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hollyhomburg · 5 years

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Sugary Sweet

(Polyamory au) ( Bunny Hybrid! Reader x Tiger Hybrid! Taehyung x Cat Hybrid! Yoongi x Owner! Namjoon)

SUMMARY: Namjoon has a perfect life once he moves out of the city to a cabin alongside his two rescue hybrids, Yoongi and Taehyung. But then one night in the middle of the rainstorm they find you, a bunny hybrid, hiding in their chicken coop.

WARNINGS: Anxiety attacks, Anxious! Namjoon, mentions of hybrid abandonment, hybrid mistreatment, Half of this is Domestic fluff, possessive behavior.

W/C: 5,000 words of backstory you don't need + 5,000 words of pure fluff

A/N: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ THIS IS A VERRY VERRY HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MY MAIN HUMAN @peeachypop ❤️WHO I KNOW IS A SLUT FOR TIGER HYBRID TAEHYUNG AND CAT YOONGI, AND AN INTELECTUAL BOYFRIEND NAMS.❤️❤️❤️ I HOPE YOUR NEXT YEAR IS FILLED WITH AS MUCH FLUFF AS THIS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

- Namjoon was not what you call a people person, not most days anyway.

- Most of the time he preferred to sit at his desk in his little box of an apartment building and write away at his laptop, content only to leave if inspiration was failing him or if his need for caffeine overtook his anxiety.

- Public places made him anxious, the clawing dread in his chest something he couldn’t shove down and live through, of course Namjoon was admittedly living in the middle of one of the largest metropolitan cities in the world. But the feeling didn’t go away and leave him with age like it should have when he’d aged from being a shy school child into being a full-fledged adult with an anxiety disorder.

- Instead mid twenties Namjoon sat down at his desk for almost a whole year and wrote a book. Of course it was successful, the fantasy and philosophical tidbits combined to an adventure story that captivated audiences.

- His publishers tried to get him to go for photo ops and for interviews no matter how much they begged Namjoon even as his novel climbed on the bestseller list. He didn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot in front of cameras, all those eyes on him, just the thought of it made him feel like he was going to be sick.

- So Namjoon’s daily routine was this, he woke up at a time most people would consider lunch or even dinner, and wrote for a few hours. Then he would go out for coffee at around 6 pm or so when everything wasn’t so crowded in his favorite coffee shop (that his best and only friend Jin owned, they’d only became friends with because back when Namjoon’s anxiety wasn’t so bad Namjoon used to write late night in Seokjin’s 24/hour coffee shop.)

- It’s an idea for his next book that makes him adopt a hybrid, because he’d never had one and Namjoon is always thorough in his research, and if he’s going to write about a hybrid character then he needs to know what it’s like to live with one.

- The beginning of the process is surprisingly easy, but the next step, actually choosing one is the hardest. Namjoon looks in the room of bounding puppies and foxes and bears that are all playing and biting each other’s ears and Namjoon isn't comforted just overwhelmed.

- Not able to choose Namjoon turns and walks down the hall, thinking that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he should just make the character in his book a human, maybe it was bad of him too want to get a hybrid for selfish reasons when in reality they where so close to people.

- “Hey watch where you’re going!” a low grumpy voice says the second before Namjoon trips over a pair of stretched out legs. Namjoonfalls flat on his face barely managing to catch himself against the linoleum. He doesn’t even know how he manages to scratch his palms so bad. They make him hiss in pain as he picks himself up.

- “What the fuck! can’t you see anything with those glasses?” the person growls, dressed in all black baggy clothes, a round face with a hood pulled up over his head and a pair of headphones. “Apparently not” Namjoon says wiping his scraped hands on his jeans. One of the attendants comes crashing through the door. “I’m sorry mister! Did he hurt you at all?” Namjoon stutters out a no before they turn to small man that Namjoon tripped over.

- Namjoon is just about to apologize to him again before the attendant hisses almost lower than Namjoon can hear, “you where supposed to be in your pen Yoongi, making sure you didn’t bother the patrons. Now apologize.” Namjoon spies the electric prod through the attendants waste, the way his hand hovers on it and the way Yoongi shrinks into the back, no not the man- the hybrid, whose hands are covered by the large sweatshirt that sticks over his hands, and the black hood that covers lumps which must be ears of some sort.

- “I’m sorry” Yoongi says, his face downward. And Namjoon feels the protective instinct in him swell up. Thoughtlessly he reaches up and pushes back Yoongi’s hood, Yoongi flinches and Namjoon becomes even more displeased as he spies the small black cat ears that are poking out of the hybrids rumpled curly hair.

- “Actually, I was just talking to Yoongi about the possibility of adopting him when I tripped, we where just on our way to the office.” Yoongi’s eyes are wide as dinner plates alongside the attendants, his lips parted, his puffy tail swishing. No matter how hard they try to convince Namjoon to adopt “a more suitable companion.”

- Namjoon won’t budge. Yoongi is going to be his hybrid.

- Namjoon assures the facilities manager again and again that he knows the return policy and that this hybrid is the one he wants. The middle-aged woman goes on and on about how Yoongi is the most disobedient and disrespectful hybrid in the whole facility. But her whole speech about how horrible the hybrid next to him is just makes him want to adopt the other more.

- Yoongi keeps his eyes downcast for the entirety of the meeting, With every negative word Yoongi shrinks a little bit more, his shoulders crumpling in on himself, it’s only when the woman leaves that he talks, “are you sure you still want me?”

- “You want to leave here right?” Namjoon answers. Yoongi sends a tentative glace in the direction of the corner of the room, and Namjoon spies a camera, it’s red eye blinking, recording their conversation . “Please.” Yoongi begs, low and almost a whisper. His eyes down at the floor. Namjoon’s hand comes up to rub against his ears and Yoongi flinches again.

- A 400,000 won adoption fee later and Yoongi is heading out of the adoption facility side by side with Namjoon. His belongings in a black backpack on his back. “It’s not much,” Namjoon says, when he flicks on the light to his pre-war apartment, the brick walls pained over with white and the old fashion fridge and steal sink filled with dishes that Namjoon meant to do this morning before leaving “But I hope it’s enough.”

- He probably should have cleaned up a little bit and now he finds himself shy over how Dingee his apartment looks with cobwebs in the arched ceilings, the piles of his rough draft on the small circular table by the window where Namjoon eats, the battered curtains drawn up close against the windows and the thread bear blue velvet couch that Namjoon falls asleep on editing 9 times out of ten.

- Yoongi doesn’t make a sound one way or another, but Namjoon busies himself with dishes when he notices Yoongi’s eyes are filling with tears and prattles to Yoongi about his collection of take-out menus and that Yoongi can choose tonight. Yoongi’s not upset about the state of the apartment though- he’s so so happy, because this place is his, he’d never had his own space before.

- Over the first few weeks of owning Yoongi, Namjoon starts to realize, Namjoon might not be a people person because he’s hybrid person.

- Yoongi could be biting in his comments and harsh with his undertones but at the end of the day, he never curled up on Namjoon’s pull out couch to sleep, instead preferring to curl up around Namjoon’s thighs in Namjoon’s bed.

- Even if he pretended that he didn’t want cuddles when Namjoon would enter his room around bedtime and find the small hybrid curled up in the very middle of his bed watching some TV show on the TV propped up on his dresser. Even if the hybrid hissed at Namjoon when he initially tried to pet his ears, it was always around the third of 4th pass when Yoongi finally relaxed against Namjoon, the slow purring filling his bedroom.

- Yoongi might bitrate and badger Namjoon for more cream in the fridge or laugh openly whenever Namjoon trips, but he always always always purrs when Namjoon shows him any sort of affection. The low rumbling making Namjoon smirk, and Yoongi blush as his eyes blink closed lazily.

- After the first few weeks, once Yoongi gets comfortable Namjoon is sure that Yoongi is the most affectionate hybrid that he’s ever met.

- Namjoon doesn’t realize how much the companionship is doing for his mental health, his anxiety, until they go out to the store one-day together. Usually he would never think about going to the store during the day, but Yoongi literally drags him away from the first draft of his novel and makes Namjoon go.

- “I swear to god Joon if you live off of microwave meals forever you’re going to get an ulcer and die” he hisses when Namjoon tries to drag it out so that E-mart will be a little bit less crowded from people just getting off work. But Namjoon just smiles’, knowing the bickering is how Yoongi shows he cares.

- They go to the store, and with Yoongi by his side Namjoon doesn’t get anxious at all. It’s a miracle really, and when Namjoon realizes it late one night when they’re walking through the crowded streets of Gangnam, feeling as at ease as he would in his own home. He would have gotten a hybrid much much sooner if he knew it would have had such a positive effect on his life, and as far as hybrids go…Namjoon can tell that Yoongi is special.

- But then one day, Yoongi looses him in the crowd, there are too many faces, too many people moving at a brisk pace through the lit up streets of Myeongdong, food stalls advertise food with shouts that crowd out his mind, and then someone recognizes him from the cover on the back of his book and shouts his name and even more people turn and Namjoon can’t breath as someone takes out their phone and shoves a camera in his face the flash making white spots dance along with the black in his vision.

- Yoongi’s hand is like a vice around his as he pulls Namjoon away towards the subway station. Namjoon curls into Yoongi’s shoulder and doesn’t look at a single person as he shakes through the end of the panic attack on the subway ride home. Listening only to Yoongi’s voice as it says low in his ear “we’re gonna be okay Namjoon- you’re okay, no ones looking at you, hell I won’t look at you if you don’t want me too.”

- It takes a few weeks, and more than a few days with Yoongi curled up on the pull out couch and Namjoon’s bed, Namjoon’s head buried in Yoongi’s shoulder. Before Namjoon can even think about setting foot outside again.

- And then the eventual question from Yoongi “if Seoul makes you so anxious- why don’t you just move?”

- “Don’t you like the city?” Namjoon asks, by lew of an answer. Really Namjoon could move, he only meets with his publishers every few months and his editor, Jimin communicates with him mostly through email or Skype call. Namjoon could move to the countryside and out of Seoul. but Namjoon thought Yoongi had grown up in the city like himself, and that he would want to stay, “Not if it make you like this Joon.” Yoongi admits, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip as the hybrid looks up at him from beneath his lashes, concerned.

- Namjoon searches for a house in the greater Seoul area and comes across a few good options, a modern loft in a residential neighborhood, but that doesn't have a yard, or a condo- which is right next to a park near a train station and this gorgeous little turn of the century cabin, with two stories and two bedrooms. His second novel peaks at number 2 on the best sellers list. “We need to get a car before we buy a house out there.” Namjoon realizes a few weeks after that- because as much as pictures are lovely he knows Yoongi needs to see the house in person.

- They find a gently used car for sale on Facebook and Namjoon is just walking to pick It up in the theater district early one evening when he spies something.

- The red circus tent is being dismantled, half of the red and white spiral fabric hangs limp or gently flapping in the brisk wind. A lone workman operates a lift putting cages into the back of the truck.

- Namjoon walks by it slowly, eyeing the grubby body in the bottom of that crate. The sound of chains rattling as the hybrid inside pulls against the chains snags his attention. The workman notices Namjoon looking and Namjoon shrinks, abashed to be caught staring. “Hey cut that out!” the man growls hitting a wrench against the side of the cage. The hybrid inside flinches back for a moment and stills before he starts pulling again.

- Namjoon make eye contact with the pair of the most beautiful golden eyes that he’s ever seen; the boy is dirty, the striped tail that curls around his body protectively (for some form of comfort or warmth) is grubby brown when it should be orange. He’s probably a few years younger than Namjoon is. Namjoon spies curved orange ears sticking out the top of his head and reverses direction.

- “Where are these hybrids going to go?“ he asks the workman, who looks down at him before he finishes loading the crate onto the truck and pulls away. Namjoon waits as he gets out of the lift and hops down.

- “The circus is shut down, this ones probably going to be euthanized, he’s the only rare-breed that couldn’t be auctioned off, while the domestic breeds will be sent to adoption agencies.”

- Namjoon peers into the container, and sees a gaggle of dog and cat hybrids that are huddled, each of their hands and feet bound, watching Namjoon with scared and hungry eyes. The tiger hybrid in the cage’s expression is desolate, he knows where he’s headed, but still his hands pull against the chains that fasten him to the bottom of the cage, unable to give up quite yet.

- The money for the car in his pocket feels so heavy like it might bring Namjoon to the floor or tear a hole through his pocket. Namjoon makes a split second decision, fuck getting a car, “I’ll give you 5 million won right now if you give him to me.”

- The delivery man looked at the wad of cash in Namjoon’s hands like he might not take it. “You know what you’re offering to do is extremely illegal.” Namjoon’s jaw was tense, he knows the laws about illegal adoptions, but he stares the workman down. The man sighs and takes the envelope, after a moment, glancing at the money inside, before he takes out his keys. Namjoon heaved a sigh of relief.

- The hybrid had heard the entire conversation but still wasn’t saying anything, he skitters back against the wall when the man unlocks the front door of the cage, taking care to unlock the shackles around his ankles before stepping back.

- Those golden eyes where stuck open blinking wildly. The boy shivering, his shoulders tense and his curved ears pinned back to his head as he curled his hands around the bars of the cage and hopped out of back of the truck. Namjoon saw a full body shiver run through him as his bare feet hit the floor.

- The man undid the shackles around his wrists. The hybrid hissing and biting his lip when they rip away from the red skin, broken in the place around the ball of his wrist.

- The hybrid can barely walk, let alone think about trying to escape as he goes from one captor to another. The man doesn’t look threatening but Taehyung knows you can never be sure. His muscles are too tired to fight anymore to resist going with the man who looks well dressed, in a thick wool coat and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

- Namjoon shocks Taehyung by pulling off that coat and tossing it over Taehyung’s bare shoulders, making him shrink further into himself before he clutches the jacket around his chest and lets Namjoon hook an arm underneath one of his as he sways at the rush of blood to his head, narrowly keeping him from falling over. “It’s okay. I’ve got you” Namjoon says as he starts to lead Taehyung back down the street in the direction of his apartment.

- “I don’t like him, he take up so much room.” Yoongi whines after the third day, Taehyung is stretched out on Namjoon and Yoongi’s couch on his stomach his bushy tail waving lazily as he dozes, his fun now clean and a light orange color, his golden eyes closed to the world.

- Taehyung even has stripes, slightly darker patches his skin that tan a little darker and quicker than the rest of him, he’s spent the last few days looking out the “portal” (that Yoongi continually corrected him where called “windows”), so the small ones on his face are the most noticeable.

- When Namjoon had taken him home and taken a look at his injured wrists, he’d also gotten a look at the back of his thighs and back, scared from countless whippings that where fresh in a few places. It would be a few more days until he could lie on his back comfortably, and Namjoon had already bought the hybrid a can of scarring cream. (He even went to the store to buy it by himself, Yoongi was insanely proud. Even if the shock of Namjoon bringing home another hybrid instead of the car he was supposed to buy prevented him from saying it just yet.)

- “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go Yoon, and I won’t put him out on the street.” Namjoon hushes from his desk in his bedroom. Aware that Taehyung can probably hear him.

- Despite his upbringing, the tiger hybrid is anything but cold, though it did take a few days for his sunny personality to shine through the years of trained obedience reinforced by abuse. He’d broken a plate on his 5th night, and Namjoon had blanched when Taehyung had shrunk and pleaded, “please don’t beat me” in a hushed voice.

- Namjoon had been overcome with guilt and horror at those 4 soft words. And the hybrid had shook through his first hug ever as Namjoon had wrapped in him in his arms and tucked his orange head against his shoulder. Yoongi too- had folded himself against the hybrids back, and Taehyung had watched astounded as Yoongi scent marked him nuzzling into his shoulder and letting out a reassuring purr that made Namjoon melt.

- Namjoon sat him down and tried to assure the hybrid that he wasn’t going to be treated that way here. Or ever again if Namjoon had anything to say about it. After that incident, Yoongi lets Taehyung cuddle him whenever he wants- which is most of the time.

- After the initial shyness melted away came the unassuming wonder at everything in the world, Taehyung had only ever seen the world outside of a metal cell or a large stage, and now he found the things that Yoongi and Namjoon overlooked exceeding endearing and excited. Taehyung tripped over his words, telling Namjoon about everything and everything that he had spied about the window out his apartment.

- “You mean we have a mailman!? The same man who delivers mail to all of Seoul stops by our apartment building! Someone should give him a present for doing so much work!” Taehyung is so excited to learn about the most mundane of things that Namjoon can’t burst his bubble, even if Yoongi tries, his nonplused and realist side making an appearance no matter how Namjoon tries to discourage him from bursting the adorable bubble that is Kim Taehyung.

- Taehyung Splashes in the water of Namjoon’s small bathtub with his large hands making Yoongi hiss when he tries to force the other hybrid to take a bath with him. Whining cutely when Namjoon clipped his nails (Namjoon was lucky that Taehyung didn’t actually have claws- it was just that the people at the circus had made him grow his nails out too look like them) and that endlessly boxy smile that lit up the entire apartment, even making Yoongi blush.

- Taehyung was so loveable, constantly throwing himself on top of Namjoon when he works, never even thinking about sleeping on the couch instead preferring to curl around Yoongi or the foot of Namjoon’s bed at night.

- Yoongi is his favorite thing to cuddle, no matter how the other hybrid whined and pushed him away, complaining to Namjoon when the younger nibbled and licked at Yoongi’s ears in something similar to grooming. Yoongi yowls and swats at Taehyung when he calls Yoongi “cub” ignoring him for a whole day and almost reducing the younger hybrid to tears. After that Taehyung always calls him hyung.

- With Taehyung they definitely need more space, and Tae looks so forlorn looking out of the window every chance he gets, his tail swishing behind him every time someone walks down the street below. Namjoon wishes he had a yard or someplace to let Taehyung burn off all of his energy, It’s been a struggle to get legal papers for the hybrid and until he does, Namjoon can’t let him go outside so much.

- Namjoon expedites the process for moving them. Getting a car finally so that they can take trips with a realtor to the outskirts of Seoul. The cottage that Namjoon finally decides on is a cozy 2 story with 2 bedrooms, the master with it’s attached study making up the entire second floor, it’s got a nice balcony there too and a combined living room and kitchen on the ground floor. the patio doors open up from the kitchen onto an old brick semi-circle.

- The whole building is made for a view of the rolling forested hills that start at the edge of their property. The Realator even says there are trails there. Namjoon’s never been a nature person but maybe he could be. It’s a little older, with squeaky floorboards but a lot of chareter, Taehyung says he can fix it up (a nice thought, but Yoongi and Namjoon both cringe when they think about letting Taehyung near power tools)

- Taehyung certainly loves it- especially when he spies the open back yard and the pond at the border of their property, traipsing through it and getting covered with mud Much to Yoongi’s disgust.

- “I am not letting you cuddle me until you’ve had at least 2 baths Tae” he growls when Taehyung tries to drown the other with hugs. Namjoon can’t bring it in himself to refuse him as Taehyung hugs him in the yard getting his black slacks dirty.

- Namjoon’s squeal of protest makes a muted clucking resonate from the side of the house. Taehyung’s ears perk up, his tail stilling. “No no no Tae-“ Namjoon says, dashing after him when he takes off. The realtor mentioned something about chickens, and Namjoon feels dread fill his stomach as he thinks about explaining to them that yeah my hybrid attacked one of your chickens but it’s not really his fault because it’s just in his instincts too want to chase after things that are small and prey sized.

- Coming around the side of the house with Yoongi hot on his heels. How the hell Taehyung managed to fit his shoulders and his whole body through a tiny door Namjoon doesn’t know, but he’s sitting in the chicken coup with one of the hens forcefully restrained in his lap, the ripple of purring immediately halting Namjoon and Yoongi as Taehyung rubs his scent all over the chicken.

- “Fluffy babies.” Taehyung says, while he pets rougher than the chicken likes. The chicken squawks and tries to get away, very uncomfortable with Taehyung’s forceful show of affection but unable to escape his hands. “my fluffy babies.”

- “Did you like the house?” the relator asks when they come back inside. After they bribed Taehyung with ice-cream to get out of the chicken coop. “We’ll take it” Yoongi smiles, his hand on the small of Taehyung’s back, their tails entwine behind their back, something Yoongi only allows when he’s been feeling particularly affectionate.

- Moving is easy when you’ve got two young hybrids to help pack everything away and shove it into a small moving van. Namjoon says goodbye to his old apartment and the city he grew up in with both of his hybrids chatting away in the back seat of his car.

- The hills and forest behind the cottage are misty in the morning of late fall. One of the unrealized consequences of moving out of Seoul is that now they can’t eat out for every meal (though there is a pizza place and an panda express in town that they order from often enough) but Yoongi surprisingly becomes the de facto cook.

- The countryside is much better for Namjoon’s mental health than the city was, in the mornings; he looks out from the second story balcony and feels calmness settle into his bones. Sometimes Yoongi will join him, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s waist and nuzzling his head between his shoulders.

- “You stole my heater.” Yoongi complains when Namjoon finally turns around. Namjoon kisses the pout off of Yoongi’s face, making him gasp and grip the front of Namjoon’s shirt.

- “You still have your other one back there.” Namjoon nods at their bedroom. The king-sized bed- freshly purchased, and Taehyung starfished in the middle of it, laying on his stomach, his tail flicking in his sleep. “Yeah but that one snores worse than you do.”

- Namjoon’s chuckle rouses Taehyung from sleep. And he blinks up at them wearily, making grabby hands in their direction and whining for them to keep cuddling him. Neither Namjoon nor Yoongi can turn him down.

- It’s not a surprise when Namjoon finds both of his hybrids kissing one morning, Yoongi hoisted up on the counter in the kitchen so that he’s taller than Taehyung for once. Taehyung’s hands wrapped in Yoongi’s thighs almost swallowing them. When they pull away, Yoongi is so flustered that he nearly combusts when he sees Taehyung smirking at Namjoon like the cat that got the cream.

- One month in, a fox sneaks into Taehyung’s chicken coop and kills 2 out of the 10 chickens, including his favorite one, a caramel colored on that was the softest according to Tae. Taehyung cries about it for a week and then he goes on a hunt, scouring the forested hills behind their property for any sign of the fox, and crying more when he finds none.

- Thunder and a rainstorm rage outside a week after Taehyung gives up the hunt. Namjoon’s family sits cozy at their wooden table with the chipped edges, warm soup and fresh bread almost ready to be eaten, Taehyung is telling Namjoon animatedly about a website he found that would let them order chickens like can you even believe that you can get baby chicks through the mail, like what do they eat when they’re-

- And suddenly Taehyung stops, going still in the listless predatory way he does sometimes, his ears tilt in the direction of his chicken coup. Tae’s ears pick up on some movement outside making him dash out the door in fear, forgetting his shoes. Feet splashing in the mud outside the patio door left open in his hurry.

- Taehyung has much finer senses than Yoongi does, so its not surprising that Taehyung picked up on the disturbance before Yoongi. But the other still dashes after him, Namjoon pulls on his shoes less quick then the others grabbing a flashlight off the mantle.

- The wind outside pushes rain in his face as Namjoon trots towards the chicken coup, “Namjoon!” Yoongi yells, his voice panicked “come quick!” Namjoon starts running, not bothering to pull up the hood to his jacket against the coming rain; Yoongi is holding Taehyung back as his low growl ripples threateningly like the thunder above them.

- And then through the coop a small, tiny whimper. Namjoon grabs a hold of Taehyung and peers around him dropping his flashlight in shock at what he sees.

- Yoongi manages to tear Taehyung out of the door as Namjoon crouches down. “Hey there- they’re no need to be afraid,” he says, making his voice low and honeyed. Stretching out his hand.

- The bunny hybrid in front of his is impossibly small, pillowed among the fresh hay that Taehyung had put in there just a day ago, clad in clothes that are no where near warm enough for the weather and soaked to the bone.

- You shake with a mixture of fear and cold, your bunny ears almost hidden with how they’re tucked close to your skull. “I didn’t mean to trespass- I’m sorry I- it’s just so cold outside and-” you cut off with a whimper hiding your face in your hands.

- Namjoon feels movement behind him and its Tae who’d momentarily gotten out of Yoongi’s hold Tae’s looking at you like he’s more curious than worried but you whimper and shrink back into the corner.

- And Namjoon is pushing them both away, “No! no- don’t worry about them.” Yoongi murmurs that he’ll take Tae inside, and you relax when they disappear from view. “I’m sorry about Tae he’s just a little overprotective of his ladies” as if sensing that you’re talking about them- the chickens around you coo and huff in their feathers. You peer out of your hands at the chickens. Who look at you interested- to them you must smell different from the other hybrid they’re accustomed to hanging around.

- “This chicken coop is no place someone to spend the night” Namjoon says, straitening up slowly as to not startle you, his hand still outstretched, “especially in this weather, but my houses is far warmer.” You stair at Namjoon’s hand for a moment, and internally he coos when your nose and your ear twitches.

- You gnaw on your lower lip, but then you reach out tentatively so that you can take his hand and he can pull you up to your full height. You don’t even have to stoop in the chicken coop, whereas Taehyung almost has to double over.

- How can someone be so small, Namjoon wonders as he carefully leads you back inside. You almost bolt again, several times, especially when you see Tae and Yoongi peering at you from around the corner as Namjoon ushers you upstairs. You’re still shaking like a leaf when he settles you into a bath and leaves you to disrobe and warm up in peace, saying that there’s some stew waiting for you downstairs when you’re ready. Leaving some clean clothes outside your door.

- “I don’t want either of you making her feel uncomfortable when she comes downstairs, she’s skittish, and she’s clearly been through a lot, I don't want her getting startled.”

- “It’s probably because we’re predators” Yoongi notes, carefully picking the meat out of a portion of the stew he made leaving the vegetables, especially careful to give you most of the baked carrots. Taehyung whines at Yoongi’s words, “I swear I wouldn’t have like- attacked her or anything- I was just so surprised to find another hybrid on our property.”

- “uhm Namjoon” a quiet voice- your voice says from the doorway, you’re only half in it, hiding from behind the edge to shield your body, even in Yoongi’s clothes the long sleeve shirts is almost falling off your shoulder, the pants tied tights around a tiny waist the little black cotton tail poking out the hole that was usually for Yoongi’s tail.

- Yoongi and Namjoon resist the urge to coo when you blush, Taehyung watches you with his golden eyes, his tail swishing back and forth quickly. “Here darling” Namjoon says, extending a hand which you take and sit at the table, sitting on your hands, your ears are still pushed back against your wet hair. Still pinned back.

- By the time you’ve finished your stew you’re nearly asleep in the soup bowl, slumped in your chair asleep, tipping to your left into Yoongi who catches you almost barely. His hand comes up shakily, Shure you’re still partially awake when he combs his hands through your hair, feeling the silkiness of your black ears. twined through your hair, pink in the middle and black on the outside, they twitch, your nose mimicking them when your head falls against his shoulder. a little buzzing noise coming out of your throat, sounding something like contentment.

- Yoongi resists the urge to purr. His hand stills on your forehead, his eyebrows knit together, “she feels a little warm.” He murmurs to Namjoon and Taehyung.

- Yoongi carries you to onto the couch, which Namjoon has cast a sheet over, lying your head against the pillow where you barely stir as Taehyung throws their fluffiest blanket over you, your feet quirking to the side kicking a little as your ears perk up.

- Namjoon rests his hand against your flushed cheeks, Yoongi is right, a fever is slowly starting to rise within you.

- “I don’t wanna take medicine” you whine when Namjoon makes you take some the next morning, though you have to admit you don’t feel so good, the heat in your body makes you feel hazy and not all there as you let a predator, an actual predator cuddle up to your side, though Taehyung whines from the doorway, still watching you. Though admittedly he’d tried, and you’d almost jumped off of the couch before Namjoon stopped Taehyung with a raised hand.

- You’re not exactly intimidated by the tiger hybrid still, but your first meeting wasn’t exactly glowing by any review- so you’re comfortable with him staying away for now. “Would some carrots make it better?” Yoongi plies, and you’re distracted momentarily, but you still won’t open your mouth to take Namjoon’s waiting spoon full of red liquid for your throat.

