eye on you from the beginning. Anthony Partridge and William Smith have been competing for your attention. But that’s not the point,” Gilbert exhaled. “The point is... I like you, Anne. No. I love you. I’m in love with you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I can’t let us go on at Queen’s without you knowing how I feel, because I’ve allowed myself to hope that you might feel the same for me.”

“I–“

“And it doesn’t matter if you don’t have feelings for me. I mean, of course it does, I’ll respect whatever your response.”

“I–“

“I just want you to know that you shouldn’t feel obligated to say or do anything because of how I feel for you. If you don’t feel the same, I’m content to remain friends because I love you, Anne.”

“Will you let me say something now?” Anne looked at the boy with a pointed stare.

Gilbert blushed, sheepish. “Yes.”

“Gilbert Blythe, I love you too.”

Gilbert blinked. “Yes, I know you love me as a friend Anne–“

“No,” laughed the redhead. “‘I love you’ as in I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

The two smiled at each other with burning cheeks and joyful hearts. After a long time of waiting and pining, they were finally on the same page.

A familiar voice broke the trance Anne and Gilbert were in. Cole Mackenzie stood a few feet away looking at them knowingly.

“Hi Cole,” Anne greeted, elated to see their friend.

“Hey,” nodded Gilbert, smiling.

“Finally figured it out for yourselves, have you?” Cole smirked, glancing between the two.

“Shut up,” said the two in unison, garnering triumphant laughter from the art student.

Gilbert turned his gaze toward Anne, not bothering now to hide how captivated he was by her. He watched as Anne scolded Cole for skipping his class, even if it was to visit them, even if it was to escort his friend Genevieve to visit her sister at Queen’s, and does Aunt Jo know of your shenanigans because if not, you shall certainly be found out!

Anne felt the warm heat of a familiar pair of hazel eyes, and her cheeks flushed without even looking at Gilbert. She said goodbye to Cole, who didn’t even bother saying his standard dramatic “au revoir!” to the raven-haired boy because he knew Gilbert’s one-track mind was thinking of only Anne now. Anne felt Gilbert’s left hand take hold of hers across the table and she interlocked her fingers with his.

Silently, with the soft hum of kindred and requited love beating through their locked hands, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe went back to studying.

That is, until Anne could finally focus again on her trigonometry problem and be faced with the same infuriating dilemma, to which Gilbert would laugh and face the wrath of a redhead scorned by mathematics.

to read more of my awae literary universe: click here or click #awae:dlu !!

#awae:dlu #anne with an e #anneshirleycuffbert #awae #shirbert #renew anne with an e #renew awae #renewannewithane #annewithane #gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #cole mackenzie #diana barry #awae fic #awae fluff

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Nie Huaisang goes home, tries to deal with missing his friends, and gets a visitor

Nie Huaisang’s last month in the Cloud Recesses passes so fast that he hardly has time to register it.

Much against his will, he gets roped into joining Jiang Cheng’s study sessions. Those turn out to be rather intense, and Jiang Cheng might be a more severe teacher than even old Lan Qiren. It pays off though, because everyone passes their exams with flying colours. Even Nie Huaisang ends up with a pretty decent grade, in spite of his refusal to put any effort into this.

Lan Qiren congratulates him on actually putting some work into this at last, in answer to which Nie Huaisang just laughs to his face, too stunned to even get angry. He is still in a daze when he leaves the teacher’s office with his diploma in hand. He had honestly prepared himself to have failed again and he wouldn’t even have cared, but apparently he had underestimated Jiang Cheng’s determination to see everyone succeed.

“Come on, try to at least look a little happy!” Jiang Cheng scolds him later, when they all get to the Jiang cabin to celebrate. “What, did you want to stay here another year with Lan Xichen?”

Nie Huaisang scoffs and shoves him away before stuffing a handful of dried nuts in his mouth, pointedly refusing to answer such a stupid question.

He hasn’t seen a lot of Lan Xichen this last month. They’ve both been pretty busy, and Lan Qiren cancelled their last two compulsory meetings to give Nie Huaisang a better chance to study. But what little time they spent together has been… not so bad. They’ve managed to chat a little when they met in passing, and the meetings they did have were… fine. The first one was spent painting together, with Lan Xichen still exquisitely awful at Nie Huaisang’s style. The second they played Go and Nie Huaisang won, though it was a very close score. Both times, they actually ended up staying together after the incense stick had finished burning. It’s not even that Nie Huaisang hadn’t noticed. He was just having enough fun to allow it, just that time. And then again the time after.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes Lan Xichen any better than before. It’s not even that he’s stopped hating him. But what’s fun is fun, and to his surprise… Lan Xichen, on occasion, can be rather fun.

Nowhere near as fun as Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, of course. The two of them make Nie Huaisang promise that he'll write to them and come visit. He extracts the same promise from them, and even gets them to grudgingly agree they might tolerate some overlap in their visits, if he so badly wants to have them around at the same time.

More surprisingly, Lan Wangji also comes knocking on the last day Nie Huaisang spends in the Cloud Recesses. He too offers a correspondence, which Nie Huaisang readily accepts. He doesn't say, but he's already plotting to invite Lan Wangji to Qinghe, and perhaps by some planning on error on his part, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian will be there at the same time.

More surprising, Lan Xichen also comes visiting a few hours after his brother. For a moment Nie Huaisang half wonders if he too will ask if they can write to each other. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to say a few empty words about being proud of his fiancé's well deserved success. Nie Huaisang, who is not disappointed by this, ends up sending him away so he can finish packing.

Being home again is the best.

Nie Huaisang's first week back in the Unclean Realm is, without a doubt, the happiest time of his life. He tells Nie Mingjue everything he's done while he was away (everything he can share, anyway). He visits all his favourite spots in the Unclean Realm, in Qinghe, and in the countryside around. He checks on his surviving birds and dotes on them. He sleeps in as late as he can, and refuses to do anything even slightly useful. It's paradise.

By the second week, paradise loses some of its glow and boredom settles in. Doing nothing at all is only fun for a short while. More importantly, Nie Huaisang soon finds himself kind of lonely. Now that he's had friends, the company of his birds doesn't quite satisfy him the way it used to. His myna can speak a few sentences, but that's just not the same as chatting with Jiang Cheng or arguing with Jin Zixuan. Nie Mingue is there, but he's far too busy, as are most of the disciples. Nie Fangjie rose in rank after his time in Gusu and is rarely free, while He Zimu had to go home to meet the fiancée his parents picked for him.

Nie Huaisang writes to all his friends, but it'll be a long while before he gets an answer, and that depresses him further. He doesn't quite fall back to the sort of moods he was in during his first year in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so far off either.

The difference is that this time, Nie Mingjue notices.

It's a right pain in the ass at first, because Nie Huaisang wants to wallow in his misery while his brother is determined to drag him out of it, even kicking and screaming. It sparks quite a few arguments between them, which is rather new. Nie Huaisang never really had the guts to argue with his brother before. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to mind, anyway. If anything, he seems pretty happy to find that his little brother won't let himself be pushed around so easily.

By the end of Nie Huaisang's first month back at home, they've reached a balance of sorts. Nie Huaisang has to train daily, both with the sabre and in hand-to-hand combat since he definitely still enjoys that. He also has to learn how to help Nie Mingjue deal with sect business, which is even more boring than the lectures in the Cloud Recesses, but gives them a decent excuse to spend time together. Nie Mingjue doesn't say, but Nie Huaisang suspects it's also a way to prepare him for the role that will be his in the future. Qingheng-Jun is a healthy man with many years ahead of him, but someday Lan Xichen will have to succeed him and Nie Huaisang will have to step up and help him.

With all this piling up, when Nie Huaisang does get a bit of freedom, he rarely mopes around. There are too many things to paint, too many fans to decorate, and his birds to train, and that shop in Qinghe he wants to visit, or that new book of poetry he found in the library.

Which isn't to say there are no bad days anymore. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get out of bed. Nie Mingjue doesn't get it, even if he tries, and seems to think that on those days Nie Huaisang needs to be kept even busier than usual to push away any bad thoughts. After it happens once or twice, Nie Huaisang gives up on explaining why that doesn't work. Instead, when a bad mood strikes, he just hides. It's easy enough, in a place like the Unclean Realm.

The best place to hang out undisturbed, Nie Huaisang figures out, is a little alcove hidden behind the throne room where his brother conducts his meetings. Nobody ever goes in there, and he's half sure nobody even remembers it exists. He's done some research, and it was built alongside the main room so the sect leader's wives could listen in on important business without being seen by guests. It's not very big, but it's comfortable enough that he can lounge around and paint, or read, or just listen to his brother's increasing frustration over not finding him. It also means that if something really does require his presence, he can know and appear quickly at his brother's side.

It's Nie Huaisang’s second favourite place in the Unclean Realm, right after the place where he keeps his birds.

It's a little under two months after returning home that Nie Huaisang, hiding in his alcove and slowly recovering from a bout of depression by snickering over some very bad poetry, is startled to hear a familiar voice conversing with his brother.

"I'm really sorry for dropping by unannounced," Lan Xichen is saying. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But since I was in the area, I thought it'd be ridiculous not to say hi."

Even perfectly hidden as he is, Nie Huaisang can't help but tense. This is the first time he's anywhere near Lan Xichen since graduating a few weeks ago. He's not nervous, of course he's not, but he's also. He's not quite comfortable.

"Well, you know I'm always happy to see you," Nie Mingjue replies. "I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting…"

"Actually…"

There is a moment of silence. Nie Huaisang is tempted to check what's happening through one of the small openings that exist for that exact purpose, but before he gets to that, Lan Xichen speaks again.

"Actually, and I hope you won't mind," he says, sounding oddly uncertain, "but the person I was most hoping to see is your brother. I'll be happy to chat with you as well of course, but if he allows it I'd like to spend time with him first."

Nie Huaisang feels punched, but in the main room, his brother just laughs.

"What, you didn't get enough of that brat last year? After how much you complained that he doesn't like you, I'd have thought you'd be glad not to see him until the wedding."

"Mingjue, don't tease me."

"Why not? I don't get the chance often. Oh, fine, I won't. I will survive this betrayal of seeing my brother's company preferred over mine, so go chat with him if you like. You'll have to find him first, though. He's gotten a little too good at hiding."

"Then with your permission, I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll let himself be found if he wishes to be, and otherwise… I'll just wait for you to be free."

Lan Xichen sounds so resigned, as if he dares not hope for the first option but the second would make him sad.

It's just so awkward to hear him be like this. Nie Huaisang almost miss the days when Lan Xichen was nothing but cold and insufferable. It made it easy to hate him, and at least Nie Huaisang knew where they stood. Now though… he just doesn't know what to make of his fiancé anymore. He's starting to wonder if maybe Lan Xichen wasn't sincere every time he's said that he wants them to get along, when he promised to improve and that's absolutely awful. It makes everything too complicated.

So Nie Huaisang discreetly escapes, and takes hidden paths to go be with his birds. It's not as good of a hiding place, but their company always calms him down, which he badly needs. Luckily it's even cleaning day, so that's a good hour of hard, gruesome work to distract him from the perspective of maybe facing his fiancé later.

There's only a few birds left, which still takes Nie Huaisang by surprise every time even though he should be used to it now. That incident really decimated them, and he can't even get new ones. In little more than a year, two at most, he'll have to leave them behind for good, so it'd be pointless. Usually it doesn’t bother him too much, but on a day where his mood is already so near to collapsing... As he cleans the cages and checks on food and water, Nie Huaisang finds himself focusing on that future loss. If he thinks of everything that he'll leave behind, he can make himself hate Lan Xichen again, almost, and he’s in a bad enough state that feeling hatred is better than not feeling anything at all.

"Good afternoon, Nie gongzi."

Nie Huaisang startles at the sudden appearance of Lan Xichen in this private space, and nearly drops the seeds he was carrying for his pair of parakeets. He quickly recovers though, and bows to his visitor.

"Lan gongzi, what a surprise! I had no idea you were coming to the Unclean Realm. If you're looking for my brother, you might want to try the training grounds."

"I've seen your brother already, and told him you were the one I was visiting this time," Lan Xichen explains. Even though Nie Huaisang already knew that, it sends his heart racing to hear it said so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mingjue was not sure where you might be," Lan Xichen continues, "so he allowed me to look for you while he handles other business. This seemed like a good place to start, and I was right."

His heart still beating too hard in embarrassment, Nie Huaisang turns around, ostensibly so he can continue feeding his birds.

"Lan gongzi must find me very childish, still so obsessed with my pets."

Lan Xichen does not reply right away. Nie Huaisang hates how careful he has become, just as much as he is grateful for it.

"If I have accused you of this, and for that reason, I'm sorry," he says at last, sounding painfully earnest. "It was wrong of me. From what your brother says, you are very diligent at caring for your birds and except when forced to go away, you always take full responsibility for them. There's nothing childish about that."

Nie Huaisang's heart squeezes at the words, so painfully he almost feels like he's dying. He hates this. He misses the days when he could just tell himself it was all fake, that Lan Xichen was either forcing himself or subtly insulting him.

"You're always trying so hard to say the right thing," Nie Huaisang accuses, with far less venom than he intended.

"I hope I can do the right thing as well. Just saying it doesn't do much good."

Nie Huaisang sighs. This is annoying. He hates that his heart beats so fast, he hates that his cheeks feel warmer, he hates that he desperately wants Lan Xichen to be sincere. He hates that he's certain Lan Xichen is sincere.

"Listen, just… give me a moment to finish this," he mutters. "Then we can go back and have tea or something. We have actual, nice biscuits here. They even taste sweet, if you can believe that."

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckles lightly. It's not an unpleasant sound, as Nie Huaisang has discovered during his last few weeks in Gusu.

"If you tell me what to do, I can try to help you," Lan Xichen offers. "Though I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't."

"You'll get messy."

Another soft chuckle, making Nie Huaisang’s heart beat too hard. It's stupid, and he hates that like he hates all the rest, but he likes that Lan Xichen stopped trying to be controlled and perfect with him. He likes it too much. He hates it.

"I can survive a little mess."

"Then grab that bucket and bring it near that big cage."

"The one with the myna?"

"Hm."

Nie Huaisang hates that Lan Xichen apparently knows a little about birds. He hates that Lan Xichen doesn't complain as he grabs that bucket filled with filth and carries it as if it weighs nothing. He hates that Lan Xichen smiles at the bird inside and comments how pretty it is. Nie Huaisang hates Lan Xichen because that's what he's done for so long now, and he's not ready yet to face the new warmth in his chest when he looks at the other boy.

He hates everything today, and wishes Lan Xichen had chosen another day to visit, one where Nie Huaisang is capable of feeling emotions in a normal way so he could try to sort this out in a rational way.

When the birds’ cages are spotless and they all have clean water and fresh food, Nie Huaisang has no choice but to suggest it’s time to return toward the main buildings. Lan Xichen readily agrees and they start walking side by side. It doesn’t take long for something to bother Nie Huaisang, partly because it’s that sort of a day where everything is annoying, but also because a certain detail is becoming hard to ignore.

“How come your clothes are still spotless when mine are filthy?” he complains.

“I must have been more careful,” Lan Xichen replies with a small smile.

“You were not,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I saw you step in several puddles of dirty water. Your robes have no right to still be this white!”

Lan Xichen chuckles, but says nothing.

“I’m going to have to get changed,” Nie Huaisang laments, annoyed that he is actually upset by that idea. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on having a guest today, so I wasn’t exactly well dressed to begin with. I just wanted something comfortable. But now seeing the two of us together, we look like a great lord and a peasant!”

“Nie gongzi is too handsome to be a peasant.”

Hearing this unexpected compliment, Nie Huaisang stumbles and almost falls face first on the ground, only for Lan Xichen to catch him just in time.

“This is… you’re just trying to distract me from your clean robes!” Nie Huaisang sputters, escaping his fiancé’s grasp so quickly that he almost falls again. “I demand to know how you did that!”

“It’s a Gusu Lan secret,” Lan Xichen retorts, smug enough that it almost feels like teasing. “In due time, I will share it with you, but at the moment, it’s impossible.”

“But there is a trick.”

“Obviously. Can you imagine how many servants we’d have to hire for laundry otherwise? We make children wear white, and people going on Night Hunts as well. Of course there’s a trick.”

It might be the way Lan Xichen says it, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, or the sheer ridicule of imagining Lan disciples in stained robes, but Nie Huaisang finds himself laughing. It's never easy to get that on days like this one, and he’s suddenly glad that Lan Xichen came. His fiancé is proving a more efficient distraction than what he’s tried so far.

When they reach the more frequented areas of the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang catches a servant and asks for tea to be served in his room. He then takes Lan Xichen there, inviting the older boy to find somewhere to sit. At first Lan Xichen appears torn between amused and mildly horrified by the mess (Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting guests, and Nie Mingjue gave up on that particular fight years ago) before gaping in shock when Nie Huaisang removes his outer robe in the middle of the room and throws it in a corner for the servant to pick up later.

“Nie gongzi, are you really getting changed?” he asks, sounding so worried that Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing again.

“Lan gongzi, I’m covered in bird poop and mud, of course I’m getting changed. Ah! Don’t worry, I won’t remove the rest in front of you,” Nie Huaisang adds when Lan Xichen looks like he’s about to have an attack. He motions at a modesty screen. “I’m just removing my shoes and grabbing something clean to put on and then… I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I leave the room?” Lan Xichen protests in a strangled voice, his face completely red.

“No need, that’s what the screen is for, and I’m not bothered. Just sit down, grab a book, and wait for me.”

Without paying his fiancé any more attention, Nie Huaisang selects some nicer robes and clean under layers. Once he starts undressing, he realises that he is dirtier than he initially thought, and is forced to give a quick wash with some water and a towel so he doesn’t ruin his clean clothes.

“I thought you were just getting changed?” Lan Xichen notes when he hears water being poured from its jug into a basin.

“The situation is worse than I thought. Cleaning is dirty business.”

Lan Xichen chuckles at that. “I’ll need to wash my hands as well, come to think of it.”

“Well, you can join me if you’d like. I’m mostly decent, if you’re loose enough on your definition of the word.”

“And what’s your definition?” Lan Xichen asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ve got trousers on.”

A moment of silence follows this.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done,” Lan Xichen says after a moment, and Nie Huaisang grins to himself imagining how uncomfortable his ever proper fiancé must look.

Still, it’d be rude to keep Lan Xichen waiting, and Nie Huaisang’s mood has improved enough that he doesn’t want that. He washes quickly, and gets dressed as fast as he can. His hair, as messy as the rest, is dealt with by tying it into a quick braid. It’s not the most refined he’s ever looked, but it’s not the worst either. When he emerges from behind the modesty screen, Lan Xichen stares at him with an odd expression, his cheeks dusted with red and his lips slightly open.

“Nie gongzi… this suits you well,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Trying too hard again,” Nie Huaisang teases. “Go wash your hands, the tea should be here soon.”

Lan Xichen nods and gets up from the table. He takes a few steps toward the screen, then stops himself and looks for something inside his sleeve before handing it to Nie Huaisang.

“A letter?”

“Since Wangji knew I would be in the area, he asked me to give you this.”

Fidgeting with the piece of paper, Nie Huaisang feels something shifting inside him, as if the good humour he only just got back were already melting away.

“Well, that’s nice,” he stills says. “Do you mind if I start reading it?”

“Not at all.”

And so while Lan Xichen washes his hands, Nie Huaisang gets reading. It’s a short letter, clearly just written because the occasion was there (Nie Huaisang only answered Lan Wangji’s latest missive a few days ago, it wouldn’t have reached Gusu yet). Most of it is about the rabbits, though Lan Wangji notes that they are preparing for the next batch of guest disciples to arrive and he’s hoping they’ll be a quieter bunch this year. It’s only an innocent comment, but reading it makes Nie Huaisang ache for the company of his friends in a way he thought he’d learned to manage. It was so much fun to be all together in the Cloud Recesses, completely carefree. If he had known that he’d have to start behaving more grown-up upon getting home, Nie Huaisang would have gotten up to far more mischief, and he would have tried to enjoy his fun even more.

Just as Lan Xichen is done tidying himself, servants come in with the tea and some very fancy biscuits. Nie Huaisang gave specific orders regarding what’s to be served, amused at that moment by the idea of forcing his fiancé to enjoy something once in a while. It doesn’t seem so funny anymore, not even when Lan Xichen is looking at the biscuits with a mix of gluttony and worry.

It must show that Nie Huaisang’s mood is vacillating. When he’s done pouring tea for both of them, Lan Xichen has stopped staring at the treats and shoots him a concerned look instead.

"I hope the letter did not contain bad news?"

"No, it did not. I'm just distracted."

Lan Xichen sips on his tea and hesitantly picks up a biscuit, but does not eat it.

"Speaking of letters… I have to admit I envy my brother," he says in that cold, careful voice that still annoys Nie Huaisang with how controlled it sounds.

"How so?"

"When Wangji told me you agreed to a correspondence with him, I wanted to obtain the same from you," Lan Xichen admits, distractedly playing with his biscuit. "I even went to see you to ask for it, but in the end I wasn't sure if I should, so I said nothing. I didn't want to overstep some boundary."

Nie Huaisang thinks back on Lan Xichen's brief visit on the last day. He'd been disappointed when his fiancé didn't have anything to say to him that time. He doesn't exactly miss their excruciating weekly meetings but they were still part of what was clearly the best year of his life, and maybe he wouldn't have hated keeping in touch.