- Yoongi’s fingers tickle your bunny tail and make you shout, giving Namjoon the perfect opportunity to shove the medicine in your mouth. You’re pouty and angry at all of them until Yoongi brings you carrots and some more munchies including strawberry ice cream that makes your ears flop and twitch happily.

- Namjoon lets you stretch out across his lap as he pets your ears, by the end of the day you’re feeling better, not quite so hazy and you gush to him about how you didn’t know something could be so cute and yummy at the same time.

- Which of course Leeds Namjoon to buying you a light pink pullover and a white skirt as well as knee socks and a whole bunch of pastel clothing that you absolutely adore wearing. Even getting you a little bit of makeup because girls like that sort of thing don’t they?

- Namjoon cannot resist spoiling all of you; he’s always sitting next to you and pulling you to lie against him, as well as hoisting your feet up in his lap to rub a lazy thumb across your shins. It takes you a little while to adjust to just how affectionate Namjoon and the others can be, but you begin to accept more of it. As spring warms to summer Namjoon finds himself taking the three of you out more often, into town and into the outskirts of the city.

- Official adoption papers where easy to come by for you and Taehyung now that you where both out of the city where the laws where more harsh. Stray hybrids where often found out here and adopted as farm hands, it was easy to claim both you and Taehyung as adoptees. And Namjoon even got a tax right off.

- He celebrates by taking the three of his hybrids out to the movies and dinner, and you all argue between which movie you should see, a mystery (Yoongi’s choice), an action thriller (Taehyung’s choice), and a romantic comedy (your choice.)

- It’s not surprising to Namjoon that they end up watching the romantic comedy. All you have to do is pout and Taehyung and Namjoon melt unable to resist you and the way your ears flop around your face, your eyes wide and almost tear-filled, your nose twitching cutely.

- God they are so so whipped for you already it’s not even funny.

- Yoongi is the only one who it take convincing, and he ends up pouting on the other side of Namjoon who holds your hand through all the sad parts while Taehyung practically wails on the other side of you, always a little sensitive.

- “You’re all a bunch of crybabies.” Yoongi complains, but later you catch him holding onto your hand a little tighter, not wanting to let it go when you go to get fresh fruit parfaits afterword’s at the only all-night restaurant in town and you know the sad ending where the two love interests don’t end up together is weighing on him in a way he won’t express.

- You’re still sleeping in the living room that night when Yoongi comes down and peels back the covers to slip underneath your little burrow of warmth to press his head against your neck and scent mark you, the usual way he greets you now. “Wanna come to the big bed tonight?” he asks, and you make a non-committal noise as he pulls you up.

- In the main bedroom Taehyung is already asleep, but Namjoon is still writing more, his head against the headboard and his eyes tired, glasses pushed up on his face as he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all sorts of directions.

- “Joonie you should go to sleep.” Yoongi says, “the writers block will be better in the morning” forcefully pushing Namjoon’s laptop closed “just one more second, need to save,” he says, barely casting you a glance as you go over to his side of the bed and tell him too scoot over while Yoongi peals back Taehyung’s arms and settles himself under the crook up his elbow.

- Yoongi’s tail flicks as he watches Namjoon write a few more seconds. Finally leaning up to press a kiss to his lips and take the laptop out of his lap. “Alright alright” Namjoon says when his hybrid pulls away, his lips pink and damp and cute. “Bed now- I get it-“

- Namjoon runs a hand down your back next to him where you’re propped up on a pillow under your chest too look at him. Namjoon see’s the way you’re looking at him and know, knows what you’re thinking and what you want. After all how many goodnight kisses does Taehyung whine for on the regular? It took at least a dozen to get him to go to sleep that night without Yoongi in the bed even though he was bone tired from repairing the chicken coup today.

- “Want a goodnight kiss sweetheart?” Your tail twitches happily as you nod, Namjoon leans one hand supporting himself on the other side of your head, his lips sweet and soft that make you sigh against the seem of his lips.

- Yoongi would never say anything, but in that moment, he looks up at Tae and finds him watching you with something like longing in his eyes. But he doesn’t mention it ever, only holding onto the other hybrids shoulder and nuzzling further into him.

- Yoongi looks up more vegetable heavy recipes for you, looking up online the correct balance and dietary needs of prey hybrids, as canine hybrids can basically eat like humans with no bad effects but you’ll get sick if you eat even half as much meat as Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon do.

- You feel a little guilty that sometimes Yoongi has to make you something entirely different when he cooks dinner offering to help him constantly. You know how stressed it makes him when Taehyung asks for bulgogi and pad thai which Yoongi doesn’t even know how to make. And of course Taehyung is too adorable to turn down, but Yoongi simply can’t make all of that by himself.

- So you help Yoongi in the kitchen sometimes, because Taehyung manages to cut himself almost consistently within the first 20 minutes of cooking every time. And after the last one needed stitches and had him licking at it for a few weeks, he has been officially banned from the kitchen. Whenever Namjoon tries Yoongi just straight up growls at him because he is not dealing with cleaning up after Namjoon.

- And you guys have a fun doing it too, cooking is always better with a companion and though you’re not entirely hopeless Yoongi does enjoy teaching you how to cook, humming alongside you in the kitchen as he stirs some fishcake around with wooden chopsticks.

- You express a desire to learn how to bake and not cook which Yoongi can't help with but agrees to try, and by the time you have the batter for the strawberry shortcake poured in the pan Yoongi’s black hair is almost grey with how much flower is in it. he obsessively grooms himself later that night, alongside you whose ears have turned similarly as powdery from hanging in your face like they do when you’re concentrating.

- You giggle when Yoongi grooms them giving into his urge to care for you. These instincts regarding mates can be annoying for cat hybrids like Yoongi- who ignores his animal instincts as much as he can most of the time.

- Yoongi thinks your ears are absolutely adorable when they hang in your face or when one of them lifts in the direction of whoever's talking when you’re concentrated like that. It’s almost like they have a life of their own

- You complain about them sometimes, pushing back your ears from your face when you get a little too focused on something and they block your vision. One morning you come down to find a pink scrunch on the table and ask Yoongi who blushes and stutters.

- “I got it for your ears because you don’t like the way rubber bands feel on your hair” Yoongi recalled that the other day when you went to the store and picked up hair ties, notifying Namjoon that rubber band just wouldn’t work. And that regular hair ties pinch your ears too much “ you know- so that they don’t get into your face when we cook or when you’re trying to do your makeup.”

- You forget to put it on most of the time until you’re already doing something, because it does look a little goofy when you tie up your ears, your hands elbow deep in the dishes when you call Yoongi’s name and he swoops up your ears and fastens them together on top of your head with the pink scrunchie.

- And then you start to lose it, Yoongi finds it under the couch and sighs, putting it on his own wrist where it lives when you’re not using it, always ready in case you ask for it. Namjoon smirks at him when he catches Yoongi looking at it one day and tugging at it with a little lovesick expression. “Stop looking at me like that” he growls, trying to disguise the flush on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault I’m the only one who can keep track of things in this house.”

- Yup, Yoongi is definitely whipped for you.

- Eventually you get good enough with makeup to try and beg Yoongi to let you put on him “hell no y/n, I’m like some fierce panther or something I am not letting you put me in bubble gum lipstick.”

- “I could put some on!” Taehyung says, and you giggle a little and shyly put on some red on his lips, and when he leans over and kisses your cheek, making you startle and hop back, he grins when he sees the kiss mark he’s left. Which of course Leeds Taehyung to kissing you all over your face to leave little red marks, and then begging for you to apply more so that he can give Yoongi and Namjoon the same treatments.

- Taehyung wakes one morning early, gets out of bed because he knows its going to be a nice day and the chickens will probably need to be let out to mill about the back yard. And he descends the rickety stairs and find you already in the kitchen, drinking some tea and clacking away on the phone that Namjoon bought you last week.

- Taehyung gives you a small smile, staring at you with longing as he tells you good morning, your ears flick in his direction as you lift your head in his direction as you give him a small smile that makes his heart race. And Taehyung can’t bear it any longer, doesn’t want to stay away anymore, he’s been trying to give you enough space to get comfortable with him like Joonie said.

- “Do y-you wanna come out and get the eggs with me today?” you take a sip of your earl grey tea, looking like you’re going to refuse and Taehyung wonders why he even bothered when he knew you weren’t ready when your ears perk up in interest, and you stand to put your teacup in the sink.

- Taehyung stutters as he tells you their names, his too-big boots sloshing a little as you spread some seed around in the grass, making excited little noises every time they cluck, even mimicking the little noises Taehyung makes and giggling with him as he does this little call and response thing with his chickens.

- “And now the best part” he grins, opening up the back of the coup to have access to the nests, “they’re still warm!” you cry in delight as Tae deposits two brown eggs into your hands and takes the rest that are there in his hands 3 in one hand and 2 in the other.

- The big fluffy white chicken that’s too shy to let Taehyung get within a foot of her comes up next to you, pecking around your feet as you watch her in wonder. “She’s super shy I wouldn’t try to pet her” Taehyung warns, he himself had gotten pecked more than once. You stoop down, the chicken gives you soft clucks as Taehyung pouts, and your smile soft and eyes wide in wonder as you she lets you pet her before fluffing her feathers and moving away.

- “She never lets me do that!” he cries later when they’re inside, Yoongi clacking away on his computer and Namjoon upstairs writing. Yoongi’s ears flick in annoyance as he spies the way you’re no longer skirting around Taehyung like he has the plague or some very nasty infectious disease, “I can’t believe you got marshmallow to trust you! I feel betrayed!”

- “Marshmallow did what now?” Namjoon says as he descends the stairs, still in his pajamas even though its nearly 2 in the afternoon his hair sticking up the way it does when his writers block is particularly bad. Of course all of them know the names of Taehyung’s chickens by now, given how much he talked about them.

- Taehyung launches into the story as you fold yourself against Yoongi on the couch, your body a line up against him, he purrs and nudges into your shoulder, tempting a lick against your cheek, which make you squeak.

- “Stop that” you whine as Yoongi pulls you against his chest, lying his laptop on your lap instead of his but hooking his chin over the side of your shoulder so that he can still see it “Don’t lie and say you hate it,” which makes you pout but you accept his affection, your small cotton tail twitching against his thigh.

- Seokjin comes to visit Namjoon’s new house and you’re entirely smitten with the gorgeous human, your ears shyly pinned to your head the entire time he’s here, smoothing out the giant sweater of Namjoon’s every few seconds and almost melting when Seokjin says “you have the best luck finding the most well behaved and beautiful hybrids.”

- Seokjin even reaches out and closes his hand around the base of your ear, drawing his hand away to feel the silky texture, “I have half a mind to take one for myself.” You squeak and blush and hide your face in Namjoon’s shoulder as both of them men chuckle.

- But Namjoon smiles as you perpetually hide behind him, “he’s just teasing you sweetheart,” Namjoon says as you shyly peer at Seokjin out of your protected place behind Namjoon’s chair. It feels kind of nice when you hide behind him, trusting your human to be your protector.

- It was easy for Namjoon to rely on Taehyung and Yoongi for most things, especially when it came to his anxiety, but to feel depended on in the way you depend on Namjoon makes his heart swell with this different kind of pride. You make Namjoon feel strong and protective. He pulls you to sit across his lap and lock his arms around you. You still hide your face in Namjoon’s neck, peering out at the other human every few seconds.

- Yoongi and Taehyung boil though at Seokjin’s words, because no one is going to mess with your little unit even if they’re just joking, and Tae can’t believe that Namjoon’s human friend got to touch you like that, though a look from Yoongi stops Tae from growling at Seokjin.

- Petty as always, Taehyung and Yoongi don’t let Seokjin pet them like usual before he leaves, instead he snuggles up to you screaming “Aish! You brats- you don’t know how to properly love your hyung!” Tae even steps forward like he’s going to do something when Seokjin presses a kiss too your cheek in goodbye, making you squeak and blush.

- That night Taehyung and Yoongi are a little bit possessive of you crowding you in-between the both of them on the couch while you watch movies, not letting you get up to make popcorn or for drinks. Taehyung even squeezes your shoulders in a relaxing back massage, smirking when you relax into his hands, tipping your head back, your ears relaxed at your size even when he nibbles a little at your ears.

- Namjoon thinks it’s absolutely adorable how possessive his two hybrids are over you.

- You and Namjoon go on walks in the mist in the early mornings sometimes when Taehyung and Yoongi take forever to wake up, with him by your side the woods don’t seem as scary as they did back when you lived in them.

- Most of the time Namjoon will link his arm with yours and tell you in his low timbre about the fantasy worlds he imagines just behind the hills that you walk through. And it’s amazing how for Namjoon, it always seems like adventure is around the corner of the wooded path.

- Living in the wilderness has been amazing for his productivity, writing, and imagination. He’s content to bounce his ideas off of you in your morning walks and not actually live through the adventures he dreams up. Namjoon finds you a surprisingly good beta reader as well and you absolutely swoon when he writes romance into his fantasy stories.

- One day you read his draft and stomp up to his office and pout, your ears twitching agitated and your foot even stomping, “you can not leave a romance story this good at such a cliffhanger Namjoon! Your readers are going to hunt you down and slap you before I do!” Namjoon just grins and says with a wry smile, “I can tell you how the next book ends if it will make you feel better?”

- Some mornings you don’t join Namjoon for his early walk, and on those you’ll wake up to soft bluebells or pink cosmos from the feilds lying on his pillow next to your head, or on one of the shelves in your closet, or in one of the brush containers by your makeup stash in the bathroom.

- Sometime Taehyung will wake up early as well and join you- though in those times the conversation will often turn into a horror story retelling which will make you press closer too the two of them with every strange noise that greets you on your walk- which of course was Taehyung’s plan all along.

- One day Taehyung goes into the shared master bedroom to find it in chaos every single blanket and pillow in the house alongside some of their clothes piled into a big puddle. He finds you sleeping in one of Taehyung’s red sweatshirt in the center of the nest. Your cream silk shorts poking out from underneath the hem, one of your socks pulled up your thigh and the other down around your ankle.

- Taehyung huffs and crawls into the middle of the nest and wraps his arms around you. Nesting or burrowing is a regular enough behavior of rabbit hybrids that it doesn’t alarm Taehyung though you’ve never made one out of the bedroom before.

- You wake up a little making sleepy noises and letting out the cutest little yawn, your black bunny ears twitching aggressively for a moment and then going totally still the next as he snuggles in next to you. You let Taehyung manhandle you across his chest and you’re vaguely aware of him purring and rubbing his chin around the top of your head.

- “You’re mine- my fluffy bunny.” He murmurs his voice a low growl as he scent marks you again and again until you’re bathed in the tiger’s rich spicy scent.

- You’re in and out of a haze sleeping in your little nest/fort thing that you’ve made but somewhere along the afternoon Yoongi joins in on the other side of you, rubbing at your shoulder too, crowded in between both of them and unbelievably warm.

- Yoongi’s tail, always more dexterous than Tae’s thicker one curls around one of your legs, and there is one hand running endlessly over your ears, especially around the base of them, and another rubbing a hand down your back under your shirt, scratching a little lightly around the base of your tail.

- And then the next time you come too in the haze of your nap you’re on your back, and you have one face resting on your stomach, Yoongi’s judging by the black hair that pushes against where the sweatshirt has ridden up, Yoongi’s arms wrapped around your waist.

- But that’s not why you’ve woken up, your back arches and a sigh leaves your mouth as Tae nips along the edge of your jaw sometimes stopping to suck at the skin, his oral fixation that all hybrids tend to have acting up maybe, or maybe not, especially when you start to squirm he lets out a low growl. “Would you let me mark you, let me make you ours?” he grounds out his voice low and breathy.

- Namjoon can only smile in amusement as he finally reaches his writers block for a day and comes in to find his bedroom torn apart and his three hybrids lounging in each others warmth, both your and Yoongi’s necks are a masterpiece of red and purple marks and Taehyung humming happily as he tries to snuggle closer to both of you. Taehyung even has a few marks on his collarbones. Your head pokes up at the noise, your ears at attention as Yoongi whines when you remove your neck from the reach of his mouth,

- You smile sleepily up at him eyes closing slowly before you reach up, Namjoon entwines his fingers with yours slowly, his large hands dwarfing your small ones, until you tug him down with a little yelp on his part.

- You get so many kisses on a daily basis. You get your good morning ones from Namjoon, usually tasting like coffee, and Kisses that are smiley and almost taste like a laugh when you pout from Namjoon, and slow relaxed kisses that happen in the hazy gray light of the living room when it’s gotten late enough to turn the lights on but no ones bothered yet.

- You get ones from Yoongi when you do something cute or just because he wants too (usually when you’re drinking your tea or smiling softly at something and he gets this burst of emotion that prompts him to stop whatever he’s doing and kiss your pink lips).

- And endless kisses from Tae- though both Namjoon and Yoongi are as much a victim of his kisses as well, whenever he bounds in from the outdoors, whenever someone does something particularly cute, like drop a mug or crash into the door without his glasses (Namjoon,) like pout and say something biting and grumpy (Yoongi) or when you do that little thing where you crunch your jaw happily around your food or excitedly run around one of the three of them in circles.

- That particular behavior has Namjoon smiling something soft and suspicious and even Yoongi starts to grin after a point. And it feels like the two of them have some secret inside joke that Taehyung’s not apart of when he sees it.

- “What are you hiding from me- why did you look at Yoongi like that when Y/n started to do the circle thing.” Taehyung pouts one morning after it happens in the kitchen.

- “We’re just happy Tae” Namjoon soothes, Taehyung’s head is lying across his lap in the office and the hybrid pouting lips tickling against his bare thigh.

- “I looked up hybrid behavior on the internet a few weeks ago- you know because you and Yoongi are a little easier to read but Y/n has a few indecipherable behaviors- its actually really interesting from a genetic point of view why prey type hybrids tend to have more typically animal behaviors-“

- Taehyung lets Namjoon ramble on about some paper he read when he was doing research for his last book, straightening up to press a kiss to his lips that makes Namjoon stop and blush because an excited Namjoon is an absolutely adorable Namjoon and Taehyung always always always wants to kiss his boyfriends.

- “Oh just spit it out,” he says when Taehyung sees that adorable shy smile that Namjoon’s says, running his fingers through his kiss mused hair.

- “The circling thing- it means she’s selecting us as her mates.”

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

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I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 28016 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

The week seems to just drag on and on and come Friday, Isak is exhausted. It takes just about everything to get out of bed, his limbs feel all heavy and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and overall he feels like he’s coming down with the flu or has the worst hangover of his life.

At least Friday is the only day he doesn’t have morning classes, but even getting up at 9 o’clock instead of 6 doesn’t do a whole lot for him – not when he’s spent the better part of the night tossing and turning because he just can’t seem to fall asleep. At all.

Isak’s always had a bit of tendency to insomnia, something that had gotten severely worse after – well, after. But after a while, when he’d really started to get on with Jonas and was figuring things out with Mahdi and Magnus, it had gotten better. Mind you, there was still the odd night with no more than two hours of sleep, but those were the exception rather than the rule.

Things haven’t been this bad for a while and Isak can feel the anger bubbling away inside of him.

He had been getting better, he was going to be better this year, and now he feels all out of sorts in his own home. He’s terrified of walking around in Oslo or on campus grounds because what if he runs into Mikael, what if he runs into Even – no matter that by studying bio-science he’s in a completely different section of the university, the thought that Even could be within walking distance at any moment in time makes Isak terrified.

Isak stumbles around the flat noisily as he tries to get ready. He splashes water onto his face three times, but it has little effect on waking him up and no effect on getting rid of the slowly turning more prominent dark circles underneath his eyes. The two cups of coffee help a little wake him up, but he also ends up feeling a little sick from drinking too much hot coffee too quickly and too early.

He’s always been organized about his things so it doesn’t take long to gather his books, his notebook – just in case, because mapping out formulas and equations on a laptop can be goddamn awful – his laptop, the charger and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he should be ready to go.

He’s already put on his jacket and a beanie to hide away the atrocious state his hair is in, he should probably be bringing out a scarf soon if the wind is going to be so persistently cold already.

It’s that thought that makes him take one last look around his room. He isn’t even looking for his scarf, isn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe that’s what sets him off.

Isak’s room isn’t empty. It’s furnished, he has curtains up, posters on the walls; one of the periodic table and another of the atomic structures for alcohol, caffeine and adrenaline drawn with funny faces on them. He has bed sheets and lamps and a bedside table and everything that should make his room feel like a home.

And it just, doesn’t.

It feels like someone has cut Isak’s strings and everything just feels so overwhelming for a second, like that walls are trying to close in on him, this apartment that he three years ago never would’ve thought would need to be a reality, his reality. Because Isak’s reality had been Even and their shitty one room apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator and their tiny kitchen and it had been their life together.

Maybe it’s from his surprise run in with Even or maybe it’s the recent thought he’d had walking through the apartment, how there are personal pictures hung around everywhere but his room, but now the thoughts and the feelings are there and they won’t go away.

All of it has just been building up to this moment and now that it’s finally here it hits Isak like a freight train and all he can do when his knees give out is aim at landing on the bed.

He bounces, once, but it’s enough to make him almost slide down onto the floor. Isak curls his hands into the duvet, scrunching it up and making crease marks that go across the stripes printed on the fabric. He keeps looking around the room frantically, like maybe the next time he looks, something will have changed, something will be different and he’ll be okay.

Because the truth is Isak isn’t dealing with it. He hasn’t been dealing at all for all of these years, and as much as he is constantly running on fumes and denial, it isn’t helping him. Not in the long run, and Isak hates that he can’t continue like this, because as much as he hates the anxiety and the constant stress of worrying, it’s much more preferable to the thought of everyone knowing.

Isak stuffs his wrist into his mouth in reflex to muffle whatever noises threaten to slip out. He can’t remember if it’s always been this hard to breathe.

OOOOO

As much as Isak lets himself struggle when he’s on his own, when he’s in public, no one would be able to tell there’s anything different from this Isak to the one two, three, four and so on weeks ago.

He walks the halls with his back straight and an indifferent look on his face, like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He pays attention in class and takes notes and tries desperately to look like he actually understands what’s going on, tries so hard to focus in on the words droning on and on and not on anything else. And if people stop to talk to him, he smiles and he laughs and he makes nice all the while ignoring how every single interaction drains him until he’s worried there will be nothing left of him by the end of the day.

While the bigger part of his first year had been a bit of a shit-storm, once he’d gotten on Jonas’ good side it had seemed necessary to fall in line with how he, Mahdi and Magnus had been acting, which meant all the university parties Isak had only been attending to get embarrassingly drunk he was now attending to still get drunk, but under the guise of talking and trying to get with pretty girls.

It had been stupidly easy to imitate the guys, so easy to mimic their body languages, to smile at the girls like he was letting them in on a secret just between the two of them, easy to talk smoothly and slowly gain the reputation of a flirt despite not having kissed a single person.

What wasn’t easy was everything that came after that. Girls wanted to talk to him, but most of the time they wanted a lot more than just talking, and Isak has absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the prospects of getting to hook up, but guilt is a lot easier to handle than the at best indifference and at worst disgust at the thought of having to hook up with girls.

He could explain the guilt away – just gotten out of a serious relationship, he still feels weird about being close to other people, blah, blah, blah – but the other parts? Those were a dead giveaway.

So he makes nice and counts down the minutes until he can go home.

During the last fifteen minutes of a lecture, his phone pings with a message from Sana reminding him about their scheduled study session he honestly had forgotten everything about.

Remember we’re meeting in the library in 20

Isak groans and ignores the dirty looks the people next to him send for interrupting. He gets another text before he can reply.

You did remember, right?

Isak scoffs even though he knows Sana won’t know.

Course I did. See you there

Guess he’s doing this, then. His body feels heavy at the thought alone, so he stops at one of the on-campus cafés and gets two large coffees to go.

“Hey,” Isak greets as he sinks down into the chair across from Sana, bringing out his laptop and debating whether he should get out his book already as well or if they’re probably just going to be browsing the internet.

The internal debate means Isak ends up not realizing the complete silence from the other side of the table before it’s been stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable.

Isak looks up – sure enough, it is Sana, he hasn’t gotten the wrong table, but it’s a Sana who looks like she’s just bit into a lemon the way she’s scowling at him.

“I’m not late,” Isak snaps, because he isn’t.

Sana scowls even harder.

“And I didn’t forget we were meeting.”

He had forgotten.

“You did,” Sana replies. Isak doesn’t even bother looking outraged or protesting because, yeah, he had, sue him. “That’s not my problem.”

Isak has enough problems already, thank you very much. A deep sigh escapes him involuntarily, and he regrets it immediately because all it amounts to is Sana now looking angry as well. “What is your problem, then?”

Sana doesn’t reply. She looks at something past Isak’s shoulder, and Isak almost turns around in his seat to see if he isn’t the problem but someone behind him is – which, honestly, would be a well-needed break clearly brought by the gods above finally looking out for him.

“You need to do something for me.”

Hold the phone, sister. Isak’s hand freezes from where he’d been about to type in his password on his computer. “What?”

Sana rolls her eyes. Isak can only just manage to see it from where she’s now scowling into her book that’s opened on the preface.

“I think it’s called, ‘I need you to do something for me,” Isak points out. “At least, that’s how you ask it when you need a favor from someone.”

Sana shrugs and still doesn’t look up at him. “I said what I said.”

Isak stares incredulously at her. Honestly, what?

Sana sighs long-sufferingly and finally looks up at him. “It’s only because of something Noora said.”

Noora? Isak mentally goes through every single girl he’s ever shared a class with who also probably has shared a class with Sana and comes up with… no one.

“Noora?”

Sana stares at him like he’s the idiot and not the one who apparently has to know every single person in the science department.

“Yes, Noora,” she bites at him. “Friends with Eva and Vilde? Don’t you know her?”

Isak knows a Noora – the possibility along with the probability of it being the same Noora should be quite slim to none. He does remember that Eva has a friend called Noora, but he can’t recall her for the life of him.

“No.”

“Well, Noora is our friend, moving on,” Sana slams her book shut when it’s clear she can’t keep on the pretense of it being more important than what she’s trying to talk about. “You need to –“

“Hold on,” Isak interrupts, holding up a finger to silence her before she gets too far ahead. “Are you asking me for a favor?”

And Sana has just taken another bite of a lemon.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me for a favor.”

“I’m not asking you for a favor,” she makes a face at the word like it has personally offended her. “I’m merely proposing working on a common interest.”

“In which I will be doing all the work and have absolutely no idea about what interest I have in it?” Isak clarifies.

“Common interest,” Sana repeats, leaning back in her chair. Her eyeliner is heavier today than it had been the last time Isak had seen her, and if she’s wearing it for the intimidation factor Isak has got to give it to her that it’s working. “We need you to get Magnus’ head out of his own ass.”

Isak lets out a mix of a surprised whine and an indignant squawk of outrage for someone who has probably only met Magnus a handful of times to talk like that about him.

Sana, being Sana, just fixes a glare at him. “Him and Vilde.”

“What’s wrong with Magnus and Vilde?”

“The fact that they since the start of the second semester have been trying to get together only to cockblock themselves every single time?”

Isak pauses. “How?”

To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed Magnus had been trying to hook up with Vilde. With every single party the boys dragged him to, it always seemed like it was a new girl for all of them except Jonas, who’d dutifully spend the night looking after Eva unless they were smoking.

“All they ever talk about is cats!”

“Cats,” Isak repeats, deadpan.

“Yes,” Sana snaps. “Cats.”

“Are you sure they’re not talking about –“

“Cats.”

“Alright!” Isak holds up the palms of his hands and leans back in his chair to get some space between them. “Again, why?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would be asking for you to interfere?”

Isak came here to study, not be berated about his friend’s life decisions. “You don’t think it could just be a… bonding thing?”

By the look of it, Sana does not particularly look like she thinks it could be a quote unquote, ‘bonding thing’.

“Like, a, ‘hey, do you prefer dogs or cats’, kind of thing?” Isak winces when Sana raises one eyebrow at him. There are weirder conversation-starters and icebreakers – Isak would know. So far he’s never met anyone else whose first conversation involved ISO-settings and a B&E. Without actually breaking anything. An E.

“They’re meowing at each other.”

“Jesus,” only Magnus. Or, apparently, only Magnus and Vilde. Isak rolls his eyes and shakes his head to stop looking at Sana. This really wasn’t what he’d been prepared for when he sat down.

It’s difficult trying to wrap his head around any of this. He’s exhausted to the bone, he’s spent the entire day trying to pay attention and stay busy. Having to suddenly think about woes of love hits a bit too close for Isak not to lose his breath.

Different situation, different people, he tries to keep in mind when he turns back to Sana.

“I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do,” he tells her. “I don’t even know when they’ll be in the same room, let alone talking to each other!”

Sana frowns quizzically at him. “Do you not know about –“

A sudden flurry of movement to Isak’s right startles them both out of their bubble. They both snap their necks to the side so quickly Isak feels a crick already forming from the mild whiplash.

“Hey!” Emma grins. Oh no.

Oh no. Isak’s day is going badly enough already, he does not need this.

‘This’ referring to the first year eagerly waiting for a slice of Isak’s attention to be on her like it’s all that’ll ever matter. She’s practically vibrating where she’s standing next to him, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about life and Isak doesn’t know how to connect with her, besides the obvious reason.

Emma’s a sweet girl, really. With her journalism major and outgoing personality, she isn’t exactly lacking friends or popularity. She just, apparently, hasn’t gotten the memo that Isak doesn’t stick around, isn’t there for anything serious, and also isn’t there for something not serious.

So now he’s got a lot of unanswered DMs he can’t even bring himself to leave on ‘read’.

Isak’s just staring at her. It actually feels like his mouth has been sewn shut. Isak is usually the one who approaches girls; he doesn’t get approached outside of a party, and now that he has it feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the deep end.

What is he supposed to say?

He only startles out of it when the hardcover of Sana’s book smacks against the tabletop with unneeded force.

“Hey,” Isak tries to smile back. He has a feeling it looks more like a grimace, especially from the way Sana is looking increasingly amused, but Emma doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to it, thankfully.

“You kind of disappeared last time I saw you,” Emma toes an inch closer and Isak has to resist the urge to scoot backwards to maintain the distance between them. She shrugs. “’S a shame.”

Isak doesn’t recall having been anywhere near her, doesn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her.

While he doesn’t know a lot about girls, he does know you do not tell them something like that.

“Yeah,” Isak stutters out instead, shrugging in lieu of an apology. Maybe he can pull off the you know how it is half-assery. “Hopefully you weren’t too disappointed.”

It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, flirting with anyone, even if he only ever flirts with girls. Maybe that part also contributes to the sour taste that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Emma giggles, all prettily and Isak thinks he should like her; she’s pretty with the short, brown hair and big, brown eyes. Isak has to bite himself in his cheek when his thoughts try to stray towards blond coifs and blue eyes.

“Maybe you could make it up to me?” She casually puts her hand on the table, only a couple of inches away from where Isak is resting his arm. It would be too obvious to pull away, even if that is all Isak wants to do.

Jesus, that sounds like a line. Isak pointedly ignores the snort Sana attempts to mask as she slides further and further down behind her book and laptop that are propped open in front of her.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak fumbles. He should keep on looking at her, any guy would keep on looking at her. Isak looks around the room to find inspiration for any apology or let down he can give her without it coming back to bite him in the ass. “How would I –“

Emma was clearly just waiting for that opening, even if Isak doesn’t get to finish it. “I heard you’re having a shindig?”

A what?

“I’m having a what?”

Sana snorts again from the other side of the table, but Isak is magnanimous enough to fully ignore her. He repeats to himself that he shouldn’t divert his attention away from Emma, because none of the other boys would’ve done that.

“A shindig,” Emma laughs, reaches her hand out to lay it on his arm and squeezes once. Isak’s arm burns uncomfortably when she pulls her hand away again. “Or your housemates are. It sounded like it was for all of you.”

A what?

“So?” Emma smiles, bats her eyelashes once. “Am I going to have to beg for an invite?”

She takes another step closer. By now she’s close enough that Isak can smell her perfume, it clogs together in his throat, but he barely pays attention to it from how fast his thoughts are racing through his head.

A what?

Emma falters when she see Isak floundering. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” it comes out too weak, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m – I’m great, yeah. Uh, I don’t – I don’t actually know anything about any kind of ‘shindig’.”

It sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie, and it isn’t even one. For once Isak doesn’t have to lie to get out of something, yet it’s also the one time no one seems to believe him. Emma most certainly doesn’t look impressed, and Sana, who isn’t even a part of this conversation, doesn’t really seem to fully believe him either.

“Right,” Emma says. It sounds too clipped and she takes a couple of steps back, putting some distance in-between them. Shit.

Isak tries to grin. “It must be a pretty exclusive party if I can’t even get an invite.” And that also sounds like an excuse.

“Right,” Emma repeats, but it comes out too stiff and a bit clipped. Her arms are folded across her chest and Isak wants to stuff his face into his hands and groan from having to deal with this on top of everything.

He doesn’t.

“What did – where did you hear about it?” he asks instead.

Emma’s looking everywhere but at him. “I just heard it around. Supposed to be the place to be tonight.”

Isak gulps. Shit, that does not sound good. Both in the sense that if this is true, his home will be flooded with drunk students and he’d rather not deal with the aftermath, but also that, if this is true, Isak hasn’t been told about it.

Isak… doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to feel about that.

“Oh.”

Emma looks uncomfortable, looking down at her shoes she keeps scuffing the toes of around. Isak doesn’t doubt he looks uncomfortable as well.

Whatever Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are planning aside, Isak can’t spend the night also having to worry about Emma. The way he constantly has to be thinking, is this the right way to behave around her, am I actually pulling it off, does it seem like she likes me, and most importantly, when can he leave.

But he also can’t afford to just turn down a girl without an obvious reason, and right now everyone seems to be on the Emma-boat and Isak is left to drown.

“Why don’t you keep your phone open, then?” Isak tries to grin, but he feels a bit too shaky. It almost feels like he’s coming down with something; cold shivers running through his body and he feels clammy, but he knows he isn’t getting sick.

Emma’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she switches between looking at Isak and fishing the phone out of her coat and check who is calling.

“I’ll text you if I find out about something?”

He sounds too hesitant and Emma doesn’t look convinced either, so Isak pinches a small bit of skin by his wrist in-between two fingertips to pull himself together. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him does.

“After all, is it really a party if you aren’t there?”

She looks a bit more placated at that, even as most of her attention is on the phone. “Text me later, then. Or next week – we’ll do something. Hello -”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to reply before she’s bounded out of there again, leaving him staring into the air of her vacated space.

A snort sounds from across the table.

“What?” Isak snaps, rolling his shoulders back to try and relieve some tension. “Shit.”

“I’m sure she would’ve taken it much nicer if you’d just let her down easy instead of talk your way around it,” Sana leafs lazily through her book despite that they both know she isn’t looking for anything.

Isak scoffs. “Can’t exactly let her down easy when I don’t even know what she’s talking about, can I?”

Sana stops mid-motion, the page falling down onto its place without her assistance. She blinks once, twice, then looks up at him. “Huh?”

“’Shindig’?” Isak quotes, knocking his arms out. “What the hell is this?”

Sana doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking at him either. It’s unnerving as all hell and Isak would just like to get some answers, thank you very much.

He doesn’t get any. Sana just shakes her head, closes the book and turns her attention onto the computer. “Take that up with the troublesome trio you live with. Let’s get started!”

OOOOO

Isak hears cupboards banging in the kitchen and he follows the noise until he can see Jonas bent over in front of their chips-and-other-miscellaneous-unhealthy-crap cupboard, riffling through the contents as a note and a pen lie on the counter in front of him.

It used to be so easy. Isak could walk up to Jonas and just say, ‘Hey’ or ask about coursework or football or how Eva is, how are the both of you, all of it seemed so easy.

Now he’s staring at Jonas, mouth snapped shut and no matter how much he begs his body to, it won’t open. He’s screaming the questions in his mind, but no sounds gets out and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, this panicky anxiety that’s filling his body. Just the thought of actually saying something is making him twitchy.

“Hey!” Jonas smiles when he sees him standing there. “Did you borrow my scarf?”

“Are we having a shindig?” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch up that he should probably answer Jonas’ question first.

Jonas frowns at the change of topic, but diligently answers him. “Yeah? Didn’t Magnus tell you?” and then realizes what he’s just said.

Jonas squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his nose and cheeks wrinkle from the force of it. “Shit, sorry, man, should’ve just told you myself. It’s been planned for a couple of weeks by now.”

A couple of weeks, holy shit. Isak stuffs his hand into the pocket in his jacket to hide how much he’s shaking. A couple of weeks puts it right before the night, and if Magnus didn’t have a tendency to get distracted already, he definitely would’ve had enough reason to when he ran into his idol.

“Right,” Isak stammers out when Jonas doesn’t seem inclined to give him any more information.

“It’s just a small thing!” Jonas hurries to placate, but that only makes Isak feel worse.

A few weeks ago there wouldn’t have been a need for him to be placated about his friends holding a party. Yeah, he’d be grouchy he wasn’t told, panicky about who’d been invited, but nothing like what he’s feeling now.

“Swear,” Jonas doesn’t pause so he probably hasn’t even noticed Isak’s internal struggle. “Eva and her friends are the only ones who are definitely coming. Although, Eva mentioned that Noora might be bringing someone.”

Eva and her friends, so Sana is coming. If anything, he can just hang up against her all evening with the excuse of getting to know his study-buddy. Something that is so like him and not likely at all to raise questioning eyebrows. Shit.

Jonas scratches the back of his head. “Mahdi’s invited a couple of people from the football team, and I think Magnus has invited some from his media classes. But none of them RSVP’ed, so…”

Jonas shrugs like that’s that, like that means it’ll still just be a small gathering of Eva and her girl power group, when Isak knows that they’re not exactly the generation to ‘RSVP’ and that he himself more than once has crashed an invites-only party, it’s bound to come and bite him in the ass at some point.

Also the fact that people are apparently talking about it like it’s the party of the year doesn’t exactly bode well either.

“Do you want to hit some people up, ask if they can come?” Jonas sounds hesitant. Isak feels so out of place in the doorway to his own goddamn kitchen. He isn’t supposed to be feeling like this. “It’s a bit last minute, but maybe someone is free?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s angling for Isak to invite some girls over, maybe even Emma, but Isak feels sick and uneasy enough already, he doesn’t need the added worry if he looks straight enough.

He shakes his head. “’s all good.” He doesn’t mention there’s no one for him to invite – no one he’d want to come. “Hey,” he clears his throat and points down the hall in the direction of his room. “I’ll go finish some, uh, stuff. Just get me if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Is that an appropriate thing to ask? Should he just barge in and ask directly if there’s anything they need him to do? It’s not that he minds Eva or Sana and he hasn’t really met the three left, but it doesn’t change the fact that this ‘shindig’ that supposedly was for all of them is feeling a lot like it’s only for some of them and Isak is only invited because he lives here.

Jonas nods, something guarded in his eyes that makes it difficult for Isak to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely.”

Isak nods, and then once again when he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. In the end, he just slowly starts to shuffle towards his room, leaving Jonas behind in the kitchen.

OOOOO

“Oi!” Magnus pounds his fist against Isak’s door so harshly it slams up against the wall. “Isak, my bro, my best bro, have I told you recently –“

“I’m not helping you get laid,” Isak groans before rolling onto his stomach, any following dismayed noises muffled when he shoves his head into his pillows.

“Please!” Magnus whines, throwing himself on top of Isak with zero regards to his spine. “I’ll help you!”

Isak snorts, or he would’ve, had he any air to do so.

“Get off of me,” he groans and tries to turn onto his back, but Magnus is stubbornly persistent in not moving until Isak agrees.

“You always know what to say and what to do,” Magnus whines, rolling onto his back until he’s awkwardly planked horizontally across Isak, his back forced into a unnatural arch. “Teach me your ways, I beg of you!”

“Your only bargaining tool was you would help me get laid, yet I’m the only one who knows how to do it?” Isak asks, except his face is smooshed into his pillows and Magnus is honest to god quite heavy, so it comes out a muffled garble of mour mon marg moo mou mel maid mam meon mow moo-hmm.

Magnus stills on top of him.

“Alright, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Isak folds his arms up underneath his torso and pushes up until Magnus has to roll with it or be pushed onto the floor. Magnus yelps, his arms flailing as he nearly topples over, before he clings onto Isak’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Isn’t this a problem for the crisis window?” Isak grumbles, referring to the nook in the kitchen, the window that’s just long enough that all four of them can sit side by side on the sill that had unintentionally turned into their version of a psychiatrist’s couch – too little room on the couch, and it feels like an invasion of privacy in their rooms. Or just a place to smoke if that’s what they’re in the mood for.

Magnus frowns. “Would you actually move into the kitchen for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then it’s a problem for Isak’s bed!” Magnus moves around a worrying amount.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Isak flops onto his back before Magnus can climb back on top of him, “considering I didn’t even know we were having a party two hours ago.”

Magnus winces apologetically and looks at Isak with those big, sad eyes he knows no one can resist. Manipulative bastard.

“I didn’t mean to forget!” Magnus insist, snuffling closer to Isak in a way that’s probably meant to look like a puppy begging for forgiveness, but just makes it look like he’s stuck. “And I did say I’m sorry.”

Isak sighs and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go. There’s so much else going on in his head, he can’t deal with having to be angry about a missing invite to a party. “Alright, then,” and asks. “Who’d you invite to the party?”

A long list of names bubbles out of Magnus’ mouth, none of which ring a bell, which could both be a blessing and a curse, but then Magnus starts categorizing them after which class they share, which tutorial group, friends before going to university, the lady in the grocery store who, admittedly, had looked a little too old to be interested in a uni party, but Magnus is still holding out hope she’ll actually show up.

Despite rejecting his offer immediately after Magnus had told her about it.

“So what you’re telling me,” Isak interrupts once it becomes clear Magnus is about to go off topic about what he wants to suggest they watch in film club, “is that you want my help with hooking up –“

Magnus nods wildly.

“– when you haven’t invited any girls?”

Magnus stops nodding.

Isak shakes his head. “There’re only so many miracles I can perform in one night, and your requests are starting to increase in size.”

Magnus snorts. “Like the size is what’s stopping you from fulfilling my hopes and dreams.”

Oh, that one’s just too obvious. “Maybe it’s only one miracle we need if the only thing we need is to change the size of your –“

“Hey!”

Isak’s grown up enough to admit the punch to his shoulder was probably well-deserved.

“Asshole,” Magnus grumbles, rolling onto his stomach when he flops around uselessly. Isak honestly can’t tell what he’s trying to do.

Isak should feel worse about kicking Magnus when he’s already down, but there’s a few hours left until the shindig ahem-party-ahem is supposed to start, and Isak had hoped he could spend at least some of them asleep.

So he should probably try to actually help Magnus, then. Jesus, Isak doesn’t have the emotional capacity for this.

“Alright, ignore who is and isn’t coming,” Isak tells him. “You see a girl you like – what do you want?”

He does feel a bit bad when Magnus looks up at him with these big eyes, like he hadn’t thought Isak would actually help him.

Yet he’d still turned to him for help. These damn creative-minded artsy kids – Isak honestly has no idea how their minds work.

“I –“ Magnus hesitates, biting his lip. “I want to say something funny so she’ll laugh.”

Isak nods, that’s a good start. Seem approachable, relatable, try to be funny. Smiles are good when humans want to connect with each other.

“And then, later on, I’d like to press her up against the wall and –“

Isak groans like he’s dying, because he honestly might be. Magnus isn’t even deterred when Isak gets the pillow under his head out and smothers his face in it.

This was not what he’d signed up for.

Although, he probably should’ve been expecting it – Magnus has never been particularly quiet about what he likes, including what he likes in bed, which is what Isak’s currently being painted a lovely picture of.

A lot of leather is involved – a bit surprisingly – a lot of sex in various positions, most seem unbelievably unrealistic – not surprisingly at all – and how good it’ll be.

Something that is surprising is when Magnus doesn’t stop at the end of the night.

“I can’t cook pancakes,” Magnus reminds Isak. “So either one of you guys could do me a favor, or – oh! Maybe she likes cereal! Most people do after all – I could get her my special mix, you know the one where I mix –“

“You want her to stay for breakfast?” Isak interrupts, frowning.

“Yeah?” Magnus looks honestly perplexed. “We’ve just had the most incredible night together, why would I want her to leave?”

“Erh, well, you see –“

“I can’t expect her to stay and not feed her.”

“That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make –“

“Oh! And then, after breakfast, we could go into the city – no, wait! I could take her to breakfast at a café!”

“That definitely isn’t really hook up protocol –“

“Yeah, that’s probably a way better idea. I don’t want to scare her off with my bad cooking!” Magnus is laughing and Isak is grimacing.

“No, yeah, but –“

“And then after we’ve eaten, we could come back here and have sex again. You know I saw this thing in a porno once, where the girl ended up stuffing –“

Gross, gross, gross! Where is the bleach, Isak needs it. Desperately. Goodbye hearing, goodbye brain, there is literally no need for either if he has to spend the rest of his life remembering just exactly what, where, and how much that poor girl had stuffed.

“And in the evening I could take her somewhere nice. There are all sorts of romantic places in the centre of Oslo, right?”

“There are, but –“

“So we could go there and be all cutesy-and-shit,” a description every girl wants their relationship to have, “and then we go swing ‘round her place to get her some clothes. Or! We could just come back here again, and the next day she’d just have to wear something of mine. That’s hot, right?”

“Objectively, it is, but –“

“And I could fall asleep all folded up around her, and make sure she’s warm enough and comfortable. She could fall asleep on my chest – wait, no! We’re spooning – and I’m the big spoon,” he points at Isak like he dares him to disagree with that.

It honestly isn’t the bit Isak has the biggest issue with.

“And the next day we could get ready for the week together. We could do homework together and she could tell me all about her degree and her modules and her essays, and she’d listen to me rambling on about –“ Magnus pauses for a second, like he just remembered it’s Isak’s room he’s in. It doesn’t leave much doubt what he was about to say, but Isak’s frozen in his seat so he doesn’t comment on it when Magnus clears his throat and continues like nothing had happened. “ – and my education, and my work.”

Magnus gasps dramatically with a sudden epiphany, any lingering awkwardness at the near slipup clearly forgotten. “I could show her Even’s movies! Do you think she’ll like them? Oh, I really hope so, because we’re watching all of them. And she could show me her favorite movies – we could do several film nights!”

Isak’s mouth feels too dry. He’s pretty sure his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth permanently now.

“And I would find little pieces of hers all over in my room, like, some clothes lying on the floor, or a hair tie, or a book for class. And I could clear out a drawer for her things, and she could slowly take over everything in my room so I have the drawer I’d originally cleared out for her –“

Isak stills as what Magnus has described registers. His heart beats a little too fast and he feels cold all of the sudden, even as he can feel that his skin is actually rather warm.

It’s all said so matter-of-factly, like Magnus has never experienced the rush of emotions, the giddiness and the excitement and the happiness and the nerves and everything related to falling in love, because that’s what Magnus is describing. Love.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of expertise in the hooking up culture; he’d been so young when he’d met Even, just at the age where his classmates were only starting to gain interest in parties and kissing, so he’d never learnt what it meant, what you had to do and why it was supposedly so fun to participate in.

But what he’d lacked in that area, he’d learnt a lot more in another. And what Magnus is talking about? Isak already knows enough to know that isn’t what you do with a hookup, that’s what you do with a person you’re in a relationship with.

It’s suddenly very difficult for Isak to draw in another breath.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Magnus finishes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Really wish I had invited some girls to hook up tonight now –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, a bit clipped. “That’s not what you do when you hook up.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you do in a relationship.”

Isak’s so terribly thrown off kilter. He’d expected to bluff his way through guiding Magnus into getting a hook up, but now he has to fake not knowing about what Magnus is talking about, because Isak’s done all of that and no one knows. He doesn’t want to share it either, but it’s like something is being ripped from his past that he’d tried so hard to bury, and it’s both painful and makes him feel numb at the same time.

Magnus glares at him, but there’s no fire behind it. “What do you know about relationships?”

Isak feels freezing and boiling hot at the same time. It’s like it takes everything in him to put on a strained smile – luckily, Magnus isn’t looking too closely.

“You basically just described Jonas and Eva, you know that, right? You’re not interested in finding someone to hook up with. You want to find your Eva.”

Magnus hums, rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Suppose,” and then out of the blue asks, “Is that what you want, too?”

Isak’s skin feels too tight and the laughter that bubbles out of him is too high-pitched, too wrong. “Why do you think that?”

Magnus shrugs. The fabric of his t-shirt snags against the fabric of the duvet, making it look like a weird, awkward shuffle instead. “Like, is Emma your Eva?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, man!” Magnus knocks his arms out. “I just – don’t you think it could be nice? If that isn’t what you get to do with a hook up, then what’s the great thing about it?”

Isak can’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer. He hates that he doesn’t know the answer, he should’ve figured it out ages ago, yet here he is.

“The freedom,” Isak tells him stiffly, but he tries to make it come out light and excited, like he should be feeling. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

A knot forms in Magnus’ brows. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

It’s hard to swallow.

“Nah,” Isak leans back so he can look up at his ceiling. The familiarity of it is comforting; the same cracks and patterns as all the other times he’s looked up at it. “Think the other way around gets too crowded.”

Shit, Isak needs to get the conversation moving to somewhere else. He’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, though.”

Magnus snorts. “Yeah, going to meet lots of girls to a party where none of us has invited any.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Eva’s coming,” which, maybe don’t bring up a girl who already has a boyfriend – a boyfriend you’re currently sharing a flat with at that, “didn’t Jonas say she was bringing her friends along?”

Magnus lets out a disheartened sigh. “Going by my track record, I don’t think any of Eva’s friends are going to be in my league.”

Alright, that’s any melodrama Isak can handle for the day, he needs to figure something out. If Magnus doesn’t think he has a chance with any of Eva’s friends, then he’s just going to have to –

Eva’s friends.

Sana is one of Eva’s friends. Sana has already mentioned another one of Eva’s friends.

He has an honest-to-god light bulb moment. He might as well pull up a ding to go along with it – Isak’s sure there’s an app for it. There’s an app for everything, nowadays.

“What about the one you’ve spoken to before, then?” Isak tries to ask casually. “What was her name – Mille? Hilde?”

“Vilde?”

“That’s the one!” Isak snaps his fingers, like that’ll make this conversation go faster.

After this, Sana can never claim he’s never done anything for her. This favor extends very, very far.

Except Magnus doesn’t start blabbering on about Vilde. He remains quiet, twiddling his thumbs in circles and carefully avoids looking over at Isak.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think she really likes me.”

Jesus Christ, Isak is getting a scientific degree for a reason – he doesn’t know how to do this, never learnt how to be confident enough in himself to spread it to his friends.

“Course she likes you. Why wouldn’t she?”

Magnus shrugs again, but he doesn’t add anything to it. So it’s actually serious, then, if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just –“ Magnus sighs. “Nothing seems natural. I always seem to say the wrong thing and – I don’t know. Shouldn’t it feel easier, somehow?”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in his room, on his bed, talking to Magnus. He can vaguely see his desk and his books, but it feels like it might be in a dream and he’s only seeing what his brain is creating for him to see.

“Falling in love should be easy – that’s what all the movies make it seem like. The pain usually comes after, once something has gone wrong, not during.”

Panic is sizzling away underneath his skin and Isak both simultaneously wants to get up and run away and stay here and get under the covers to hide away from the world.

“Shouldn’t it feel like a whirlwind from the start? Completely crazy and all-empowering and all you can think about?”

He’s tired. He’s tired of trying and constantly failing, because this was supposed to be his year, yet all he’s done is manage to fuck everything up. He was supposed to make it work with the guys, both by being a better friend, but also figuring out how to be a good flatmate, but so far he’s managed to scare them so badly they’re constantly walking on eggshells around him and Isak doesn’t know how to feel at home in his own apartment in fear that they’ll say one thing, one thing, and they’ll figure it out.

“Like you’d do anything to be with them, to be near them. You’d do anything to make them smile and you want the best for them. I think that’s what I really want the most out of anything.”

It’s stupid to think it, but the thought still somehow sneaks in, because what if that is the reason Magnus is talking about this? So many things just hitting a little too close to home, how easy it was to fall in love with someone, how overly encompassing it was, all the emotions and how it seemed worth it that it might bring pain, because it had also brought love. Isak has spent so long trying to forget all of that.

It’s what makes him finally snap, because he needs for Magnus to shut up. “If what you want is a relationship, maybe go talk to the Casanova, instead.”

“But Isak,” Magnus replies in a sing-song voice. “You’re the Casanova. Jonas would be, I don’t know – Romeo or something.”

It makes the anger swirling in his stomach boil over until it spews out everywhere. There are so many things Isak has spent ages avoiding getting near or getting into conversations about, and now he feels like tearing out his own hair and screaming and crying and he wants to hurt someone, anyone. One person.

“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

He sounds furious, voice dripping with venom and it’s surprising Magnus doesn’t pick up on it.

“So Emma isn’t going to be your Juliet, then?” Magnus nudges him playfully, but too many of Isak’s red flags have been prodded at and he can’t take it anymore.

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harshly. “And I really can’t help you if what you want is some fairytale meet-cute, go talk to Jonas.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that the point of going out and meeting people, to see if you find someone worth sticking around and hurting for?”

Isak laughs. It sounds mean. “It really isn’t what everyone wants.”

Magnus is looking a bit confounded, what with the way he’s frowning at Isak with furrowed eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating something. “What about you, then?”

There might be a bit too much contempt in Isak’s voice when he tells him, “I have no interest in Romeo and Juliet whatsoever.”

OOOOO

The bass is pumping from the speakers and Isak can barely hear his own thoughts from where they’re being drowned out by the music. There are people all around him, talking, screaming, dancing, making out, taking shots. This is what uni is supposed to be about and Isak can figure out how to fit in, even if he isn’t going to be drinking excessively throughout the night.

It all feels a bit foreign, and it shouldn’t, because this is what Isak’s entire first semester of university had been about; booze and blunts and the noise, because that had seemed to be the only things that made his head quiet and body numb. Maybe it’s just the lack of alcohol swimming around in his body that makes Isak feel like a fish out of water.

At least it’s much less of a party-of-the-year and more in the likes of a pregame. Isak’s already heard several people talking about finding a club somewhere after, so he just has to hold on a few more hours.

A few people shout his name as he makes his way past them. They’re all grinning and raises they various drinks, cans and bottles at him in greeting, probably inviting him to come join them.

Isak nods a greeting, but doesn’t make his way closer. He doesn’t recognize any of them, figures they’re probably some of the blurry person-shaped edges he has in his memories of those nights back during first semester.

“Hey, man,” Jonas comes up to him from behind. He’s looking at Isak like he has to be careful of something, and it isn’t helping with whatever dangerous cocktail of emotions currently swishing around in Isak’s body.

Isak raises an eyebrow and tries to tease, “Bit of a ‘shindig’, huh?”

Jonas winces and looks at him apologetically. “Yeah, things may have gotten a bit out of hand.” And as much as Isak hates that the boys didn’t tell him, he hates this more – this, this guarded carefulness they all have whenever they’re speaking to him. It’s driving him insane and makes him want to scream, but that would only serve to make them worse.

So he tries to laugh and ignores the tightness in stomach. “There’s no problem. This is fun, right?”

Jonas doesn’t look convinced, but Isak doesn’t know how to convince him anymore.

Usually, he would’ve flung his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and shouted too loudly in his ear, ‘let’s go do some shots!’ and that would’ve been it, but he doesn’t do that anymore – drink heavily, or the other bit, actually, come to mind, because Jonas constantly looks guarded around Isak, and Isak can’t tell if that means he wants him close or he doesn’t want him close.

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, because the front door bangs open when Eva lets herself in.

Jonas lights up like he always does when he sees her, and she sashays her way over to him to kiss him hello. And then some. Isak ignores the pang in his heart at the sight and looks over to the side of them to look at the rest of the gang.