"You can always ask me now," Nie Huaisang offers. "We'll see what I answer."

"Very well. Nie gongzi, would you be willing to exchange letters with me?"

Nie Huaisang, to his own surprise, doesn't even hesitate.

"I'd like that, yes."

The smile that breaks onto Lan Xichen's face is nothing short of radiant. It's unfair, really, how gorgeous he gets when he's genuinely happy, and Nie Huaisang doesn't know how he feels about being the reason for that happiness. He doesn’t hate it, he supposes. He doesn’t hate Lan Xichen in general, in fact. It’s an odd thing to realise.

Nie Huaisang picks up a biscuit and bites into it, hoping to encourage his fiancé to stop being stupid and have a little fun. It works. Lan Xichen gives in and nibbles at his own biscuit. His eyes widen slightly as the flavour hits his tongue, and in a moment he devours the rest of it. Nie Huaisang snorts, more endeared than he’d prefer.

“So, do you want to talk about something?” Nie Huaisang asks, refusing to linger on the thought that his fiancé can be a little cute at times.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but never found the right occasion yet,” Lan Xichen announces. “I would like to suggest some arrangements for when we are married.”

Nie Huaisang freezes and stares at him. As a rule, they don’t talk about their future marriage. They never have, except sometimes when arguing. Even in a good mood, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t want to breach that subject, so today, when he’s fighting the need to go hide until everything stop being so much…

“I don’t think I want to talk about that,” he replies, toying with his half eaten biscuit. “Lan gongzi, I don’t believe there’s much to be said on that topic.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty to tell you,” Lan Xichen insists. “I think it would please you to…”

“Not today,” Nie Huaisang cuts him. “I’m having the sort of day where nothing could please me, and quite frankly, that topic… it’s not something I want to think about at all. Can’t we chat about something less distressing?”

Lan Xichen frowns at that reaction. Nie Huaisang braces himself for his fiancé to insist, perhaps even for an argument to happen if Lan Xichen decides he’s tired of being nice without getting anything in return. Neither things happen.

“Of course I won’t force you to speak of this if you don’t want to,” Lan Xichen says with surprising gentleness. “I do believe we should discuss it while we have time, but if you’re unwell today, then the time isn’t right for it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Not unless you can magically change my mood,” Nie Huaisang scoffs, uncertain how to react to kindness when he hasn’t prepared for it.

“I could try to do that,” Lan Xichen offers, startling him. “Or something to that effect. There are a few Lan songs that can calm an unquiet mind. I could play one for you, if you’d like.”

Nie Huaisang drops his biscuit on the table.

“I thought the Lan songs were just used for battle?”

Laughing softly, Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Those would be the one most people know about, but we have many other sorts. To calm the mind, to help the body heal, to improve the quality of meditation… we’re a musical sect, and we take that very seriously. Even now, some members of the sect still try to come up with new techniques.”

“I had no idea,” Nie Huaisang admits. “I didn’t really try to learn about Gusu Lan, aside from all your stupid rules.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Ask any cultivator what Gusu Lan does, they will tell you that we invent rules faster than the flowers bloom in spring, and that we’re deadly with a guqin. We’re more than that, though, just as Qinghe Nie is more than brute force and sabres.”

“Uh. Guess I’m learning a lot about your sect today,” Nie Huaisang muses. “Secrets to keep your robes clean, and healing songs… Lan gongzi, your people are more surprising than I’d have thought.”

"I'm glad if you feel that way," Lan Xichen replies, his smile warm and soft. "I hope you'll want to continue learning more about us. For now though, would you let me play for you?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and nods. If this works, his mood will be improved. If it doesn't… Lan Xichen is a skilled musician, so he'll have that pleasure if nothing else.

It takes a little more preparation than Nie Huaisang would have expected to hear a Lan healing song. He can’t help a slight grimace when Lan Xichen explains he’ll have to get into a meditative state, never an easy feat for him, but apparently the melody itself is meant to help with that. Nie Huaisang grumbles and mutters and struggles to find a comfortable position on his sitting mat, but once he’s somewhat settled, Lan Xichen starts playing on his xiao.

At first, Nie Huaisang is certain this won’t work. His brain is still jumping from one thought to the other, aching with the way he misses his friends, and how he can’t seem to enjoy being home even when he should enjoy it while it lasts because soon, in some months now, even if there’s no clear date yet…

But as the melody goes on, Nie Huaisang finds that it envelopes his thoughts and pacifies them. The fears and worries are still there, but their sharp edges which were hurting him are rounded off by the music, making them less distressing.

When the last note drops, Nie Huaisang takes a moment before opening his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling inside his heart. It had been a while since he felt this calm. In fact, he’s not sure he’s felt like that before, not since his mother's death.

“That’s a very efficient song,” he sighs when he finally opens his eyes, slow and deliberate. “Thank you, Lan gongzi.”

“It’s my pleasure. Did it help?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He feels oddly light, in a very pleasant way. “Lan gongzi, you’ll have to play it again for me next time we meet.”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with joy. He really is handsome like this, and Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at his fiancé. If Lan Xichen asked again to talk about their future marriage, Nie Huaisang would agree because for the very first time, the idea doesn’t fill him with dread. There are worse people to marry out there, and Nie Huaisang is starting to feel he might be as lucky as people have told him he was, all those years.

But Lan Xichen doesn’t bring up that subject again. Instead they end up chatting about Lan Wangji’s bunnies, and how much he dotes on them, which in turns makes them talk about the younger boy’s crush on Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang is just starting to share his cunning plan to bring both of them to Qinghe when there’s a knock on the door. Before Nie Huaisang can invite the person in, Nie Mingjue barges inside the room and unceremoniously comes to sit next to his brother.

“Very rude of you both to have tea and not invite me,” he comments, snatching a handful of biscuits and shoving them in his mouth.

“Gross!” Nie Huaisang gasps, wishing he had a fan to hit his brother with. He has to slap him with his hand instead, which is a lot less refined. “If you’re not invited, then why are you still here?”

“I can’t let my brat of a brother try to steal my friend,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Besides, you always have the best biscuits when you’re having tea. How come I can never get them when I ask for them?”

“Because I hide them from you, having paid for them with my own money,” Nie Huaisang retorts, grabbing the plate and holding it out of reach when his brother tries to grab a few more. “Don’t! They’re not for you! Lan gongzi, help!”

Of course Nie Mingjue, being the tall, long limbed monster that he is, can almost grasp the plate even when his brother is trying his hardest to keep his precious biscuits out of reach. They are both stunned and nearly lose their balance when Lan Xichen snatches the plate away from Nie Huaisang’s hands, looking a little lost about what his next move should be.

“Run with them!” Nie Mingjue enthusiastically orders. “We can share them!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes jump between the two brothers a few times before he shakes his head.

“He said he paid for them,” he softly protests. “If you want some, ask him nicely.”

Nie Mingjue gasps at that betrayal while Nie Huaisang, after the first moment of shock, starts laughing so hard he can hardly breathe.

“Xichen, you turn against me like this?” Nie Mingjue complains. “Aren’t we friends?”

His tone is so falsely pathetic that Lan Xichen chuckles and grins.

“We’re friends, but he’s my fiancé. I’ve got to take his side when it's needed, don’t I?”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter dies in his throat, stunned for a moment by that simple declaration, the way Lan Xichen says it as if it’s the most evident thing ever. Something shifts inside his chest, something big, something so soft it is nearly agonising.

The moment passes quickly because Nie Mingjue, not one to accept betrayal so easily, turns against Lan Xichen and tries to steal the biscuits from him instead. This in turn forces Nie Huaisang to team up with his fiancé so they can protect the precious sweets from being eaten in an uncouth manner. All three of them laugh when, after some struggling and a movement too quick, the biscuits end up falling on the floor. Nie Huaisang pretends to be heartbroken until the other two both promise they’ll buy him new ones, at which point he just joins them again in laughing.

He’d never thought the three of them would ever have fun like this someday, but he’s glad to have been proven wrong.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #this one got a little long oops #but it's soft? I think? There's softness and there's progress and those dumb boys are going to get somewhere someday??#mdzs

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years ago

Note

and general + love for chance/faith THANK YOUUUUU

Thank you for inquiring about these two Ash!

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Faith was the first one to make the move of kissing Chance which then led to these two having a physical relationship that quickly developed into more emotional given both their shared history and the time they had spent together during the events of the Holy War. It was a waiting game for those two as Chance was unsure of starting the relationship and Faith got tired of waiting and just went for it.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

They never really had much of a first date, I mean kind of hard to during a time where you’re supposed to be hating the person. I digress though and while there are many things that they both say count as their first date but the one they both agree on is after Chance rejects joining the cult the second time and the two of them have mostly made up from their fight over Faith keeping their shared past from him. Chance invites her over to give a very old gift, a fishing rod that was to be a “Welcome to your new home” gift for Faith had Chance’s father not passed, and he teaches her how to fish. (I do plan on rewriting/reworking the original piece for that one soon to fit better in canon because I love it so much) It was just this very sweet moment that just felt almost normal to the two of them, like they had stumbled across one another like the Christmas Hallmark movies.

What was their first kiss like?

Their first kiss was under the Bridge of Tears after Chance tried to stop a small gun fight at the outreach center. Faith had come by looking for the members to bring them to be laid to rest and asked him to help board up the center as at the time it was really the only thing she had, that was hers and hers alone, left of Mary who was “dead”. Chance was debating if he should just go for the kiss and Faith took advantage and just pushed him against the rock face kissing him. He pushed her away to process a quick moment before kissing her again and proceeding to have sex under the bridge. You can read it in full here if you’d like

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

They were each other’s first friends if you want to go that far back, but they weren’t really either’s first for anything. Both had done a lot of things prior that make it hard to really answer. I guess Faith was Chance’s first love but he never got to act on it given that by the time he came back to Hope County as a teen she was gone.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

There is a 5′ height difference between the two with Chance being 5′10″ and Faith being 5′5″. Their age difference is only a year with Chance being 25 cir. 2018 and Faith being 24 cir. 2018.

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Okay during the events after the arrest well its less than stellar. Chance is hated by the Seed brothers, with John being the most vocal about it (Sorry he just really wanted someone more capable to take Joseph down). Chance doesn’t have family in the typical sense during this time but they wouldn’t be very happy about the Seeds and would have been their rivals. The rest of Hope County becomes Chance’s family and we all know their opinion on the Seeds.

Okay given their shared childhood I will say that Faith/Rachel was well loved by Chance’s father and grandfather to the point that Ray was working on getting custody rights of Rachel to be in effect once he returned from his last and final research project. This is despite the friendship that Ray and Rachel’s father had as Ray was not down and never was down with the eventual treatment of his daughter and maintained the friendship solely to keep an eye on Rachel best he cold manage with his life at the time.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

This is pretty even as both are sociable. Chance is someone that likes to be part of the life of the party if not the life of the party. Faith has her way of charming people and can navigate her way around social situations and structures. So really context helps but both are willing to take the lead in social situations.

Who gets jealous easier?

I might have to give this one to Chance by the slightest margin because Chance is quicker to anger and a little more impulsive than Faith. It’s not a blinding rage but he will for sure start yelling at the person trying to hit on Faith or depending on close its seeming might throw a warning punch (RIP to Wes’ face in that one prompt long time ago)

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Faith, she’s much more inclined. Chance is weird in the sense that he’s very loud and out there and can joke about sex and things like that but he’s also very conservative about it given some of that silent generation values run a bit deep. If the two were to have been part of the cult she’d be whispering things in his ear during the sermons on occasion relishing in the blush it would give him.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Okay to the actual words that Chance says are “I think I love you” giving this right to him. Granted he was drunk at the time and doesn’t remember saying it but he in the technical sense said it first. If you were to ask him though he would say that it was Faith with him confirming the reciprocation right after her so it was basically a tie.

What are their primary love languages?

The one they both share and becomes one more for Chance is touch. Being able to feel Faith know she’s there means she’s not going to be gone the next moment. Even after the Hebane is freed he still fears permanent effects of the Bliss. The other one is acts of service, these two it is important for them both to feel seen and cared for and the best way to do that is through those little acts like Faith leaving water and pain pills next to him when she finds him on a bender. Or Chance giving her his coat and shoes to protect her from the cold. Just these little things that one wouldn’t really think of all the time just mean a lot to these two.

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Chance 100%. His dad was prone to cheesy jokes and puns and well that got passed on to Chance so yeah Faith is constantly hiding her face in embarrassment. The most hated is “Do you have 11 Protons? Because you are Sodium fine.” even I admit that is just....sigh my boy ladies and gentleman.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

A lot. They don’t get to a point of like banging in front of people but they need to know the other is still there so there is near constant hand holding, the kissing happens a lot, and well sometimes there are makeout sessions that start and well then yeah privacy is needed after that.

Who initiates kisses?

Pretty 50/50 on this but I give this one to Faith more so, as surprisingly Chance is more shy around Faith. He’s a mess I’m sorry.

Who’s the big and little spoon?

Chance is the big spoon most often while Faith is the little spoon.

What are their favorite things to do together?

Spending time outdoors, watching movies and shows together, and studying on their own terms once everything is all said and done. They both do enjoy the occasional party but they both have to be careful with who they party with.

Who’s better at comforting the other?

This honestly boils down what it is that the other needs comforting from. Both are very good at doing it but there are times where one can seem better at it than the other.

Who’s more protective?

By small margin this goes to Chance. Even after her “death” Chance tries to get access to her body to hold a proper burial. He is just very outward with his protectiveness and it becomes more intense after she’s switched sides having faked her death. Faith does what she can to protect Chance while still in the cult and after but there’s only so much she can do and hates being the damsel a lot of times but she is fierce and lord help anyone that actually managed to kill Chance.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Both would prefer the physical affection more than anything. The Bliss and their past has had an effect on them both to the point that they fear the other being gone in an instant.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

So two songs that fit with them the first being “Evil Angel” by Breaking Benjamin and the other being “American Money” by Borns. These two as a pair works wonders as it shows both sides of their relationship pre switch for Faith. You have the darker aspects of the Bliss and the more dependency/hold it has on Chance. While the other is more to the lighter side of it all, the love that was never acted on all those years ago, this magical quality that just makes it feel unreal. Just overall these two songs work well as a pair and fit them and their relationship very well.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Chance doesn’t like nicknames, at all, but Faith gets exception because well its Faith and its been his nickname since he was a kid practically. She calls him White Knight and Sailor Scout, the former being a part of the games they used to play in the woods and the latter as they got older as a way to tease him for his love for the anime. Chance calls her Princess which she doesn’t particularly like but its one of those names that he’s called her since she was a child so there’s no going back.

Who remembers the little things?

Faith. Chance also inherited the head in the clouds/gets too focused on things to really remember things from Ray. It’s endearing as Chance is better at managing it than his father.

#x: emo flower child #okay that chart was referenced for one question for confirmation and man was that a trip #but i love these two all day everyday #post now and reblog for the morning crowd as I'm probably going to forget with my double shift tomorrow

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kingspoetrysoc · 4 years ago

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Interview with Konstantinos Pappis

Konstantinos Pappis is a poet and King’s alumnus who studied Strategic Entrepreneurship and Innovation for his Master’s. He shares his blackout poems on Tumblr @blackout-diary and on Instagram @blackout_diary, and is the Music Editor at Our Culture. The King’s Poet’s Karen Ng talks to Konstantinos about his poetic experiences, process, and inspirations.

What is your earliest memory of poetry?

Like many people, my earliest memories of poetry are associated with school, where I felt pretty alienated by the way we approached poetry. It felt cold and analytical and I struggled to connect with it on a personal level – or perhaps there was less of a need to at that age. Although there were some Greek poets we studied in school whose work I remember liking, including C.P. Cavafy, Kostas Karyotakis, and Odysseas Elitis, it wasn't until later during my adolescence when I started discovering poetry outside of an academic context that I was able to appreciate it more. Things really started to change when I was introduced to English and American poets; for some reason, something about it not being in my native language made it easier to engage with and relate to. And then eventually I was able to approach different kinds of poetry from both an intellectual and an emotional standpoint.

How did you first realise you wanted to write poetry? What do you enjoy the most about writing?

In a word, Tumblr (RIP). But honestly, finding a community of people who used poetry as a form of expression more than anything else inspired me to do the same. I realised it wasn’t this inaccessible, overly sophisticated thing that you had to be especially clever or well-read to really get. Again, if you weren’t doing it to get a good grade, it was considered a bit weird to engage with poetry in any way, so seeing it outside of that context was pretty eye-opening.

It was also something that came with realising I had a passion for the arts in general. Music had always been my primary outlet, but poetry took over when I felt I needed the words to have more space on their own – to jump out on the page and release all the teenage angst I was going through, because listening to Creep every day somehow wasn’t enough. None of that poetry was any good, of course, but it was vital. And when I felt like this really personal thing was something I could share and exchange with friends, writing also became an important part of embracing vulnerability and forming close connections, too. I came to enjoy it more as a medium than an art form, in a way – at first, at least.

In terms of what I enjoy about it now… Well, it’s hard to articulate, but if we’re talking about writing poetry specifically, I guess the appeal hasn’t changed all that much. It’s been a while since I’ve felt inspired to write a poem, but in the past it’s always been when I felt like I need to channel something that I couldn’t through any other form. Some might view the poetic form as being kind of limiting, but I feel like it’s quite the opposite – it’s almost freeing in the endless possibilities that it presents.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is “Moon” by @makingthingswrite on Instagram.

You’ve written a lot of amazing blackout poems! What about this form appeals the most to you?

Blackout poetry appeals to me for almost entirely different reasons. I treat it more like a mental exercise that can be both calming and stimulating; something that operates on a more subconscious level. I like that I don’t have to be particularly inspired to do it, not even by the text that I’m using. I like that it doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, that I don’t have to stress over the final result too much. I like that it can then inspire me to make something else. I like the visual aspect of it, the act of repurposing something and giving it new meaning not just by altering the text but also its surroundings. Of course, people can make blackout poetry in a much more intentional way, but what sets it apart for me is that it’s a creative outlet that can be simple and almost passive yet gratifying at the same time.

How do you select a text for your blackout poems – where do you look? What do you look for?

It really varies: sometimes I’ll take photos from a book – I used to do blackout on old books nobody would ever open, but I switched to doing everything digitally – and sometimes I’ll search for poems or articles randomly online. Reviews often work quite well. There does have to be something about the text that sticks out to me for me to use it as a source, but I tend not to overthink it.

I love that – inspiration is everywhere in our daily lives, even when we aren’t looking for it! Can you tell us a little about your writing process? Is it more emotion-led or methodical?

For blackout it’s entirely intuitive. For poetry in general I would say it’s almost always emotion-led, but the editing part can be more methodical. Normally, a lot of it happens late at night when I can’t sleep, and if I can’t sleep long enough for me to write things down and it doesn’t strike me as absolutely terrible in the morning, then it might turn into a poem.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Sam Sodomsky’s review of duendita’s song “Open Eyes”. Your poem pebble (an ode) was one of the first poems to be published in our magazine. It isn’t a blackout poem, but could you tell us a little about it too – do you remember what it was like writing it?

See above re: late-night thoughts and the utter absurdity of the human condition!

How has your experience of sharing your poetry to Instagram been? Are there any tips you could share with our readers?

I haven’t done it in a year, partly due to a lack of inspiration and partly because I’ve tried to distance myself from Instagram and other social media platforms as much as I can – though maybe I’ll go back to Tumblr? But my experiences with the Instagram writing community have been nothing but great – I participated in Escapril back in April of last year, a yearly event founded by Savannah Brown, that encourages users to write and share a poem a day based on a prompt. It was a really great and fun challenge that helped me write and read more and connect with other poets. I would say participating in these kinds of communities is probably the best way to utilise the platform.

Thank you for that advice! On a similar note, which poets and poems inspire you the most? These could include childhood inspirations… Have your influences changed over the years?

I would not be the person I am nor would I have any interest in poetry if it weren’t for Sylvia Plath. I can’t even pinpoint exactly when I first encountered her work, but I identified with it to an almost unhealthy degree as a teenager, as I’m sure many people have. I still get that feeling whenever I revisit her poetry or read more about her life and art. Also, a lot of spoken word videos from people like Sarah Kay really resonated with me at a young age.

More recently, the closest I’ve gotten to that feeling of being deeply excited and inspired by poetry was when I discovered Savannah Brown’s work a couple of years ago. Her spoken word videos and poetry films really moved me, and her second poetry collection – which came out last year – is absolutely incredible (I wrote about it here). Lately I’ve also been listening to a lot of musicians whose work intersects with poetry, including Cassandra Jenkins and Anika Pyle, whose most recent albums reckon with grief and loss in a really powerful way.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Christopher Gilbert’s poem “Fire Gotten Brighter”. Are there any styles besides blackout which you particularly love, or themes? Are there any topics you gravitate towards?

I’ve always gravitated towards confessional poetry, both in terms of what I tend to write and what I like to read. Something most of the writers I’ve mentioned have in common is that they use intimate language to evoke a deep yearning for connection, in the face of existential dread and the unfathomable vastness of the cosmos. That usually does the trick!

Have any experiences at King’s Poetry Society or King’s in general – events, classes, readings, people you’ve met, or London itself – been particularly memorable, or inspired you? Can you tell us a little about them?

Absolutely. Just being in London, not even necessarily the experiences I had there, made me want to write more poetry than I had in a long time. There’s a Savannah Brown video essay on YouTube where she talks about passing a billion people on the street – obviously in the before times – and being like, “Who are all of you people? Could I care for you? How many of you idiots could I love?” That’s basically the gist of what had been stirring in me for a long time and that I still think about to this day. And then being a part of King’s Poetry Society was an opportunity for me to try and channel that, and engage in an actual physical writing community in a way I never had before. I literally read a poem inspired by that video during one of our poetry reading events – that will certainly stay with me.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “doors on the underground”. He read this poem at one of the 2019-20 King’s Poetry Society critique sessions.

How important do you think writing communities are, in fostering “better” writing? In your experience, is writing helped by discussion?

I think they’re incredibly important, not just in fostering “better” writing but also fostering a space for vulnerability. Poetry can be an intensely private form of writing, but so much can be gained from discussing it, especially if one is looking to not only hone their craft but also learn from and connect with others. Us writers can be especially introverted people (hi!), and may be discouraged by the long stretches of silence that can pervade a poetry meeting, but there’s power in hearing the words you or someone else has written out loud. Even a single comment can completely change a way you think about a poem.

What do you think the value of reading poetry is? Can a poem profoundly change someone’s life? Conversely, can someone read a poem and be unaffected – and if this happens, has a poet “failed”?

I think Marianne Moore sums it up pretty well in her poem Poetry, where she talks about finding in it “a place for the genuine.” As for the second question, poetry can definitely change someone’s life – not to be corny or anything, but like all art, it can also save someone’s life.

That said, I don’t think a poet has failed if the reader feels emotionally unaffected by their work. Sometimes, a writer may wish to portray an event or theme in a cold and unaffecting manner to get a certain point across. There’s value in that type of poetry, too, and art’s inherent subjectivity means that someone might be moved by a poem that someone else feels indifferent towards. There’s also value in poetry that is private and not meant to be shared, because even if only one person derives something from it, then it is valuable. I do think, however, that the further one strays from that ideal of earnestness, the closer the work hinges on being trivial or pretentious. We’ve moved past the need to be overly cynical or ironic.

I agree, poetry that is never shared is not lesser by any means – I find great personal value in treating a poem like a diary of sorts. Maybe each stanza mimics a different entry... With all that you feel manifesting into this thing that is at once completely attached to your experience but also – if shared – something that becomes detached and open to reinterpretation... That is really powerful. How do you think people who have never written before could be encouraged to start writing for themselves, whether for fun or as catharsis – without the pressures of becoming someone recognised or followed?

I really like that approach! I think the diaristic style of writing is often looked down upon as less legitimate, even though it isn’t. To answer your question, I think normalising the act of writing poetry purely for enjoyment or as a form of catharsis is really important, especially from a young age. Part of that could be achieved by exposing young people to more than what one might call the poetic canon. Being disappointed that a student isn’t engaging with poetry when they’ve only been introduced to Shakespeare is like assuming someone isn’t musically inclined when they’ve only been exposed to a single genre of music. Another way would be to incorporate more writing activities that utilise the poetic form, and allow the freedom to explore it outside the confines of academic study. I’m not saying all teachers should follow the example of Dead Poets Society, but there are so many ways to foster creativity and make poetry more approachable.

Do you think poetry is sometimes perceived as an inaccessible art?

100%. I think that’s the biggest problem with how poetry is perceived. A lot of it comes down to the way poetry has been taught and disseminated for centuries – through a lens that is inherently exclusionary, upheld by systems that are classist, racist, sexist, etc. Hopefully that is starting to change – studies have shown that more and more young people read and write poetry, largely thanks to the rise of social media poetry. Poetry can represent such a wide range of experiences, but for people to view it as an accessible art form, more barriers need to be broken. Amanda Gorman becoming the youngest inaugural poet in American history, and the first Black poet ever to perform at the Super Bowl this year alone is certainly a huge sign of progress.

Do you have a favourite literary journal, or a poetry platform you would like to recommend? What have you been reading lately?

Subscribing to the Poetry Foundation and the Academy of American Poets’ poem-a-day newsletters has been a great way of keeping poetry in my everyday life. Recently, I’ve also been loving a podcast called Poetry Unbound, where each 10-15 minute episode immerses you into a single poem. On YouTube, I love Ours Poetica, a video series curated by poet Paige Lewis in collaboration with the Poetry Foundation that features readings of poems by writers, artists, and actors – including John Green reading Moore’s Poetry and Savannah Brown reading her poem the universe may stop expanding in five billion years. It offers a truly intimate and approachable way of experiencing poetry.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “lonely little london”.

Is it important to you to read a wide variety of poetry, from different communities and on different subjects? Do you think it’s important for poets to write about things beyond their immediate world?

That’s probably the biggest shift that has happened since I first got into poetry – realising how important it is to read widely. I was mostly drawn to poetry that reflected my own limited experience, but now more than ever I find it vital to immerse myself in different points of view, especially from underrepresented or marginalised groups. I now see poetry less as a means of personal expression than a form of empathy, and because of that I’m able to gain so much more from it. That said, I don’t think it’s necessary for poets to write about things that aren’t part of their immediate world. It depends on one’s goals and ambitions, but there’s already so much that’s unique about a person’s immediate world – things that are reflected in society at large – that being forced to write outside of it can often lead to work that feels hollow and insincere, or even insensitive. That doesn’t mean it has to be limiting – the beauty of poetry is that you can write about your immediate world but not necessarily through it.

Lastly… Do you think a poet is born a poet, or made into one? Which is more important: natural talent, or practice and growth? Can anyone become a poet? If everyone has it in them, do you think anyone who puts their mind to it can produce meaningful work – since, of course, all work is meaningful in one way or another, whether privately or publicly?

This is a slightly tricky question to answer, because either way it could imply that only some are afforded the privilege of becoming poets. If a small percentage of people are born poets, then of course that means everyone else is inherently excluded; if one is made into a poet, then only those who are able to cultivate any artistic inclinations will have the opportunity of fulfilling their potential. Most people will say the truth, as always, is somewhere in the middle, that it’s some complicated combination of the two. But I feel it’s much simpler than that – when you boil it down, really, everyone is born a poet.

#Konstantinos Pappis #interviewer: Karen Ng #Interviews #king's poetry society

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hows-it-holed-up · 5 years ago

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Perfunctory Photo Recap: Alias 1x01

After starting off with Gossip Girl and swinging wildly in the other direction for my second post, I decided a happy medium for No. 3 would be that early-aughts ABC classic, Alias. The show premiered basically immediately after 9/11, and I started watching it in 2002 with its mid-season premiere – meaning I missed the first half of the first season and didn’t get to watch it until it RE-AIRED over the summer of 2002. (How did we ever live without streaming apps? Unfathomable.) Anyway, I was obsessed with this show when it was on, and I suspect it’ll hold up pretty well, even though we’re the better part of 20 years out from the pilot. Let’s get our spy on!

My Disclaimer: None of these posts will be in any way comprehensive, because I’m lazy. All of them are probably going to have spoilers of some sort for the entire series…or at least what I remember of it from when I last watched it an eon ago. Exactly what you want in a recap!

The Prophecy: Our heroine Sydney Bristow thinks she works for the CIA, but learns pretty quickly (after they murder her fiancé) that she’s been a bit of a dummy! She actually works for the bad guys – an organization called SD-6. Will she just sit back and accept it? That would make for a pretty short series!

Fresh off his thrill-a-minute action masterpiece Felicity, J.J. Abrams stays brand consistent, opening his new series with some light waterboarding.

We cut almost immediately to Sydney in a college classroom (there we go, J.J.), where she’s scribbling furiously in a blue book and giving me anxiety-induced flashbacks. She meets up with her BF...

Who proposes to her on “the quad” while singing “Build Me Up Buttercup” at the top of his lungs. I remember finding this adorably romantic in high school. If someone inflicted this on me now I would literally walk away and never speak to them again.

Syd here seems to be contemplating the exact same thing. But she (somehow) gets over it and says yes.

Wow, there it is! “The CIA.” Honestly, Sydney really should have figured out this wasn’t legit almost immediately. No way the vibe at ANY CIA office is industrial chic. There’s barely a fluorescent light to be found!

LOOK AT BABY BRADLEY COOPER! (Yes, this screengrab was very strategic.)

He’s so crestfallen when she tells him she’s engaged to Doug or Dave or whatever his name is. Poor BB. Don’t worry Bradley! He’ll have shuffled this mortal coil by halfway through the episode.

Annnnd this is why:

Big no-no!

He freaks out and I guess runs off. When they meet up again it’s at some oil-pumping hoosit in Bakersfield or some such, and she gives him some cringeworthy line about having always hoped she’d find someone to give her life meaning and he’s the one etc. etc. GROAN.

Then she jets off on her latest mission, where the best part is she gets to use her real accent for about 10 seconds.

As a southern(ish) lady myself, I always get a little delight when I hear a good southern accent! Everyone seems to think they can do a flawless one, but it’s almost impossible to find someone who’s not from the region and can do it properly. The attempts are usually skin-crawlingly bad.

Anyway, after the mission, she returns home to a not-very-nice surprise.

J. Garn is VERY good in this scene.

After a wee confrontation with her boss about the small matter of murdering her fiancé, we cut back to the torture scene, where Sydney’s got some jokes!

LOLLL!!!!1! But to be fair they did shoot her full of a big ol’ syringe of something we’ll assume is affecting her frontal lobe, or whatever. You try being funny in the middle of a drug-enhanced torture session.

Anyway, we cut back to Dorian’s funeral, where we get eyes on Will’s (Bradley Cooper’s) sister, who happens to have fire-engine red hair and be dressed like a British goth-punk from the ‘70s. Super approps funereal attire. And also probably nothing to do with Syd’s lil future disguise – just a total coincidence.

Then over to this image of me, every night of this COVID-19 quarantine. Note the bottle within arm’s reach. By tomorrow I’ll probably be foregoing the glass altogether.

When we check back in with our girl, it’s been 3 months since she’s been into the office. Prob b/c of the whole “murdered her fiancé” thing but who can say really. Anyway folks aren’t super pleased!

Like really not super pleased.

There’s a whole fighting thing, and as Syd’s struggling to escape her dad dadus ex machinas on up:

He tells her the people she’s working for are actually the bad guys. And she’s like NUH UH! And he’s like “So then how come you’ve never been to Langley? Also come on have you seen the offices?”

Not really being able to argue with his logic but also not really trusting him, Syd runs off and steals Will’s sister’s identity (SHOCKING TWIST!). Because as all great spies know, you want to stand out as much as possible – so best practice is to dye your hair the brightest color you can manage and dress like it’s Halloween so that everyone will notice you.

Anywho, all of that somehow works, and we arrive at the part of the narrative where she gets captured and tortured. But because she’s the star of the show, it probably won’t come as too much of a surprise that she escapes! She runs off to find the thing she was supposed to find at the beginning of the show:

A highly coveted floating clown nose! (No but actually it’s much more sinister than that and is a big deal later in the series.)

She gives it to her boss so he knows she’s back onboard:

Then heads straight for CIA HQ, where she writes down her story for this handsome fellow and offers to be a double agent for them:

Sigh. I remember being very into these two as an IRL couple and finding out they broke up immediately before a French test. I also remember I did not do excellently on said French test. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I had no interest in studying. I would probably be fluent now if it weren’t for them.

Anyway, the CIA verifies her statement and sends an asset to let her know that she’s in:

Yes that’s what I just said.

It turns out that papa Bristow is ALSO a CIA double agent! What a good reveal to end on! Great job J.J.!

Debriefing:

- After spending 20 minutes searching for a free, not-illegal way to watch this sucker online (because I’m a cheap bitch), I finally gave in, swam around in my massive hope chest and literally dusted off this DVD, which it turns out I still own. Did I buy a DVD player just so I could watch my Alias, OC and Friends DVDs? Who can say!

- I didn’t realize they introduced the Rambaldi mythology in the first episode. It’s actually pretty impressive they could maintain that as a narrative thread throughout the show. Also we’ve got a “47″ alert at 12 minutes in.

- They have Jennifer Garner speaking a ton of languages throughout this show, as I recall. I wonder if she’s any good at any of them? She sounds vaguely convincing in the pilot, to me, but what do I know?

- I think we can all agree that Merrin Dungey is a national treasure and deserves to be a bigger star than she is. I’m always so happy to see her when she pops up in other things. And she’s great in this show.

- Overall, the Alias pilot holds up REALLY well. It does an amazing job of giving depth to all of the characters and really making the audience care about them – even the ones who only appear for a few minutes. The plotting is strong, and the groundwork for the rest of the series is laid without being even remotely heavy on eye-rolly exposition. Plus the actors’ performances are all *CHEF’S KISS*

#tv recap #spoilers #alias #pilot

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haxballfan-blog · 4 years ago

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When You're Sad, Your Skin Is Sad

Correlation doesn't prove causation, but I can't help but notice that both times I’ve lived in my teenage bedroom I’ve felt especially sad. In high school, it was an angry sadness that sought attention. But when I came back to my parents house in March to ride out COVID, the sadness became deep and dull—about everything and nothing. I go to bed dreading the next day like it holds a big test I haven’t studied for. In the morning, I alternately jolt awake while it’s still dark, or tether myself to my comforter well into the workday. I’ve been very privileged in the ways I’ve experienced the past few months, but also very anxious. And actually, the CDC estimates that 40-percent of adults exhibit symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorders as of this past July. (In 2019, that number was 11-percent.) So, yes, I’m crying a lot more than usual; maybe you are too. I’m also breaking out more than usual—and you?

“Yes, stress causes you to break out,” says Dr. Amy Wechsler, who, as one of only a handful of doctors in the US board-certified in both dermatology and psychiatry, is uniquely qualified to answer questions about this kind of stuff—she even wrote the book on it. Dr. Wechsler cites a well-known study done on a college campus during exam week, where researchers found a strong correlation between stress and the severity of acne. “But exam period is like two weeks long, and when the exams go away the breakouts go away. Imagine if you had exam period for five months, you know? That’s like what we’re going through right now.”

According to Dr. Wechsler, the root of stress acne lies in a molecule called cortisol. Cortisol is a hormone that’s pumped out by the body to fight illness, control blood sugar levels, regulate metabolism, and influence memory formation. In general it’s anti-inflammatory, but when you’re stressed, your body responds by producing more cortisol than it would normally as part of the fight-or-flight response meant to keep you alert when you need to be. If that stress is prolonged, and you don’t have the proper coping mechanisms to deal with it, cortisol starts to act very inflammatory.

“Inflammation is the root cause of acne, and eczema, and psoriasis,” says Dr. Wechsler, who also adds that high levels of cortisol over a long period of time will break down collagen, the molecule in your skin that keeps it looking plump. “That’s why when people are really stressed out for a while, they look like they aged overnight.” For a good, obvious example of this phenomenon, take a look at a photo of President Obama in his first year as president compared to his last. Cortisol also weakens your skin’s natural barrier, so you’ll start to experience more transepidermal water loss. Several months of anxiety may leave you with a totally different skin type: even if your skin is normally oily, it will start to dry out and get more sensitive. Dr. Wechsler notes that when your barrier is compromised, your skin is more likely to react to something that normally wouldn’t cause a problem. “That’s when people say things like, ‘I’ve been using the same product forever, they haven’t changed their ingredients, but now I can’t tolerate it.’”

The tricky part about cortisol is that once levels are high, it can be difficult to bring them down on your own. At minimum, you need to make sure you’re getting an adequate amount of sleep each night, which can be difficult when you’re feeling anxious. “Cortisol is at its lowest for everybody during sleep, and healing molecules like beta-endorphins, growth hormones, and oxytocin,” a mood enhancer, “are always at their highest,” says Dr. Wechsler, who compares the molecules’ relationship to a see-saw. If you’re not getting much sleep, you’re not giving the anti-inflammatories a chance to catch up to the cortisol.

During the daytime, you can sort of hack your body chemicals by engaging in activities that directly trigger a release of those happy molecules. Completing your skincare routine floods your brain with dopamine, otherwise known as the “feel-good neurotransmitter.” So would cooking a complicated dinner, or organizing your bedroom, or finishing a book. A workout can help balance too-low endorphins, a fact I always felt was fallacy until I experienced my first runner’s high a few months ago. Not into exercise? Pop on a John Mulaney stand up special—any will do!—for a rush of endorphins you don’t have to sweat for. And to raise your oxytocin levels, turn down the lights and grab your vibrator. Sex drive can lower when you’re depressed, but each time you orgasm your body releases cortisol-lowering, calm-inducing oxytocin.

Of course, these things won’t stop you from feeling anxious, but they might help you feel a little bit better on the day-to-day, and you also may see a difference in your skin. “When people are very anxious, they feel this loss of control over what’s going on in their lives, and normal routines fall by the wayside because they feel unimportant,” Dr. Wechsler explains. “A skincare routine gives you back a little control,” she adds, conceding that, at the very least, 10 minutes of caring for yourself will feel better than reading the news, or scrolling through Instagram.

The absolute easiest, low-effort way to help balance cortisol? For a sad person at least, it’s crying. Scientists aren’t quite sure how or why, but studies show that a good crying session decreases cortisol levels. It was once widely believed that tears were a way to expel excess stress hormones, but now, most researchers think that the benefits of crying have to do with social signaling: just getting out the message that you’re in distress seems to help alleviate some of that distress. And, if you’re crying to somebody, they’re likely to give you a hug, rub your back, or stroke your hair—all triggers for oxytocin.

But while crying is good for the skin internally, it can leave your face feeling… not so great. Which is the reason I called Dr. Wechsler in the first place—I wear my recent crying obviously, and am left frantically icing my face before morning meetings and check-ins with family. Beyond how I look, my post-crying face hurts. My eyes get incredibly puffy, and I often find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place when I cry at night. It happens, without fail, after I do my skincare routine, and I wasn’t sure whether the salty tears left on my skin were further contributing to breakouts. To make my outsides match my insides after a solid catharsis, I wanted to figure out a post-crying best practice—a sad girl beauty routine, if you will.

What I’d learn is that your eyes work overtime to produce tears, which draws an abundance of blood to the surface of your eyelids. If you cry at night, that blood doesn’t have anywhere to go—it pools in your face when you’re lying flat. “If you’re crying during the day and you’re standing up and walking around, gravity will take the swelling from your eyelids, bring it down your face, and flush it out,” adds Dr. Wechsler. For those particularly concerned about morning puffiness, you can stay upright until the swelling subsides, or try Dr. Weschler’s favorite method. “Put a teaspoon in a glass of ice water, let it get really cold, and then take the back of the teaspoon and put it on your eyelid with a little bit of pressure. Both the cold and the pressure really help those blood vessels calm back down,” says Dr. Wechsler, who learned the tip from one of her model patients. Doing that right away will probably help prevent morning puffiness, but if you aren’t feeling up to it, just go to sleep and try to keep your head elevated with an extra pillow. You can always try the spoon trick (and some vertical action) in the morning.

As for the tears themselves, Dr. Wechsler recommends rinsing them off to abate dryness. If you’ve cried within a half hour of doing your skincare routine, you can rinse with a gentle cleanser (or water, if you think another wash will be too drying) and re-apply your skincare products. Otherwise, just rinse and moisturize again.

Remember how I mentioned cortisol is difficult to lower on your own? If you’re experiencing symptoms of anxiety and depression, you might also consider seeking out the help of a trained therapist. While it’s easy to ruminate on how we look on the outside, it’s important to emphasize that this skin issue is indicative of a larger, internal problem. Aside from the auxiliary benefit of helping balance your skin, talking to someone can help alleviate the feelings of loneliness, grief, and uncertainty you might be feeling right now. Therapy for Black Girls, the National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network, and Open Path Collective all offer remote therapy options at accessible price points. You might also check out Psychology Today’s list of therapists, which is quite comprehensive—you can filter results by things like specialty, sexuality, and race. If you’re a Black woman, you can also apply for a grant from The Loveland Foundation to subsidize your sessions.

Knowing that my skin is feeling as vulnerable as I am right now, I’ve been taking it easy with my skincare. And the benefit is twofold: nixing breakout treatments lets my skin actually heal, and using fewer products means I’m more likely to actually do my routine (even when I don’t feel like it). I’ve noticed new pimples subsiding after fortifying my compromised skin barrier with products rich in ceramides, natural moisturizing factors, and lipids. I’ve also been chasing opportunities to feel good as often as I can, masked and tiptoeing around the border of my own shrunken comfort zone. Still the breakouts, and the tears, come in waves. But then again, they always have.

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spacegaywritings · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4 CoS - Hey, there is a lost Emo in our Bathroom

ao3 clicky

Summary: Virgil meets the last roommate! Can he stay for longer?

Tags: slight u!Roman, inappropriate comments (belittling and judging) about selfharm and mental treatment. puns (it is patton) and food mention/cooking! implied (non-descriptive) nudity, mentions of Christmas.

Story under the cut!

After a hearty breakfast Patton had prepared for them, he had eventually gotten around to sleep a bit.

Since his work had him occupied during night, he was more of an afternoon and evening learner after all. But it wasn't as if he needed to be at work every day - on the contrary, he was usually required during evenings and special events. The flexible working times left him with enough comfortable time to dedicate to his master's thesis.