Sana rolls her eyes when he nods at her, so of course he has to roll his eyes back. It’s basically their thing by now, as much as they both seem to hate it.

“Halla,” she greets. “Found out about the ‘shindig’, then?”

Isak feels short of breath, but it’s still easy to put the mask on, grin and pretend like everything’s okay. “Little less than two hours ago, actually,” and tries not to sound self-deprecating or like there’s something wrong.

He doesn’t pull it off. Sana’s frowning – when isn’t she, but all her attention is on Isak, which it usually isn’t, because that isn’t normal.

And he can’t have her say anything, he doesn’t know what he would reply, what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t, what could be worked as a joke and what would just give him away. “Worked wonders for not having to set anything up, though.”

She snorts and takes a step back, going further into the apartment. “Knew you were a slacker the moment I met you.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, whines a bit, but Sana doesn’t wait around to hear whatever defense he could manage to pull up, disappearing into the kitchen with the girl who never stops giving Isak bedroom eyes – Chris, he thinks.

An arm slings around Isak’s shoulder, the smell of beer more pungent than the smell of weed – Magnus, then.

“What the fuck?” Magnus points over at Jonas and Eva who are locked at the lips and oblivious to the world around them. “Is this allowed?”

“Stop,” Jonas breaks away long enough to groan, but Eva’s quick to cup his jaw and draw him back in.

Vilde’s standing next to them by now, and it looks like she’s only giggling politely with little clue to the context of Magnus’ comment, but Magnus’ is grinning back like he’s just won the lottery.

Usually, Isak would at least try and be a good mate and play up whatever had just been said, make it funnier than it actually was without drawing the attention onto himself, but his head had barely been in the game when the party had started, it definitely isn’t when the supposed Noora and her plus one enter their flat.

Because Isak knows that plus one.

“Now the party can sta-ha-ha-art!”

Isak knows that voice.

Eskild is dressed as loudly as his voice – neon pink and, oh god, are those feathers? – and crazy sunglasses that most likely don’t work if Eskild can stand wearing them inside.

“Ho-ly mother of God,” Magnus breathes out, eyes wide as he stares at Eskild. “Who on earth is –“

“Isak!”

Isak doesn’t even have time to wince from his name being bellowed straight into his ear before he has an armful of Eskild clinging onto him and shaking him around as he hugs him – or squeezes the life out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak’s voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Eskild’s shoulder. At least Eskild’s close enough to be able to make it out anyway.

“Noora brought me!” Eskild steps back, but doesn’t let go of the arm he has slung around Isak’s shoulders. He points over to the blonde girl standing next to Sana.

“But – but –“ seriously, Isak’s mind is melted. “But that’s Eva’s Noora.”

Things do not compute.

“Are you telling me,” Isak continues, magnanimously ignoring Eskild’s snort, “that Eva’s Noora is also your Noora?”

“Technically, my Noora is also Eva’s Noora, because I had her first,” Eskild insists indignantly, pointing accusingly over at Eva who only rolls her eyes fondly, skips on close to fold her arms around Eskild’s side. “She’s just lucky she’s cool enough for me to hang out around her as well.”

“Yes, of course, darling, that’s why,” Eva laughs and then bounds on into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“But –“ Isak’s worlds are collapsing. He – but – what?

Eskild barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, that face is excuse enough for ghosting me the past couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t ghosted you,” Isak tries to protest, but Eskild doesn’t let him. It’d be a lie, anyway, kind of. He just – Eskild will know, because that’s what Eskild does, and Isak can’t – he can’t have people he cares about worrying about him again, can’t let them know that their faith in him is wasted. He can’t lose everything else too.

He finally catches sight of Magnus and Jonas out of the corner of his eye, both of them looking frantically between Isak, Eskild, and then finally over to Eva and Noora for some type of explanation.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak wracks his brain for the words that seem to be evading him. “Gutter, this is Eskild – Eskild, this is –“

Eskild holds up his hand in front of Isak’s face, startling him badly enough that he stops talking. Isak blinks confusedly.

Eskild narrows his eyes as he stares at Jonas and Magnus. Jonas and Magnus’ eyes, in turn, widen at the scrutinizing glare they’re currently on the receiving end of. Isak’s been in their place before, when he’d sneak out to see Even and come back in the early morning to Eskild hiding his worry behind reprimanding scolding and demands that he leave his GPS on next time he wants to go out ‘partying’.

Isak doubts Eskild ever thought he was out partying, mostly because he never came back hung over or drunk still, and he didn’t reek of booze, no more than the beer or weed Even would share with him on rare occasions. But it’s not like Isak could tell him what he was actually doing, and it’s also not like it was outside the realm of possibility considering how Isak and Eskild first met.

“Don’t tell me,” Eskild removes his hand from Isak’s face to point between Jonas and Magnus. “Are they the ones you left me for?”

Isak blinks, again. Magnus still can’t get his eyes off of Eskild, but Jonas is looking decisively more worried in Isak’s direction.

Isak sighs when Eskild keeps pointing. “I didn’t leave you –“

“Aha!”

Magnus jumps a foot into the air and nearly trips of the doorstep leading into the living room. He bumps into one of Mahdi’s jock friends instead, who in turn spills beer all over the floor. Great.

“So they are the ones you left me for!” Eskild finishes, not the slightest bit perturbed over the chain of events he’d just put in motion.

“What are you even, they – no,” Isak flaps his hands about, resorting to poking Eskild’s shoulder when he looks less and less inclined to believe him. “This is Jonas and Magnus, whom I’ve only been living with along with Mahdi for less than a month, and you know this, because I told you this back in July.”

Eskild mulls it over, still glaring at Jonas and Magnus, apparently to Noora and Eva’s amusement, but whatever he finds can’t be too bad when he immediately switches over to a blinding smile and introduces himself to them properly.

Isak hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, nearly still doesn’t until it all comes rushing out of him and he suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“How d’you know Isak, then?” Jonas asks, sounding more polite than terrified, which is more than what Magnus is managing to do.

Eskild opens his mouth, ready to launch into the tale of woe of how the two of them had met, and Eskild playing the part of the hero and taking in the lost duckling wandering the streets, drunk and completely out of his mind.

It’s not like it’s something Isak’s ashamed about, and he knows Eskild would never tell anyone about the part where he’d apparently begged him not to make him go home, but Isak –

Isak’s entire life is built on lies upon lies – lie about your mom not feeling well, she’s fine, she’s just stressed, don’t tell anyone you’re gay, don’t tell anyone about Even, and on, and on, and on, and somewhere along the way, Isak’s sort of forgotten how to share any parts of himself that aren’t just on the surface.

So he cuts in right as Eskild gets out how it was a cold, dark night – which isn’t true, because it was spring, so it was at most chilly – and says, “I used to live with him in a Kollektiv, back before uni.”

Magnus’ eyes widen impossibly further. “Shit, you’d already moved out in high school?”

Isak shrugs, ignores the feeling of Eskild’s eyes on him, considering how he was technically barely in high school by the time he moved in, and ignores how incredulous the looks he’s given from the people who don’t know the story make his stomach feels like it’s turned to lead, or maybe the opposite, like it’s so light he might be sick.

Eskild saves him. Eskild always saves him, and it doesn’t make his stomach feel any less like it’s filled with lead when Isak thinks of how he has been blowing him off and ghosting him.

“And then he left me. Depraving me of my son –“

“Fuck off –“

“My only son –“

“And I didn’t leave you –“

“Herre Gud,” Noora laughs. “How dramatic were you when I left for Spain, then?”

Noora is a goddamn savior and Isak will go down fighting for her. He can’t help the wince, though, because he knows, and he’s fairly certain that Noora knows too, just how much Eskild can talk once he gets going, and nothing can get him going more than Noora literally fleeing the country.

He physically takes a step back, and whilst Magnus is still looking incredibly confused, Jonas is now looking mildly concerned, and Noora, bless the girl, is trying her best to keep face.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “If you take away the ‘s’ in Spain, what are you left with?”

Isak frowns. Judging by the put-upon look on Noora’s face, this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

“Pain,” she sighs.

“No,” Eskild sasses. “You’re left with me, in Oslo, where I’ve been abandoned.” Pauses dramatically. “And the only feeling I was able to feel when you abandoned me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Isak groans, pinching at Eskild’s side to get him to let go of him, then flays his hands around in everyone’s direction. “Kitchen’s that way, living room’s the other, do not have sex in my room, Eskild.”

“Why am I being singled out?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer, just levels Eskild with a look until Eskild nods, goes, “fair enough,” and giggles with Eva.

God, Isak wants a drink. He wants many drinks, but the thought of having more than the one beer he’s been nursing so far makes him feel a bit ill, so he heads into the living room instead of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why the thought of standing near Eskild makes him feel so anxious, why he feels angry when he sees Eskild laughing with Eva or Noora, why he can’t be at ease just like them. Guilt and shame mixes uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He plasters on a grin when four guys recognize him, cheering and waving their beers at him.

He doesn’t walk over to them. He’s fairly certain they’re in some of Jonas’ classes, but he’s not certain enough he’s willing to chance making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s slowly creeping out of his own skin, like he’s inches from falling apart. It’s exhausting. Isak’s exhausted. And the apartment’s in a tip and he can feel a headache coming on from the music, and he doesn’t know when he became this person.

Or – he does, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

This is better, Isak tries to convince himself. If it isn’t better than – than that, then it’s at least better than when he was drinking himself into oblivion any waking hour, when he was drinking so much he’d wake up still drunk and then just start drinking again. The fact that he came away without having to get his stomach pumped even once is more of a miracle than Isak thinks anyone will ever get to experience.

There’s a movie playing on the television, the same one they’ve had streaming pretty much since it was released. It’s one of Even’s. Somehow, Isak doesn’t know why, but somehow Magnus always manages to talk them all into giving him TV-rights to choose what will be playing, and it’s always one of Even’s movies.

This time it’s ‘Circles’, Even’s newest one that Isak hadn’t been strong enough to not watch it in the middle of the night about a week after you’d been able to stream it. The recommendation taunting him whenever he’d wanted to relax until he’d caved. But he’d been strong enough to not check out any of the reviews for it. Except then Magnus had ended up yelling how it’s been nominated for an award, but Isak still counts it as a personal win that he hadn’t looked it up himself. Baby steps. Just enough to fool himself into believing he’s getting better.

Maybe if he fools himself long enough he’ll actually start to believe it.

At least either the volume is too low for Isak to hear any of it, or everyone around him is too loud for Isak to hear any of it.

He finally makes his way over to the window. He wants to crack it open, but he knows that’s a bad idea. They’re bound to get a noise complaint sooner or later, opening the window would only make it much sooner.

Maybe he should open the window. He can see Jonas and Eva’s reflections in window, can hear Magnus’ laughter from another room, can see a glimpse of Mahdi chatting up some girl Isak doesn’t recognize. He scowls at all of them, feels something ugly swirl around in his stomach.

No. No, he reminds himself, presses his face against the glass pane, shivering at the cold shock it brings. They’re his friends – his best friends – and just because this year, the year that was supposed to be Isak’s year, has gotten off with a bit of a bad start doesn’t mean Isak can take it out on his best friends. It’s not their faults Isak’s such a fuck up.

Besides, it’s not like it’s too late, really. Surely if Isak just tried harder, things would go back to normal. Better than normal, even, because that had been Isak’s goal when he moved all his stuff into the room at the end of the hall, put on his blue-striped bed sheets and listened to Magnus waxing poetry about some sex dream he’d had and Jonas and Mahdi taking the piss out of him.

It’s not just the boys, though, is the thing. Isak knows he’s been shitty to Eskild too. He can hear him out in the kitchen, laughing and chanting chug, chug, chug and generally encouraging a mess Isak’s bound to be the one cleaning up later.

This is the year he’s supposed to get things right, to stop feeling so wrong all the goddamn time, and that’s not going to happen if he’s sulking in a corner the entire night.

He’s just got to get better at acting, Isak convinces himself. Squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and just breathes.

If he gets better at acting, then the boys will stop acting so awkward around him. They’ll stop walking on eggshells and they’ll stop looking at Isak like he’s a stranger in their house.

He walks away from the window, hand clutching his beer bottle. He’s shaking and his palm feels clammy from sweat. He really hopes it isn’t noticeable, any of it. Not just the shaking and the sweating.

“Isak!” A hand clamps down onto his shoulder so harshly it jostles Isak’s forwards until he nearly falls flat on his face. “Jesus, how much you had to drink?”

Isak turns to see some guy, one of Mahdi’s football friends by the looks of it, going off of the build and the muscles.

Isak tries to grin as he worms his way out from under the guy’s hand until he’s facing him. “Not nearly enough.”

The guy cheers and holds up his own cup of brown sludge that Isak doesn’t particularly want to witness him downing.

He’s lucky for once. Football-guy gets distracted when a girl accidentally puffs to him when she passes. He spends approximately fifteen seconds staring at her ass as she continues on her way, all of which Isak spends judging him.

“How you been, man?” the guy tries again. “Haven’t seen you since that party at Mikael’s.”

Something lurches through Isak’s body, cold dread that he has to fight to clamber down into nothing he’ll accidentally give away. He should open his mouth, he’s about to – should say Oh, yeah, wasn’t feeling well, and then immediately follow it up by a question that’ll give the guy talking.

Except he’s saved from having to do any of that.

“Who is Mikael?” Eskild slithers up from behind Isak. He tries his best not to jump or tense up, because it’s Eskild and there’s no reason for him to be tense. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. It’s all stupid. “And why have I not been introduced to him?”

Isak still tenses at the touch, but it’s Eskild, so Isak tries to not make it too obvious.

“Magnus’ friend,” Isak has to twist his head to the side so he’s nearly shouting directly into Eskild’s ear. “I don’t really know him.”

Present tense, because Mikael might’ve changed. He might not make the same kind of jokes or like the same action movies with far too many explosions for them to be contributing to any kind of storyline anymore. He might not like a cool glass of saft when he comes home or to lounge around outside when the weather’s nice anymore. He might not even be in contact with Even anymore and the party had just been a one-off.

“Oh. By the way, Mahdi told me to give you this and to tell you to stop leaving it around everywhere,” Eskild sounds bored as he hands over Isak’s hoodie.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat when he grabs on to it.

“Can’t believe you’ve still got it, it’s so old.” Eskild turns his attention onto the jock instead. “And who might you be, then?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard he actually misses the introduction. He tunes back in when Eskild lingers in the handshake and the guy is grinning nervously, switching between looking at Isak and looking at Eskild.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” the guy says when Eskild has buggered off somewhere else, even as he had walked away while looking over his shoulder on too many times for it to be anything other than intentional.

Fear flashes through him. Half of the sip of beer splutters out of Isak’s mouth while the other half blocks his airways until Isak is coughing and red-faced and looking incredibly unattractive.

“Eskild?” Isak grimaces. “No. No, no, no. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Shit, does that sound like he’s denying it too much, thus reversing the intention and effect of a denial?

Why would he even be asking that? Is it only because of Eskild or has Isak done something that would warrant – Shit, Isak can’t think about it now, he’s at the middle of a party in his own home, he can’t leave.

“Oh,” the guy looks taken aback, even as his eyes wander off towards the direction Eskild had disappeared in. Oh, indeed. “There’s nothing going on between –“

“He’s my old roommate,” Isak cuts in, and says with a finality that hopefully sticks, “that’s it.”

“Oh,” the guy repeats. He isn’t even looking at Isak anymore. “Do you mind then if I –“

“Go for it,” Isak slaps him on the back, steps around him and gets the hell out of dodge. Jesus, has he unintentionally become the designated matchmaker? A lot of people seemingly have a lot of faith in him for that particular job, despite Isak having zero interest in most people.

The flat is a mess already and the party has only been going for about an hour. There are empty cans and bottles on every flat surface and Isak shouldn’t, he shouldn’t start cleaning. He should be mingling and helping Magnus hook up with someone and rip into him with Mahdi and Jonas when he starts asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t be isolating himself by cleaning.

Isak sighs, deep and long-sufferingly, and grabs a clear plastic bag from the cabinet and starts collecting the cans, avoiding any he can feel liquid still swishing around in the bottom. The metal clanks against each other in a way Isak more so feels than hears over the music pounding in the entire flat. They’re going to get noise complaints, for sure. Isak has no idea how the guys had thought this would ever have been a good idea.

Except, had they asked him those weeks ago if he wanted to help host a party, Isak probably would’ve agreed to it. He would’ve been keyed up and he would’ve participated, and he would’ve been drinking properly instead of how he’s been nursing his single bottle of beer for the entire night before he’d finally given up after a few sips.

He doesn’t know how he’s come to feel like this, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to be drinking excessively, that this was the year he was going to actually try and succeed. So far it’s only felt like one failure right after the other.

He hasn’t become a better friend. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing around him because they’re too afraid when he’s going to snap and run off again. The need to run is constant, but Isak has a feeling that the snap will be happening because of something else entirely if the boys don’t cut it out.

He hasn’t become a better student – he’s barely understood half of the lectures and he’s less than impressed with the homework he’s been doing. Sana’s going to kill him if he doesn’t get his act together soon.

Failure after failure. But the not drinking part, that Isak can gain control over, or so he hopes. Maybe he doesn’t fully trust himself, hence why he hadn’t dared more than the beer.

There’s a couple making out up against the wall next to their front door that’s open and has more people spilling in. They all clap Isak’s back when they pass him, seemingly knowing him because they all shout out his name in greeting. Isak doesn’t recall meeting any of them ever, and wonders if it’s because he’s just inattentive to anyone he doesn’t think of as his friend, or if he’s actually met these people and just can’t remember them because all they’d been was a means to get drunk.

“How are things looking?” someone, Sana, yells into his ear.

Isak stumbles back, startled, but it just turns to annoyance when he sees Sana looking way too smug. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she seems to be able to predict what he’s about to say so she just rolls her eyes and interrupts him.

“With the plan.”

Isak groans. The plan. The plan he was supposed to have but most definitely doesn’t.

“I tried!” He hadn’t. “It’s just that –“

Oh god, one of Sana’s eyebrows arch up into her forehead. Shit, Isak’s in trouble.

“Last I checked,” she drawls, actually drawls, “I haven’t seen you near Magnus, and you didn’t even say hi to Vilde when she came in.”

The most amount of trouble. Sana levels a very unimpressed look at him.

And Isak doesn’t have a single excuse.

To be fair, the Eskild-thing had kind of distracted him quite a bit, but he doubts Sana has the empathy required to let him get away with such a statement, so Isak doesn’t even bother.

“Magnus is in the kitchen, go.” Sana pushes him along the way, making him stumble over the floor.

He turns around to level a glare at her, but she’s managed to disappear before he can, and then when he turns around again to head into the kitchen, he nearly runs over Vilde in the process.

“Fy faen, Vilde!” he exclaims, reaches out to grab onto her shoulders to steady her, even as he hadn’t actually touched her. “Shit. You can’t just stand behind –”

Vilde’s frowning at him. “Why does Emma Larzen think she’s welcome here?” she asks in lieu of a proper reply or greeting. “Isn’t she a first year?”

The dread isn’t a welcome feeling. It’s chilling and hot at the same time, and Isak feels clammy and disgusting as his heart picks up its speed and he glances around the room, whatever of the hallway, frantically, but trying to downplay it so Vilde doesn’t question him about it.

“Is she here?” he manages to get out.

“No. But she DM’ed me, asking for your address and said you weren’t answering your phone.”

Isak wants to groan, wants to throw his head back. Wants to kick all of these people out.

He wants to go to bed and sleep for an eternity, or maybe just go to sleep and never wake up, but that’s a bit too gloomy for his own taste, so he ignores that stray urge.

“Just –“ he tries to think of something that wouldn’t seem odd. “Just ignore her.”

That just makes Vilde frown further. “I can’t just ignore her,” she protests. “I’ve already read her message. I can’t just leave her on ‘read’.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Isak side-steps her and heads for the kitchen. Jesus, this isn’t going very well, but it’ll be easier to finagle Magnus into doing his bidding than it would be Vilde, Isak is fairly sure.

Unless Jonas is there. Or Mahdi. Then everything will be downright impossible and Isak will sue Sana.

Both Jonas and Mahdi are in the kitchen, and they’re both talking to Magnus, as if they can’t stand in group formation literally any other time during the day, because it’s not like they live together or anything. Fuck, this is going to take a lot more effort than Isak had originally imagined.

Mahdi is the one who spots him first. He looks annoyed, but not at Isak at least.

It’s not helpful enough to not make Isak feel horribly out of place, though.

He shuffles closer at Mahdi’s beckon just in time to hear Magnus blurt out some nonsense that doesn’t make sense out of context, something about word just spreading.

“It’s a lot more people than we’d agreed on,” Mahdi fills him in once he’s close enough. He looks at Isak like he expects him to back him up, which – alright Isak isn’t thrilled either, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled with half the people who’ve shown up either. He wonders when that happened; when did he become the grumpy friend who just wants to stay in and be alone? And why can’t he shake himself out of that funk?

Jonas is frowning, eyebrows curling and filling most of his forehead. “Alright, so it’s a couple more people than anticipated, but – why are you so mad? You’re usually pretty chill about everything –” and shuts up at whatever face Mahdi makes at him. Isak elects to ignore it, though, as he’s fairly certain Mahdi was gesturing to him.

Jonas does have a point, though, but Mahdi is also the first one to give any of them shit for messing up. Isak is definitely willing to count the group of girls giggling about a spilled vodka bottle a mess-up.

“What happens if we get a noise complaint, huh? If our landlord sees this mess, we’re fucked. We’re never getting that deposit back.”

Magnus snorts. “We weren’t getting that back anyway – remember the incident when we moved in?”

“We agreed not to mention that ever again,” Mahdi glares at him.

“Hey, I covered that up fantastically, thank you very much. We could’ve at least fooled him into giving the money back,” Isak protests, magnanimously ignoring Jonas snorting about handyman Isak, which had been a nickname Isak had worked extremely hard to get rid of. “Why don’t we – let’s just start cleaning, alright?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to sound so tired. Jonas is giving him ‘the eyes’ again and Magnus is looking at him oddly for no going bigger on the ‘I told you so’ he’s never been shy at shoving in their faces. God, how did Isak manage to fuck up twice in one sentence?

“Isak –“ Jonas starts, but Isak doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t want for him to.

“I’ll start getting rid of the cans. Just –“ he turns to Mahdi, “relax, alright? We’ll fix it,” and then hurries to get out of there before one of them can grab a hold of him.

It’s surprisingly easy enough to ignore the feeling of his heart being wrenched out of chest and the insurmountable panic and worries looming over his head when the music really is so damn loud and there are so many people within the enclosed space. Isak has to push over a couple making out in front of the built-in closet where they keep the cleaning supplies and the clear bin bags, and the soundtrack of lips smacking together disgustingly shouldn’t overpower the sound of the stereo, but somehow it does.

They shuffle over willingly enough, at least, probably barely noticing they’re being moved if Isak’s being honest with himself.

And whilst he’s being honest with himself, Isak knows Mahdi’s issue isn’t the party or how many people have shown up or how much a pigsty their flat is currently in, or whether or not they’ll get back that stupid deposit that wasn’t that much in the first place. No, Mahdi never would’ve even noticed all those things if it had been any other evening before the party at Mikael’s, before Isak started acting weird, because Mahdi would’ve been in the bathroom or his own room smoking from his stash and making friends and probably figuring out which girl he’d want to kiss at the end of the night.

What Mahdi’s issue is, is Isak. And Isak hates that feeling clawing at his chest at the thought. Hates that he knows that’s what this is about, that the boys can’t even be subtle enough to hide it.

It’s not even the fact that the only reason Isak isn’t being interrogated by them is because of how much he apparently scared them with his disappearing act that’s bothering Isak. Or that they’ve supposedly been so focused on Isak and whatever the hell his problem is that they’re walking on eggshells around him, yet he was still so forgettable they didn’t even mention they were throwing a party that he not only was to attend but also invite people to join. It’s not the guilty, pitying glances they keep throwing him, and the halfhearted explanations and apologies that won’t stop no matter how many times Isak insists, “it’s fine, just an honest mistake, don’t worry about it, we’re good, I’m fine.” It’s not that he’s entirely unable to sleep anymore, just tossing and turning in his bed instead until he slips into a fitful slumber in the wee hours of the morning until his alarm wakes him up.

Or maybe it’s all of those things. Because what’s bothering Isak is how he can’t get this to quiet down.

Not the party. Parties are always loud, and this one is no exception. He doesn’t need people around him to stop talking, because lord knows the guys are already filtering out most of their sentences and conversation just to not accidentally say the wrong thing. It’s inside his head he can’t get things to shut the hell up.

He rips two bags off before figuring he probably won’t keep at it for long enough to fill them up, and then stuffs everything back in the closet. There’re already plenty cans and bottles lining every single flat surface, so it’s easy enough to pick up two empty cans and make his way back into the kitchen to make sure they’re fully drained.

Mahdi isn’t there when he gets back. Both Jonas and Magnus are still there, but Magnus is talking to someone Isak doesn’t know, and Jonas has Eva pressed up against the wall. Isak has a foreign twinge to go over there and so something stupid like, right in front of my salad?, because that’s something he would’ve done – has done, back when they were moving in and Eva was helping out, because who’d know how the place would’ve ended up looking like if they didn’t make a system from the get-go.

But then the other feeling is back, the one he can’t seem to shake. The one that makes him walk over to the sink instead, turn his back on both Magnus and Jonas, and just stare as a couple drops of beer spills into the sink and he can dunk the bottles into one of the bin bags.

There are enough empty, used, and opened bottles and cans on the kitchen counter as well, so Isak systematically goes through each; drains them, dunks them, repeat. He can hear people talking around him, laughing, cheering, and it feels oddly isolating not to be doing the same.

“Hey,” he hears, his heart jumps into his throat and he whirls around only to see Noora.

She’s nursing a glass of water, Isak fairly sure because he doesn’t think she drinks. There’s a tiny smudge of red on the rim of the glass from her lipstick, but it isn’t noticeable on her lips. She’s smiling at him, small and friendly.

“Hei,” he greets back, maybe straining too much to sound happy for it to come off as authentic, but Noora is nice enough to not let her judging show or to react to it at all. “Everything alright?”

She nods, takes another sip of water. Isak’s hands itch to do something, but he thinks it’s too rude to turn his back on her to continue what he was doing, so he can’t do anything but let the twitchy anxiety settle over him.

“Du vet, with all the times I had Eskild moaning how you never did any housework, I never expected to see you get started on cleaning with the party still going on.”

Isak laughs, ends a little too short and stilted. He feels weird talking about Eskild, guilty at not having spoken to Eskild for so long. He’s gotten so used to no one knowing anything about his life previous to university – besides just very general things. It had been easy to play along when the boys had been moaning about how simultaneously hard and freeing it was to finally have moved out of their parents’ home instead of having to admit Isak hadn’t living his parents for years at that point. Having someone know that, having them know about Eskild, and having Noora who’s lived with Eskild too and knows exactly his quirks and personality traits and how much of a saint he can be but also how goddamn annoying leaves Isak feeling on edge around them.

“Nei,” he looks down at his feet so he won’t have to look at Noora. “Mahdi was freaking out about the mess, though, so I figured I’d just get a head-start, you know?”

She doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be able to see the counter,” he tries, then actually looks at the counter and wrinkles his nose. “Or maybe not. God, I swear it’s not usually this gross.” He chances a touch and instantly pulls back much to Noora’s amusement. “Christ, that’s sticky. Alright, don’t touch that.”

“You can’t still be grossed out a sticky stuff after having lived with Eskild, can you?” she laughs. “God knows what the state of his bedding was like when I wasn’t cleaning it for him while you lived there.”

Isak blinks. Why would she – why would Isak know what the state of Eskild’s bedding was like? Why would she think he was in Eskild’s room, on Eskild’s bed? Was she –

“Hallo!”

Isak jumps, startled out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into that only would’ve ended with him pathetically defending his straightness and possibly yelling at Noora, to look at Sana pissed face. Fuck, Isak does not need any more problems.

She arches an eyebrow at him, like that will do anything. Isak tries arching one back, but he thinks he just ends up raising both of them.

She scoffs at him, which – still isn’t helpful – and then levels her best glare at him. Isak does a body wiggle he knows to be equally unhelpful, and he only relishes a little bit in how Sana manages to look even more annoyed with him at that.

In the end, she only needs to say two words. “The plan.”

Fuck.

Isak is so done.

He levels his own glare at her, sneers a “Fine,” that at least sounds more sassy than angry, and worms his way through Noora and Sana with the two bin bags only partially filled.

He’d just seen Magnus, he could definitely get him to follow him around until they end up bumping into Vilde, who better not have already found someone to make out with or Isak will actually leave.

It’s by total accident and perfect surprise when he turns around to get to Magnus and accidentally bumps into Vilde for the second time that night.

“Ah, Vilde, perfect!” Isak hands over the two bags filled with empty bottles. “Do you mind taking these down to the first room on the left? I’ve kind of got my hands full here,” he shrugs, all apologetically and the worst part is that it works brilliantly.

Vilde is wide-eyed, as she always is when someone starts speaking to her, and she clearly isn’t fully prepared when Isak transfers the handles over to her hands – her phone is in one of her hands like Emma is still trying to get a hold of the party info – but all it takes is a gentle puff and she’s on her way down the hallway.

Isak counts to five until he snags a hand around Magnus’ elbow, drawing him out of whatever conversation he’d been having.

“Shit, Mags, there were some weird chirping noises coming from your room. Did you leave your window open again?”

Magnus groans and shoves his half-filled beer bottle at Isak, who barely manages to catch it without spilling it all over himself. “If there’s a freaking dove inside my room again, we are moving, I don’t even care –“

And off he goes. Isak should put this on his resume – professional cupid, as long as it doesn’t concern his own relationships where he will flop epically.

Yeah, maybe not. Except for how Sana looks begrudgingly impressed with Isak’s ingenuity. That’s a novel look on her.

“You know,” Noora clinks her soda can against Isak’s newly acquired beer. “You shouldn’t refer to girls as birds.”

Isak snorts. “I’m just introducing them to a different version of the ‘cat and mouse’-game. Cat-and-bird, in this case, I think.”

Noora groans. “Oh god, no more cat-talk, please.”

“I don’t know,” Isak raises the beer to his lips, ignoring the voice in his head screaming about germs and the other quieter one, telling him he’d agreed to stop. “Maybe this is the push they needed to get the cat out of the bag.”

Noora rolls her head back. “Det var kattens.”

“Are you two seriously just making cat-puns over there?”

OOOOO

It’s just gone past half two in the morning when enough people have fizzled out of the apartment that Isak doesn’t feel guilty for sinking down on the couch with a heavy sigh. There’s a boy and girl making out in an armchair in the corner of the living room, too wrapped up in each other to notice how few people are left. Maybe Isak should get up and tell them to head out, before the state of that armchair will be questionable at best and ready to throw out at worst, but Jonas is closer and has spotted them already.

Besides, Isak’s exhausted, physically and mentally. He’s just – done.

He blinks tiredly as Jonas gets the couple’s attention and nods towards the door. The girl giggles, fixes her clothes as she gets off the guy’s lap and stands up. Thankfully neither of them get mad for the interruption – Jonas looks tired, too, but happy tired. A I’ve-spent-the-entire-evening-having-fun kind of tired. A tired completely opposite to Isak’s kind of tired.

There are bottles and cans lined up on the coffee table that Isak knows he should probably clean now before they have permanent stains on the surface. Eva will fuss over those every time she comes over, but it’s too hard work trying to get his limbs to cooperate, let alone actually get up and do something, so Isak just remains there, sitting and staring and thinking of all the things he should be doing instead of this.

Eva’s half-asleep on the other couch, leaning against Vilde who keeps sneaking glances over at Magnus incredibly non-subtly – well, then again, everything is relative, and she certainly is more subtle than Magnus’ blatant staring – as she talks to Noora about something.

It’s startling a bit, the contrast of how quiet it’s gone. They still have some music on in the background, but it’s a lot quieter than what had been playing earlier, and someone’s changed it from the party-playlist to the one with miscellaneous calmer songs they’d jokingly put together to play whenever one of them are in a bad mood. It’s been mysteriously absent considering just how much Isak’s been messing things up the last little while.

Eskild slumps down next to him, or, more so fully on him. He’s warm and sweaty and Isak is at least a little bit grossed out, but then he remembers that the first time he met Eskild, he’d vomited on his shoes. Suddenly, warm and sweaty doesn’t seem as bad, even if there is a threat of other bodily fluids still being on him.

“How was the big jock, then?” Isak teases. Eskild smiles up at him dopily, all dazed and blessed out, and maybe Isak would worry if he didn’t know what that particular face means.

“Klaus,” Eskild corrects, making Isak rolls his eyes, “was great, thank you very much.”

“You done enough hooking up for the night?”

Eskild sighs, very put-upon in the exact way he always does when he’s about to sprout off some older ‘wisdom’ at Isak. “This is a university party, Isak, not some little high school gathering you might be used to.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt Eskild to remind him this is his second year at university.

“I don’t waste my time on menial hook ups.”

“What have you been doing for the last hour, then?” Isak questions before he can consider the consequences. “Discussing refugee crises?”

“Very funny,” Eskild dead-pans. “And don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Unless you’re prepared to know exactly the places my mouth and his mouth have been –“

Isak lets out an unintelligible string of noises to cut off Eskild. “You just said you didn’t kiss him!”

“’Kissing’,” Eskild uses two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks. “You never mentioned anything about sex.”

Isak groans, rolls his head back onto the couch while Eskild cackles as he sits up properly next to him. “Please tell me you at least didn’t do it in my room.”

Eskild shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Like it would’ve been the first time.”

Isak definitely does not squeak. He yells out indignantly.

“It was the room with all the fit lads plastered onto the walls,” Eskild takes a sip of his beer. “Can’t have been your room, then, your straightness would’ve felt attacked by the mere presence of someone cuter than you near your bed.”

Isak rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t comment on it. Mahdi’s room then, if Isak guesses correctly based on the various FIFA paraphernalia Mahdi has collected over the years. He should remember to remind Mahdi to wash the sheets before he falls asleep there.

Maybe not right now, though, he thinks as Mahdi falls down onto one of their beanbags, laughing back over his shoulder at something Magnus has said.

It doesn’t matter that Eskild is technically as ‘out’ as one can be, the thought of gossiping about what Eskild, a boy, has done with another boy is enough to get Isak’s heart pounding a beat too fast.

He hurries to look away from both Mahdi and Eskild, turns his head to the left instead and looks as Jonas wrinkles his nose at the armchair that had nearly been used by strangers. Isak makes a mental note not to get close to the chair for the next while unless he be the one getting stuck with cleaning it.

Jonas sandwiches himself down on the other couch between the armrest and Eva, who immediately leans up against him, grinning widely. Magnus drags a chair over, Chris claims the other beanbag, and Sana settles on the opposite armrest to Jonas’, the one next to Noora, who immediately wraps her arm around Sana’s middle to keep her from falling off.

It’s unnerving how seamlessly it all plays out, like this isn’t the first time they’ve all been together at the same place, with all of them aware of the others’ presences, at least.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Mahdi groans, ”that out of all of us, only one got lucky tonight?”

Isak immediately notices how both Magnus and Vilde flush a brilliantly matching red and refuse to look at each other, but he thinks he might be the only one with how Eskild’s cackle and Jonas’ immediate complains steal everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got Eva which means you’re perpetually happy,” Mahdi waves off Jonas without listening to anything he’s said, and holds his fist out for Eskild to bump.

“I think this might be the straightest thing I’ve done all night.”

Isak snorts. “That doesn’t say a lot,” and tries to smother his laugh at Eskild’s affronted look.

“Noora,” he immediately whines when Isak refuses to give him any sympathy. “Come sit with me instead of this grumpy boy,” batting his eyelashes for extra effect, as if that’ll be enough.

Noora coos at Eskild from the other couch, but doesn’t move. She does, however, diplomatically add, “I’m quite sure dissing is reserved for those who haven’t gotten laid.”

Isak grumbles unintelligibly as Eskild gleefully grabs onto his shoulder and shakes him around. It’s mostly groaning noises coming out of Isak’s mouth, but it doesn’t really matter with how loud the rest of them are being.

“C’mon, baby grump,” Eskild needles him, still managing to poke him more often than not despite Isak’s best attempts. “Gimmie the gossip, the 411.”

He’s waggling his eyebrows dramatically until Isak rolls his eyes and pushes his face away.

“Oh, come on! It’s the least you can do after practically dropping off the face of the planet for the last forever!”

Isak’s stomach churns with guilt, and it’s so familiar – especially over the last little while – but also so dizzily overwhelming Isak nearly throws caution to the win and just chugs down the remaining half of the vodka bottle from earlier that he knows is still in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He remains sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

“It hasn’t been that long,” he tries instead, even though it has. He makes half-assed attempts of excuses, because he’s apparently both a shitty person and a shitty friend. And he sees how Eskild just knows it’s all bullshit, but because he’s Eskild he doesn’t comment on it and just lets Isak get away with it, probably realizing that confronting him right now would amount to nothing seeing as Isak is a mess barely holding on by a thread.

Mahdi and Magnus are suddenly worryingly quiet compared to the girls and Eskild, and Isak knows, okay, he fucking knows what they’re thinking about, what the real ‘411’ is. How a world-famous, award-winning-and-nominated movie director apparently knows Isak, and how Isak would literally rather run away than deal with it, scaring his friends into keeping quiet even as they can tell something is really, really wrong.

That gossip. Shit, Isak feels sick. He always does nowadays, and he’s sick of feeling sick.

He can’t tell if Jonas thinks he’s being sly or not, the way he looks at Mahdi and Magnus as if reminding them to keep quiet, Isak can only tell that he really fucking isn’t being smooth or covert about it at all, but pointing it out also means pointing everything else out, so Isak stays quiet. As always.

“You can go into his room and stare at his four non-decorated walls, and then you can walk to campus from classroom to classroom and go visit the library,” Jonas lists on his fingers. “That’s the extent of Isak’s 411.”

Eskild blinks comically.

“That’s it?” he blurts out, much to Sana’s amusement. Isak levels a glare in her direction that she not so smoothly pretends not to have seen. “Seriøst?” and levels a majorly unimpressed look at Isak. “Seriøst?” he repeats.

“What?” Isak knocks his arms out. “What did you expect me to do? Go frolicking at a uni club? Hook up in a storage closet? Chug my body weight in shots at the student union?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

Isak wrinkles his nose. “’Seriøst?’” he mocks.

“Seriøst!” Eskild doesn’t even comment on the sass. “Where are all the stories? The juice? The mind-blowing sex parties and crazy exes?”

Mahdi snorts and his face is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense. “Pretty sure Isak is the most drama-free out of all of us.”

Isak almost wants to laugh at that – if it didn’t seem more tempting to fall down a hole and stay there for eternity – or at the very least at Eskild’s very comically disbelieving face.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, pointing at him. “This Isak? This very specimen of an Isak? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Isak?”

“You forgot about the coffee shop he insists on visiting before a study session so he’s late for every single one of them,” Sana deadpans, her façade only cracking when Isak flips her off.

“Coffee dates, at least?” Eskild asks him hopelessly, slumping back on the couch way too dramatically when Isak shakes his head. “So you don’t go out – does that mean there’s just a slew of people coming in and out of this place?”

“Hey!” Isak objects, vaguely affronted at the insinuation, smacking Eskild’s arm. “And just how many times did I have to walk in on you doing it because you couldn’t move from the living room to your bedroom?”

Eskild doesn’t even have the gall to flush – life is unfair. Both Noora and Eva are cackling and pointing at each other whilst wheezing out half words, but it’s enough for Isak to conclude Eskild probably hasn’t stopped that habit after Isak moved out.

This is good, though. Moving the topic away from Isak’s antics when everything in his head is screaming at him, too close, too close, they’ll find out, they’ll just know.

“You never bring anyone back!” Magnus calls out and why did he think now was a good time to rejoin the conversation – and with that remark?

Eskild gapes over at him. “Isak isn’t scoring anyone?”

Magnus frowns. “I mean – I guess he isn’t. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That can’t be, though,” Chris interrupts. “I’m in an entirely different program, but even I hear girls talking about him.”

“Uh, hallo, I’m sitting right here,” Isak reminds them, thankfully sounding more sassy than terrified. Fuck, his throat feels tight.

“Lots of talk,” Noora agrees, holding the rim of her glass against her red lips. “It’s got to be the curls.”

“Must be,” Eskild frowns as he looks Isak over. “That grumpy frown is an instant mood-killer, after all.”

“Not to mention the ugliness,” Mahdi agrees, grinning when Isak gapes over at him in faux betrayal. He doesn’t know how he manages to play it off so well – his heart is pounding and he’s scared Eskild’s sitting close enough to hear it.

“It’s your fault Emma Larzen has been blowing my phone up all night,” Vilde adds, and Magnus – still not able to look at her – snaps his fingers in her direction.

“He even had one served on a silver platter,” Magnus holds his hand out flat like he’s a waiter presenting said platter. “Ready for the picking, and he turns her down.”

A flush rises to Isak’s cheeks as he tries to groan indignantly. “I told you! I’m getting all these psycho-vibes from her, I don’t –“

“He doesn’t have to get with her, if he doesn’t want to,” Jonas points out, but it sounds half-hearted and falls flat even to Isak’s ears, which, admittedly, are mostly filled with the thrum of his pulse and his blood rushing.

Mahdi looks at Jonas like he’s stupid for even thinking that, and Isak doesn’t dare look at any of the girls, just in case he’s secretly breaking unspoken guy-rules only girls know about, and by breaking them they can tell something is up.

“Is he still sneaking out all the time?” Eskild asks, as if it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear Isak’s life is excruciatingly boring, meticulously so, because the last time Isak let his life not be boring things ended up really fucking shitty.

Isak steadfastly ignores how Jonas is looking over at him. He grabs one of the bottles on the table instead and starts scratching at the paper already peeling by itself from the damp caused by the condensation.

It’s stupid, because it feels like the only reason why is because Jonas knows, that he’s managed to figure it out and he knows, but that isn’t logical. It’s Isak’s fear playing tricks on him, but knowing that doesn’t lessen the actual fear one bit.

“Thought you were being all smooth, did you?” Eskild laughs, kicks lazily at Isak’s leg with his knee. “Thought we didn’t hear you coming and going and locking yourself in your room for a, seriously, insane amount of hours.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” Isak grouses, feels Jonas’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. He tries to scratch at a spot that sticks stubbornly to the bottle, but all it amounts to is a wet lump of paper falling off next to the spot Isak had been focused on.

Now he also doesn’t dare look at Eskild. He doesn’t want to see if he’s pretending to be or if he’s genuinely hurt from Isak constantly being an asshole to him about being overprotective, when Isak knows exactly why Eskild has always treated him a little gentler than he would anyone else.

“This is great!” Magnus laughs, nearly toppling off the chair when he throws himself backwards too hard. Mahdi catches his leg at the last second and hauls him back upright – Magnus doesn’t even look the slightest perturbed at possibly having avoided breaking his neck, and yet Isak is over here, physically safe but feeling like he’s one look away from a full-blown panic attack.

There’s only so much mean comments and eye-rolls can cover up, and going off of how consciously Isak can feel Jonas looking at him, Isak guesses he’s at the end of the rope.

Somehow, for some reason, his brain interprets that as if it means that’ll be the end of the traumatic, off-handed comments that can be spewed off about him for the rest of the night.

Maybe that’s why what comes out of Eskild’s mouth next leaves Isak so stunned – or maybe it’s just the revelation itself.

“I swear to God,” Eskild nearly spills his beer with how far he leans forward, “I’m pretty sure he was never alone in his room, like, ever.”

Suddenly all the noises that had built up fall away – in his head. Around him, there’s laughter and a wolf-whistle, and Isak hardly hears anything.

His heart is pounding.

He’d always known Eskild knew he had someone over, mostly because that was the only times Eskild would ever knock on his door instead of just plainly burst in, but he never stopped to think about how much does Eskild know?

Could he hear that the voice inside his room was deep, clearly male? He’d been careful never to leave Even’s jacket or shoes out in the hallway, but had he slipped up? It only would’ve taken once and everyone would’ve noticed. Or had he noticed how articles of Isak’s clothing kept disappearing, and then new yet clearly worn ones would pop up in their place?

“I didn’t –“ he licks his lips. “I wasn’t –“

All the sounds rush back. The others’ laughter is so loud, it feels like drums, like the noise is closing in around Isak and he’ll have to tear his way out of there.

Surprisingly, Noora is the one who helps him. “Like you’re one to talk, Eskild!” she laughs, plops herself down between Eskild and Isak and slings her arm around Eskild. “Or do I need to remind you of that one time where I –“

“Okay,” Eskild sasses. “You’ve made your point.”

She removes her arm from around him and holds them both up, palm flat in front of her chest instead. “I’m just saying – who has ‘The Lion King’ on their sex playlist?”

Jonas guffaws and there’s a round of sniggering, but Chris is leaning forward in her chair.

“Depends,” she points at them. “Which song was it? Personally, I’m quite partial to ‘Be prepared’ on my sex playlist.”

“Oh my god,” Eva wheezes, holding a hand over her face.

“What?” Chris knocks her arms out. “Way more appropriate than ‘I Just Can’t Wait to Be King’ or ‘Hakuna Matata’.”

“’Can You Feel the Love Tonight’,” Mahdi calls out. “How did you miss ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’?”

“Shit!” Chris swears and goes to knock the palm of her hand on her forehead, except she’s still holding her bottle of beer.

They’re all giggling messes when Chris has spilt beer into her hair and onto their beanbag, and the girls are trying to help her, but they’re all laughing too hard and Chris keeps moving because she’s laughing too hard.

And Isak finally feels his lungs expand so he can get in a lungful of air. His heart is still racing her he breathes it out heavily through his mouth, but it doesn’t matter.

He got to breathe.

The next morning, or more like afternoon, Isak wakes up, cramped up on the couch with Magnus’ feet shoved in his face. Mahdi is folded up on the beanbags and Jonas is simply passed out on the carpet they really need to vacuum before the day is over.

Past

For ages, Isak’s teachers had been screaming about how big a change it would be to start high school, and now that Isak’s a first year it’s incredibly underwhelming.

Maybe it’s because there just… isn’t a whole lot different. It’s still just a school; he has classes and homework, but at least now he gets to take more science classes and gets to look at new people – or at least people other than Elias, who, if word on the street is correct, has become a bit of a dealer, so good riddance.

Or maybe it’s because something that’s supposed to be scary just doesn’t compare to all the actual scary things that have already happened in Isak’s life – including the things that aren’t supposed to be scary but are so fucking terrifying anyway.

Having to move out of his childhood home after his dad left and his mom got too ill and freaked out, meeting Even and daring to be with him, even if it’s just behind closed doors, and working so hard to keep the existence of the two of them secret from everyone. Changing tram stop really doesn’t compare.

Out of all of that, it’s probably the secret that weighs the heaviest on Isak’s shoulders and in his heart.

It’s not that he wants anyone to know. That’s not it. There are times where he looks at Eskild, and he knows it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if Isak were to tell him, “Hey, I have a boyfriend,” yet the thought of opening his mouth and letting the words out make him feel ill in the worst way possible, mainly disgusted with himself.

Having people know something like that about him? Absolutely not, no thanks.

It’s not about Even, either, it’s about Isak. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Even, anyone who’s ever met him and hasn’t fallen head over heels in love with him doesn’t have their head screwed on right, according to Isak.

He’s not even sure about what it is he’s so scared of. All of it, maybe. Definitely. The thought of the looks following him around wherever he goes, hearing people talk about him, about it, behind his back, knowing that everyone knows. Being called names, even if he should be used to it at this point, what with how much he’s been called homse for ages by now, but it still makes his pulse spike. Having people determine what he’s like before they’ve even met him, just because he’s the gay guy when in reality he’s just Isak – an Isak who met his Even and got to fall in love with him. The thought of being reduced to nothing but his sexuality is enough to make any stray, however brief, thought of just saying it out loud disappear faster than sunshine in Bergen.

Isak doesn’t exactly know what Even’s reasons are for not wanting to say it either. Probably a bit of the same, he reasons, when he takes the time to observe Even as he’s thinking about it.

Maybe there’s something else, too, but something Isak can’t quite put his finger on. The way he moves, how he talks sometimes. The way he looks at Isak, like he’s simultaneously in love and scared in the same way as Isak but also differently. The way Isak has out of the corner of his eye caught him looking when Isak has to leave for a little bit to avoid Eskild knocking to check in – like he’s both bracing himself for the sight of Isak leaving and is resigned to it. Isak doesn’t know what that means, but he hates that that is how Even always looks whenever Isak walks away, like he’s expecting it.

The actual ‘keeping it a secret’ part is different for the two of them, as well. In some ways, Isak grumbles that Even has it easier, but in others Isak can admit that he’s the one with the advantage.

Keeping a secret is easy when there’s no one else but you, when you’re all alone. Even has parents; parents that he still lives with, and Isak doesn’t. Parents, who ask him where he’s going, where he’s been, and for how long he’ll be gone when he leaves next.

Even has friends he has to keep up appearances with. The only people Isak comes into regular contact with that he doesn’t mind are Eskild and Linn, and it’s rather easy to just walk out of his room and into the kitchen or into the living room and talk to them or watch a movie so that they don’t constantly question what he’s doing.

Although, Isak can and does argue, Eskild, whilst nothing close to being Isak’s parent, can certainly be as overbearing as one, coming to knock on Isak’s door to check if he’s still alive, which always serves to send a stab of fear through his heart when Even is in his room with him.

Even has his bus. Though most of the people there are his original friend-group, so Isak doesn’t think that should count fairly high. Still, there are people there that Even chooses to socialize with beyond his immediate squad, and Isak… doesn’t do that. Doesn’t dare to. The more people he keeps close, the more time he has to spend lying, and Isak is just too high-strung and exhausted at the mere idea.

Even’s got a job. That bit is still fairly new – just a few months ago when one his many media teachers mentioned an old friend of a friend in the Norwegian film industry had been looking for an assistant, and if that was something Even was interested in.

Needless to say, it definitely was, so now Even’s the assistant to an assistant to an assistant to so many links of assistants Isak can’t wrap his head around it to an actual film director. And Even gets to be on an actual set – in the very background, but on the set – and witness his dream career in the works. Isak loves seeing Even like that when he finishes a shift and heads straight for Isak’s room, still reeling off of excitement and complete giddiness and full of stories.

Seeing Even excited, though, doesn’t quite make up for the unpleasant jealousy inside him that flares up when Even suddenly doesn’t have as much time for Isak during the day. It’s an ugly possessiveness he’s struggling with when he already has to spend all of his time with Even in hiding. It’s childish and stupid and Isak actually hates himself for it, which is why he makes such a big deal out of never letting Even know.

It doesn’t really matter, in the long run, Isak can admit to himself when he forces himself to think rationally about it. Because technically, Even can stay overtime at work, he’s allowed to, but he always comes back to Isak on the dot instead. He chooses Isak, and that’s enough to reel the disgusting green monster back from tearing apart everything that Isak loves.

Even chooses him.

He goes to the Kollektiv, even as it’s a twenty minute longer journey from his workplace than if he’d just gone home. He tells Isak as the first person all about his day, and he shares his dreams of when he doesn’t have to observe the work from the back wall but be right in the middle of it all.

He never hesitates to lean down and kiss Isak when Isak tilts his head back, lips pursed just the slightest if he wants Even to move even quicker than usual, and he never waits for Isak to prompt him before he just has to lean down and kiss him, even if he’s technically in the middle of talking.

It’s easy, Isak observes, his arms folded underneath his chin as he rests on his stomach, and Even sits at his desk supposed to be finishing up some homework but just too distracted to actually be productive. It’s easy to be content and excited and happy and ecstatic all in one when they’re like this.

Isak’s lying on his bed, wearing boxers and Even’s hoodie and Even’s seemingly can’t stop taking his eyes off of him.

It’s one of Even’s favorites, the hoodie, Isak knows, because he’d spent ages painting the drawstrings multiple colors that he’ll tell everyone who sees it they’re just the colors he had when Isak knows it’s the colors of the rainbow and the pink, yellow and blue for a reason.

The tiny i-s he’d written on the backside of the left one maybe should’ve brought Isak into a state of panic, because that’s just too close, too big of a hint, but it doesn’t. And every time he can get away with it, Isak steals this particular hoodie, because it’s soft and too big and it smells like Even.

It’s an added bonus that Even loves seeing him in it, loves seeing him wearing only that, and Isak can’t resist giving him coy smiles whenever he catches Even looking.

I want to marry him keeps repeating in Isak’s head. He can’t stop smiling. I want to marry him.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen the way it does.

It’s summer. The weather is so hot it leaves all the rooms in the Kollektiv feeling stifling and clammy until its residents-plus-one can’t stand to wear much more than shorts and the thinnest t-shirt in their closets.

It seems like the sun takes forever to set these days, and Isak both mourns the relieving chill of winter and relishes in golden colors and red spots dancing across his eyelids as he basks in the sunlight, sitting propped up against the foot of his bed.

Eskild’s gone out for the night to some southern European-inspired party to celebrate the unusually hot weather, and he’s dragged Linn with him to make sure she actually gets some vitamin D when she insists on sitting cooped up in her room all day.

Isak had, naturally, high-fived her when she pointed out that most people got plenty of vitamin D in the bedroom, and then Linn, after all of Eskild’s scowling, had gone with him without complaint.

Even’s working late this evening, staying overtime at the studio for the experience more than the money. Isak had texted him half an hour ago that the coast was clear whenever he does make his way over.

Even had texted back a heart ten minutes later but no possible timeframe on when that might just be, so Isak’s resigned himself to sitting back and melting into a puddle on the floor for Even to find.

He’s not sure he likes the silence.

It’s rare to find himself home alone in the Kollektiv – Eskild usually zooms his way through as he does with everything else in his life, but Linn is pretty much a constant presence in the small home they’ve made for themselves.

And if his flatmates aren’t home, Even is usually there with him, and time with Even has never made Isak feel alone in the way keeping secrets from your friends will do to you.

He feels… isolated, maybe, is the closest word to the tightening of his chest. Whether it’s isolation from the world or from himself, Isak can’t tell.

What he can tell, however, is that there is only one person in the world who makes Isak’s chest tighten in an entirely different way, in the best way.

It’s the third project Even’s been hired on to help with. This time around it’s a drama following around five different people’s stories; the only thing connecting them is the feeling of loss settling so deeply inside their bones they can’t escape from it.

Isak had joked Even’s eyes had practically lit up at the depressing nature of the theme, and then he’d spent the better of an hour kissing Even’s pout away and telling him over and over again how proud he was of him, how proud he was that Even was working towards something that makes him happy, until Even had been pink-cheeked and lips slackened and wet, and he’d been kissing Isak just to get him to stop talking.

Even when Isak’s sitting here now, in an empty home and waiting, in a room bathed in gold and with the door open in a silent invitation for the one person who’s invited in, even when he’s feeling the most alone he doesn’t feel lonely.

The Kollektiv feels like it’s waiting with baited breath for Even to arrive, and Isak’s right there along with it. The sun is moving further and further down the sky, but it’s still shining just as brightly as ever. And even with the proof of the day slowly coming to an end, with the actual embodiment shining right in Isak’s face that Even is later and later, he still only feels the need to laugh in complete giddiness and relief that he won’t ever have to feel that crippling loneliness ever again.

Waiting for Even for mere hours feels like nothing, doesn’t feel like the slightest sacrifice compared to what Even gives him back just by being there.

Isak is in fucking love, and even now, with so much time having passed since he first met Even, he still feels like he’s either about to burst with it or implode from working so hard to keep it all bottled up.