And after this, he would be allowed to counsel.

Logan had taken off to work while Virgil complied and actually went out to get medical treatment. Nobody had insisted on a hospital and he knew friends who worked in medical professions and could fix this up for him.. Or friends who knew enough about medicine because of knowing others who had studied medicine and such. Again, nobody had specified.

No need to get another file in the local hospital. His medical record must be looking like trash anyway but he was used to it. Virgil has had worse.

Another perk of being with these friends was yet again, having people understand his signs and sudden nonverbal periods due to relatability. And of course, he could easily inform his friends and family about his new home while getting his arms fixed up again.

And he got a snack, soft cuddles and some lighthearted comments during the treatment. Doctors would just ask questions and invade his privacy while friends understood his silence and his words.

What else could he ask for? It was the best if both worlds

***

Logan's day, on the other hand, had been uneventful at most. After another few hours of organising books and arranging them back into their respective shelves, he had taken a lunch break and soon after, had only a couple of hours until the mercy of finishing work.

It wasn't a bad job, boring at most, but it didn't interest or engage him enough to satisfy his intellectual hunger. On another note, he sometimes learned about new books and authors. He had seen his reading list expand extensively ever since he started working here. And it was a welcome change after hours of coding and complicated lectures on formating and such.

Being an IT student was rather challenging but he was used to the expectations and hardships of life. So he took it.

Logan had always been an engaged student because he had to. There was no other way to shine with pride and accomplishment in his upcoming if it wasn't for academic performance and an outstanding social reputation. Nothing ever mattered more than overall societal expectations. But Logan tried.

He just arrived back at home to the smell of Patton cooking.. Something. Apparently, he was still just cutting and preparing some things but the pots were ready to be used like a laid table asking to be used for a meal.

"Greetings, Patton. Has your day been enjoyable to you?", he asked, his voice strained by the length of the day he left behind him. The exhaustion from the cut short night pulled his usually rather straight shoulders into a slightly defeated slump and he needed push his lips a little in order to maintain a rather neutral expression on his face.

He wasn't upset. But he wasn't exactly pleased either. However, a bit of time to himself and some light chatter with Patton usually worked figurative miracles for his mood.

"Aw Logan!", Patton greeted much like a person who was met with a surprise pick up from the airport. He turned to face Logan who was wearing his usual attire with striped blue tie and black shirt. Patton had gifted him the new tie after going to college and Logan had never worn any tie as much as this one, even going so far as to throw his other light blue tie away and instead get a second one looking a lot like the one Patton had gifted him.

Somehow, Logan always looked the same but at the same time, he didn't. Patton found that there was always something special about his friend and after years of growing up together, he was still surprised about some things.

"I started cooking but Virgil came and said he would help me as soon as he is done in the bathroom", he informed him, his mouth pushing its corners to the sides into a little smile. "Oh, I also napped and wrote a couple of pages but not much. I bet tomorrow will be a better day for writing so I went shopping for groceries instead. I got some fish, I know you don't enjoy eating every kind of fish but I promise you will like this one!"

Logan felt the dragging sensation in his heart fade into a warm feeling similar to the realisation of having been blanketed during sleep.

Patton was usually the only one to ever make him feel this warm. Well, not entirely. But Patton did it with such ease, just by paying attention to him and deeming him important enough to be considered in his daily life choices.

He didn't deserve such a good friend, at least that's what he thought. Patton wouldn't make such an effort for him if he didn't think it fit.

The ginger man in yet another of his cat sweaters flashed him a smile, revealing his white teeth.

"How was your day? You don't seem so happy", he said, voice thin as glass as he abandoned the cutting board and wiped his hands on the plaid apron as he approached him with a certain precision in his step.

Logan let his shoulders slump, sighing quietly before he decided to meet Patton halfway.

"I'm happy now that you're around", Logan spoke quietly into Patton's neck as the two shared a warm embrace that lasted for several moments. The taller man squeezed him and gently run a hand over his back as if to soothe out the wrinkles of of emotional uncertainties and straighten his mood. Funnily enough, the warmth of Patton's hand moving over his backside had Logan let out a soft sight as he melted into the accepting hug.

Only Patton hugged like he understood all your pain. Only Patton gave, you embraces that traded your trouble with his undying love and passion for you and your wellbeing. His hugs only went as far as you let them and adjusted to your feelings. It was almost as if Logan was the only one to matter in this hug.

"Logan, I'll always be there for you" he promised softly as his arms gently moved so he could release the reluctant nerd from his arms. "Please go change. I will make us some tea and if you want, we can have some cuddles later. The Prince of our dreams should be on his way, too! That means happy friend time together!"

Patton's voice nearly flashed over into inaudible squeals as he offered Logan another freckled smile. The IT student returned it and straightened his posture again. Apparently, his life energy was back on and he felt empowered to continue his daily challenges to survive once more.

"That sounds like an adequate plan, Patton", Logan remarked softly and turned to leave to his room. Once there, he noted to get a mattress ready for Virgil. It wasn't the most dignified way of sleeping but the couch didn't seem as comfortable as a mattress on the floor.

Logan loosened his tie and glanced over it, his face softening as he fondly remembered the treasure of Patton's gift to him. He had never felt as liberated by a material object placed into his possessions. Well, almost. The key to this flat and the one before he had shared with Patton alone had been one of the most motivating things he had ever received. Up until today he had never felt quite as much joy as when he and Patton had shared another hug over their own home and first time "adulting" as Patton had phrased it.

Logan undressed with a smile and decided to wear simple black sweatpants and one of his christmas sweaters. It was a special edition inspired by an artistic movement. The shapes and colours always appealed to his aesthetic standards and eased him up. Knowing that he was immersed by appreciation of culture, Logan felt comforted and understood.

It felt silly to him to find understanding in a piece of multi-coloured fabric but Patton had insisted how feelings were valid and sometimes everyone found delight or asylum in the strangest activities or things.

Who was to judge anyway?

Logan pulled out one of his little notebooks and settled at his wooden desk for a moment. The book was a simply dark blue with a single black stripe on the left side of the hardcover. The pages inside were smooth, the yellowish tinted colour made it easier for him to read and reduced the contrast to his ink blue writing.

Logan grabbed his ink pen and opened the journal at his last entry. His silver metal book mark was softly nudged off the page as his eyes glanced over his last entry. Before work he had added notes on the previous day, especially the night. The fact that Virgil would probably live with them for a while was already tattooed onto the pages.

Soaking up the truth, the pages started accepting more ink as Logan refreshed his journal information by adding today's events to it.

Others would call the lined piece of private information a diary but Logan didn't like the implication of it. While he didn't judge diaries nor their owners either, the student personally didn't associate with the ideas of writing down his feelings in a one-sided conversation like a therapy session with a wall. It made him feel like a forgotten statue in the middle of a city square that nobody spared a moment to look at.

Logan easily finished his little entry and felt the heavy weight of burdening memories and nasty social interactions flow from his head and heart into the ink he spilled all over the pages.

Well, tea should be ready soon and Logan only had one more little addition. His hands pulled out another book from his dash under literally any over piece of paper he could have found and deemed important enough to be kept in his desk's drawer. It slipped from his fingers and onto the table, next to the journal he had left open for the blue ink to dry into its pages.

Logan skipped through a couple of pages - by all means, they weren't many just yet - until he found his last entry, marked with a little post he had cut into a sort of page marker. The orange paper was a stark contrast to the purple writing in his little book. His journal was half the size of a regular college block while this notebook was about half the journal's size.

Logan started writing under the little category he had started on this page specifically.

"Experiment : How to calm down Virgil (ticks and numbers for tested methods according to rate of success)"

***

While Logan was writing down his observations and inferences, Roman arrived back home.

The actor let the door click shut and immediately started taking, his feet in eternal motion as he matched forward. Did he stop at the door to close it or did he just walk it off until it complied and shut itself?

"Good afternoon, mortal vessels", he exclaimed as he strode forward.

Patton turned around from his cutting board, moving so quickly he dropped his knife and heard it rattle on its way into the metal body of the sink. The ginger giant wiped the juice of the cut vegetables on his white and red apron and attempted to follow Roman, calling out to him.

"Wait, Roman!", he tried again, his voice growing thin as he attempted at catching up to him on time but the fancy man disappeared into the bathroom with a dismissive wave.

At once, the tall statue and broad shoulders, which were hidden under the white dress shit and blue jeans he was wearing, disappeared behind the white door and Patton couldn't help but stop. What if Roman was changing? Or Virgil? He couldn't just chime in as well? Why didn't Virgil lock the door!?

Silence.

Patton didn't know what was happening behind the doors and neither was Roman when he started unbuttoning his shirt with his right while his left pulled the bathroom door by its handle until it, too, shut.

He looked at the figure in front of him, shirtless and bending over the sink as he seemed to do something with his incredibly arms.

OH. Those weren't pale arms, those were bandages. What did a man with bandages and no shirt on do in their bathroom?

Virgil had looked up by now.

The sound of Patton's repetitive calls had eventually reached him through his headphones and he had pulled them down with one hand while his teeth clenched around the last bit of bandage he had to tie together with the start of his little injury wrapping.

When Roman entered, he had stared at him like a wild animal about to meet the headlights of a car for the first time. His body crouched further over his right arm as if to protect the patched up mess. He also seemed to inch behind the sink instead of vaguely standing in before it and leaning over the porcelain white half egg.

"Patton, Logan. Why is there a shirtless emo in the bathroom?", he asked, his voice dropping down into the basement along with his tactfullness as he glanced over the man again.

The punk - punk! not emo, tried to disappear into himself as Roman's eyes roamed over him again and he mused getting a shirt to cover up but turning around to show his back wasn't really the option. He couldn't lose sight of Roman. That... He just couldn't. On the other hand, he also couldn't really let go to get something like his jacket or the shirt he had brought to wear after his shower. The bandage still needed to be tied up and looking away wasn't going to work.

Patton knocked on the door to let Roman know he was there and the tanned man let go off the handle he had forgotten about.

Sure thing Patton couldn't open the door with his arm still pulling it shut. The giant might be strong enough but the door presumably wasn't.

"Roman!", Patton complained against until he felt the pulling weight in the other side of the door being gone and he finally got to pull the door open and join in, immediately falling against the actor in his clumsy haste.

"Patton, please don't tell me this is one of your mental house experiments again. I'm done with this. I just came from work and I need a shower, I really don't wanna deal with your self harm recovery programmes or whatever. Not right now."

Patton looked at his roommate, his eyes nearly petrifying as he found the others face to be laced with furrowed eyebrows and a pulled together mouth, lips sharp and nose fed up.

Virgil had taken the moment to simply throw a jacket over his body and put the first aid supplies back into the little red bag Patton had instructed him to locate and make use of in the bathroom.

He zipped up, not caring about the loose bandage ends and instead shoved the things back into their place in the little cupboard over the sink. He shut the tiny white doors that had little white sea life painted over them and used the nearby light switch to turn off the fairy lights draped over the wooden furniture over his head.

In mere seconds, Virgil had reduced his claimed space into the mere minimum of his slim body while Logan joined their little pity party.

He was so glad he was at least wearing his jacket. He had wanted to wear a shirt but that level of comfort was buried beneath the weight of heavy rocks Roman had exploded into his little bed of hope as he had chimed into the room and claimed to be more significant.

"I'm not a fucking experiment, Princey", he hissed as he held his right arm and glared liquid fire at the other man.

Princey, that must have been the most ironic name of mockery Roman had ever been called. It definitely referred to the little crown he was proudly presenting in his nearly void black hair. The man in question let out a huff, his dark, curvy eyebrows creating a sharp angle to his eyes as he glared back at the intruder.

"Excuse me, I forgot the part where I addressed you, emo nightmare!", he barked back and Virgil omniously seemed to shrink away for a moment.

"Pardon me", a voice spoke. The soothing sound of cool water from a forest's river bled into the heated atmosphere between them and Patton stepped back to make space between him and Roman for the ever composed master head to take a moment in their space. "Roman, I suppose you could make space for our guest to return to his room. Virgil needs to stay with us for a little while and living together requires compromises on both sides."

The enraged man looked at the taller nerd, a blank expression in his face as he swallowed back a compliment and gritted his teeth n Another huff, another step and he was out of the bathroom. The arms crossed over his chest, he glared back at the emo who ducked down and was carefully resocialised by Patton's assuring words by slow gestures.

While the duo in the bathroom cleared up the space, Logan and Roman walked over to the latter man's room and closed the door behind them. Before Roman found the time to speak, Logan had already lifted his flat hand for him to indicate silence.

Rubbing his temples with his ink-tainted finger tips, he adjusted his glasses and looked back at his other roommate.

"Apologies for my choice of words but your actions and words were quite inadequate and had me a little....", he trailed off, looking for a suitable word to tailor his sentence according to his attention, "irritated." He briefly glanced at Roman and let out a sigh.

"Patton and I wanted to ask you in peace whether you could bear with me having a guest for a few days or weeks. My friend seems to be unable to return to his previous home - I will personally stand against him pursuing any intention of going there again if I must - and needs shelter for until he has found a more appropriate residence that comes closer to valuing human dignity. "

Logan wasn't quite done as he indicated with yet another glance to Roman. When he wanted to, the computer enthusiast had quite the icy teacher glare in his eyes and he was less than afraid to use it. Roman keeps his pretty mouth shut despite his cheek bones resting back together like a proud lion brooding over a way to get a prey other than the one who had just escaped his hungry claws.

"It would be kind of you to approve of this arrangement. While we cannot force you and would not, it could speak for your character to show some compassion for him or at least give him time to prove himself of a worthy guest. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and until tomorrow after work to decide. Until then, please behave. He and Patton wanted to cook and you know our Patton needs to have his down time before going to work. "

With that, Logan stopped and looked at the slightly smaller man, his icy eyes unreadable as he bore his look into the auburn orbs of the slightly exotic looking actor. Roman sighed and turned away.

Logan's tension disappeared from his shoulders and he ran another hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"Thank you for considering it Roman. I will consult him about how to lock the bathroom while we prepare dinner. Coffee will be ready for you."

With that, Logan turned around as well and their backs faced one another for a brief moment before Logan left through the wooden door.

Things with Roman were certainly too emotional for him to deal with.

Logan felt a tug at his heart as he returned to the kitchen which was open to the living room and connected the three other rooms with respective little hall ways inbetween. It wasn't the kitchen that made him feel the weird emptiness coming back at him but it was the spacey room being void of his best friend and also free of any Virgil. The promised coming seemed off or at least delayed.

Logan was hungry.. But the prospect of late to no food at all didn't seem to struck him with too much interest. He felt his heart pounding from his little outburst at Roman and the missing comfort from the others. There was no soothingly casual joke coming from Virgil and there was no soft part and cooling tide of emotions coming from Patton.

Logan moved on his body's accord, just following patterns of routine such as visiting the bathroom for no apparent reason and doing his business before washing his hands. It felt dull. He hated the end of November.

It was when he was about to exit the bathroom that his ears were allowed to catch a bit of the sweet sweet sound of little giggles that could only come from their pure Christian angel.

This home's personal angel was Patton. He wasn't just a ginger giant and the tallest of the group, meaning he outgrew Logan and could stuck his tongue out at his nose. He was also a to-be therapist who was already accepted in a special training to get his license right after his master's thesis would be approved of. Logan and he were bestest friends ever since they had met and for some reason, the little sunshine had always tried to accommodate Logan, no matter how weird and shy the nerd had seemed to be.

Patton was known to him as calmest and most soothing person. Whenever he was in pain, Patton seemed to ease up his burning issues and make his urge to cry disappear into thin air.

They had grown up tigether and eventually close and when Patton went to college, he soon went after him and they moved together until they met Roman and decided to share their space.

Patton had brought Roman into the group because Patton was the sunshine who illuminated every person on this world but even a sunshine wasn't fallible.

Right now, it was their second year together and Logan and Roman kept colliding in harmless to slightly less harmless disputes over nothing and everything. He didn't even know whether Roman really enjoyed living together but sometimes.. Sometimes there were moments in which it felt as if they had known one another for lives, even longer and more than Patton and he did. But these moments disappeared as soon as they appeared and Logan was usually left feeling like this.

But this was the end of November again so it just felt worse to him.

He wondered whether Roman felt bad about their arguments and confrontations too. Sometimes Patton would scold them like an angry parent. Sometimes it would take a soft nudge from him to have both apologise. But.. More often than not, Roman came back and apologised and with every time he did, it felt as if there was less regret between them but, in a way, still a broader chasm.

Maybe Logan needed to know people more. Perhaps he should try harder.

He could ask Patton for help. Or.. Not. The IT student would ponder on it.

Right now, Logan wanted to follow the heaven's bells that seemed to let their sounds echo through his home and he carefully moved out of the bathroom, his legs moving on their own. This time he didn't follow his prepared autopilot but his pure instinct.

When he pushed the door out of his sight, he could see, obstacle-free. Virgil and Patton were together by now. It was odd to see so much sweater in so little room but the two seemed comfortable and he himself felt warmed from the inside just by seeing them curl into themselves in open giggles.

Apparently, the whole thing seemed like water under the bridge for now.

Logan carefully approached them and Patton's face lit up, his chuckling mouth retreating to a wide smile as he opened his arms.

"Logan, did you know Virgil speaks other languages?", he asked, his eyes sparkling like puffing stars and his cheeks showing off little dimples as his skin stretched over his freckled face. Patton pulled at something and gave Logan a look, the glass green eyes awaiting yet promising as he stepped back and continued.

"He is multilinguini!", he said as he pulled out a little pack of pasta and Logan honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry but his heart made a little jump and Virgil seemed to have a hard time keeping his lopsided grin hidden behind his long sleeves of the old, zipped up jacket he was wearing.

The sound of Patton's open laughter and Virgil's muffled giggles filled Logan with warmth and he let his lips eventually deflate into the softest of smiles his dark eyes filled with a rare bonfire compassion as he nodded.

"I'm sure he is", Logan said. If it made them all happy, he would let the dad joke slide for a moment. "But please tone down on the puns, Patton" he asked yet his smile gave him away.

Patton's glass eyes seemed to gleam in conspiracy and he winked before turning to Virgil who clutched his stomach like an important item about to be robbed off him. He was struggling to stand up straight again but the massive wave of giggles roaring through his body and rattling that flesh container seemed to cease enough for him to eventually straighten his posture and riffle through his dampened hair.

"Virgil, I am sorry about his terrible puns", Logan started with the perfect imitation of a selfsuffering frown wrinkling into his face as he attempted at sounding upright and apologetic about Patton.

The psychology student flashed Logan a smirk that understood him and teased his dynamic enough for Virgil to ease up and gave Logan a slight nod in reply.

"I suppose I gotta get through this", he mused, the tone of his voice experimental as he started. An eel wiggle smile was on his lips and he leaned back against the counter as of he was considering an offer and he needed to play it off as cool. But in a professional way. "I promised to help him and Logan", he whispered, carefully leaning in and giving Patton another side glance before he averted his gaze and looked at his colleague, "if I don't make it, at least you'll be safe from his dad jokes for another day.."

Logan gave Virgil a stone hard look but Patton and Virgil knew the jelly beneath his pretended hardness as Logan backed away and sighed, the little smile playing on his lips never leaving.

It had to be the warmth in this room that had Logan smile so easily as if he was butter melting in sun.

It was the end of November and.. Logan felt like this year was even more manageable than the last one.

"Hold on", he advised seriously and gave Virgil an approving nod before leaving again. Before he entered the bathroom to take the shower he had now realised his routine had expected him to take, he gave the two another look as Patton placed the pasta aside and Virgil pushed his sleeves up just enough for his slightly yellowish hands to show before he disappeared into the task of cutting some more peppers.

Logan was filled with a grey fog as he descended into the shower, the door behind him locked as he moved on autopilot. He didn't know what it was but a certain feeling of warmth had him assume that whatever this feeling was, it had to be good rather than bad. If he was in any place to judge whether a feeling could have traits like this.

***

"That was nice Patton, thank you a lot", Roman said and Logan nodded softly while Virgil was curled up in his chair under Patton's stretched out arms as the ginger pulled the dishes close to his body and carried them over to the sink.

"Actually, Virgil did the cooking, mostly. I didn't even know about this kind of dish but we shared ideas this morning. I just assisted him a little and showed him where the things are", he clarified as he started cleaning the dishes and the punk in question carefully picked up the abandoned cups and some stray cutlery Patton had overlooked or not bothered picking up since it was clean.

He carried the things over and added the dirty things to Patton's little pile of clean-up he had to finish before work. The giant gave him a bright smile and a little nod but as he tried to raise his arms from the soap water, the raising bubbles and sudden notion of wet hugs being uncomfortable made him drop his shoulders back into place.

"Well, Virgil, thank you for turning fish into a considerable meal to eat", Logan concluded after cleaning his mouth with a little napkin. He, too, rose zu his feet and cleared up the other napkins to throw them away. It was kind of his they did things here.

Virgil stood next to Patton. He seemed a little like Waldo but zoomed in on him and terribly out of context. Logan was walking over and passed him as he reached over to dispose the bundle of trash in his hands.

Roman turned to them and eventually sighed before speaking up.

"I'm sorry I said these mean things."

Virgil turned around and watched the man while Patton gave a soft hum. Logan simply gazed over Roman, something in his strict teacher features softening.