He never wants to give this feeling up. Never, ever, ever. Can’t even imagine the day he’ll have to. He hopes it never comes.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he’s being both young and stupid – he’s barely turned seventeen, Even’s his first boyfriend. Isak knows the clichés, knows he’s the exact personification of the naïve child thinking they’re all grown up now, but he doesn’t feel young or stupid. He feels like he’s in love.

He tips his head back, the duvet warm underneath his head, but his body is slumped too languidly for him to actually move or do something about it. It’s soft, at least, and Isak lets the remaining bit of the day’s sunlight warm his face.

The door slams shut. Isak hums happily when he hears Even call out his name, still not moving from his spot, but he tilts his chin a bit more pointedly when he feels Even’s presence in the doorway.

Even laughs, practically bounds over to him and leans down to kiss him.

“Halla,” Even grins between kisses, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the line of Isak’s jaw.

Isak reaches up to tug Even’s mouth back to his and ends up mumbling his own greeting into Even’s mouth. It mostly ends up as nothing more than a hum, and then Even hums back, so Isak hums again.

Even’s warm. Isak can feel it radiating off of him, like he’s the actual sun and he’s the reason why Isak’s being bathed in gold and feels so loose and happy. He smells of his cologne and a hint of sweat from a long day working in this heat.

Isak tightens the grip he has on Even, kisses him harder at the happy little noise Even makes. He never wants to let go.

They do part, though, after a little while. Even starts telling him about his day, about how far they’ve gotten and how he got to chat with the director for a couple of minutes before the guy had been whisked away to deal with an issue.

He’s sitting by Isak’s desk, had gone there when Isak had moved his stiff limbs up onto the bed. His laptop is open and his body is angled weirdly so he can look at both Isak and the screen, but mostly just ends up facing the window. He’s finished regaling Isak with stories from his day, sitting there in silence for now as he tries to find something he’d been working on and had wanted to show Isak.

The sun isn’t quite setting yet, the summer days too long for it to be that late yet, but it’s started its descent and Isak knows the light will soon fade behind the tops of the opposite buildings.

Right now, though, the sun hits Even beautifully. Had it been anyone else, Isak would’ve felt weird for staring so much. It being Even, though, he can’t tear his eyes away.

He looks good, Isak notes the way you always do when realizing something you already know about someone you see every day yet are suddenly reminded of. He looks ethereal. He looks like the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Isak.

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen.

He’s just so fucking happy, so fucking in love, and he never ever ever wants it to end.

“Marry me.”

It slips out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch on. He doesn’t want to take it back, though, so he just waits with baited breath for Even to say something, anything.

Even’s gaping at him, the look of surprise evident, but Isak had hoped there would’ve been a slight twinge of happiness or excitement there too – he hadn’t ever counted on Even looking sad.

“You don’t want that.”

“I do,” Isak insists. He wants to reach out and squeeze Even’s hand, but he has a feeling if he moves closer to Even, Even will pull back and flee so he just lies there.

“You don’t,” Even whispers. There are tears threatening to leak out of the corners of his eyes and Isak’s breath hitches.

He didn’t mean for that to happen. He never meant for… for Even to –

All of it doesn’t come down crashing on Isak, crushing him in the rubble, but bits and pieces do crack apart, and suddenly Isak does feel both young and stupid.

Of course Even wouldn’t want that. It’s – it’s not necessarily too soon – they’ve known each other for ages by now, have been together for just as long pretty much, and they’re basically cohabiting already with brief intermittence of Even having to leave to keep up appearances with his parents that he definitely does not have a boyfriend and that there definitely isn’t an Isak in Even’s world, like there isn’t an Even in Isak’s.

Isak had just thought –

He doesn’t know what he thought. Or, he does know, but being in love isn’t always enough to warrant that kind of proposal.

He just proposed. Holy shit.

He should’ve taken more time, more care. Even’s a romantic, he broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress Isak and get his attention, he likes big gestures, and here Isak’s blurting it out like he’s asking what Even would like for dinner. He should’ve gotten a ring – although there are a lot of questions if even that would be a good idea given their situation.

Maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe Even does want to get married, he just doesn’t want to get married to Isak.

Isak doesn’t doubt that Even loves him, that’s not it. There’s always a nagging thought at the back of his mind when Even tells him that he does, that it would be easier for Even if it was someone else, but Isak’s selfish and he wants Even.

It’s just that there are easier people out there for Even to love, and it would be cruel of Isak not to realize that.

Maybe Even wants someone he can do the big gestures for, that he can show off, someone he can put a ring on their finger and not have to worry about pronouns and nouns and them just being the wrong gender. That person isn’t Isak, and Isak can’t ever imagine being that person who so light-heartedly can do that.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. And it doesn’t explain why Even said Isak couldn’t be the one to want that.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Isak mutters. His cheeks are burning, and he simultaneously can’t stand to look at Even, but he also can’t stand to look away, so he ends up switching between glaring at the wall behind Even and lowering his eyes to the floor, wishing for it to swallow him up. “Just – never mind. Forget it. Don’t mind me.”

Stupid, young, and a fucking idiot.

“That’s not –“ Even’s voice breaks, his words sound thick and like it’s a struggle to speak past a lump in his throat. “That’s not what – that’s – Isak.”

“Forget it,” Isak repeats. He almost wishes he was wearing a sweater, despite how bad the heat already is around him, just so he could curl up and hide away. God, he never should’ve opened his stupid, stupid mouth. “It was – it was dumb. You wouldn’t – let’s just –“

“Isak,” Even breathes out, sounding just as lost and heartbroken and Isak doesn’t understand.

It is fine if Even doesn’t want that, no matter the why, but Isak doesn’t understand why it makes Even react like that.

“That’s not –“ Even tries again, but he doesn’t get further than he did last time either. “You don’t want that. It’s not me – it’s. Isak, you don’t want that.”

The panic is still threatening to overwhelm him, to swallow him up whole until there’s nothing else left, the flight or fight instinct just too present a reaction to the hurt that’s also threatening to overtake him.

But that – that just doesn’t make sense. Isak wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want that.

Obviously, now he’s having second thoughts, but not because he doesn’t want to be with Even forever and ever, as it seems like Even is insinuating, that is tearing him apart to insinuate.

“Why –“ Isak shakes his head as if it would clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts and make him able to think rationally once again. It doesn’t work. “Why do you think that?”

“Because –“ Even’s hands are shaking. “Because I never should’ve gone over to talk to you.”

Isak’s stomach drops. Along with his heart. And his entire body. He feels like he’s weightless, floating around like nothing at the same time as he feels like he weighs a metric ton. What – what?

“You deserve so much better,” Even’s struggling to get the words out, sounds like his throat is too thick. There are tears starting to gather in his eyes. “Always, always. You – you deserve everything, and I –“

He cuts himself off. Isak doesn’t feel like he’s present in his own body, feels like he’s forgotten how to open his mouth and use his words to shout you, you are the one who deserves everything.

“What are you talk-“ Isak manages to get out, though it sounds wrong and not like it’s him who’s speaking. Even cuts him off before he can finish.

“I’m bipolar.”

He says it like it’s the answer to everything, everything bad, that is. It’s –

Isak honestly doesn’t know what to think. He always knows what to think, always has a thousand different thoughts running through his head, either knowing everything about anything or wanting to find out everything about anything. Now, there’s nothing except Isak’s growing panic as bipolar repeats in his head.

“They’d just finalized the diagnosis, and I –“

Even licks his lips, tries to buy himself time, but time for what Isak doesn’t know. Even looks like he’s just finalized his own death sentence, and that everything that comes out of his mouth past this point isn’t an appeal but his final words, his last chance of redemption before a new life.

“I just had to get out of there. I just left – the hospital and my parents. I just had to get out of there. Scared the shit out of everyone,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. It sounds wrong when someone is as close to crying as Even is right now, like it’s less of a laugh and more or a sob. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Isak’s bottom lip is quivering. He tries to bite down on it to make it stop, but that just makes it seem like the entirety of his face is shaking.

“And I saw –“ Even cuts himself off, sniffs and shakes his head at himself. “I should’ve left you alone, I know that, because you – but you were just –“

He laughs. It’s not an amused laugh, sounds more self-deprecating and sad and desperate than anything else.

“You were lying in the dirt in the middle of the night, cursing up a storm about how the pictures you were taking of flowers in the middle of the night were turning out shit, and –“

Even’s eyes are wet, but he looks impossibly softly at Isak when he finally meets his gaze. Isak thinks he might be crying too, or at least is close to it.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Even confesses, so quietly Isak nearly can’t hear it, but he does. He hears it. “And I should’ve just left you alone, but I’m selfish. It was like – like you were magical, like I was in a movie and you were what everything had been leading to.”

Isak wants to reach out to him, wants to run his fingers over his skin, let his hands curl around his cheeks, but he knows Even will draw back if he does that.

He also isn’t certain he could actually manage to do it as it seems like his entire body has stopped working, including his heart, and his lungs, and his mind, because there’s only one thing continuously whispered, bipolar, bipolar, bipolar.

Isak doesn’t know a lot – anything – about bipolar disorder. Knows the obvious or just the stereotype, maybe. He figures he could probably see hints, looking back, should’ve maybe noticed the hints way back then. Thinks that Even ranting about other people invalidating his feelings, about the tight smiles when Isak would tease how multiple sleepless nights would naturally end with him conking out for days on end, should’ve been enough to tell Isak that something, that not everything was what he’d been led to believe, that there was more to the story.

Maybe Isak should be scared. He’d spent ages trying to help his mother, been there when she wasn’t well and things were so shit he just wanted to scream.

But this isn’t his mother. It’s Even and Isak’s so unbelievably in love with him.

“I’m glad you came up to me,” Isak blurts out before he’s really thought it through. He doesn’t regret it, though. He squares up instead, stares directly into Even’s eyes and keeps his back straight.

Even’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he has that pinched look to him that tells Isak he’s about to argue with him, probably ask if he hasn’t heard a thing he’s told him, but Isak doesn’t let him.

“I don’t tell you how to feel,” Isak reminds him, has to swallow when he sees the stricken look on Even’s face. “And you don’t tell me how to feel. That’s how we work.”

He lets the ‘right?’ hang unspoken in the air, but Even still nods in agreement as if he’d said it out loud.

“And I’m telling you,” Isak has to swallow – for how steady his voice sounds, he feels incredibly shaky, “that if you thought meeting me was something magical, then me meeting you was a miracle.”

Even’s shaking his head again, looking ready to argue, but Isak won’t let him. Not with this, never with this.

“I was barely alive, back then,” Isak tells him. Even knows some of this, has probably gathered enough from what Isak hasn’t told him, all the blank spaces left unsaid and untold but with enough given to hint why they’re like that. “I was just waiting for each day to pass until one day I’d finally get to live.”

Even knows what he’s leading up to, Isak can tell that he knows. That he’s already heard the ‘you were what made me finally feel like I was living and not just surviving.’

“You saved me,” he insists. “And that’s how we work. What happens after you save me?”

Even shakes his head. His eyes are teary, and his lips are pressed together tightly. “Isak –“

“What happens?”

Isak feels the sigh Even emits all the way inside his bones, feels how it makes him heavy. Such a startling contrast to how light Even’s reply makes him feel.

Even’s voice is quiet, so, so quiet, Isak nearly doesn’t hear him. “You save me back,” is said softly, kindly, lovingly, but also tinged with a sadness that has Isak forget everything but utter hopelessness.

He refuses, though. Not when Even knows what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell him.

“You would’ve felt like that anyway,” Even argues, is still minutely shaking his head. He’s frowning, but Isak thinks it might be to stop himself from crying. “Eventually. You still would’ve gotten to feel that.”

“I would,” Isak agrees, because theoretically, he probably would’ve. “Eskild gave me a lot. Maybe I would’ve started to feel it when I started at university. Maybe I’d only start feeling it once I got a degree and started working. Maybe I’d meet someone and fall in love and that’s when it would start.”

It’s such a foreign thought, that he could ever fall in love with someone who isn’t Even. Even also looks a bit like the thought of it is breaking his heart, even if it’s one of the points he’s trying to make; that Isak would be alright without ever having had Even in his life.

“But nothing would ever feel like how I feel, right now, and have felt all this time, with you.”

Even still doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he also looks a bit like he knows, because that’s how he feels too, so it feels a bit impossible to argue against it, like it’s a moot point.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Isak admits, doesn’t clarify what it is, there’s no need. “And you know me – I’ll go on a research bender, and I’m going to drive you insane with it, so you’re going to have to tell me when to stop.”

Even doesn’t look pleased at the prospect of having Isak interrogate him, but he does nod curtly.

Isak digs at the skin around his nails, picking at hangnail until he’s nearly bleeding. It doesn’t make it easier to gather his thoughts, but Isak doubts anything would be helpful.

It feels a bit like someone’s swept the floor out from underneath him. He feels dizzy from it, feels like he’s lost the center of his gravity, which is stupid, because it’s still just Even. Nothing has changed, nothing important, but still –

Isak knows there are a lot of things neither of them talk about. Their entire relationship is founded on lies and secrets that’s always been more of a security blanket than whatever this feeling swirling uncomfortably around in Isak’s stomach is.

It’s not like he has told Even everything there is to possibly know about him, but he knows the important parts, and Isak – Isak just hadn’t realized they were apparently also keeping secrets from each other.

He doesn’t blame Even, that’s not it. On a scale of secrets this one is huge, and it’s not like Even isn’t allowed to keep secret, it’s more that.

That Isak thought Even trusted him.

Finding out he doesn’t, doesn’t feel very nice. It feels absolutely horrible, in fact.

“What are you thinking about?”

Isak’s never heard Even sound like that; small and insecure and maybe even a little afraid. Isak scares Even, and Isak also doesn’t know what to do with that, what to do with anything.

“I –“ he tries to swallow through the lump in his throat. It nearly gets caught instead and breathing feels even harder to do afterwards. “I just – why didn’t you tell me?”

Even looks small, sitting there on the desk chair. He feels miles away from Isak and that doesn’t feel good. He’s never seen Even look small, he’s always been larger than life, even when he was quiet and sleeping for an entire day – crashing, Isak reminds himself – Isak’s heart had always felt so full and overwhelmed whenever he looked at him.

“I still didn’t know what to think about it at first, when I met you.” Even when talking, Even is quiet. It’s awful. “And then, later, I kept telling myself you had to know, that it was only fair, but I – I didn’t want to lose you. And then you told me about your mom, and how that was why your parents were always fighting and that’s why you left, and I couldn’t –“ his voice cracks when he breaks off.

Isak’s jaw is clenched. Blood trickles out from his hangnail when he accidentally digs too hard.

“It’s not the same.”

Even doesn’t look like he believes him, but Isak doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the only thing he keeps thinking – that it’s not the same, because it isn’t.

“It’s not,” he repeats.

“How?” Even looks resigned, and Isak would’ve thought he would sound tired, but for the first time ever that Isak’s heard, Even sounds bitter. “How isn’t it the same?”

“Because I don’t blame you for being ill, how about that?” Isak snaps. He can feel years upon years of anger and resentment and shame welling up to the surface, and it’s making something ugly inside him want to crawl out, want to lash out at everyone around him, when that really isn’t something Isak wants to do. “I’m not ashamed of you being bipolar. It’s not some ‘character flaw’ that I’ll do my damndest to avoid because it would be inconvenient for me. I wouldn’t make the people closest to you lie about it just to avoid the social consequences of associating myself with you.”

Maybe it’s not entirely fair. Maybe there’d been lots of other shit going on between his mom and dad that Isak had never bothered looking into, because everything else was already too much and he wouldn’t be able to handle one more thing piled on top of the rest.

He’s not ashamed of Even. He’ll never be ashamed of Even. It sounds like a lie, considering the great lengths they go to, to keep each other a secret, to keep them a secret from the rest of the world, but that’s not Isak being ashamed of Even – no more than it is Even being ashamed of Isak.

“Maybe it will be,” Even points out stubbornly. His cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring straight into Isak’s eyes, but it’s like there’s something between them, something clouding Even’s eyes and twisting his mind until he can build his walls up again and protect himself from Isak. “Next month, next year – you don’t know you won’t resent me for sticking around.”

And Isak –

He wants to scream, wants to cry, both wants to prove he’ll never be like his father and abandon them, but at the same time wants to just bail, and that just makes it worse. He feels the fury inside him and wants to let it out, to show the world just how much can go wrong in a relationship and how much things going wrong can fuck someone up.

But Isak also knows this isn’t Even talking. Or – it is, but it also isn’t, because this is Even protecting himself from when shit will hit the fan, so that he isn’t caught off-guard, so he won’t end up in that doctor’s room again with pitying and worried looks constantly thrown his way until he’ll feel like he’s suffocating.

“It’ll happen,” Even promises, so sure and with certainty in his voice, that Isak wants to cover his ears and scream to block out all the noise. “I’ll hurt you, I know I will.”

In this moment Isak does feel incredibly young and a little out of his depth, but he doesn’t feel any less in love. Of all the uncertainties floating around his head, that isn’t one of them.

“You don’t know that.”

Even huffs, not believing him, and Isak’s tired. He’s tired and he’s going out of his mind and he still wants to never let go of Even, so he gets off the floor and strides over until he’s standing right in front of Even.

The room feels so much darker now compared to when Even had first gotten here, greeting Isak with a kiss and stories. God, that feels like hours, days, ago, not twenty minutes.

Even looks smaller like this, him sitting and Isak standing, but also from his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself as he tries to convince Isak that he’s better off without him.

“No, you don’t know shit about that. Maybe I’ll be the one to hurt you – did you ever think about that, huh? Maybe neither of us will hurt each other. At least not so badly we can’t fix it.”

Even opens his mouth probably to protest, but Isak’s done. Done with all the hypothetical scenarios and what ifs of all the ways they can go wrong.

He wants to focus on the ways they can go right.

By slowing down time. He curls his hands around Even’s jaw and tilts his head back so he can’t avoid looking him the eyes. They’re impossibly blue and shiny from the wetness threatening to spill over the edge. Even when he’s upset like this and clearly wants to hide from the world, from Isak, Even accommodates him, lets him maneuver him into facing him.

“Why don’t we, just, take it completely chill,” Isak whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along the line of Even’s cheekbone, “and we stop worrying about all that. Life is now, and so all that matters is, like, the next minute.”

“The next minute?”

God, Even is usually the one to say cliché things about how Isak is his baby, is his boy, and in this moment can’t help but be reminded how reciprocal that feeling is. Isak’s gorgeous, beautiful boy with a heart of gold and future bright and full of dreams.

Isak nods. “The next minute. That way we don’t have to worry about all the ways things can go wrong.”

Even sniffs. “Because even we can’t manage to fuck up irreparably within a minute?” he jokes, but Isak hears everything past the lighthearted tone, hears the worries and the anxiety and the guilt and shame and the hope.

So Isak smiles softly, continues rubbing his thumb and doesn’t comment on it when a catches a trail of wetness. Then he lets Even hide his face in his t-shirt, his forehead digging into his sternum.

Isak cards his fingers through Even’s hair, bends down far enough that he can press tiny kisses to the back of Even’s head, to the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” Even sniffles, not really crying but also not-not really crying. He’s still hiding away, so Isak just hums soothingly, only stopping when Even starts repeating himself. “Sorry, I – I should’ve told you, I know. I’m so sorry, that was – that was so fucked up of me to do. I should’ve come clean the second we started getting serious, I should’ve let you know –“

“Okay,” Isak just says, because he doesn’t want to tell Even he understands why he didn’t say anything when he’s only certain he partly knows why Even didn’t tell him specifically, and he’s also not going to lie and say he doesn’t feel fucking confused and slightly hurt at Even not telling him.

In hindsight it does explain a lot of things; the sleepless nights, the moments Even went from geared one day to little more than lifeless the next time he’d see him, the surge of text-messages to the bare minimum. Jumping from one project to another without finishing any or become hyper-fixated on one and working on nothing but.

Isak doesn’t realize why he hadn’t paid attention to it before – or, maybe he had, just a bit, felt that at times Even’s behavior was slightly off, but he never really went as far to think that – It never seemed natural to assume that.

“Breathe,” Isak reminds Even softly, the fingers on one of his hands moving down to trace the line of Even’s throat, running along his pulse. Even with the light touch Isak can feel it’s beating too fast. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

Even’s breath rattles when he lets it out. It feels warm and damp through the light material of Isak’s t-shirt, makes his already sticky skin feel clammy with it, but he just presses another kiss to Even’s hair.

“Is that what we’re doing for the next minute?” Even asks, speaking slowly to not make it as evident his body is still thrumming on the remains of adrenaline and panic, making him short of breath. He doesn’t sound mean about it, though.

“Yes.”

“And the minute after that?”

Technically, that’s against the rules, but Isak isn’t up for reminding Even of that.

“The minute after that,” he tells him instead, “we’re going to kiss.”

“That’s chill.”

Isak exhales amusedly at the irony.

“That’s chill.”

OOOOO

“Do you think,” Even wets his lips. Isak can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or to just draw out time. “Do you think there’s a universe where I’m not like this? Where I’m easier to deal with?”

Isak’s throat tightens. He wants to cry.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Even is still lying awake next to him in bed. Eskild and Linn have long since gone to bed, Isak and Even did too, and they really should’ve fallen asleep by now, but they haven’t.

“It’s not like I’m easy to deal with either,” Isak reminds him.

Even scoffs, moves as if to turn to his side, turn his back to Isak, and Isak can’t have that. His hands fly out underneath his own body so quickly he slaps Even’s shoulder in his hurry to grab onto his t-shirt.

“I’m not,” he insists. Even’s still lying on his back and he’s not actively struggling against Isak’s hold that he doesn’t yet dare loosen. “There are probably hundreds of universes out there where – where you won’t have to hide behind closed doors to be with me, have you thought about that? Where I’m – where I’m a girl, or you are, and there’s no reason for all of this bullshit. Or maybe there’s one where no one would bat an eye at the both of us being boys, where we wouldn’t have even stumbled over the thought.”

Isak moves one of his hands up from Even’s shirt to lightly stroke against the hair curling at the nape of Even’s neck. It’s more awkward than anything, but that’s because it’s the arm he’s lying on and not because Even is resolutely staring into the ceiling, refusing to look at Isak.

“Maybe there’s one where I don’t give you a reason to leave.”

Isak shrugs, tries to calm down his absolutely pounding heart. “You haven’t given me a reason to in this one.”

Even scoffs again, but he doesn’t try to move away from Isak. Small wins.

Isak doesn’t know what happened to make Even so certain people, Isak, will leave him because of this. He figures maybe it had something to do with those boys that he’s occasionally seen him with by accident, when they’re reminded of just how small Oslo really is and that despite meticulous planning, they can’t always avoid running into each other in public.

Even talks about them, sometimes, and Isak’s always been desperate for every single bit of information he can get of Even’s life – the part of it that Isak has never had access to, anyway – so he feels like he already knows the entire group, but… the way that Even talked about them always made him curious. It made it seem like they were his long-lost friends, not people he saw every single day up until they graduated together back in June.

Even doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, what he’s obviously close to saying, only holding himself back to avoid an argument, to avoid revealing his soul to such a terrifying, vulnerable degree, even if it’s to Isak. Or maybe because it’s to Isak.

Isak knows what Even wants to say. He wants to say that he’s already given him a reason, and if not then they just have to wait for a major episode, or maybe just a small one, and then Isak can see there’s a reason to break this off.

But this isn’t something Isak wants to break off, not for any reason. Reminding Even of that, though, wouldn’t mean anything to Even who won’t let himself process it, won’t let himself belief that it’s true, that there’s still hope for them, that they can still be ‘them’, so Isak changes tactic.

“Maybe there is one where I leave. Hell, maybe there are multiple universes where I leave you.”

Even’s not breathing next to him. Isak can make out his eyes in the darkness, but he can’t tell if they’re shiny from unshed tears or completely dry as Even remains stoic. He doesn’t seem it, though. He seems to be feeling the exact same emotions as Isak; frayed and like someone is unpeeling him bit by bit until he’s exposed for the world to see with nothing holding him together.

“But not in this one.”

Even draws in a deep breath. It sounds shaky.

“In this universe, I stay with you. In this universe, I choose you.”

“This feels like therapy,” Even grouches, but he’s still looking at Isak with that look that always serves to make butterflies swirl around inside of him, even if it’s a little withdrawn and Isak can still tell that this isn’t, that they aren’t okay yet. “I hate therapy.”

Isak can’t help but grin shyly. “Pretty sure it’s not therapy until you start paying me.”

It startles a bark of a laugh out of Even that comes out a little too wet. “You expecting me to pay you, now?”

And it’s fun, because acting like this with Even is always fun, but this, this right now, is Even talking around the subject.

“’Fraid I only accept boyfriend payments,” he says carefully, watches with heavy heart as Even stops smiling and starts looking ready to argue again.

Isak hates having to make him stop smiling, but it’s necessary. They need to do this, can’t just let it hang in the air. They do this with everyone else; talk in half-truths and leave things unsaid and just entirely in secret, but not with each other. Even knows everything about Isak, and Isak had thought he knew everything about Even, too. He’s not angry to find out he doesn’t – confused, a little, maybe a lot, hurt, but he’s not angry.

He probably would’ve been, had he found out any other way, if Even had never confessed to it, if he’d just left it unsaid until one day Isak would find out when either everything was going to shit, or it was just too late entirely.

Even must come to something close to the same conclusion, because the fight leaves his body, and when he starts talking, he answers Isak truthfully.

“I have…” he hesitates before continuing, “almost a sort of love-hate relationship with it. To it?”

“How come?”

Even tries to gather his thoughts, figure out what to say, how to explain. “I hate how it makes me feel, how out of control everything can seem. I like being the one who can decide things and it – it takes that away from me.”

Isak blinks. “And the – the other part? The love part?”

Even wets his lips nervously. “I hate feeling sick,” he says. “I hate how it takes away any feeling of control. I hate how it makes other people look at me like I’m weak, like I’m breakable.”

Isak waits. Allows for Even to let it all out.

Even’s breathing heavily, not quite panting for air, but it’s irregular and mostly superficial. Isak doubts he’s actually getting any air in, but at least he’s not panicking.

“But, if I hadn’t had that appointment, if I wasn’t ill,” Even adds, “I wouldn’t have left my parents’ side that night.”

Isak tilts his head to the side, a slight, confused frown pulling down the right corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have gone to Birkelunden, and I wouldn’t have met the cutest boy I’d ever seen, lying on his stomach in the dirt, trying to get a picture of a flower.”

Isak flushes, as he always does when Even talks about him like this, squirms with a bit. It’s almost like he can feel Even’s heart beating in tandem with his own; a little too quick and a little too hard.

It’s impossible not to feel it, and feeling it so strongly makes it impossible not to say something.

“I still want to marry you,” Isak whispers into the darkness.

It’s the first time Even’s stayed over for the night since he told Isak. Isak’s spent the past hour just about debating whether or not he should say something before he just went ahead and did it anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t push these things. A lot of the websites spoke about needing a stable environment and avoiding stress factors, and Isak has this nagging thought in his head that this entire thing they have going, this – this sneaking around and keeping secrets from everyone in their life, having an entire secret relationship, everything that Isak is to Even, is quite a big stress factor.

But he doesn’t want to leave this hanging in the air, not like he’s done with so many other things. This should never be something he grows to regret not saying, and it shouldn’t be something Even should worry about was legit or not.

Even is tense next to him. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, and Isak can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or from waiting for Isak to continue or if he gearing up to argue.

The latter, Isak fears, because Even still has that look in his eyes, the one that says he still fully believes everything he said about how he was too selfish and that Isak deserves more, when Even to Isak already is everything.

“I know you’re probably thinking – hell, you’re thinking too much to keep up with, but you’re definitely thinking I’m only saying it because I said it before and now I don’t want to admit to it being a pity thing, but that’s –“

Isak cuts himself off, shakes his head, not harshly enough the bed shakes, but he can hear how his hair shifts against the pillowcase, causing crinkling noises that fill the sudden silence.

“I don’t know how to convince you it’s not,” Isak admits instead. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m so in love with you that I never want you far away from me, that I can’t imagine having to live a life without you. I can’t think of anything other than telling you, again and again, as many times as it takes, but I also don’t know if that will ever be enough.”