"I just.. Our department has budget issues and they need more money for the upcoming play and it is cool that we are all trying to make the best of it but not enough people fund us or visit the performances so everyone's bonus money is delayed until after New Year's Eve. I don't know whether I can go back for the holidays and be with my family and I'm stressed and upset about that. "

He sighed again, his hands holding his forehead as he pushed his hair out of his face again.

" But that isn't your fault and I shouldn't have been like this to you just because I'm stressed and I'm sorry. "

Virgil stated at the other for a while and his lips seemed heavier than led as his wary orbs eyed the miserable blop of arbitrariness at the table. His mind played ping pong with ideas from storming off over shrugging at him to just saying" whatever ". All the while, his mind screeched red blinking warnings at him that popped up like a bunch of porn ads when visiting these shady websites for pirating a game or show.

The guest simply turned around to start drying the dishes Patton had left on the rack to simply finish themselves. But the friendly giant didn't protest. He respected the tension in the room and carefully nudged Virgil's left shoulder instead. For some reason, Virgil was standing to Patton's right instead of the left which would have been right before the drying rack where Logan was standing. The nerd noted the action with his calculating eyes.

Virgil needed to keep his hands busy, his right half covered in his purple black wretched jacket that looked more like hand dyed plaid patches than the original piece of clothing. Maybe the sewing streaks were all to keep it together. But they seemed to collectively make up a sort of aesthetic that seemed to fit Virgil's usually black lines eyes and the purple hair.

"Did you try fundraising with something like a baking sale or just asking for apprentices, trainees or volunteer workers to help out?" The punk turned around but barely acknowledged that Roman had shifted into a rather upright position in order to sink his auburn eyes into his soul. " I mean, I don't know what the fuck you're doing anyway or where but maybe that could help. "

He shrugged again and Roman opened his eyes as Virgil turned back to the drying cutlery he seemed in need to dry. The little guy thre another glance over his shoulder but didn't spare Roman another look after this. His honey eyes were trained in the task at hand, literally. Meanwhile, Logan had decided to put the plates back into their original spot in the cupboard.

"I mean.. I-I could ask my boss and just propose those ideas. It's better than not un t but I don't know whether it can change a thing."

Roman fidgeted with his hands as the merciless back faced his pleading face. This guy was new to him and so was the situation.

Finally, Patton chimed in.

" We could organise a baking sale! Aw, that'd would be so cool! ", he squealed out in excitement. The ginger clapped his hands together and his race looked like a fit up birthday cake with tons of candles. "I could bake with you or alone - you don't have to! But it would be so cool because Christmas is coming up anyway and I reeeally wanna bake biscuits and decorate gingerpals!"

Logan placed his hands on Patton's shoulders and carefully tugged him from the kitchen and over to his room.

" Patton, let us talk about Christmas baking when the time has come. For now, we shouldn't hold you off getting to work. "

The walking hug sweater of pastel quickly nodded and disappeared into his room before he came out just a few moments after, a sports bag strapped over his shoulder.

What kind of work required him to come in late anyway? Was he a host or server or something? Maybe a bouncer but he didn't look intimidating enough. Then again, Virgil didn't know him enough to be able to judge this.

Instead, he waved and Patton pulled everyone into a hug, even lifting the sitting Roman a little in the process before leaving with another cheerful sound of affection.

This man was like a marshmallow snowflake in human form but with natural freckles and a lot of fairy lights.

"We can have a film night this weekend! Love you, kids! Don't stay up too long!"

And with that, the sweater man was gone.

Even after the hug Virgil was burning inside and he felt somewhat sick of humanity. Maybe he did have too much interaction with more or less strangers for the day. University and all the stress paired with these situations really had him exhausted.

Or so he thought.

#Prince Roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #virgil sanders #ts virgil #fanf #fan #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfiction

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drkoestersmithrpg · 5 years ago

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THE END OF PERILS, THE SERIES

It wasn’t just that Tony’s hands were extremely talented (and they were.) The nimble fingers that could carefully solder a tiny chip to the circuit board of engine timing system on his Audi knew exactly what to do when they came into contact with Peter’s body.

It was also the fact that Tony knew Peter well, knew Peter very well, in every sense of the word. And then there was the experience. About a year’s worth. Put all that together and it was no wonder that Tony’s hands would make Peter moan.

But then Peter groaned and covered his face, covering his eyes with his palms, and Tony knew that had nothing to do with his hands.

“Whatsamatter, Baby Boy? What can Daddy do for you?” he asked casually as he rubbed Peter’s feet. He asked, but he didn’t turn his head. The truth is, he was a little bit more into this television documentary than he thought he would be. Still, Peter came first.

“Daddy isn’t going to get to do ANYTHING for Baby Boy if I can’t make my study group get past this chapter. I mean it’s not advanced calculus, people. Well, it is, literally, but it isn’t hard.”

They were in their regular Netflix-and-chill position, Peter laying on the couch working on his laptop, his feet in Tony’s lap. Tony had been rubbing his feet absently, but not paying much attention. Maybe it was fatigue, but Tony had actually been watching TV this time. In the early days, Tony had to struggle to make himself scarce (which is to say, leave Peter alone) while sharing the couch with a busy Peter, getting his homework out of the way so they could move on to better things. If he *didn’t* do a good job he would get distracted, rubbing calves, then thighs, then other things, until Peter couldn’t do his homework anymore, and it would have to get done later.

But tonight he had been content to only rub Peter’s feet as Peter struggled to explain, via his social media chatroom, the points of calculus that his study group simply couldn’t grasp.

“Oh baby, I can relate. Try pretending that they’re all little children, and you’re trying to explain things to them politely.”

“How do you talk to them like children AND be polite.”

“Yeah I never really mastered that.”

“And I don’t know how to explain this any more simply than I am already.”

Tony nodded knowingly, making appreciative noises. He couldn’t do much else. So he massaged the foot in his hand and watched the screen.

Peter looked up from the slow-motion train wreck that was his study group’s chat function and looked at his lover, overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. Which was ridiculous, of course they had done this before. This was their version of Netflix-And-Chill. They did this on a regular basis.

Still there was something about this moment, something important. The same, but different.

He had been with his comedian (even now, he thought of Tony as ‘his comedian’) for coming upon two years. They had began dating after bizarre aliens had arrived from space (including one human, also named Peter but Tony always referred to him as StarFlake) contacting the Avengers and reporting on an invading Over-Alien intent on relieving the universe of half its population. Knowing the world might end at any minute had motivated both of them to take the risk of getting into bed together. But, once together, neither one had wanted to move apart. But that constant threat of Invading Over-Alien made otherwise-unwise decisions seem perfectly reasonable. Like going out on that third date or saying I love you. Or getting engaged. Even though he never showed up, Peter and his comedian owed a lot to that alien, wherever he was.

Peter smiled indulgently when he thought of their early days together. In those early days, he might have half an hour, if he was lucky, to work on his laptop during the Netflix-and-Chill sessions. More if Tony was playing video games, which might keep his interest for a couple of hours. But if Tony was trying to actually watch something? Peter would have to plow through his Variables classwork in record time all while Tony’s hands moved closer and closer to sensitive bits. He was (he hoped) the only one at Columbia who looked at his grades and blushed, remembering what Tony’s hands were doing when he hit ‘send’ on that A+ project…

Tony insisted Peter could keep working when the oral started, but Peter had never gotten callus enough to perch his laptop on Tony’s head. Tony kept threatening to construct a shelf that would hold the laptop in place with enough space to accommodate his head, but other than lengthy arguments over how to patent/sell the product nothing had ever come of it.

Peter smiled, amused, as he thought about those early, dicey days. Not that they weren’t worrisome at the time. Tony had showed so many signs of developing a sex addiction in those days Peter found himself actually searching ‘how do I know if my boyfriend has a sex addiction?’ on the internet. It wasn’t all bad – the addiction seemed completely focused on Peter alone, and, if he complained about it he wound up with a facefull of roses.

Something had happened that had curbed that addictive behavior, but Peter had two minds about what that had been.

Part of Peter was sure that it was simply a matter of Peter, himself, becoming a better lover. In the early days of dating his comedian he came like a virgin-on-prom-night (Tony’s standard joke) and the scientific side of his brain informed him that’s why Tony had to do it so often, because the actual experience was so short and unsatisfying. So Peter (ever the scientist) had set out to (manfully) last longer in Tony’s mouth. When THAT didn’t work he set out to (manfully) talk and tease Tony for as long as possible. Which did, in fact, help Tony last longer between fixes.

That was the scientific mind of Peter. There was another part of Peter, however, that had another theory.

That theory had to do with a series of confessions his comedian had made after a long period of sleep deprivation (and some very hot sex.) Confessions about his constant fear that Peter was on his way out. That Peter would ‘realized he had accidentally fallen into bed with Tony Stark’ and would thus, logically, ‘bail.’ It made Peter’s heart hurt, knowing how certain Tony had been, at all times, that Peter was leaving at any minute. While Peter had been living every day like it was our last day on earth, Tony had been living it like The Last Days Of Us.

Things had changed significantly, after that night. The one Peter thought of as “The Night Of A Thousand Confessions.” The night they had both admitted they lived in fear of having any serious conversation that would jeopardize their Schrodinger’s relationship. But (as Peter had helpfully pointed out) if they never argued, how would they have makeup sex?

This had yet to happen, of course. While it had been a struggle to communicate “in the livingroom” the way they communicated in the lab and on the battlefield. They might never get to a place where they were completing each other’s sentences (the way they completed each other’s thoughts in the lab or completed each other’s moves when training on the compound) or even understanding each other’s intentions, but at least they both agreed they couldn’t read each other’s minds, and periodically reminded each other to stop trying. It was hard work, just as Peter had been promised, but Peter remained optimistic.

As for communicating in the bedroom, Peter felt they were making steady progress, especially now that he had convinced Tony it was OK to talk during sex. They had to have a few sessions, going over what did and did not constitute ‘dirty talk’ and what was actually offensive. Peter maintained that speaking factually about what they were doing and what they wanted didn’t count as dirty talk (“Why is it dirty if we both want to be doing it?”) and Tony, well Tony just needed to know he was safe if he accidentally blurted out his feelings during tender moments. Which, much to Peter’s surprise, he was far more inclined to do than Peter had ever expected.

Outside the bedroom they had developed a shorthand when it was time to time to tackle serious issues. Tony still instinctively made jokes at inappropriate times; decades of muscle memory weren’t going to be unlearned easily. Peter usually navigated Tony’s verbal fencing through patience and gentle redirecting, but when he really needed to get to the point he signaled it by putting his fingers on Tony’s mouth (meaning, “I need you to stop joking for a moment.”) If Tony took Peter’s hand and kissed it, it meant he was willing to try.

Tony, too, had invented a shorthand of his own. When he put his hands on Peter’s eyes, it indicated “It is important you not roll your eyes at what I’m about to say.” Taking his hand and kissing it meant that Peter had received the message.

Peter actually covered his own face, now, as he was grinning ridiculously at the memory. He looked back at his laptop as if really reading the screen, hoping Tony wouldn’t notice. Going over these memories as they sat on the couch, on Netflix-and-Chill night? This was too sweet, a little too too sweet. Peter had often thought of his life as a long boring A03 story. This? This particular story would be in the Tooth-Rotting Fluff category.

But no, this was Domestic Bliss. This was the Domestic Bliss he had worked damn hard for, and Peter deserved it.

At least, it would be Domestic Bliss if this horrible group project chat wasn’t going on. Peter moaned loudly again, grabbing a pillow from the couch and using it to cover his face.

“What’s the matter Pretty Baby?” Tony said again.

“Whats the matter is I am always stuck in study groups with morons…wait…” Peter brought his head out of the pillow.

“Did you just call me ‘Petie Baby’ or ‘Pretty Baby?’”

Tony looked at him sideways.

“That depends. Which one did you like?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“I think I like…both?” Peter said cautiously. “Just…don’t mess up and call me that in front of Fury.”

“That’s OK, if I screw up you can just retaliate and call me ‘Angel.’”

“Do you like it when I call you Angel?” Peter asked softly. That earned him another sideways look and crooked grin.

“I like the reason you call me Angel,” Tony replied.

“Do you like it when I call you Baby?” Peter asked, his voice even softer. His bare feet were in Tony’s lap. He moved one closer to Tony’s torso, stroking him with his toes.

“I like what you’re doing to me when you call me Baby,” Tony whispered back. He wasn’t pretending to watch the television any longer. He took Peter’s foot in hand and pressed it lower.

Peter took one last look at the chat function where his study group argued in circles. “DON’T KNOW GUYS JUST AS STUMPED AS YOU ARE” he typed furiously and closed his laptop, moving it aside. In one swift, smooth movement he was in Tony’s lap, combing his hands through Tony’s hair and whispering against his mouth. “Maybe I should take you into the next room. I’ll call you ‘Angel’ and you can call me ‘Mr. Parker’ and I’ll slip my cock inside you and see if I can last more than a few minutes this time.”

“Oh no, Mr. Parker, if we go back into that room I’m going to bend you over and make you feel good.”

“But you haven’t let me do it to you in ages,” Peter found himself whining, but that just made Tony smile. “Oh Pretty Baby, if you want that, you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Oh, is that a fact? Well maybe I’ll just take you into the hallway, and force you to your knees, and take out my cock, and remind myself why I call you ‘Angel.’ And maybe…” he said, kissing and nibbling along Tony’s ear. “If I start practicing again…I can talk dirty the way you want. And if I do…I remember once you said I was coming so close to it…maybe if you make me crazy enough I’ll lose control enough and I can…”

These used to be words he could (barely!) squeak out when he was hiding his head. Now he pulled back and looked Tony directly in the eyes.

“…fuck your mouth?”

The expression on Tony’s face was worth it. The expression on Tony’s face was worth everything in the world.

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har-rison-s · 6 years ago

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what do you know?

part one; Roger Taylor x OC.

summary: Maria Alton, a famous british writer, and Roger Taylor, the also-famous rockstar, have been together for over ten years and Mr Taylor thinks it's finally time to take their relationship to the next level. Everything goes smoothly, until one late evening in their house in London.

warnings: mentions of sex and cheating, nothing graphic, sad things?

main masterlist

borhap masterlist

roger masterlist

It's already dark outside, and the temperature had decreased, as well. Maria's office light is still on, though, and she isn't done signing her legality papers. Her cup of tea is almost empty, but the only tea there could be is cold already. She glances into it and sighs. Then she glances at the clock behind the cup and her eyes widen a little. It's late, she should go home.

Maria stands up from her chair and puts all her papers in the correct order and a neat pile. She puts her pens in the holder and then takes a sticky note, writes “I'll finish these tomorrow :)” on it with a pencil and sticks the note on the pile of papers. Maria takes her bag and the mug, and puts the mug in the small kitchen next to her office. She puts on her coat and before shutting all the lights off, she thinks that she has to call Roger to tell him she's coming home. Then she decides against it, and shuts off all the lights and locks her office.

Roger had asked for Maria's hand in marriage just a few weeks ago. She, happy as ever, let him have her as a wife. They had already arranged a place and date on their wedding and now the pair had to think of all the details. Maria knew that Roger would be too lazy to organise anything, so naturally, she would take the wheel for most things.

Maria doesn't take a cab home, since walking to their house takes only half an hour or so. It's not too cold to be outside yet, nearing the end of September, so she won't catch a cold even if she tried. As she walks down the nearly empty streets of the city, Maria thinks about their engagement and the upcoming wedding. She looks at the ring on her finger and giggles excitedly. Just like when she was in school - when the guy she liked asked her to the dance.

She feels exactly the same now, except it's not the guy, it's Roger. The love of her life, the most important person in her life. Since Maria's parents died in a car crash not long after she graduated high school, she hasn't known anyone as long as she has Roger. He was the sort of saving light for her at that time, when they met in university.

Their relationship hadn't started straight away, although Roger wanted it to. Maria kept denying him of dates or study dates or anything of that sort. Being the wonderful guy he is, Roger respected that and they stayed as good friends through out university. All through those years, Maria had wondered what these strange feelings were for Roger. And when he asked her to dance at their graduation party, she realised exactly what they were.

Maria felt as happy as ever when she was with Roger. He really made her remember what it was to smile, laugh and be care-free. He taught her to love and find love again without acknowledging it. She couldn't be more thankful to whatever or whoever it was who brought Roger into her life.

Maria's part in Roger's life is also huge. She means everything to him. Since the first day he saw that sad and serious, yet beautiful face of hers, he had wanted nothing more than to be the reason for her smile. Roger fell in love with her strong and well-grounded opinions, they way she wasn't afraid to speak up in front of anyone and how she corrected the teachers if there was a solid mistake that couldn't be looked at through your fingers.

Roger fell in love with her whole being, and he simply couldn't live if he didn't have her. The reason Maria denied him through out university was “I can't focus on my studies and a relationship, Roger. It's either you or university.” Roger had chuckled at her statement and brushed some hair out of her face as Maria was writing in her notebook. Her face remained serious and focused and Roger just sighed, looking at her in adoration. That's what he truly admires about her - she won't give up her work for any guy in the world, even him, whom she was madly in love with (without her even knowing).

When Roger told Maria that he was in a band and wanted to play drums for a living, she was a little shocked, but not too much. She saw how music had taken its toll on him on the first year of university, and how he would always drum on the table with his fingers or stamp his foot to a random song's rhythm that was stuck in his head during their shared classes. One time, before he told her he'd started taking drumming lessons, Roger got so loud that a professor sent him out of class. Roger had gave Maria a cheeky wink before going out, and she had rolled her eyes at him.

After that, Maria always studied in an abandoned room of the university while Roger played drums in the same room. He wanted her to watch him play, he wanted her to guess the songs he was playing, he wanted to hear her opinion about his playing. Frankly, Maria's ears were tired of his loud playing and she in no way could give him an opinion on drum skills. She was no music expert, only maybe in rock groups. But she told him every time that he plays great, and that she'd love to hear more. And next time, she would regret ever saying that because of how much studying she needed to do for herself and Roger.

When Roger announced that he was in a band, Maria was ecstatic and wanted immediately to see him perform on a stage. She asked questions about his band, and he told her, not really seeing the point, though. On the night of their first gig at a near-by bar, Maria met his band mates Tim and Brian. Just like him—being regular university boys—they were big flirts. Roger had told them about his fancying of Maria, which meant they were even flirtier with her when Roger was around. It made Maria a bit confused, but the boys had a fat laugh about Roger's reaction.

Turns out that from not giving up gigs and a band that would—in the opinion of everyone else—lead them nowhere, they actually got pretty far. Many number one hits in America and Europe, new songs on the way, successful tours, loving fans... What more could a small student band from London want?

It was hard, at first, to accomodate Roger's lifestyle, with all the interviews, horny girls, barely being home, parties, recording sessions. But Maria, being the responsible and practical person, managed both of their time so that her and Roger's relationship wouldn't fail. It was the most wonderful relationship anyone had the opportunity to witness, really.

They worked like a team and were so in love with each other that everyone wanted to be around them and talk to them. Roger and Maria were constantly holding hands or being near each other, it's simply how they worked. Despite their busy careers, the pair were happy together.

Maria's writing career is the most important thing in her life, except Roger. She speaks out all her dreams, thoughts, fantasies and “lessons of life” in books. It's how she gets rid of all the bothering thoughts in her head, and how she can inspire others. Words are her thing, Maria knows how to speak to people, and which words to say at the right moment, also a favourite thing of Roger's about her.

Asking for her hand in marriage will always be the happiest moment of Maria's life. It was unexpected. Right after their “News Of The World” tour had ended, the band and their wives were having a little get-together at Freddie's house. They were all in another room, waiting anxiously and watching Roger propose to Maria. Once she said yes, they all broke out of the hallway and congratulated the freshly engaged couple. So much for a lovely private moment...

Maria is a best-selling author in London, and in some nearest cities in England. She's almost as famous as Roger, it's what they like to laugh about between them both. Maria's a very punctual and serious woman, she likes order and rules, but also likes to have her fun. She's always picking up after Roger, always cleaning his plates, throwing out his cigarettes, doing his laundry.

Maria chuckles at a memory of Roger trying to do his own laundry just as she's pushing her keys into the slot. She's practically home, and she sighs in relief. Maria takes out the key once she has unlocked her door and pushes it open. What takes her by surprise is what she sees when her living room comes into view.

Her fiancée of three weeks is on the sofa, simply laying down as it seems at first, his back being embraced by a foreign pair of arms. Maria wants to check herself to see if, accidentally, she's the owner of those arms. And she's not. Giggles can be heard through out the room and once Maria spots another head of blonde locks, her bag drops down to the floor.

Apparently, Roger and the blonde stranger heard the drop and both sit up in the sofa, startled a little. Maria's eyes only watch how Roger's face changes expressions in each second passing. She's currently in too much shock to say or do something.

Roger stands up from the sofa and Maria watches him put his belt back in place while he stumbles towards her. He's drunk. “Maria, baby, I—” He starts to say, and that makes tears form in Maria's eyes. “It's not—”

“What it looks like?” She asks and her voice breaks. He's trying to lie through the obvious black on white truth. Really? Maria can't even look at him. Her gaze reaches the ceiling, and the wall behind him, the floor beneath him, anywhere but his drunken face and guilty eyes. “Then what is it?” She shoots him an irritated glance, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I was, uh...” Roger tries to say something, waving his hands around. His head moves to the mysterious blonde on the sofa. Maria looks at her and if eyes could kill, she would be massacred.