Even swallows loudly next to him. He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what that means. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“If you really don’t want to marry me, then I’ll never mention it again,” he promises. “But if the only reason you have for not wanting to marry me is because you think ‘I deserve better’, then I’m going to ask you again. I’m going to ask you every single time I can’t believe I could possibly love you any more than I do in that moment.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, wants for Even to say something, to reply, to just let him know – something, anything, that Even is ready and willing to give him.

It makes it easy to hear how Even tries to control his breathing, tries to keep it slow and heavy, make every inhale deep, all the way down into his stomach. He hears it every time Even opens his mouth only to close it again. Until he finally manages to get some words out.

Isak expects – maybe he doesn’t quite know what he expects. A rejection, maybe, denial about everything Isak just said.

No matter what, he doesn’t expect, “Move in with me,” to be what comes out of Even’s mouth.

Isak blinks. Doesn’t really matter in the darkness, but he still does it. Blinks again, even. “Huh?”

The sheets next to him crinkle as Even shuffles around to face him. Isak’s gaping in his direction, he knows, but it’s too dark to see anything besides his silhouette.

“Move in with me,” Even repeats, voice deep and slow.

It’s almost like how he usually sounds when he’s close to falling asleep or just waking up, but he’s neither right now. His voice is steady, he sounds sure in himself, while Isak feels like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster.

“I’m serious,” Even says when Isak just keeps on staring. “Move in with me.”

Like Isak was questioning how serious he was. He’s been working really hard to not let those parts of the websites influence him, refuses to see Even as a child in need of a firm hand to keep him safe, but this kind of question feels so horribly impulsive the thought is the for a shameful second before Isak manages to kick it out again.

“A place just for the two of us,” Even starts painting the picture as beautifully as everything else he does. “We won’t have to sneak around, won’t have to wake up at crazy times just to avoid getting caught. You could finally wear my clothes without worrying, I could get to cook you breakfast.”

Isak’s heart is starting to pick up its pace again, for an entirely different reason now.

“Think about it,” Even prompts. “You said that Noora’s coming back from Spain soon, that’ll be one more person to sneak around, plus there aren’t enough rooms. You’d still have your safety net – you’d still have Eskild to fall back on. We could only put my name on the lease so you wouldn’t have any obligations if things fall through.” If they fall through, Isak knows that means.

“We’ll have to anyway, you’re the only one out of the two of us who’s turned eighteen,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth instead. Holy shit, he keeps thinking, feeling, maybe, too. Holy shit.

Even lets out a startled laugh that’s too loud for the hour, but Isak’s feeling too shaky in the best of ways to shush him. Even clamps a hand over his mouth himself anyway, tries to smother his giggles behind fingers and the duvet. He sounds every bit as much of the holy shit being continuously repeated in Isak’s head.

“Are we really doing this?”

Isak feels like his feet have been swept off the ground, feels like he’s floating, flying around. It doesn’t feel scary, though. Not when he knows Even’s there, ready to catch him.

“I’m serious about you,” Even whispers once he’s gotten his laughing fit under control again. “Always. And always want to be. And I want to marry you, want to get married to you.”

Isak’s heart tha-thumps loudly in his ears as he waits for the ‘but’.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I never want you to regret anything.” This, me, us.

It’s every bit the but Isak was expecting, fearing, but it’s not the worst but he’s imagined hearing.

“The same goes for you, you know,” Isak reminds him. He grabs Even’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. It somehow feels more intimate than a kiss would’ve. “I never want you to regret choosing me either.”

It’s in the middle of the night on a hot summer’s night, and Even’s eyes are sparkling even in the dark and his thumb is rubbing along Isak’s hand in small circles, and Isak’s in love with him and discussing their future together. He hopes fervently that in every single universe out there, there’s an Isak and Even who find each other, and that there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak stupid enough to leave their Even behind.

“I won’t,” Even promises.

‘Forever’ suddenly seems impossibly short when Isak will get to spend it with Even.

Next part

#Evak fanfiction #SKAM fanfiction #SKAM #SKAM Norway #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #Evak #Something Great

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kickstillkickin · 4 years

Text

Klance Month 2020 Day 2 - Coffee Shop

Keith had never been more exhausted in his life. The bar had kept him late because some asshole thought it was a splendid idea to throw up all over the bathroom and not tell any of the staff. Then Shiro had called him in a panic, because it was his and Adam's two year anniversary tomorrow and the dolt had forgotten to get a present. Cue a caffeine-fueled run to Walmart, accompanied by his dumbass brother, to purchase a photo album for all Shiro's spare copies. Upon finally arriving home, he discovered that his upstairs neighbors had been arguing themselves halfway to a divorce and seemed determined that the whole complex be made aware of it. He spent all of twenty minutes trying to fall asleep before he gave into his lesser self and took a couple doses of NyQuil. The medicine netted him a grand total of two hours of sleep. It felt more like negative twelve. He was completely awake when his alarm went off and felt like death.

The sun was too bright when he stepped outside the apartment, wearing a work shirt that had a stain and two different shoes. Keith wondered if it was because he hadn't noticed or because he hadn't cared. He pondered the answer during his commute until even rational thought proved too exhausting. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped off the bus in a daze and glared at the bright neon sign, declaring this hellhole of a location to be Beans N' Stuff, a local eclectic's personal venture into the coffee business. He didn't usually mind working there. Then again, he didn't usually show up looking paler than a ghost and more interested in digging his own grave than interacting with another human being.

A little bell rang when he opened the door. He paused a moment to glare at it, contemplating the consequences of ripping it from the door frame. Then thinking hurt too much again. He trudged into the back and collected his cap and apron. As he was signing in to the register, a familiar presence appeared over his shoulder. Ignoring it, he finished his task and moved past his coworker to the coffee machine.

Pidge didn't even have time to express their totally expected and completely warranted "you look like shit" before Keith flipped open his thermos, added no less than four shots of espresso, a 5-hour Energy that appeared out of thin air, and filled the rest with black coffee. He closed the lid and downed half the thermos in a few swallows. Pidge amended their statement. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Do not speak to me. I have seen hell and will murder anyone who speaks too loudly," he snapped.

"You know what, that's valid, but Matt isn't here and Coran says I'm not allowed to operate the register," they informed him.

Keith glared at his thermos. "If God exists, he is a cruel being. And as soon as I get some sleep, I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I'll be in the back," Pidge said diplomatically. They weren't touching anything about the situation with a ten foot pole.

Keith sipped his thermos and resigned himself to an eight-hour shift. He opened up shop, took orders, and answered customers' dumb questions like a good little employee. When his thermos was empty, he refilled the same order and chugged it again. To keep a poker face, he tried to think happy thoughts. Like murdering his brother, or maybe his neighbors. The longer he stood listening to out-dated pop songs, he added the owner of the damned shop to the list. Customers came and went in a blur. He thought he remembered Pidge asking if he needed a break, but couldn't recall his answer.

Then he walked in. The most attractive creature to ever grace the earth. A customer that was not quite a regular, but Keith had seen him more than once. He seemed to be nothing more than a harmless flirt, and someone who could only dish it out, at that. But those blue eyes were going to be the death of Keith's gay ass. Just, they were going to be the death of him tomorrow. After he died of exhaustion today.

"I'll have a salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream."

Though physically repulsed by just hearing how much sugar was in the order, he punched it into the computer and kept a straight face. "Can I get a name for the order?"

"The name's Lance," Handsome Almost-Regular said with what seemed to be a flirty undertone.

Keith nodded and typed the name in. "Your total is $5.67."

Lance paid and Keith informed him that his order would be ready momentarily. Pidge prepared it in record time, and even went so far as to nudge him rather aggressively with her elbow. Keith was both confused and offended. He took the cup to the front counter. "Lance," he called out in a dead monotone.

"You know, that's not how people usually call out my name," Lance purred as he leaned over the counter.

Keith was exhausted, barely functioning, and not paid enough to deal with things like this. He did not think about the words that came out of his mouth. "Sorry, I'll try to sound more disappointed next time."

The look on Lance's face was akin to that of the surprised pikachu meme. Pidge hung out the doorway from the back, shocked beyond belief. Unbothered, Keith handed him the coffee cup, mumbled something about having a nice day, and moved on to helping the next customer. It was not until Lance had left the coffee shop near tears, leaving behind a dumbfounded audience and an exasperated coworker, that Keith's lagging brain finally processed the whole conversation.

"Shit!"

"I think that was some kind of record. Most idiotic gay barista turns away interested party and gives him emotional trauma, all in less than five minutes," Pidge told him.

Keith had thoroughly and completely fucked up. Oh, and he needed a nap.

. . .

By the time he trudged into work the next day, Keith had come to the conclusion that God was not only real, he was also dedicated solely to fucking with him as much as possible. Despite having the night off from bartending, he'd hardly slept, too tormented by the idiocy of his own stupid actions. Pidge had texted to make fun of him no less than seven times, and had undoubtedly told their entire circle of friends about it. At the very least, Matt didn't say anything when he walked in looking like death twice over.

"You want the front or the back today?" Matt asked as Keith signed in.

What if Lance came back? Keith should be working up front so he could apologize. Then, a second, more horrifying thought occurred to him. What if Lance came back? He couldn't allow himself to be seen. Lance needed to think that he'd crawled into a hole and died, never to be seen by the general populace again. He would willingly go down in history as the world's dumbest and least functional gay if it meant never having to make meaningful contact with Hot Coffee Customer ever again.

"The back," Keith said solemnly, though it felt more like he was reading out his sentence then answering his coworker's question.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Matt told him, patting him on the shoulder.

Keith resigned himself to a shift with this older, subtler brand of Pidge insults. As he turned to start prepping the machines, he caught Matt whipping out his phone. His coworker typed out, "u owe me 20 bucks" and hit send with a bit too much satisfaction. So Pidge and Matt had taken bets on his answer. Smart of Matt to pick the more cowardly option, he thought to himself as he washed his hands. Dysfunctional gays tended toward dysfunction, after all. He busied himself with cleaning out the coffee pots while Matt opened up shop.

As much as Keith tried to drive the catastrophic events of yesterday from his thoughts, he still flinched every time that damned bell rang. Matt greeted customers like a goddamn proper employee. Something Keith was apparently not. No, he just insulted them and moved on. But only if they flirted with him. Everyone else just got the monotone customer service voice. Lance? Emotional trauma for him, of course. The same train of thought played in his head on a loop as he prepared orders and sent them out. He tried to ignore the handful of female customers that flirted with his coworker and grit his teeth whenever Matt flirted back. Something else he was evidently incapable of.

Just a few hours into his shift, the strangest order came in. A salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. Why was that familiar? Had an obnoxious white girl ordered it? Keith racked his brain and found himself drawing a blank. The only thing he remembered was-

Of course! Another look at the screen told him the customer's name was Lance. How many Lance's lived in one city, went to the same coffee shop, and ordered the exact same disgusting sugar-filled drink? Keith prepped the order, determined to make amends with the world's stupidest and most inept attempt at flirting: a bad pun on the coffee cup, written over his phone number. Matt took the coffee from him and handed it to the customer. He prayed to whatever deities were willing to listen that he hadn't just made the second biggest mistake of his life.

Matt found him like that a few seconds later when he stepped into the back for a moment. "Hey Keith, I think that was the guy insulted yesterday," Matt informed him. "Pidge's description was spot on."

"Was it? I had no idea," Keith said with a shrug, preparing the next order.

Disappointed that he'd failed to get a rise out of his coworker (and probably more disappointed that he had nothing to report to his gremlin of a sibling), Matt returned to the front and left him alone for the rest of his shift.

Keith felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Even if Hot Coffee Stranger forever hated his guts for his complete social ineptitude, he'd managed to apologize. Now, of course, there was plenty of room in his chest for anxiety over Lance's response. Would he text? Would he call? Would it be right away? Would he wait? Was he going to report him to the police and get a restraining order? It was truly a coin toss. At the very least, the unsettling feeling in his chest was better than the heavy knowledge of his own stupidity.

Closing came sooner than he expected. Keith waved Matt off as he walked the short distance to the bus stop. As he settled into his seat, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text message. From an unknown number. Keith couldn't help the stupid grin that was stuck on his face all the way home.

. . .

Lance let out a huge sigh of relief as he exited the coffee shop. His plan had been to look for the barista through the front window. If it was the same asshole as yesterday, he would walk right on by and mournfully purchase his morning pick-me-up from another shop. He hadn't recognized the employee working, and didn't even see so much as a mullet-shaped hair of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Then, right as he went to take a sip of his delicious, precious coffee, he saw writing.

I regret yesterday a latte

Call me?

XXX-XXX-XXXX

It was the dumbest pickup line he'd ever heard in his life, and some of the competition were pickup lines he himself had used. But it made him laugh. And, now that he thought about it, that barista had looked a little worse for wear. He was definitely cute enough to be given another chance. Any gay idiot who wrote bad coffee puns on a coffee cup was definitely someone Lance could spend some time getting to know. The barista didn't need to know that, though. He'd probably wait a few hours before texting him. And then a few more, just to make him sweat.

Lance took a sip of his coffee, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Maybe he'd even wait a few more after that.

#KlanceAUMonth #klance #kick #keith kogane #lance mcclain #a consistent writing style? in this house?#unlikely #my writing

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scaredandbored · 4 years

Text

.ok i caved and wrote spones. academy au spones. with a really, horribly out of character spock. was this purely self-indulgent? yes. i’m not even 100% sure what im doing with this story, only that its spones, they share a dorm, and its going to be a gross, borderline self-insert fic lmaoooo. playing fast and loose with the academy’s curriculum because i’m a lazy piece of shit who won’t research the actual structure. also, idk if it even counts as slash, because it contains what i consider flirting, which is ACTUALLY just bickering and academic/scientific discussion combined with gentle physical contact. let me have this.

additional note : i snuck in some pining at the end! so it’s definitely romantic! ha! (it’s not worth it dont bother)

additional additional note : i fucked up a perfectly good spones fic by trying to add jim but it turned into McSpirk

Collectors poke and scalpels ring

(title from billy corgan’s poem “a wax seal”)

warnings : don’t read this spock is so badly written in it.

blatant abuse of the comma, oxford and otherwise

someone gets burnt but it’s not severe and it’s off of tea

cursing. a lot of it.

words : c.6’000 (i’ll count properly tomorrow, it’s hard to get a word count on mobile)

If Leonard was being completely honest with himself (which he tried to be, dammit), his studying had stopped being productive at some stage between midnight and one a.m, but he’d be damned if he was going to grant his smug-enough-already roommate an “I told you so” by going to bed. Not that Spock would use such colloquial, illogical language. Resisting the urge to groan, Leonard let his head fall to his desk, confident the pile of pages he had accumulated while studying for his assessment in Standard Procedures in Classifying Non-Humanoid Life-Forms would muffle the thud enough to prevent upsetting his roommate’s meditation in the bedroom next to his. Walls were thin at the academy, that was the whole reason he’d had to turn down Jim when he’d requested Leonard to bunk with him for their second year in the academy. Bones loved the kid, he really did, but if he wasn’t blasting his frankly awful study music through the whole night, he had someone over from wherever he’d been that evening, and Bones had come to learn (quickly, and unwillingly), that Jim was loud in bed.

Making the decision to go make a coffee (not with one of those godawful replicators, but with some decent coffee beans that his younger sister had brought as a present on his birthday, for which he’d had to actually purchase a grinder and coffee press for afterwards, but it was the thought that counts), Bones couldn’t help but miss the all-nighters he and Jim used to pull together in their previous year at the academy, using each other to keep awake and motivated. The kid’s taste in classical music left much to be desired, but he didn’t seem to mind Bones’s preferences, so they’d throw on the med student’s study playlist on Jim’s maybe-technically-banned-but-no-one-is-going-to-snitch-on-us-because-we-all-have-one-Bones-relax speaker and bounce flash cards off of each other, explaining things to one another, and sharing notes. Jim had always been very much an aural-oral learner, unable to retain information unless he had explained it to someone, or had it explained to him, and while Bones definitely did not mind helping his friend out, he’d always been a more individual learner, preferring to take his notes and summarise them, re-writing the most important points until he had them ingrained in his subconscious. Which was all well and good, except it was a pain in the ass of a technique that only became more frustrating when it was employed in a long night of cramming.

Quietly, Bones took his mug as well as the rest of the required paraphernalia from the almost-bare shelf in the equally almost-bare cupboard he and Spock had voted to dedicate to Bones’s “illogical need to entertain guests with a strange variety of baked goods paired with one of two hot beverages” and Spock’s “ostentatious pots and probably poisonous concoctions”, all while chiding himself for reminiscing about study sessions. Of all the stupid shit he could reminisce about at the ripe age of twenty-two, study sessions with a friend he could easily invite over to join him was probably the one of the most stupid. Bones was forced to pause and evaluate his situation as he realised that all his quiet tip-toeing about in an effort to leave Spock’s meditation undisturbed was probably null and fucking void, seeing as he had to manually grind the coffee beans, which would indubitably create enough noise to irritate those over-sensitive ears. Not that the vulcan could feel irritation. Fucking asshole.

Rolling his eyes at his own cankerous mood, he began to prepare his coffee, keeping half an ear on the sudden rustling noises from Spock’s bedroom as the disturbed vulcan did god-knows-what before coming out to lecture Leonard. Or to glare at him. Or condescend him. Maybe criticise him on how late he’d left it to study for this godforsaken exam. Or maybe Leonard was projecting onto his poor roommate, who he’d only known for the better half of a month. (During which, the cranky bastard side of his brain argued, said roommate had made his distaste for human culture and illogic clear, his particular dislike (it was dislike, regardless of whatever “vulcans don’t feel” bullshit he was trying to pull) of Leonard thinly veiled, and his disinclination to speak to Leonard in general blatantly obvious.) Most likely Spock would simply head into their shared living area to procure a cup of his noxious evening teas before returning to his meditation, not stooping so low as to acknowledge the source of the disruption to his nightly routine. Leonard’s mission to caffeinate himself was not under threat. It took more energy than Leonard would ever admit to quell the disappointment that bubbled up at the thought of Spock just ignoring him.

It was stupid-o-clock in the morning, of course the vulcan wasn’t going to engage in a full-blown academic conversation with him, what was he thinking? Bones haphazardly plopped the filter over his mug just as the kettle came to a boil, doggedly ignoring the squeak of Spock’s door and the sound of his bare feet against their tile floor.

“It is not recommended for humans to ingest beverages of such a high caffeine content at this hour.” Spock’s voice breaking the eerie silence of the late hour was enough to make Leonard’s usually still hands jerk, splashing his knuckles with the hot water. He managed to suppress a hiss of pain, determined not to let the vulcan see any weakness.

“It’s not generally recommended amongst humans to get your medical degree at Starfleet Academy, yet here I am, Spock.” Griped Bones, turning to face Spock with his mug in hand, the eye contact he made intended as a challenge. Try and stop me, Pointy.

Spock raised an eyebrow, which alerted Leonard to the vulcan’s significantly slower than normal movements. The damn vulcan was sleepy, he realised. In an infuriatingly adorable way, Spock blinked slowly twice before responding, a significant delay in his usual response times to Leonard’s taunts. “On the contrary, an education in Starfleet Academy is highly coveted amongst humans; its expansive curriculum makes its graduates highly sought after in careers outside of the academy. I see no logic in your statement.”

Bones rolled his eyes, knocking back half his coffee in a matter of seconds, and burning his tongue in the process. “I don’t see the logic in continuing to hold conversations with an individual you find so distastefully illogical, Mr.Spock.” He passed the strange traditional vulcan teapot out to his roommate along with the decidedly terran-style mug Spock seemed to prefer using.

Spock offered three more of his slow, dazed blinks before responding with a tilt of his head that was slightly more pronounced than the one he tended to make during the day. “Distasteful? I do not believe I have ever said as much, McCoy.”

Bones gave a single, barking laugh, shaking his head as he began to move back towards his bedroom. “Careful, Mr.Spock. Keep up the flattery and you might say something you regret.”

“You are studying?” Spock called after him, just as Leonard was closing his door.

Leonard watched Spock as he shuffled around their kitchen, preparing his tea, his normally purposefully brisk steps reduced to a half-asleep stumble. His roommate gave no indication of having spoken to him. “In my usual, time-consuming way. Yes I am, Mr.Spock.”

Spock did not face him, but the delay in his response was still significant, for the vulcan, “You study using this highly inefficient method only when learning independently, correct?”

“What is it you’re getting at? There’s only so many hours in a night, and some of us have work to do.” Growled Leonard, his prolonged view of the back of Spock’s house robes frustrating him. Their arguments were much less entertaining and all the more aggravating when he couldn’t look Spock in the eye. Spock attempted to answer while turning to face Leonard in his sleepy daze, forgetting that he was halfway through pouring the boiling water over the strainer, effectively dousing his front in the scalding liquid. There was a brief pause where Spock blinked down at the front of his robes, while Bones processed what had just happened before jerking into action. “Get that glorified dressing gown off of yourself, Spock!” He whisper-shouted, determined not to wake the entire residential block. Spock just blinked at himself, then at Leonard.

“It is burning.” He deadpanned, prompting Bones to roll his eyes and cross the room in a few quick strides.

“It’s boiling water, Spock, of course it’s burning.” He hissed tapping the lapels of the robes. “You need to get out of this so we can get you under some running, room temperature water, try and stop any blistering.” Spock finally seemed to register what was going on and began to unwrap the ties of the robes, turning away from Leonard as he did so. Leonard noticed his roommate look uneasy at the prospect of being shirtless around him, and decided to leave him to it. “I’ll go run the shower, you dry yourself off a bit and run any part of your arm that got caught in the stream under the tap. I’ll call you when the shower’s the right temperature, ok?”. Leonard waited for Spock’s nod before bolting off to their shared bathroom to start working.

So much for his productive night studying. It was starting to look like he’d be playing nurse for Spock until the on-campus medbay opened at five am. He was just beginning to realise exactly how fucked he was for the exam the following day when the door to their bathroom creaked open slowly. “Nearly there, Spock. I don’t recommend using any of your pungent herbal shit, we don’t want anything getting into any burst blisters or anything.”

“Your alarm is unwarranted, Leonard. There is no lasting damage done to my person.”

“Congratulations on your medical degree, Spock, didn’t realised you’d discovered a fast track. Y’could’ve told me.” Leonard drawled, not taking his eyes off of the shower, his wrist under the stream of water to monitor the temperature.

“You know I have done no such thing.” Spock huffed, his less alert state loosening his restraint enough to allow for such blatant emotionalism.

“Sarcasm, Spock. Somethin’ you’re gonna have to get used to if you plan on launching into the void canned in with a bunch of humans once we graduate.” Leonard was angling for a mild version of their normally acerbic exchanges, but Spock didn’t seem willing to take the bait.

“If you insist I must bathe in tepid water, I will comply, but I trust you understand the state of my health is my concern alone, and you have no power to forbid me from assisting you with your studies.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your assistance.” His final attempt to goad Spock fell just as flat as his others, and he gave a defeated sigh. “Please stay in until your skin’s returned to its normal complexion, alright?”

Spock gave a half nod and stood to the side to let Leonard pass out of the bathroom, which he did a mite faster than was strictly necessary. Sighing as Spock closed the door, Leonard began weighing the benefit of trying to study against the fact he was just worried enough to be distracted from anything too difficult. Leonard scoffed. “Who am I kidding, everything in this module is difficult enough to make me want to rip my fucking eyes out.” He continued grumbling incoherently as he made his way back to his room, throwing a dirty look at the mess of teapots, mugs, and cafetieres as he walked past it. Spock would have a hissy fit. Or, the closest thing the teachings of Surak would allow to a hissy fit. “Goddamn, green-blooded, neat-freak.” Leonard groused, frowning at the state of his room.

Leonard often consoled himself for his lack of cleanliness within the confines of his bedroom using the fact he very rarely sullied shared living areas. He liked to think of his room as a sort of nesting area; cluttered, but cosy and homely. Spock thought the state of his room was indicative of his disorganised mind and illogical outlook on life. He looked around his room, trying to decide how to partially tidy it most effectively before Spock got out of the shower.

Ultimately, he decided to leave anything that could be passed off as studying material (including, but not limited to the notes Jim had left behind on Starfleet-approved mixed martial arts) and to gather all clothing into one pile behind the door. He had just finished that and was contemplating moving some of the collection of unwashed, half-empty mugs he’d forgotten about into the sink when someone cleared their throat at the threshold of the door, causing Leonard to jump. “Goddammit, Spock, y’could’ve killed me!” He snapped, subtly kicking the sleeve of one of his hoodies behind the door.

Spock’s eyes followed his foot as he attempted this subterfuge, which lead him directly to the pile of clothes. He raised an eyebrow, looking back at Leonard. “I was unaware the human heart was so poorly designed that even one belonging to a relatively fit for duty, young man was susceptible to cardiac arrest caused by unpredictable scenarios. It leads me to wonder why Starfleet consists mostly of such an inept species.”

The adorable, sleepy Spock had disappeared, leaving the sharper, more alert, more dangerously attractive Spock that Bones was going to have a hard time not coming onto over the next year. “I think I preferred you when y’couldn’t string together a sentence.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he stepped purposefully towards Leonard’s desk. “You are hardly the image of a functioning officer after your rest cycle has been disrupted, McCoy.” He quipped, pouring over the notes Leonard had been working on before the whole tea-spilling fiasco. “You have been repeatedly transcribing the same five notes for upwards of an hour, if you maintained a constant rate of words per minute.”

Leonard shrugged, striding over to his desk to snatch the notes back defensively. “What of it?” He snapped, picking up his pad of paper (not good for the environment, but he’d loaned his PADD that he usually used for revision to Jim a week ago and wasn’t due to get it back until that weekend) and old-fashioned pen that used to belong to his mother.

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard’s odd behaviour, picking up the textbook that had started to slip down the back of the overcrowded desk to leaf through it. “It is a highly inefficient method of study. Particularly given your current time constraints.”

“Spare me the lecture, Spock. It works, and that’s all that matters.” Leonard drawled, having already resumed his scribbling, desperately attempting to commit one of the longer definitions required for the exam to memory.

“That statement has no grounds in fact, nor does your extension based on the untruth follow any semblance of logic.”

Leonard uttered a string of curses in his native tongue, making Spock consider taking Earth English classes on the side, if only to aggravate the med student in his own native tongue. Not that Spock would ever admit to such irrational motivations. “Dammit, Spock,” Leonard’s familiar growls in Standard had less venom than they usually did this early in their verbal sparring, a fact that drew Spock’s concern sharply onto the med student. “,either sit down and help a guy out, or get out and let me be. Ain’t that hard.” Spock eased himself down onto the human’s bed carefully, sitting cross-legged beside him with the textbook balanced carefully on his knee.

“I have heard you listening to music whilst studying on previous occasions. I have noted you do not tend to do so while I am meditating, however, I am doing so now. If it assists you, I would recommend you indulge.” Carefully watching the human for signs of distress while he spoke, Spock decided another snip at him would not hurt him. “Your human focus is dismal enough without depriving it of the stimulus necessary for it to operate at an acceptable level of efficiency.”

Spock watched with mild satisfaction as Leonard threw his archaic study materials down in a small rage, his eyebrows practically dancing as he spluttered furiously for exactly 3.2 seconds before responding coherently. “Why, you listen here, you green-blooded son-of-a-bitch, y’ain’t doin’ much good in this here bedroom, so you’ve got about three seconds ‘fore i throw you out!”

Spock unfurled himself and stood, but he didn’t make a move for the door. Instead, the stoic bastard moved back to Leonard’s desk, sorting papers into piles as he systemically searched the surface for something. Finally, he picked up Leonard’s music device: a miniature PADD his younger sister had constructed for her first set of practical engineering exams, programmed to run audio files only. “A’ight, give it here.” Leonard stretched out his hand, palm up, waiting for Spock to hand it over. Spock took a moment to briefly page through the audio files Leonard had equipped the tiny device with, the corners of his mouth turning down fractionally. “Somethin’ the matter, Spock?”