“Get out!” Maria shouts at her. The girl's face is twisted by fear and she immediately gets up from the sofa. She's young, Maria notes, and the fact makes her heart churn up. She grabs her coat and shoes, and starts putting them on. Maria's impatient. “Get OUT!” She shouts again, even louder now. The blonde takes her shoes in hand and runs out of the apartment. Maria shuts the door behind her.

“No need to be so rude to her.” Roger says. Maria scoffs and looks at him.

“Really? I can't be rude?! And you can—“ She stops talking and looks away. There's no need for this. Roger's obviously lost interest in her in every way, and the young girl is certainly more interesting right now. No need to ask him questions, everything's laid out to see.

Roger steps closer to her, and Maria immediately takes a step back. “That was nothing, sweetheart, I swear, she's only—” He starts talk, but the cold stare Maria gives him shuts him up in a second. Roger doesn't really know what to say to her to make everything better. There isn't a word, really, to make anything better about having another girl in their shared apartment.

Maria looks at him and starts to tear up. Roger wants to wipe those tears and kiss the pain away. Maria wipes her own tears and then sighs. “I don't want to see you.” She admits. “Please get out of my apartment.”

“It's ours, darling.” Roger says.

“Get out, Roger.” It pains her to say those things, but she has to. Roger has to go right now, and Maria will figure the rest out after he's gone. Roger stands still in his spot. He either can't move or doesn't want to. “What's not clear, Roger?! Get out of my sight!”

Her eyes are furious and full of fire when they look at Roger's tear filled ones. He's slightly afraid of her, and afraid to say anything, but he has to. “Maria, love,” he starts to say, and his voice cracks, “I don't want to go.” Maria shrugs. “If you could talk with me, give me a minute, I will—”

“Explain? Sure! Tell me all about how you met...” She can't even say a word about the blonde, yet her mind is already writing angry letters about her.

“Just give me a day. Any day, I'll be free. For you.” Roger offers with an extended arm. Maria's eyes don't reach his. She's tired and angry, and wants no one to touch or bother her. A few minutes later of Maria thinking, she has decided what to do.

“Meet me on Friday at lunch time. My office. I'll give you thirty minutes of my time to give me reasons why we should still... marry.” She says and looks up at Roger. “Until then, I want you out of my eyes.”

Roger nods eagerly and a tear slips down his cheek. “I'll be there, I promise you, I will.” He says. You also promised to marry me and no one else, Maria thinks.

She looks down at her hand and notices the ring. She takes it off her finger and tosses it to Roger, who catches the ring, despite his surprise. His eyes scan over the small object and then he eyes Maria with hurtful eyes.

“Get out, Roger.” She says in full seriousness. “I won't ask you a fifth time.” Maria leaves the door open for him and walks further into their apartment, ready to take a shower and go to sleep alone.

Roger watches as the supposed love of his life walks away from him and sighs quietly. He takes the keys of his car and puts on his shoes. A coat covers his cold shoulders and he walks out. Roger lingers for a while, looking behind his shoulder.

A day-dream of Maria coming back to him appears before his eyes, and he blinks to make sure it's real. She's not running, she's not even there. Roger's head hangs down and he sighs in slight disappointment. He reaches his arm out and closes the door behind him.

Perhaps, after all these years, it wasn't meant to be, Roger thinks when he lays down in a hotel bed. A voice at the back of his head disagrees with that and says it's a lie, but Roger doesn't hear it. He drifts to sleep soon after, having nothing but violent dreams about his inner pain.

#roger taylor #queen fic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor fan fic #queen fan fic #queen fan fiction #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagines #roger taylor x maria alton #what do you know?#part one #fan fic #fic #fics #borhap #bohemian rhapsody

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zenonaa · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko & Naegi Komaru, Togami Byakuya & Naegi Komaru Characters: Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko, Naegi Komaru Guest Starring: Asahina Aoi as herself, Masaya Matsukaze as Hagakure Yasuhiro, Kirigiri Kyouko as herself in spirit, Naegi Makoto as himself

Summary:

'“Didn’t you know about it, Togami-san?” she asked him. Byakuya eyed her and slowly said, “I did not know about it.” Komaru balled her hands into fists, grinning excitedly. “That’s because it wasn’t on your list, but you definitely have to see it,” said Komaru. “It’s the first one of its kind.”'

Togami, Fukawa and Komaru visit Towa City. Komaru may or may not have ulterior motives. Set after Fine Dining.

Comments: My part of a trade with the talented @otomegrandma. <3 Her art is here and here.

***

When Byakuya woke up, he felt like he hadn’t actually slept. His head throbbed and as he tried to move, his body was impossibly heavy. Sitting up proved too difficult to accomplish at the moment - all he could manage was a twitch as he lay on his side, and doing that caused the arms around him to tighten.

He froze.

Those weren’t his arms.

This wasn’t even his bed.

Memories of last night seeped through the cracks in his congested mind. Byakuya had gone out for dinner with Makoto, Kyouko and Touko, to a restaurant for a social engagement with the purpose of evaluating a particular individual. They had drank during the night... then Yasuhiro or someone came to drive them home... and they had all arrived back at their apartment block, and Byakuya had gone with Touko to her apartment.

Ah.

He felt behind himself, patting around until he found a curve of flesh, and gave Touko’s shoulder a shake.

“Hey. Fukawa,” he drawled, and he breathed in through his nose, but his head was so full of fluff that he couldn’t even smell anything. She groaned and cuddled him more firmly.

Byakuya gritted his teeth, and squinting against the harsh light of the pale morning, he wiggled, trying to turn to her. Touko whined but relaxed her arms around him, just a little. He propped himself up, leaning back on his elbows with his bare chest on full display, and looked at her.

The bun that had trapped much of her hair the evening prior had collapsed, and her curtain of aubergine pooled around her, tangled in places, strands sticking out like reed breaking through the surface of a body of water. Its rich colour stood out against Touko’s pale skin, and with her indigo dress on the floor somewhere near her red underwear, there was a lot of her on show.

She fluttered her lashes and stared up at him tiredly with her lips curled in a cute pout. Without her glasses, her face seemed too bare, even with the grey smudges by her eyes.

“Fukawa,” he said again.

“Wazzizit?” she went, lulling her head. Purple-grey teased him from the small slits made by her eyes.

“It’s morning,” he told her.

Judging by the gradient of blue outside, late morning. He reached into his back pocket, only to not find his phone there. The world swayed as he shifted about, searching around him until he spotted his phone on the carpet within arm’s reach.

Byakuya made a swipe at it and picked it up.

Past eleven ante meridiem.

Very late morning.

His frown tightened.

Did he really refer to her pout as cute?

“We need to get moving,” he said.

“We dun hath walk,” she mumbled, draping her hand over her forehead, palm facing outward.

Byakuya was fluent in many languages, including all of hers by this point. He made to push up his glasses, only, he wasn’t wearing any, so his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. His brow furrowed.

“We’re supposed to be meeting the others for lunch,” he told her, lowering his hand to his lap. “Therefore...”

Too much time passed. Touko lifted her head.

“Therefore...?” she prompted, peering up at him blearily.

He knew that without her glasses, her vision was incredibly poor, so he suspected she could make out his frame, slouched forward, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t see how he averted his eyes, how tousled his hair was, what the dull ache on his neck looked like from last night’s makeout session that ended with them falling asleep instead of with them having intercourse, tangled in each other’s limbs.

“Therefore,” he said, feeling fingers claw at the inside of his head, “I need to go back to my place to get ready.”

Her chest rose, then fell. Rose, then fell.

“... All right,” she said quietly.

Byakuya found his glasses at the foot of his bed. When he put them on, the world refocused. Now, when he turned back to her, he could see each of her eyelashes, every crevice in her lips and the reflection of his face in her eyes. He grimaced, shuffled to her front door and cracked it ajar. No one was there, so he strode over to his door across the landing, unlocked it and then slipped inside his apartment.

The door clicked shut behind him. Byakuya heaved a sigh and slumped his back against the door.

At this stage, no students had enrolled at the new Hope’s Peak, unless one counted Komaru Naegi and four of the former Warriors of Hope. Though, with the amount of studying Komaru actually did, including her was debatable.

There were no structured lessons, anyway.

Despite the school’s original purpose, the plan was not to have the school function the same way as it did before. Any student could attend with no extra fees. No students would be scouted for their talents. Here, they would be allowed to explore different fields and work on various skills of their choosing alongside mandatory work. While a lot had been done in rebuilding the school so far, more work was needed before students could enroll. Right now, there were seven staff members if one was to include Hiroko, who had offered to be the school nurse when the school officially opened. Other than her, none of them had much culinary experience, and together with Komaru, Byakuya and the others had complied a roster detailing who was meant to make which meal and when.

By the time Byakuya arrived at the cafeteria, his head had cleared considerably, and the clash of mustiness and what smelled like hairspray in the corridors became tinged with a waft of fresh food. He spotted Makoto, Komaru and Aoi at one of the tables. Rice, soup, salad and wonkily-shaped donuts sat at the centre, available for anyone to help themselves to, and Byakuya didn’t need to guess who had made lunch. The donuts gave it away.

“Good afternoon, Togami-kun,” said Makoto as Byakuya joined their table. “How did you sleep?”

Byakuya shot him a hard look.

“Kyouko’s not feeling well, so I’m going to take some lunch to her a bit later,” said Makoto, seeming to accept Byakuya’s silence as an answer. He pushed out a small smile and scratched at his cheek. “She already missed breakfast...”

Crockery clunked and cutlery clinked as Byakuya put his lunch together.

“You can just say she had too much to drink,” said Byakuya without looking up. Some rice, some soup, a bit of salad... the donuts, as asymmetrical as they were, reminded Byakuya of the bagels that he sometimes had for breakfast when he lived with his mother, so after a few moments of deliberation, he plucked one and set it onto his plate, even if it lacked seeds and the trout that would typically be inside of it.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Togami-san,” said Komaru. “I mean... if you’re really here, that is. You look like a zombie. A freshly shaven zombie.” He heard her chair creak and glanced up. She leaned forward, sniffed, and added, “With cologne.”

“What part of me is supposed to resemble a zombie then?” asked Byakuya, quirking his brow.

“Your face!” Komaru nearly thrust her finger into his eye. He flinched back, just a bit. “Your eyes are like, dead. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Byakuya pulled a face and bit into the donut. It was sweeter than a bagel, lighter and fluffier. She withdrew her hand, settled back into her seat and picked up her fork. He decided to leave the donut for now, and he was part way through the salad when Yasuhiro came in, ponytail of dreads bobbing energetically behind him.

Yasuhiro, who had been a sober spectator to the tailend of last night’s events, grinned way too much as he slid into the chair on one side of Byakuya.

“Good afternoon, guys!” he said, and he turned to Byakuya into particular. “It’s nice to see you, Togami-chi! Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” said Byakuya. Yasuhiro jerked his head back and let out a bark of laughter.

“That’s good!” he said. His eyes bounced between everyone and then skidded over to Byakuya. “Hey, where’s Fukawa-chi? Didn’t she come with you?”

Byakuya didn’t reply, postponing for as long as possible in case they decided to move on to another topic, but all eyes were on him. He frowned.

“She should be here soon,” said Byakuya. “But why are you looking at me? Kirigiri isn’t here either, you know. Remember her? Your old boss?”

Yasuhiro rubbed the underside of his nose, unperturbed.

“‘Course I remember our old boss,” said Yasuhiro, emphasising ‘our’. Byakuya narrowed his eyes at him but Yasuhiro took little notice. He began assembling his lunch, being generous with his helpings, and not meeting Byakuya’s eyes, Yasuhiro added casually, “After your double date, you went back to Fukawa-chi’s place, ‘right? And obviously, you spent the night together, didn’t you?”

So did Kyouko with Makoto. Byakuya wanted to say that, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Aoi tensed and Komaru stared at him, but neither of them seemed shocked, and neither did Yasuhiro and Makoto.

“Why is it ‘obviously’?” asked Byakuya slowly.

Everyone exchanged looks. Yasuhiro rested his cheek in his palm, pinching his lips together.

Aoi pulled out the metaphorical shortest straw and flicked her wrist. “I mean... you’ve both become closer.”

“We’ve become closer to everyone.”

“But not like that,” said Aoi in a smaller voice.

“Kirigiri and Naegi went home together,” Byakuya pointed out.

“And they’re dating,” said Yasuhiro, his countenance the most serious it had been for a long time, bordering on frustrated despite how he tried to hide this with a lopsided smile.

“It wasn’t a double date,” said Byakuya, raising his voice a bit. “It was...”

“... a social engagement with the purpose of evaluating a particular individual in a comfortable environment,” finished Touko from the doorway.

Byakuya froze.

“Ah, good morning, Touko-chan!” Komaru piped up, lifting her butt off her seat and waving with her whole arm. Her other hand pressed flat against the table.

He stiffly turned around. Touko trotted over with her head slightly bowed forward, facial features too blank to not be deliberate, dressed in a clean blouse and long skirt. Not what she had worn in high school, and for a while past high school, but a white blouse that buttoned up at the front. A work blouse. She hadn’t reined her hair into braids but she had made a notable attempt at brushing it. Her hair had puffed out and resembled a cloud. Stray hairs grazed his suit as she sat on Byakuya’s free side.

His eyes stayed forward now. Touko acquired a bowl for herself and served herself a light lunch. Some bland salad that could do with dressing, an asymmetrical donut and satisfactory rice.

“Sorry, I burned the mackerel,” said Aoi. All Touko did was shrug and grunt.

They all ate some more.

“Are you both going to be up for going to Towa City today?” Makoto asked Byakuya and Touko. Like the others, he must have began to feel an awkward silence start to settle, and he slapped on a smile as he waited for their answer.

“Of course,” said Byakuya calmly. He gave his glasses a small nudge upward. “We’ll leave early evening - that is much after the eight hours stipulated for being legally able to pilot after consuming alcohol, and we’ll be back some time tomorrow.”

There was a reasonable explanation for Byakuya and Touko going together. Of the seven of them, Byakuya knew how to operate a helicopter, and of the seven of them, Touko and Komaru knew the layout of Towa City, including its shortcuts and the people there, the best. Though lately, Komaru had been skipping her turn to go to Towa City, and Touko had been accompanying him instead on those occasions.

Komaru set down her fork. “Hey, can I come?” she asked.

Touko paused, her blob of rice hovering close to her lips, and she eyed her with a frown.

“Instead of Fukawa-san?” asked Makoto, raising his eyebrows.

“No, with,” said Komaru. Her mouth twitched into a smile and she stroked behind her ear. “There’s something I want to do, but I need Touko-chan and Togami-san with me. So I’ll spend some time with you guys, and then I have some errands to run by myself.”

“Errands? Like what?” said Byakuya with a faint squint.

“Like... um, buying panties, and stuff,” said Komaru, mumbling herself into a flatline by the end.

Byakuya thought that was fair enough and there was no cause to pursue this. Judging by Makoto’s face, he agreed, while most of the others seemed to be pretending that they hadn’t heard, too interested in another part of the room.

“So have you finally developed some modesty then?” asked Touko in a low sneer. “Usually, you don’t have any qualms flashing them to anyone and everyone while you dart about like a fly trapped in a jar... or are they special panties for Nakajima? Who you’re still too cowardly to ask out...”

Touko’s stubby nails bit into her palms as she clenched fists. Byakuya glanced down. She had enough pressure down there to snap a neck. He looked away quickly, betraying nothing with his face.

Komaru puffed out her cheeks. “Hey, I’m one of the most modest people around. Now that I’m not rushing everywhere like a video game character, I can think about this sort of stuff, and there’s some other stuff that I have to do, alone, okay? Like buy you Christmas presents... but I also want to spend some time with you guys. We’re like The Towa City Trio!”

She punched the air. The others stared.

“Or the Another Episode Unit!” Komaru whooped.

They blinked. Byakuya thawed first and cupped his chin. It was approaching that time of year...

“Fine,” said Byakuya, and Komaru beamed, positively sparkling. Meanwhile, Touko picked at her food, and now it wasn’t just her hair that was like a dark cloud.

However, when Touko came into the teachers’ room an hour later, a cup of luwak coffee on her tray, she grinned as she presented it, seemingly returned to better spirits. Byakuya braced himself, but she didn’t even bring up last night, and he dismissed her strange mood before as Touko still getting over her hangover, and after she babbled her greetings, she seemed more than content sitting at his desk with her laptop. Most people would occasionally break out into small talk, but not her, not him. They both hated that. With just the two of them there for the remainder of the afternoon, working in peace, no one saw his glances, even the ones that developed into looks longer than that, but he still felt a quiver of unease whenever he caught himself doing it like someone would catch him and whack him with a cane.

Or worse. Look down on him. He pursed his lips rather than chew on them like she did.

That evening, the three gathered in the helicopter. Soon after he listed the places that they were due to inspect, and very soon after they took to the air, Komaru seemed to fall asleep on Touko’s shoulder. Touko’s face shriveled like she had taken a long draught from a lemon, but she didn’t shove Komaru off, spending the rest of the uneventful ride reading a book, though Byakuya only noticed after he landed the helicopter and saw her slip the book into her satchel.

After the rotor blades stopped whirling and it was safe to get out, they stepped onto the roof of one of Towa City’s skyscrapers where armed guards were waiting for them, all with the same uniform, same stature and same bulk and only slightly different facial characteristics, like thicker eyebrows or thinner lips behind their identical helmet shields. The guards checked the new arrivals over, with Byakuya being searched away from his companions, but once they were deemed safe, they were reunited and escorted down through the building.

To think there had been a time in Towa City when the sky had been a constant red and Monobear units roamed the streets, tearing to shreds any human in their line of sight. A corpse had been as commonplace as a broken window, or a rubbled pavement. Now, the sky had mellowed into a deep blue as night began to settle, drained of its bloody hues, and large parts of the city had been rebuilt by the now largely defunct Future Foundation, sleek and modern.

Despite the amount of progress, at least two armed guards patrolled a street at all times. From where Byakuya stood, he could see a pair of them, armed with a firearm each, though none had been specifically assigned to Byakuya and his two companions.

“Let’s start the inspection,” said Byakuya. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and began to unfold it. “The city hall...”

“ - Yoink!” Komaru snatched the piece of paper from his hand and danced back.

Byakuya whipped his head up and made a feeble grab at it, but she dodged him with ease, grinning openly.

“If we want to check how the city is doing, we should pretend to be one of the citizens, shouldn’t we?” said Komaru, coming to a stop a short but safe distance away. She positioned her hands behind her back, peering up at him excitedly.

He did not share her enthusiasm.

“How do you propose we do that?” he asked while Touko wrung her hands beside him.

“Cool!” Komaru said, even though he hadn’t actually promised to do anything, and she pressed one hand against her hip. She brought her other hand forward and wagged her index finger. “I was thinking, how about we whizz around the shopping district? Ordering stuff online is fine, but it’s not the same as experiencing a real life shop.”

Before Byakuya could respond, she tucked the piece of paper into her blouse pocket and squeezed between him and Touko. Komaru hooked her arms around their elbows and pulled them along with her. Despite how casually she skipped, the grip with which she held their limbs hostage was surprisingly firm, and they had two choices - be dragged or reluctantly keep up. Touko and Byakuya opted for the latter, though they walked quickly, not skipped.

They steered into an alleyway between two austere buildings. The narrow passage could barely accommodate a width of three people. On both sides of them, signs glowed, some above their heads, some that they had to maneuver around to avoid walking into them, and others in a spectrum in between those heights. Some were paper lanterns, radiating soft warm colours, marked in black paint, while others were boards with straight edges and neon lighting. Where the light didn’t reach, shadows were tinted purple by the maturing hour. Storefronts for various bars and cafés boasted heat, not just inside, but outside too with small heaters under the tables, and strong flavours crooked ghostly fingers at passersby, cutlery and glasses clicking like a tongue, all trying to entice potential customers. Byakuya pinched his nose to keep out the stench of hot, sizzling food and alcohol.

Komaru hesitated by a window, staring in. Some way inside, silhouettes of people hunched over a bar, their backs to the outside world, bled into the pale light in front of them, and they didn’t seem to be moving much.

“You’re not old enough,” chided Touko, following Komaru’s gaze, and she stuck up her nose. “And I’m not buying you any, before you ask.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” Komaru pouted at her. “Besides, I don’t want anything from here. I’m just taking a shortcut.”

Her shortcut led them through a maze of other alleyways until they finally emerged into a shopping district, with wide streets and open space.

“See? I knew where we were going,” said Komaru. She rubbed her nose, having to stoop her head as she lifted her arm rather than do the obvious alternative and just let go of Byakuya’s arm. “I got a bit rusty. That’s all.”

Touko gave her a sour look. “And whose fault is that?”

While those two bickered, Byakuya surveyed their surroundings. Many vibrant colours popped out at them, to the extent that certain buildings looked like they had been splashed with luminescent paint. The alleyways had contained several signs but couldn’t compare at all to the vast number here, stacked one on top of the other, some in English, most in Japanese, bright and drawing attention away from the black void of sky high above their heads.

And it worked, going by how many people were still here, browsing, buying, or standing around and talking.

To be fair on Komaru, Towa City was huge and a lot of establishments had been shuffled around to different buildings. Off the top of his head, in this district, the library had been moved somewhere else while its original building underwent reconstruction, for example. Towa City had five notable shopping districts. Touko and Komaru had spent the most time in Towa Riverside, which ran across a river leading into the city.

“Makikawa-ku,” said Komaru in awe, gawking at everything around her. “A magnificent shopping and entertainment complex with over three hundred shops and restaurants, specialising in unique souvenir shops and fashion.”

“Are they paying you to publicise this place?” asked Touko accusingly. “Is this conversation being recorded to be used for advertisements?”

When those two worked together, they could accomplish great things. Other times, however...

Byakuya slid his arm free from Komaru’s loose hold and folded his arms over his chest. He glared at them. “Focus, you two. Komaru, as this was your idea, I will trust you to show us the way.”

Touko and Komaru turned to him at the same time.

“Eh?” blurted Touko, unable to do no more than stare.

Komaru started to smile. He pushed up his glasses.

“... Besides, you’re the most common out of the three of us, so you will be able to give us the most authentic, ordinary experience,” he finished.

That wiped Komaru’s smile off. Now came Touko’s turn to remove her arm from Komaru. She put one hand on her hip and pointed at Komaru with the index finger on her other.

“You can’t sell Byakuya-sama’s trust on My Figure Collection dot Net, so you better not waste it!” Touko told her. Komaru huffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Komaru. Her pout lasted a little longer before softening into a smile. “You can count on me, okay? So first, I read that there’s a bookshop here. You both like books, so you’ll enjoy that.”

Komaru motioned for them to follow and then broke into a jog. Behind her, the other two set off, with Touko the closest to running after her, though Touko managed to restrain herself to an awkward stagger. They kept their eyes on Komaru, trying to not lose her among the clusters of shoppers milling around, but at the same time, they had to avoid bumping into anyone, twisting their bodies this way and that as they avoided elbows and bulky shopping bags. Apparently, their pace didn’t suit Komaru, who darted back and grabbed their hands, wrenching them after her. She led them down a street, then another, and then, when they arrived outside her chosen destination, she released her hold, and they raised their heads.

The storefront ahead of them was all glass panels with straight black frames that connected at right angles. Komaru stepped up to the doors, which opened for her, and they walked inside. Though the colours became more muted, with wooden flooring and neutral lighting, there was no less to see in here than outside. Displays and cases brimmed with books with glossy covers, creating a labyrinth for shoppers to explore. By the entrance was a noticeboard with a map of both floors, detailing which section of the stop that certain genres were in.

Predictably, Komaru scanned it for the manga section, and jabbed her finger against it when she located it.

That girl really was Makoto’s sister.

“I’m going to the manga section,” said Komaru, like she thought they wouldn’t have figured this. She turned to them. “I don’t suppose either of you want to tag along with me?”

“No,” said Touko and Byakuya simultaneously. Komaru smirked.

“You’re not so different, huh,” said Komaru, and she made her expression a little more serious. “But you know, manga isn’t so bad.”

Byakuya wrinkled his nose. “We may share this in common, but that’s just having taste. A lot of manga is contemptible, and there is a filthy culture around much of it... but Fukawa busies herself with romance, while I hold much disdain for that too. The similarities only go so far.”

Touko’s eyes flashed wide and she spun around to face him, chin up, shoulders back, and though she drew herself to her tallest, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, but despite her short height, her presence, the gleam in her eyes, every minute detail, they demanded his full attention.

“I’m a romantic, but that doesn’t mean I’ve only delved into that genre,” she told him, wiggling her fists. “As an author and a keen reader, I’ve dabbled in reading and writing for other genres. Fantasy, adventure, mystery, detective, even science fiction...”

One of her passions was Byakuya, but her other was literature. Byakuya tried to tame the curiosity that parted his lips as he studied at her. Pink had flushed into her cheeks, and her glasses were very slightly askew. While he knew that she was capable of writing for other genres - he had read her I-Novel, some of what she listed caused his lips to faintly pucker.

“Oh?” he said quietly, his eye contact just as strong. The lack of volume helped smooth his tone. He raised his eyebrows and spoke louder, but kept his voice casual. “As you know, I like reading, and detective and mystery novels have always captured my interest. Which have you read?”

“Well, I’ve read some Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Agatha Christie, and Kanae Minato and Natsuo Kirino...”

Komaru shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yes, yes. I’ve read their works. What about Seichō Matsumoto? Do you know his works?”

Komaru picked her nose.

“Of course! Someone who made such an impact on the genre... how could I not? Have you read anything by Soji Shimada?”

Komaru turned away.

“What did he write?”

Komaru walked off.

“The Tokyo Zodiac Murders.”

Byakuya held his chin. “No, I don’t believe I’ve read that.”

“You should read it, Byakuya-sama!” Touko said, almost bursting with excitement. He couldn’t look away. “It contains a locked-room mystery, and I think that it might challenge even someone with your incredible intellect. It’s fairly gruesome, but that shouldn’t be a problem for someone of your composure...”

She waited for a response, eyes wide in anticipation and her breathing fast but shallow. His skin prickled, but his features hardened.

“Oh, really?” He tore his eyes from her and moved slowly to examine the map on the noticeboard and tapped the mystery section. “I will be able to stomach it, don’t concern yourself about that. Let’s see if they have it stocked here, shall we? I will have to find out for myself if it is as good as you claim.”

“It’s was published in the early eighties, but it was a bestseller and nominated for a prestigious award, so there’s a chance that you’ll find it here,” she said. Byakuya gave a single nod.

He checked the map again before striding off. Touko hurried after him, and when she was by his side, she kept with his pace. They wound through bookcases and passed faceless shoppers until they arrived at some shelving units crowned with a sign each, all with ‘MYSTERY’ written on them. On the shelves themselves, small labels had been taped on with different author names.

Old books tended to have a sweet, musty stink, but ultimately that came down to their previous owner. Byakuya avoided aged books - he didn’t know whose sweat had streaked pages, or whether the previous owner washed their hands before touching them, and the information could have been out-of-date. Newer books, if they had a scent, were that of paper and ink. When he breathed in through his nose, he couldn’t smell one particular book, just a plastic aroma that wasn’t exactly unpleasant which seemed to exist throughout the whole place.

As he cruised through the section, hunting for the book that Touko recommended him, he could hear her footsteps as she drifted after him. He stopped and straightened up.

“Seeing as you’re here, you can find it,” he said.

“Y-Yes!” Touko squeaked, more than happy to do so. Byakuya stood nearby, and his gaze flicked up when she rose with the book in her hands.

She gave it to him. He inspected it with a slight frown. It wasn’t brand new, but it wasn’t scuffed or marked. At least, not at first glance, but in any case, he stowed it under his arm.

“Are there any books that you intend to purchase?” he asked.

Her forehead creased.

“I don’t have any in particular in mind,” she admitted, wringing her wrist. “But I’ve been meaning to find something new to read...”

“Then I will repay you by recommending you a book,” he announced.

Touko’s breathing suspended for a moment or two. She clumsily laced her fingers together. “A recommendation... from you? From Byakuya-sama?”

A grin spread across her face. Touko wrapped her arms slowly around herself. The shape of his mouth distorted and warped at the sight of her being so open, so emotional and unashamed. He turned away and tried to focus on the different books around him.

It should have gone without saying that he wasn’t going to recommend her a romance novel. The only books belonging to that genre that he had ever read were actually written by her. Why not? Byakuya had been soon to enroll at Hope’s Peak, he liked reading, and one of his classmates was a writer whose works frequented the bestsellers. Of course, he had been curious, and of course, though their romance had rolled through him in waves of nausea where others would have shuddered with glee and swooned, he couldn’t not admit that she had talent.

“Have you read Points and Lines?” he asked, keeping his eyes forward.

“Yes,” she said.

“The Tattoo Murder Case?”

“No.”

He glided his finger across book spines. Fortunately, he located a copy of the book, and he presented it to her, though she didn’t retrieve it from him right away.

“We can discuss these books later,” he said, and when she still didn’t accept the book, he flourished it at her. Touko took it from him now and cradled it against her chest. “Points and Lines ended somewhat anti-climatically, in my opinion, and I prefer to try to work out the mystery rather than have pages of explanatory monologuing. This book is more reader-orientated, so it’s more satisfying.”

Touko nodded.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” she said, holding the book close to her, like a mother with their newborn child. She gave him another smile, full of teeth, blushing softly.

Byakuya felt a shiver in the warm shop - Touko had stared at him too long. No. It was that he had stared back for too long. He pushed up his glasses. “I suppose we ought to locate Naegi’s sister,” he said, eyes trained on the rest of the shop, but his mind very much focused on something, someone else.

***

To the surprise of neither of them, they found Komaru in the manga section. She had sank into a large cushioned seat and had a light novel in her hands, which she must have obtained from the section next to the one for manga. A few volumes of manga rested on her lap. Her eyes eagerly lapped up the words on the pages, and she hadn’t seemed to have noticed them.

“Oi, Omaru,” said Touko with a dull glare.

“Ah!” Komaru’s head snapped up, even though Touko hadn’t spoken loudly at all. She tucked her finger between two pages and showed Touko the front cover of her book, which depicted a young girl with big eyes, wearing a loita dress. “Hey, Touko-chan, did you know that Endō-sama released another volume and I didn’t realise until today?”

Touko gave a quiet scoff and rolled her eyes up deliberately.

“I didn’t, because I don’t care about that trash,” replied Touko, hugging the book from Byakuya tighter.

Komaru extended her arm and jiggled her book. “I’m telling you, you’d love it! It’s full of action, and suspense, and drama! And girls kicking butt!”

Despite Komaru’s best efforts, the scorn on Touko’s face sank in deeper.

“I don’t trust male writers who dedicate so much time to works like that. It’s not so much a deconstruction as taking a genre for young girls and perverting it and making it twisted. Besides, if I wanted to read about girls suffering and killing each other, I’d read my I-Novel,” said Touko, in a tone that very much indicated that she considered this conversation over. “You’re fortunate I read as much as I did. Now, hurry up. We’re supposed to be working, remember?��

“Hey, I was waiting for you, okay?” said Komaru with exaggerated petulance. She added the book to the top of the pile on her lap, picked the entirety of it up and then lurched to her feet. “I thought you two had forgotten about me, and that I’d have to ask an employee to call your names over the intercom to come collect me.”

Touko’s face screwed up. Komaru jutted out her chin, smirking, on the verge of sticking out her tongue. They could have gone on like this for a while. Byakuya felt his features darken.

“We’re wasting time,” said Byakuya curtly.

The tension flooded out of Touko’s face. She yelped and stood to attention, while Komaru blinked before looking over at him with a much calmer demeanour.

He turned away from them. “Let’s go already.”

They headed to the checkouts, with him walking a little ahead while the other two talked quietly behind him. This section, in the centre of the floor, resembled a grocery shop. Where people lined up to pay, best sellers had been arranged in wire racks on wheels in an attempt to entice shoppers to buy one more item before they were called up.

If there had been a longer queue, then the shop’s scheme may have worked better, but Byakuya glanced at their covers as he passed them, going straight to pay at one of the tills. The cashier scanned his book.

“Anything else?” the woman asked.

Byakuya looked over his shoulder. Touko and Komaru had stayed a short distance behind. Short, but notable.

He faced the cashier again. “I’ll pay for the both of you.”

Komaru didn’t question him and darted forward. Not hearing Touko approach, he checked behind him. Indeed, Touko hadn’t moved, clutching the book that Byakuya had recommended to her, had chosen for her.

“You too, Fukawa,” he said.

Touko dragged her feet over and passed him the book. His gaze lingered on her as he gave the book to the cashier. She didn’t meet his eyes, fixed on some point below that he couldn’t deduce. His chest, perhaps? He narrowed his oceanic blue eyes and turned back to the cashier. After he made the payment and was bid a chirpy good day, he strode toward the exit with the other two close behind him.

The exit gradually grew larger in his vision, and when it loomed over him, instead of stepping outside, he stood still.

“Fukawa?” he said bluntly, making her twitch.

“Huh?” she went.

Byakuya peered down at her with what he meant to be a blank, if not stern expression. “... Are you feeling alright?”

She cringed, then drew herself up and out of her hunched posture.

“I’m fine!” she assured him.

He didn’t believe her.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. She squirmed.

“Being with you makes me incredibly happy,” she told him, and nothing in her tone suggested she was lying, but then she seemed to hesitate.

It sounded like she had more to say, like her tongue had curled around a whole other sentence, but the words dissolved in her mouth, leaving a foul taste. Touko swallowed uncomfortably and said nothing more, but Byakuya refused to waver. Refused to back down. He continued staring at her.

“Can we get ice cream?” asked Komaru, her light voice trickling in between Touko and Byakuya. “There’s a cute little place that makes them here that I really want to visit.”

Byakuya squinted at Touko, who didn’t reply. Komaru’s eyes flickered between them. It wasn’t that she hadn’t picked up on the tension in the air prior to now. Quite the opposite.

“Touko-chan hasn’t been feeling well since yesterday,” explained Komaru. She put her hand on Touko’s shoulder but looked at Byakuya. “Since last night, I’d wager to say.”

Ah. Yes. Then. That. Was after the meal at the restaurant, which he invited Makoto and Kyouko to, as well as Touko, for a social engagement with the purpose of evaluating a particular individual in a comfortable environment. Touko had been that particular individual.

She still was.

That thing.

“I think she’s still hung over,” said Komaru. She bumped her hip gently against Touko. “But you know Touko-chan... she can’t pass up the chance to spend time with you! And I can smile for the both of us.”

Komaru prodded Touko’s shoulder blade with her free hand, grinning, but rather than grinning enough for the both of them, it just highlighted Touko’s downturned mouth.

“... I see,” said Byakuya. He frowned. “Fukawa, if you were still feeling unwell, then you shouldn’t have come.”

Touko’s shoulders shot up, then dipped. So did her chin. Byakuya knitted his brow, and in his chest, he felt a twinge. Years ago, he would have thought this a pathetic sight and not thought about it anymore. His lips felt dry, too dry, and they stuck together as he tried to open his mouth, but even after he peeled them apart, he didn’t speak. Just stared until he couldn’t bring himself to do so anymore.

It wasn’t with disgust that he looked away.

“If you’re feeling so unwell, we should find a hotel for you to retire to for the rest of the evening,” he mused. Komaru’s eyes flew wide open.

“But then she would miss the light parade!” Komaru cried out.

Her exclamation lasted a few seconds before disappearing from the shop, but it rang on in Byakuya’s ears. He blinked. Next to Komaru, Touko lifted her head a bit. Judging by her face, she was as confused as Byakuya.

“The what?” asked Byakuya.

Komaru winced. Her expression softened, became pensive.

“All right, I have a confession to make,” she said, and she held her hands in front of herself. “The reason I wanted to come wasn’t just to help Touko-chan... or buy manga... and I didn’t even plan to buy panties. It was to see the parade!”

There was a pause, like she expected them to say something. No one did, and Komaru tilted her head a little.

“Didn’t you know about it, Togami-san?” she asked him.

Byakuya eyed her and slowly said, “I did not know about it.”

Komaru balled her hands into fists, grinning excitedly.

“That’s because it wasn’t on your list, but you definitely have to see it,” said Komaru. “It’s the first one of its kind.”

“How did you find out about it?” he asked, but not with any urgency to know the answer.

“Because I search for certain things,” explained Komaru, and he could tell she was getting impatient by how her legs jigged. “Like... on social media, and stuff. It’ll be starting in this district in the next half hour, so if we hurry, there’s enough time to buy ice cream. Come on!”

She sprinted off, and Touko groaned before chasing after her. Byakuya pressed two fingers against his brow, gave himself a quick massage and then followed after them at a brisk pace. Thanks to the bright eyes of shop windows and the luminescent signs that their buildings adorned, as well as the artificial glows of lamp posts, he could see the pair from a fair distance away despite the deepening darkness of the night drinking up the finer details of his surroundings.

However, when he arrived at the plaza, it was filling with people. Clumps of citizens were scattered about, decorating the plaza like lint on a well-worn sweater. He hesitated, unable to see them. They couldn’t have gone far. Komaru had even told them that she wanted to buy ice cream. That limited the number of places. Only, that still left a lot of places that sold ice creams, and he didn’t know the locations of each one.

Library? Yes. City hall? Yes. Police station? Yes. He could find those easily. Everywhere that sold ice cream? No. Why would he?

“Byakuya-sama!” Touko cried out, and he turned sharply. She staggered over to him, spat out from a crowd of people who threw her dirty looks, and she rested her hands on her thighs, panting. “S-Sorry. Omaru was too eager, and... went on ahead. I know where she is though.”

“Whatever,” he replied, and he glanced around. No one was paying them any attention, and his gaze slunk back to Touko, who was giving him her full attention.

With so many people wrapped up in the event and their own lives, bundled up in the same layer of darkness as him and Touko, the two of them were no more, no less, than anyone else, a silhouette on the street. To some, the darkness hid the unknown, but what it hid wasn’t always dangerous. Sometimes, it protected the unknown.

Byakuya clicked his tongue and reached for her hand. His heart skipped as his fingers scratched lightly against her cold skin, but with a deep breath, he steadied himself and gripped Touko firmly.

“I have no choice. I’ll have to keep you close to me, so I won’t lose you,” he said, barely audible above the rumble of the crowds.

Holding hands was something that Touko did with Komaru without thinking, a facet of their friendship, but this innocent touch made her stiffen, made her breathing falter. Byakuya wasn’t a hand holding person. He shook hands, but that was the limit, and they both knew this.

“This way, we won’t get separated,” he said. That had happened enough times to them. “Now, let us find Komaru. You said you know where she is?”

“Right.” Touko’s hand shifted, but she didn’t pull away from Byakuya’s grasp. He could feel her trembling, and her voice quavered, but she could still talk, could still talk coherently. “I left her at a milkshake parlour, so I’ll... take us... her... to her, I mean.”

She tugged on his arm and he followed after her. More people were gradually dribbling into the plaza from all directions. Byakuya moved closer, shrinking the gap between their bodies, in case someone barged between them and broke their hands apart. This way, they stayed together.

He furrowed his brow, letting Touko take charge of navigating while he stewed in his thoughts.

They arrived outside of a modestly sized shop, which according to the cursive text on its storefront, was called ‘The Sweet Corner’, spoken in English. A bell jingled as they slipped inside. The interior had a pastel colour scheme, and in front of them was a queue of half a dozen people, with Komaru third from the front. Komaru spotted them almost instantly and waved them over. Byakuya and Touko sidled up.

“Sorry for ditching you, Togami-kun,” said Komaru, not sounding particularly apologetic. Or apologetic at all. She sounded chipper. “I wanted to place our order as soon as possible, because they take a bit of time to make. But Touko-chan found you quickly, so we’re going to have to wait after all...”

Komaru trailed off. At first, Byakuya thought that she just didn’t know how to end her sentence, but then he followed her gaze. His eyes fell onto his hand, which was still holding Touko’s hand, their fingers entwined.

Byakuya’s chest jolted. He jerked his hand away and then casually pushed up his glasses. Touko jumped at the sudden movement, then drew her elbows into her sides and fidgeted her hands, eyes downcast. They stood around quietly, waiting. As the line in front of them shortened, Byakuya studied the decor. Paintings of cartoon animals hung on the walls, and there were sofa seats of single block colours arranged around simple tables. In a wooden holder on the counter were laminated menus with small images of certain items, and further back, overhead, was a less extensive menu displayed across several boards like in a fast food restaurant. Other than milkshakes, the establishment also sold ice cream, hot drinks, waffles and pancakes, as well as other sweet treats.

They reached the front of the line, where they had a better view of the kitchen area behind the counter. Boxes of different chocolate and biscuit brands sat on shelves on one of the walls. Komaru sprung into action immediately, smacking her hands onto the counter.

“Yes, hello, I would like an Apollo milkshake, the ones with strawberry,” she said, pressing close, and the edge of the counter dug into her.

While the cashier made quick note of the order on a piece of paper, Komaru turned to Touko.

“The milkshakes here, you can ask for them to be made from different chocolate bars,” said Komaru. “But they can use chocolate biscuits here too. I was thinking, you could have Kinoko no Yama?”

Touko’s face drew into a look of disgust.

“Those are the ones shaped like mushrooms. I don’t want those,” she said in a sour tone. She craned her neck to better examine the chocolates available, and in the end, after some deliberation, she said, “I’ll have a milkshake based with Black Thunder.”

Byakuya didn’t know the chocolate biscuit brand that Komaru recommended, but he recognised the name of Touko’s suggestion. Not because he liked it - they were inexpensive chocolate bars with rice puffs that he wouldn’t go near willingly, but in the business world, Black Thunder bars were seen as a modern rags-to-riches story, persevering despite their unpopularity until they received better endorsement and marketing. They were a hit with university students and young women.

The cashier scribbled Touko’s option down, and Komaru turned to Byakuya. Despite his lack of answer, she wouldn’t avert her eyes. He restrained a sigh and skimmed through the menu behind the counter.

“... Coffee,” he decided. He glanced at the cashier. “I don’t suppose you have luwak coffee here?”

Behind the counter, the cashier shook her head. Just as well he didn’t get his hopes up, then.

“Give me your finest, black,” said Byakuya. He turned to the other two. “Who’s paying?”

“Me!” Touko blurted, before anyone could volunteer themselves. She pulled up her small satchel, slung over her shoulder with a strap, and got out her small purse.

After Touko paid, the drinks needed a bit of time to be prepared, so Komaru claimed them a table by the window and sprawled herself across an entire sofa seat. Byakuya and Touko sat opposite her, next to each other. Pop music played over speakers, the sort of track that Komaru and her brother would be able to give the name of, that Touko and Byakuya didn’t recognise and listened to for probably the first time.

They might have heard it before. If so, it was a forgettable tune.

“Do you like the music?” asked Komaru, glancing out of the window before smiling at them. “It’s a banger.”

Small talk. A spasm quaked in his cheek. Byakuya folded his arms over his chest and looked away.

“It’s not a genre of music that I care for personally,” said Touko in a low voice, resting her arms on the table. “Pop music... is created to appeal to a general audience as opposed to certain sub-cultures, though it can take elements from different genres. They’re usually short pieces, with basic, predictable structures and hooks. They’re the sort of music that people like you,” Komaru, “would dance to. The themes and topics are often basic, and it’s too commercial... I don’t care for it at all.”

“I know that’s what you think,” said Komaru. She cocked her head. “Togami-san, what about...?”

“I’m of the same mind,” he said.

Komaru took a moment to process what he said, and with two against one, she sulked, but her features weren’t hard enough to suggest anything other than temporary indignation, and she stared out of the window.

“I much prefer instrumental music,” said Touko. “Good instrumentals are able to bring about emotion without a single spoken word. When I write, think about writing, or want to get into a certain mood, I listen to that. I let it fuel me. It’s that sort of power that I wish to evoke with my written art...”

Byakuya propped up his chin in his hand, not just listening but also watching her with interest. Yes. Interest. He allowed that adjective. Her eyebrows squished in concentration, and she moistened her lips before curling them into her mouth, only to relax her lips moments later so they popped out again. As if to compromise their state, she pursed her lips and kept them like that. She drew him in, and when he realised, he lowered his gaze to her fidgeting hands.

One of the employees came to their table with their various drinks. Komaru slurped loudly through her straw. Touko gritted her teeth, and noticing, Komaru tried to gulp less conspicuously. Byakuya sipped his coffee and deemed its taste acceptable.

Another track played over the speakers that he didn’t recognise.

“While I can’t say I listen to that music for the exact same reason as you, Fukawa, I too prefer instrumentals,” said Byakuya, reviving the conversation. He held his cup with his fingers hooked around its handle. “I find them less distracting. However, there is some music with lyrics that I don’t mind listening to. The voice is an instrument too, after all.”

Touko’s cheeks had hollowed as she tried to suck out some of her thick shake through her straw. At the sound of his voice, she relaxed her muscles and lifted her head, then sat up straight when he said her name.

“You’re right, Byakuya-sama,” she said, oozing a smile. She placed a hand over her heart. “I have to admit that a few times, I’ve found a song with lyrics that resonate with me. Most of them aren’t mainstream. I don’t care who it’s by, or how many fans they have... like there’s a song called Save Me by Aimee Mann, which was in the soundtrack of a movie I once watched. It’s in English, and...”

The rest of her sentence played out in her head and she mouthed some of it, but he couldn’t read her lips. She lost steam and her lips ground to a stop. Even so, he continued looking at her.

“... I may investigate,” he said. “Your works have been known to be powerful enough to create trends in society. Fishermen became incredibly popular with women and young girls due to one of your books... and butlers with another of your releases.”

He could recall Aloysius being given phone numbers by a variety of women for a period of time.

“Therefore,” Byakuya said, under her intense gaze, feeling like he was walking against a gale, “I would be interested to see what fuels you.”

Touko gasped and clasped her cup of milkshake tighter, causing the plastic to crackle. The corners of her lips threatened to tear through her rosy cheeks as they soared upward.

“I’ll clear my schedule!” she promised, face shining. “We can share our recommendations together... together!”

Byakuya clucked, but he almost smiled. For a short time, they quietly enjoyed their drinks, until one of Komaru’s frequent glances to the window eventually prompted her to jolt to her feet.

“It’s starting!” Komaru yelled. Touko nearly tossed her plastic cup into the air, and even Byakuya, as unshakeable as he thought himself to be, tensed. “Come on!”

Komaru gestured wildly for them to follow and without explanation, she hurried to the door and wrenched it open. Byakuya rose. Then Touko, with a mix of annoyance and confusion sculpting her features into a glare, the cup in her hands bent out of shape.

“Come on!” Komaru whined, bobbing restly as she held the door open, and then her impatience boiled over and she disappeared outside. The door jingled casually, and everyone in the parlour stared after her.

Through the glass storefront, they could see the outside world. Byakuya had left behind a sponge of darkness that oozed light from its pores when he entered the parlour, but now the whole street seemed aglow. He abandoned his coffee cup on the table and crept to the door, with Touko close behind him. When he opened the door, he could only take one more step before being forced to a standstill.

Strangers swamped the street, tightly-packed, confining him and Touko to the doorway. Strings of lights stretched over their heads, hanging over the empty plaza, one end attached to the shops behind them and reaching all the way over to the shops on the opposite side of the plaza. Orbs of hazy light speckled the sea of people, and on closer inspection, Byakuya discovered that they were phone screens.

“What’s going on?” asked Touko, though he could barely hear her over the noise of unseen speakers belting out another pop song that he didn’t know, and the excited twittering of those around them. Perhaps by accident, she pressed into his back lightly and clung to his jacket.

The touch, as indirect as it was, spluttered sparks up him. He shifted but she kept hold of him. His face twitched but he didn’t say anything, forcing himself to focus on his surroundings. A thick crowd had collected in front of the shops, spanning the entire row of buildings, and another swarm of people had gathered on the other side of the plaza. However, they didn’t seem to have any interest in the shops, instead looking into the unoccupied plaza.

Everyone here must have been spectators of what Byakuya presumed was the light parade that Komaru had mentioned.

He scanned the crowd for Komaru, but the mass of people had swallowed her up. Komaru was nowhere in sight. Despite her young age, she could take care of herself in a place like this, so he wasn’t too concerned. She must have tried to wiggle her way toward the front, to give herself a better view of the parade when it passed through.

While he wasn’t particularly interested in the parade, he definitely didn’t care for being trapped inside of a milkshake parlour, so he felt around behind him. Byakuya found Touko’s wrist and seizing it securely, he began to push through the crowd, worming through until they resurfaced in a small pocket within the crowd, big enough for the both of them to breathe their own air.

“Do you-?” Byakuya started, only to pause because he couldn’t hear himself. He turned to Touko. When he spoke next, he raised his voice a few decibels below shouting. “Do you know anything about this parade?”

Touko’s brow crinkled.

“No,” she said, watching his lips, but she may as well have mouthed it.

He looked around and glimpsing a certain combination of black and white, he did a double take. Two small figures of child height stood nearby, and though their bodies seemed human, their heads seemed smooth, like helmets, with ball-shaped ears stuck onto them, the right side of the head white and the other black.

A roar rippled through the crowd, nearly yanking his soul from his body. The mighty bellow echoed, trembled, causing everything to vibrate, and Byakuya tightened his hold on Touko as he searched frantically for the cause. In the distance, approaching the plaza, was a cluster of lights. Thanks to his height, he could see over most people’s heads, and as the lights drew closer, he could see that they were worn by people in costumes, and he flinched. His mouth was agape.

Their outfits were large, mascot-shaped, lacking fingers, instead boasting paws, and the right side of their bodies were white and the other was black like the children’s were.

And they were spilling into the plaza.

“There you are!” cried out Komaru from nearby. She practically popped up beside them.

“Why are they here?” he asked, voice rasping dry. He coughed.

Touko had managed to spot the costumed people invading the plaza through gaps in tangles of limbs, and she stared wide-eyed at the progression, lips quivering.

“It’s the parade! They’re not really Monobear units, just people dressed as them,” said Komaru. She flapped her hand, directing his attention elsewhere. “See, some of the kids are dressed up too.”

His eyes wandered. Not only were there the children that Byakuya had stumbled upon recently, but others too. In fact, not all of them were kids, but some seemed to be teenagers or even adults, wearing Monobear’s likeness. Some waved glow sticks. Some waved their phones. Some waved hotdogs or cotton candy, and some waved a combination of these things.

“But why!” Byakuya snapped, temperature rising to his face that had gone cold.

Komaru was unfazed and flung out her arm. “Look!”

He wasn’t in the mood for guessing games, but he followed where she motioned toward. A fair distance behind the marchers dressed as Monobears, who travelled in two lines, one after the other, was a parade float towed behind a plain white van that blended into its surroundings, tinted with shadow in places but blushing light in others. His breathing hitched as he tipped his head back and comprehended the float.

Beads of light decorated the platform, and on it stood two effigies that towered over everyone. One had a short brown bob of hair, saturated green eyes that glowed from within and a sailor fuku with a white blouse, red tie and blue skirt, and in two hands, grasped a megaphone that was held out like a gun. The other effigy had wild hair, circular-framed glasses and a purple sailor fuku, only this skirt didn’t go halfway down the thighs but could reach near the ankles had it not been sculpted to be flying up, showing off scars on the thigh. Spotlights at the feet, pointed upward, washed them in colour and definition.

“That’s... us,” said Touko, almost rendered breathless as she stared into her own violet eyes.

“Yep! It’s a parade... in our honour!” explained Komaru, sporting a wide grin. “Cool, huh?”

Touko’s lips trembled. She swallowed and then turned her head, narrowing her eyes at Komaru.

“What did you search to know about this event? Don’t tell me you googled yourself,” said Touko with distaste.

“We look so cool, don’t we?” asked Komaru, looking up at the effigies like a proud mother.

As the float drew closer, approaching at a slow but steady pace as performers danced and spun ahead of the van, Byakuya drank in the face of Touko’s likeness, its features sharp and deadly. Yet, he remembered the real thing this morning, which had been soft, which had been pressed into his bare back, which had scrunched when a tired mewl escaped, which had been caressed by his hands when they kissed on her bed the night before.

They were the same person. He shivered slightly. It was getting cold. Yes.

“They’ve made me wield scissors,” grumbled Touko, sticking her chin up as she took evident umbrage at this detail. “Don’t they know... that’s my alter’s thing?”

The float passed them slowly. More costumed marchers pranced around behind it, and after them drove another float with different effigies. This time, there were three, and the one in the middle caught Byakuya’s attention first. That one was bound to a cross with rope at the wrists, its defined chest bare and dangling legs contained within ripped, black suit trousers. Byakuya’s gaze climbed up the body, from the polished shoes that overlapped, all the way up to the face. Blond hair, slightly windswept, framed the head, and blue eyes behind familiar white-framed glasses stared out from an expression contorted with pain but hardened with determination, perseverance.

Either side of the effigy were two women who had the same billowing hair, the same torn sailor fuku and the same mole by their lips, but on his right side, the effigy sat slumped by his likeness, arms wrapped around the blond’s legs. On the other side, the left side, the effigy had red eyes and a long tongue hanging out of its mouth. This effigy stood tall, one arm wrapped around Byakuya’s likeness’ middle and the other arm holding a pair of scissors to the underside of his likeness’ chin.

Phones flashed as people furiously tapped them, snapping photos.

“I’m going to take a better photo of the first one,” Komaru shouted. The wind and chatter and music smothered her voice before it could carry far. Not waiting for a response, she slipped away, chasing after the float that had her and Touko on it.

Byakuya turned back to Touko, who ogled the second float with more interest than the one prior.

“They got your physique right,” she said, in reference to the abs, and Byakuya quirked his brow at her. Though reluctant, she tore her eyes away from it and hunted for her phone. By the time she found it, the float had passed them.

She shrieked and staggered through the crowd to catch up to it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked briskly after her, ignoring the next group of dancers and the next float - a large structure, that of a whack-a-mole game with nine holes, where instead of moles, five holes contained different sausage-shaped cushions painted to resemble the disbanded Warriors of Hope, while the remaining four corners housed a Monobear cushion in them. There were more floats, further and further away, of Haiji Towa in the midst of being torn apart by featureless blue people, and another of Taichi Fujisaki floating on a cloud of binary while meditating, and Hiroko surrounded by featureless blue children.

People shuddered and hissed, scowling at him as Byakuya forced his way through the crowd. He glimpsed Touko up ahead and flitted between slithers in the crowd. She hadn’t noticed him yet, distracted by the float of her, Byakuya and Genocider Syo. When he reached her, he put a hand on her shoulder.

Touko whirled around, brandishing her phone like a sword. Byakuya blinked, almost going cross-eyed as he tried to look at her phone.

Her face relaxed, and her hand wilted. He exhaled and took his hand off her, tucking it away as he folded his arms over his chest.

“To think that it used to be that you were chasing after me,” he mused in a quiet tone, peering down at her.

Now he was chasing after her.

But it wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t.

“Sorry, I got excited,” said Touko, flashing a nervous, apologetic smile that didn’t budge his frown. She turned her phone toward herself and tapped the screen a few times. Her eyes flickered. “Komaru says she’ll meet us at the top of a tower closeby. I think it’s that one.”

Touko raised her head and pointed a finger at a lattice tower in the distance much like Toyko Tower in structure. During the day, its body was red, standing out against shades of blue and grey, then, once night fell, as it had done today, it lit up with a gradient of brilliant light, glowing hot yellow at its centre and spreading out into a blazing red toward its edges.

The tower was open to visitors but in the daytime, the queues to even go into the area underneath it were hours long. However, at night, the queues dramatically shortened, and it took Byakuya and Touko longer to burrow through the crowd than it did to reach the front of the queue. Once there, they were objected to two security checks, with the first one resulting in the confiscation of the scissors in the holster on Touko’s thigh, which would only to be returned when they left the premises later.

Then, finally, they were let in through the gates, and they walked onto the paved area below the tower.

Stalls selling foods were dotted here and there around the edges. Byakuya ignored them all and went straight to a booth to buy tickets for a ride to the top. While the tower offered the option of taking the stairs, which didn’t cost anything, he didn’t feel like climbing up so many, so he paid extra for the luxury of a lift.

Each lift was located in a different leg of the tower. Touko stood close to him in dim lighting as the lift ascended, stopping about halfway up the tower. Cold air smeared across their faces. Wire fencing enclosed the area, with big enough gaps that the city could be seen through it if one brought their faces near enough. There were also telescopes, available at a fee.

Touko and Byakuya approached the fencing together. The city twinkled in places. Steadily shone pinprick light in others. Everything else was hidden in a blanket of darkness, way below them.

“You can see the parade,” said Touko, pointing. Her finger trembled. She drew her hand back so she could squeeze and rub her hands together. “The lights are all congested there... Everything seems so small from up here. People aren’t even ants. They’re not perceptible... like they’re not there.”

Her breaths were short and shallow.

“Even with all the lights down there, it’s so dark,” she said, shaking. It was cold. It was dark. “Who knows... what’s hiding in there...”

Byakuya raised a hand to the fencing and fitted his fingers through the gaps, hooking his digits around the thin lines and feeling the metal press against his skin. He thought to himself how while they couldn’t see a single human on the ground, all of those people surely wouldn’t be able to see them up here either. They could see the tower, sure, but not the man in his grey pea coat or the woman beside him, huddled up in her coat.

“The dark doesn’t always hide danger,” said Byakuya. “Sometimes, it can hide you from danger.”

Touko’s face looked like it had been carved out of marble, pale and smooth. She didn’t say anything as she considered what he said, or even move, like she hadn’t heard him, but seconds later, she let out a quiet laugh and turned to him.

“You always say such inspirational things, Byakuya-sama,” she said with a smile, with quivering light in her eyes that very much indicated she wasn’t a statue but real, and she blinked, and the light was still there afterwards.

“I say my truth,” he said, and he knew she liked that about him, and he realised that his mouth had widened into its own smile without him realising. He tried to pull it back in, but his lips resisted, fighting the whole way.

Then the fireworks started, distant but flying as high as them. Touko widened her eyes at the bounty of colour they threw up, and Byakuya watched too. Some didn’t bang but sprayed glitter. Red. Green. Blue. Some started dazzling gold and when they exploded, they spread wings of purple stars that crumbled away before their very eyes. Byakuya absentmindedly touched his blond hair and thought of braids, thought of long wild hair beside him. As yellow disintegrated into purple, more fireworks shot up. Lights pulsed in and out of existence, replaced by another display, and as the show progressed, smoke began to build. There was a flash, and Byakuya saw a smoky figure, tall, who pressed into another smoky figure, shorter with a long skirt, and the two joined together into a gnarled embrace until they became unrecognisable.

“Without the dark... you wouldn’t be able to appreciate the light,” said Byakuya.“It’s beautiful,” murmured Touko, agreeing.Light whipped against her face. The sky sputtered.“It is,” he said.

She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and feeling his face start to tingle, he turned back to the firework show first. It was cold. For the next fifteen minutes, neither spoke, and then the last batch of fireworks dissolved in their eyesight. All they could hear now was the wind whistling and other visitors to the tower talking amongst themselves somewhere behind them.

Byakuya removed his fingers from the wire fencing. He faced Touko, and she gazed up at him, and he inhaled to speak, only to pause, tongue scraping against the back of his teeth.

A beat of silence passed between them. Something about how she stared at him caught him off-guard. Something about her face, her eyes, all things that he had seen plenty of times, focused on him, but now was different somehow, and he could feel her reeling him in. That had to be it, because otherwise, he was slowly leaning in on his own accord.

“Byakuya-sama,” she said, her brow creasing, and she dragged a foot forward, setting off an imaginary tripwire.

“Let’s go up,” he said, straightening. His stomach gave a strange flutter, like he missed a step, like he said the wrong thing. The dark would help mask his expression. “Komaru might be expecting us on the top.”

She gaped at him and then nodded, wringing her fingers. “Right...”

They took another trip on the lift and arrived at the very top of the tower. A large mesh dome surrounded them, protecting them from the wind and accidentally falling off. Much like the previous floor, if one wanted to take a photograph of the city without any wire blemishing the picture, they were required to place their camera right against it, with the lense positioned in a gap.

Touko hugged herself, staying a short distance back from the wire dome.

“Where is she?” asked Touko, looking around. She grimaced. “I bet that fool is still down there taking photos...”

Byakuya padded over to the wire meshing. Even the tallest buildings, not including this structure, struggled to be as big as a fingernail in his vision. Over the howling of the wind, he heard Touko sidle up to his side, glimpsed her shadowy figure, but he didn’t turn. His eyes traced over freckles of light way, way down on the ground. The tower was in this city, yet he felt like he was in another place entirely.

“I suppose we should find Komaru,” he finally said. He made to turn, but then she grabbed him, and he wavered. “Fukawa?”

“I can’t take it anymore. I need to know,” she said, striped in light and shadow like war paint. She clutched his arm harder. “I need to know what we are.”

It should have been easy answering her.

“Are we... together?” she asked, her tone restrained, but he could hear the rawness in her throat, the power she was holding back that she couldn’t hide in her large eyes.

One word. Two options. Byakuya should have been able to answer right away.

“This isn’t the time,” he started.

“When is the time?” Touko asked, voice cracking.

She gulped noisily. He could feel her shaking.

“I don’t want to keep on second-guessing. I want to know,” she pleaded. “It’s fine... when I’m making it up in my head. I know where I stand. But all this... today... last night... as far back as that night before we lost our memories so long ago... it’s making it hard to know what’s real and what’s not.”

The person standing in front of him wasn’t a girl who muttered and fiddled with her skirt, but someone who muttered, fiddled with her skirt and could also stand tall, who knew what she wanted and had the determination to back it, who could cry and smile and both and was brave enough to hold out her heart with her fingers spread, who would risk herself for those she held dear.

One of those people was him. Him, someone who caged his heart, who thought that made him stronger, but who she had shown wrong. Who had taught him otherwise.

His heart raced. His throat thickened. Her strange behaviour today began to make sense.

“People say life is short, but it’s the longest thing we have and it’s our only one,” she said. “And I know... we’re still young, but we don’t know how long we have left, and even if we have the rest of our lives, I don’t want to waste any more time. Our time apart before... was difficult, even with our video calls and my best friend beside me. I want to make the most of it.”

Byakuya shook. It was cold. It was cold. It was cold.

But his face was growing unbearably hot.

“Komaru’s right, even if how she compared it to anime... I want a resolution, darling,” she said with wide, determined eyes brimming with tears. They must have had that conversation when he wasn’t paying attention. “Even if you say ‘no’, I will respect that, but my heart will always be for you. As your partner, or even as a friend... I’m loyally yours. You don’t have to be afraid.”

She reached for his shoulder and gripped it tightly and though her tug was small, Byakuya’s head swooped down like an avalanche. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her hip, and without thinking, he cupped his palm against her cheek, and without thinking, he kissed her.

Well, the corner of her lips. They bumped together and receded, just a little, just for a moment. Wordlessly, they adjusted their angle, shifted their feet, modified their holds on each other, and then they kissed again as Diamonds by Rihanna played through the city streets far below. But here, they heard the wind, the ruffling of clothes and their hushed breaths, smoky figures joining together.

He didn’t feel weak. He felt powerful.

Other people on the tower turned to them. Some politely pretended not to see them, others grinned at the show of love, but none grinned quite as much as Komaru, who watched the screen on her phone as she recorded them.

#togafuka #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #komaru naegi #danganronpa #fanfiction #one shot #dr3 #other characters are her too but like one scene

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