“I was under the impression that humans preferred to listen to classical music whilst studying?”

“That is classical, Spock.”

“I do not recognise it.”

Spock looked up just in time to watch the furrows between Leonard’s brows deepening. “Well, it’s classical, terran music, not vulcan, so I don’t suspect y’would.”

Without thinking, Spock said, “My mother made sure I was acquainted with many kinds of classical terran music as a child. I expected to recognise at least one of these songs from the information she provided me with.”

“Your mother liked terran music?”

Spock didn’t even pause to consider the trust required for him to offer an insight into his personal history. He just did. “My mother was human. I am only half-vulcan.”

“Might be half-vulcan, but you’re still a whole pain in the ass.” The rapidity of Leonard’s answer set Spock totally at ease, and the vulcan allowed himself to relax slightly in the presence of the human. “Y’still’ve done absolutely fuck all to help me, and I really do need to study. Y’can stay if y’want, but I can’t be shootin’ the breeze with you all night, y’hear?”. Spock’s look of confusion at the idiom was enough to send Leonard back on the defensive, and he was about to launch into a strong verbal eviction from his room when something almost-but-not-quite-clear quickly swept over Spock’s eyeballs. “What in the fucking HELL was that!” He shrieked, immediately grabbing his training tricorder from under his bed and scanning Spock, studies forgotten.

Spock’s alarm was only notable in his shoulders, which tensed as Leonard crowed into his personal space to a degree that would’ve been considered improper on Vulcan. Spock did not make any movement to rectify this situation. “McCoy?”. Leonard was muttering to himself as he scanned Spock for a third time. “Leonard?”

“What was that, Spock?”

“I am unclear on what it is exactly you are referring to.” Spock maintained solid eye contact with the Leonard, concern for the human’s mental well-being bubbling under his cool exterior. Leonard blinked, twice, incredulously, before putting his hand on the junction between Spock’s neck and shoulder, which was covered by his turtleneck. He looked at though he was going to say something before he went extremely pale and spluttered incoherently for a few moments before beginning anew with his tricorder scans. “Leonard?”

“Spock, something’s happening to your eyes.” He growled in response, pressing at the junction where his hand rested. “Turn your head, I want to scan it from another angle. Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing. The level of confusion I am experiencing is within normal parameters for my interactions with you.” Spock felt a wave on content pass over him when McCoy stopped scanning for a second to glare at him, before shaking his head and resuming his activities.

After a few minutes, he withdrew the scanner, dragging a hand down his face. “Spock, I don’t suppose vulcans happen to have a second pair of eyelids, do they?”

“Have your anatomy classes failed to cover that of vulcans?” Spock narrowed his eyes, deflecting from the fact that he didn’t actually know if the second eyelid was still a functioning part of vulcan biology. He’d learnt about it as a vestigial organ, but his hybrid nature had fascinated many scientists back home. One of the reasons he had decided to leave for Starfleet; Spock had hoped to avoid the invasive poking and prodding done in the name of research. That being said, the soft poking sensation of Leonard’s fingers through his shirt was far from uncomfortable, and Spock felt strange when the sensation stopped.

“We do, but the piss-poor files the VSA are willing to relinquish to us mere humans are so fucking full of redaction and contradiction that all we’ve left to work with are a few vague diagrams and thoughouly unhelpful paragraphs on the composition of vulcan blood.” Leonard took a step back from Spock, restoring the traditional respectful distance between them. Much too distant for Spock’s liking. “You’re sure you’re not going to die in the next few hours until we can get you to the sickbay tomorrow?”

“I do not need-”

“Spock, you’ve not only burnt yourself-”

“It is superficial at most, and does not require-”

“-but you’ve just discovered what might maybe be an eyelid but could equally -for all we know- be-”

“-medical attention. Your anxiety is unwarranted and your focus on your studies has waned to what could prove to be a detrimental degree if you do not-”

“-a malignant growth of some sort, you have to go to find out if that thing is hurting you or not at least-”

“-cease your illogical fussing and resume.”

“-and I- Spock are you even listening to me?” Leonard’s gradually increasing volume finally peaked out, and Spock raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Ah. shit, the neighbours.”

“At this hour, we can hope they are in a deep enough sleep not to have heard-”

“Are you kidding me Spock, I practically screamed-”

“If we continue in this vein, you will lose what little volume control you posses. Please sit down once again and I shall try and gauge how much you have prepared for this test already and we shall start from there.” Spock’s eyebrow lowered itself slowly as he relaxed once more, Leonard sitting down on the bed close to the headboard, making it easy for Spock to sit relatively close to him without making it look like anything but a logical decision for optimum viewing of the human’s notes. Not that it wasn’t motivated by logic. The fact his side was pressed soothingly to Leonard’s was a pleasant bonus. “That eyelid thing is a bit strange, you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

Spock levelled him with a flat stare. “I shall visit the nurse tomorrow if you cease this discussion.”

Leonard shrugged and dropped his head down and began working on a list of things he felt confident on for the next day in an attempt to hide his smug smile. It didn’t work, but Spock didn’t say anything.

A few hours later, they had taken a break from Spock’s relentless verbal assessments for Leonard to give his brain a chance to process the points they had been drilling and for Spock to asses the data he had collected on Leonard’s rate of retention of information to try and streamline their next bout. Except Leonard’s head had dropped onto Spock’s shoulder, and the heat from where their sides were pressed tightly together was relaxing Spock into a borderline meditative state. It was only when his chest started to vibrate lightly when Spock snapped himself back to reality, confident he had not woken his study mate with his unfortunate vulcan habit. Hubris was not a trait vulcans were capable of possessing, so Spock classed his slide in judgement as a calculation error, not as a result of unfounded pride.

“Were’y’... purrin’, Spock?” The human’s voice was muffled by Spock’s turtleneck, so the flush high on the his cheeks went unnoticed by Leonard.

“It is... an unfortunate, involuntary response of Vulcans.” Was Spock’s clipped answer, suddenly awake and almost frantically pouring over the notes he had made on Leonard’s progress.

“Mmm, sounds like more of y’all’s goddamn cagey nature. Outta be somethin’ your doctor outta know.” Leonard slowly picked himself up off of Spock’s shoulder. Spock felt irrationally irate at the loss of contact, despite the fact their sides remained pressed together. “Ah, shit. How long was I out?”

“Twelve minutes.” Was Spock’s response, glad to have moved on from his embarrassing lapse in control. Leonard’s response wasn’t forthcoming, so Spock chanced a glance at his roommate, only to find his mouth wide open, eyes closed, and seemingly struggling for breath. Spock’s basic first aid training kicked in, fully aware that humans, much like vulcans, required a constant supply of oxygen, and he began to thump at Leonard’s back, the angle much too awkward for him to apply the force necessary to dislodge whatever may have been blocking the med student’s airways. Except, the med student seemed to have cleared his airways on his own. And was using his perfectly clear airways to yell at Spock.

“The hell’re you doin’? Coulda seriously hurt me with that goddamn “superior vulcan strength” you won’t shut up about! Ain’t a fella allowed t’yawn in his own damn bedroom?”

Spock quickly stood up from the bed, and Leonard watched as the relaxed stance the vulcan had had previously completely vanished. “You appeared to be in respiratory distress. The training I have thus far received in first aid on humans required the first thing to do in such a situation would be-“

“Dammit Spock, I’m a med student, I know what t’do when someone can’t fucking breathe! I, oddly enough, was breathing just fine!”

Spock’s chin lifted fractionally, the last of his near-tender demeanour hardening. “Incorrect. Your chest ceased to rise and fall regularly, you had opened your mouth for maximum oxygen intake and yet you did not inhale, and the distress weakened you insofar as you were forced to close your eyes.”

Leonard looked at him, incredulous. “I yawned.”

“I do not understand. Does this correlate with your -“

“I yawned, you thick-skulled-“ Leonard stopped and took a breath, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Don’t worry, s’just an unfortunate, involuntary response of humans.”

Spock recognised he was being quoted, but unlike previous, malicious quotations made by various humans (including this patprticular one), his roommate did not seem to be trying to get a rise out of him, so he decided to retaliate. “That is the nature of most human responses, voluntary or otherwise.”

The outraged eyebrow that was slowly creeping up Leonard’s forehead was completely undermined by the sleepy grin that was taking over his entire face. “I’m not going to get much more study for this assent done, huh?”

“Assessment?”

“Yeah, the thing we’ve been studying for.” Leonard looked confused, but Spock’s head tilt betrayed his own befuddlement.

“You referred to it previously as an exam.” His arms crossed his chest, marring his perfect posture slightly. It looked to Leonard that, despite his confusion, his roommate was more relaxed than he had been.

“Yeah, an exam, an assessment, no difference, is there?”

Spock would later deny the look he gave Leonard was ‘incredulous’, Leonard would exaggerate his expression into one of absolute shock when retelling the tale to Jim the following evening. “There is a considerable difference, Leonard. Considering the brevity of this particular elective, the only grade that might impact your final score will be the final examination. Assessments in such a relatively insignificant elective will not affect your final grade in any serious manner.”

“It’s a matter of pride, Spock.” Leonard smiled, shaking his head. “Gotta keep up appearances.”

Spock glowered down at his roommate, the expression so slight that Leonard didn’t notice it at all. The silence strung out for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before Spock sat down at the foot of Leonard’s bed. “Pride is illogical, McCoy.”

Leonard snorted, shaking his head. “Pride and spite are the only things that keep me going, take ‘em away and I wouldn’t do a thing.”

He watched as Spock’s eyebrow crept upwards, his head tipping lightly towards him. “Your finger brushed my collarbone earlier, when you touched my robes.”

Leonard went a bright red, and his respiratory distress seemed genuine this time. He leapt off of the bed, putting the distance of the width of the room between them. “Fucking shit, Spock? Why didn’t y’tell me! Fucking touch-telepathy, that was probably stupidly invasive, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry. I’m fucking dense, I thought- I don’t know what I was doing, shouldn’t’ve gone near you-”

“Calm yourself Leonard-”

“And now you’re too polite to call me out on it, goddammit, we had lectures on proper conduct with vulcans, fuck-”

“Leonard.” Spock had stood and walked over to the human. Leonard was shocked when Spock put his hand on his shoulder. “There is no offence taken, do you understand?”. Leonard seemed to have lost his voice, but nodded. “I only brought up the incident because I sensed only concern and concentration from you through the contact. There was no bitterness, no concern for your pride or reputation. You saw your patient and thought of nothing but how best to administer effective and efficient treatment.”

Leonard had not made any indication of wanting to brush off his hand, so Spock decided to return to the personal space he had occupied while Leonard had been scanning him earlier. Leonard blinked several times, eyes crossing slightly to stare at the tip of Spock’s nose, only an inch, maybe less, from his own. His mouth suddenly went dry, and he swallowed hard, once. Spock’s nose had never looked so kissable. He shook his head- not an appropriate thought to be having while Spock was, wait, what was Spock saying? Leonard could hear him speaking, but his brain wasn’t processing the words correctly. Or at all. He thought maybe he was complimenting him, or maybe trying to get Leonard to explain his dry, almost self-critical comment. Hell, Spock could be reciting Shakespeare for all Leonard knew. Or cared. The vulcan’s voice was deeper than it was normally, more like it was when he had been sleepily pouring his tea earlier, less like it had been for their shared life up until today. The vibration of this deeper voice reminded him of the purring, the utter relaxation and warmth that had accompanied those vibrations, and... and Spock was still talking and Leonard still had no idea what he was saying because his mouth was moving very nicely, had his mouth always moved that nicely?

“BONES!” That voice would pull Leonard out of any dazed stupor he could possibly fall into. That voice, with that tone always meant one of two things. Jim needed his help, or Jim had done something he needed to confess to that would probably piss Leonard off. “BONES? YOU HOME?”

Spock had somehow managed to perch himself on the edge of Leonard’s desk, textbook and notes in hand, pointedly not looking at Bones. Rolling his eyes, Leonard walked out into the living area. “What the fuck have you done, Jim?”

“Bones!” Jim practically bounced over to the med student, which meant he’d absolutely fucked something up that was going to piss him off. Clapping his shoulder playfully, Jim used the momentum of his bounce to swing himself around Bones, heading for his room. “You’re not going to believe what a weird mix-up there’s been, man! So, look, I-why, hello, Mr.Spock!” Jim glanced over his shoulder with an “i-cannot-believe-you-got-the-hot-guy-we’ve-both-been-crushing-on-into-your-room’ look on his face, his mouth slightly open and his eyes comically large in mock disbelief. “What’s a hot guy like you doing in a dingy place like this?” He had turned his impish gaze back on Spock, gesturing vaguely around Leonard’s room as he mentioned the ‘dingy place’.

Spock’s face remained impassive, not betraying the flash of amusement he always felt when the younger human flirted blatantly with him. “Vulcans’ core temperatures are, on average, actually lower than that of humans.”

Where Leonard would’ve snapped back a witty counter attack in order to incite a fascinating debate, Jim simply leaned right into the lewd implications only he could draw from such a droll, basic fact. “Are you saying that you think Bones and I are hot, Mr.Spock?”. The man had far more confidence in his charismatic abilities than any other human Spock had seen knocking their own glasses off of their face when discussing something passionately with a lecturer.

Spock was about to fire back a response -noting in the back of his mind that of the friendships he had deliberately built with a select few humans in the hopes of appeasing his mother, the ones he had formed with Jim and Leonard, though not particularly strong yet, brought him a feeling of completion- when Leonard came into the room, red-faced and rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Jim, you’ll make him uncomfortable. Vulcans don’t flirt, that’d require expression of emotion.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard, mildly puzzled. Had Leonard not recognised their discussion before Jim had arrived for what it was? Was his respect and admiration of the medical student not clear?

“What is it you’ve done, Jim?” Bones had leaned himself against the door frame, staring fixedly at his ex-roommate, who was glancing between Spock and Bones with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Well, I was going to apologise for a stupid thing I did, but seeing as it wound up with all three of us in a room with a bed, I’d say no apologies needed.” Jim couldn’t keep a straight face delivering that line, his flirtatious demeanour crumbling into pure giddiness. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. S’just weird seeing the two of you together, it’s like you guys exist separately in my mind, and seeing you getting cosy in Bones’s room is just so wacky-“

“Jim!” Bones’s bark made Jim laugh even harder, and Spock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly as Jim’s merriment grew and Leonard became more and more flustered. These humans affected Spock more than he’d care to admit, and watching them interact brought a sense of contentedness over him. “It’s fucking crazy o clock in the morning, what in the hell could’y’ve done that y’need to confess so bad?”

“Small scheduling error, Bones, no big deal! In my defence, I didn’t realise how late it is, I was reading this really cool book that Galia’s sister sent her, so far it’s been absolutely gripping, can’t put it down-“

“Jim.”

His blue eyes darted around the room nervously as he giggled anxiously. “You don’t have a test tomorrow, Bones, I do. I fucked up and logged it in the PADD you’d loaned me instead of my own PADD, so I guessed you got a reminder and I know your memory is shit outside of your studies, so I figured you’d be up cramming-“

“Jim-boy, what’d you just say? Because if you said what I think you said, I’m going to-“

“Leonard, I would not recommend engaging in a physical altercation with Jim. He has considerable more experience in such matters.”

Spock felt a shiver down his spine as Leonard’s dangerously icy glare turned on him. “Are you sayin’ y’don’t think I can take ‘im, Spock?”

“That is not what he said Bones! C’mon, how bad was it? You got to bond with your roommate, and now my two best friends are on speaking terms, at least. Sounds like a win-win to me!”

“I’m gonna need the two of y’all to get the fuck outta my room, if I’m going to get any sleep at all before tomorrow.”

Jim’s smirk got even more mischievous, the glint in his eye almost dangerous. “Maybe we’ve planned for you to get no sleep tonight, Bones.”

“I resent your implicating me in your antics, Jim.” Spock was definitely grinning, goddammit! There’s no way a vulcan could manoeuvre their mouths any further into a vague smiling shape.

“You’re not denying it-”

“Both of y’all need to shut up and go to bed, it’s late.” Leonard groused, having had enough of Jim’s playfulness, which was a bit too much for how late it was. Also, the thoughts and feelings he was invoking in Leonard with his meaningless teasing were enough for him to overthink on for the rest of his life. Jim’s pout made Bones fully aware of just how much he wouldn’t mind kissing his best friend, which reminded him of how close he had been to doing just that to his roommate, which reminded him of how it was just his fucking luck to be attracted to the two people he most defiantly shouldn’t be attracted to. The two most unattainable people on campus. He was probably a sadist. Jim sat next to Spock on his bed, and Spock had turned to mutter something in Jim’s ear. On his bed. He was absolutely a sadist.

“That’s a good point, Spock. I think it’ll be difficult to strong-arm him into spending more time with the two of us as well.”

Spock had the good grace to look up at Leonard with what could be interpenetrated as an apologetic expression. “Those were not my... exact words.”

“I’m a med student, not a socialite, dammit!” Jim was sitting very close to Spock, they looked so right together it was sickening, and Spock was clearly mooning over Jim, and Bones... Bones needed to sleep. Now. “I’ll come over to your place tomorrow after I get out of the labs at six, Jim. If Spock comes, he comes. I don’t care.” He did care. A lot.

“Seeing as two of us live in these quarters, it would be more logical for us to reconvene here, would it not?”

“Nah, Jim’s got a better replicator.”

“I’ve also got better taste in holos, so...”

“You absolutely do not-”

“I don’t think watching documentaries counts as a relaxing night in-”

“I shall be there, eighteen-hundred hours.” Spock interrupted, his expression doing nothing to ease the daydreams determinedly banging at Leonard’s subconscious as he looked between the two humans. That odd eyelid-thing slid open and shut twice, which Leonard probably shouldn’t have found cute when he didn’t know whether or not it was hurting Spock. But he did, nonetheless.

Jim clapped Spock’s shoulder, which stopped the eyelid blinking, and resulted in a rather cat-like freezing of his entire frame. “Excellent!” Jim jumped up, bouncing out the bedroom door. “It’s a date, gentlemen!” And he was gone before Leonard’s outraged spluttering could hold him up.

“It’s not a- dammit, we’re not- Spock-”

Spock stopped to place his hand on Leonard’s shoulder, deliberately making eye-contact. “To borrow Jim’s turn of phrase, ‘it’s a date’, Leonard.”

And that rendered Leonard totally speechless, left staring mutely at Spock’s retreating back. What the fuck kind of emotional fuckery had he gotten himself into?

#im feral for spones goddamnit #spones #spock #bones #bones mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #academy au #author is lazy so joanna is bones's sister #jim kirk is in here somewhere #jim kirk #basically me projecting onto bones for over 2000 words #this would've been a little bit more legible if i'd focused it on either bones or spock but i DIDNT DO THAT #this is the definition of self-gratuitous #star trek #fic #star trek fic #wait no projecting onto bones for over 4000 words im so sorry #spock doesn't know what a yawn is and thinks leonard is dying #bones doesnt know about the vulcan second eyelid and thinks bones is dying #also purring is in here #becuase i am HERE FOR vulcans=logical cats #bored writes #mckirk #i guess #that wasnt meant to happen but here we are #also mcspirk #mcspirk #hakhalkhsalkha #me projecting onto bones for around 6000 words because i literally dont shut up ever

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xathia-89 · 5 years

Text

A Towel is optional

This is my shot at the smut off!

@colivara @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts @tarralin @jennacat84

Highly NSFW. You were warned!

It had been a nightmare of a week, though seeing his secretary passed out on his sofa with the papers in hand and their laptops in front of her on the coffee was an early reward for the man. Mitsuhide chuckled, tidying up around her and glancing over the papers to see what she had been working on. The presentation was open on his laptop, whilst all of the notes and plans were crowding her screen. His golden eyes were intrigued at the script she had drafted for him, whilst he had spent his time researching the company. Natsuki was beyond dedicated to the job, she always had a smile for him, and she had stepped in to take over from Masamune on his basic needs. Cups of coffee and sandwiches were always appearing, and the way she would scowl and scold him was far too adorable to resist. Then there were the constantly lingering glances, and she knew how to dress for her figure as well.

He had scared more than a few clients off from her. Appearing behind her with a disapproving look was always enough to stop them from pursuing her. There was always the slightest of twitches of her left hand, a signal for help that anyone else would miss but it stopped relations getting complicated with the clients that the CEO, Nobunaga Oda, seemed to favour. She attracted attention like flies to honey, a sweet and innocent smile that hinted at just how naughty she could truly be and the never-ending retorts to her boss to get her own way. She was the package and no ring on her finger. It was a miracle that he had yet to do anything beyond scowl at people to dissuade them, though he never saw Natsuki’s face when he was behind her and glaring at the intended. She always looked smugly at them, as though to declare they could look all they liked, but she was taken.

Mitsuhide found a spare blanket, reluctant to lift her off the sofa and disturb her from her sleep. This was the fourth night they’d worked this late, and it was a miracle that she hadn’t fallen asleep before. He gently nudged her, so she was lying down instead of staying at the awkward angle she had managed to fall asleep at somehow and then covered her with the blanket. She looked tired, her makeup had been washed off earlier in the evening, and he could see the bags under her eyes. How many hours had she really been putting in was passing his mind, but he would talk to her after the presentation.

Mitsuhide had the luck of being the first to wake up, Natsuki was stirring at the smell of coffee that Akechi was only made out of habit. He had no taste buds, but the caffeine seemed to help keep him awake during the day, and it was a good social drink alongside the sake that would be absorbed of an evening.

She looked so confused, and Mitsuhide couldn’t resist the temptation. He left a swift kiss to her cheek at the same moment that a mug of black coffee into his secretary’s hands. Her eyes flew open wide, and he was chuckling to himself as he left to go and shower.

The water was warm, allowing him to wake up a little better as he was already plotting how to handle the meeting that afternoon. He was entrenched deeply in his thoughts as the lather of the shower gel was slipping down the drain, and then the sound of the door opening caught his attention.

Natsuki was stunned, frozen in place as he realised that she was wearing the same shirt as yesterday, crumpled from being slept in and her hair was cascading over her shoulder. It was a refreshing sight, Mitsuhide had to admit to himself to see her look not as put together as normal while he lazily finished in the shower. There was no show of embarrassment from Akechi as he reached for the towel and wrapped it around his waist. The faintest of blushes were on his secretary’s cheeks, and she was still stood in the doorway.

It was an opportunity that the kitsune couldn’t miss as he ghosted her body with his. He tilted her chin up to lock eyes with the woman. It was the first time she had been so stumped that he had complete control of the situation between them.

“Seen something you like, little mouse?” His voice was sultry, a deep baritone that vibrated through her as she could feel his breath hot on her lips. His body was still damp from the shower, and she only just realised that he was now wearing a towel. Her cheeks blushed darker red as his golden eyes were alight with temptation.

Natsuki was reminded of the conversations with Masamune as they made the lunches for Mitsuhide and Mitsunari, how he had always found it amusing that the two were content just to tease each other on a constant basis. It was now, or never it felt like.

His lips were hot from the shower as she closed the minute gap between them. She was terrified as he didn’t respond at first and then went to pull away.

She was pulled into his arms, her clothes sticking to her skin as his tongue demanded entrance. Each kiss was never enough, they were constantly pulling each other back in before the secretary found herself swiftly picked up and planted on the cool marble top surface of the bathroom counter. Her skirt had been pushed up in the process, and his hard cock was pressed against the inside of her thigh before she realised that the towel had been discarded as well.

Natsuki couldn’t stop her moans as Akechi began to kiss down her throat, taking his time to nip and suck at her skin. Her shirt was offending the man and took no prisoners in tearing it open, ignoring the clattering sound of her buttons going flying in the process. She squealed and jolted her hips at the brush of his thumb over her slit before Mitsuhide wouldn’t let her have the kiss that she was now desperate for.

“Naughty girl, you’re not wearing any panties,” his voice was so low it was in danger of dropping through the floor.

“I didn’t have any clean underwear,” Natsuki’s voice was a thread in the air, whimpering at the loss of contact from his lips on her skin.

“So you were just going to skip wearing it today at work and tease me with that fact?” Mitsuhide made the bold leap of tempting the woman, keeping his lips purposely out of her reach, though his dark and lust filled eyes told the secretary more than he would ever admit.

“Maybe,” a ghost of a smile lit her face up. She looked too gorgeous to resist at the moment, and the man swiftly bit in the crook of her neck as he thrust two fingers into her exposed pussy. Her moan was swallowed by Mitsuhide, he couldn’t keep off her anymore. The little minx had every plan to push him over the edge that day as her slick cunt gave away her game. She was too tempting to resist, and it had been too long since Mitsuhide had the chance to get any release.

He resumed the nipping of her ear lobe and neck, trying to work out where would be best to mark her before the temptation to take her was too great.

“You’re absolutely dripping you filthy girl, you’ve been lusting after me , so you just kept teasing me,” his accusations were met with cries of pleasure with each sharp and deep drive into her cunt, his fingers curling to find that spot before he realised that he needed her more than he could stand.

A sharp slap to her thigh made the whine turn into a pout. Natsuki was looking so dishevelled and under his spell, her lips slightly swollen from the rough and constant kisses before he teased her with the taste of her essence by trailing his fingers over her lips. Her tongue was chasing his path, desperate for a chance to keep active contact with the man before she caught him off guard. The little minx wrapped her tongue around both digits, and dragged them back into her mouth, sucking noisily while maintaining eye contact.

The little tease.

Mitsuhide wasted no time, his cock plunging into her cunt to the hilt, and smirking in triumphant conquest as her sinful moans edged him on.

“In return for planning to tease me all day by not wearing underwear, you are not going to cum,” he whispered into her ear, making sure to tug on her lobe with his teeth as his nails were digging into her skin. He was ploughing into her thoroughly, not caring about what marks or bruises were going to be left, especially since she had effectively clawed his back to hell. He didn’t care, he just needed to feel her as her heels were digging into his backside, urging him deeper.

“That’s so mean,” Natsuki’s voice was bitter in complaint, her chest arching into his as she tried to sneak a hand between them before Mitsuhide had her wrists pinned behind her. A low growl in his throat was her only warning as his thrusts became primal, like an alpha marking his mate as his teeth sank into her collarbone before he came hard in her.

The mark would be impossible to hide under her usual outfit, and Hideyoshi would immediately be looking to scold her as Mitsuhide chuckled softly to himself while riding out the last of his climax. She looked so cute as she was pouting in defiance at the man before she realised how late they were.

“We need to get to work!” She exclaimed, suddenly panicking.

“Why? I’m your boss, and I’m certainly not going to fire you for this,” Mitsuhide smirked, slowly pulling out of her as he admired the marks that were beginning to bloom over her exposed torso. “Hm, you do need clothes, however, to go to work in,” he admitted reluctantly before going to clean up. “Get a shower though, I’ll sort something out.”

‘Something’ turned out to be half a wardrobe selection from a shop nearby that was exceedingly out of her price range. Natsuki’s mouth was hanging open, before glancing over the underwear and then glaring at Mitsuhide because he had obviously checked the bra she had been wearing. She was wrapped up in a spare robe of his and now stood gaping at the options.

“I can’t afford any of this,” she immediately complained, upset that he had clearly gone out of his way for her for what felt like no real reason.

“They’re presents. You’ve been working exceedingly hard this week, both on the presentation and on keeping me fed and hydrated,” Akechi shrugged. “So get dressed and then we’ll go to work.”

“Together?” Her squeak was adorable.

“Yes, little mouse, I fail to see the problem,” the man smirked, knowing exactly where her mind was going. “We are both going to the same place, so I fail to see why we should travel separately, especially since I believe you would need to waste time by getting public transport.”

Her pout was too adorable to resist as he pulled her flush against him. His fingers were tangling in her damp hair as he possessively claimed her lips in a passionate kiss. He felt her body relax into his at the contact, and the rest of the day was going to be a test of his will to not keep taking her especially since she would be in the meeting with the client.

All of the upper management seemed to know that they’d come in together. Masamune was swift to corner Natsuki since she headed straight for the kitchen to make food, it was nearly lunchtime after all, and the client would be there mid-afternoon, so she needed to keep the kitsune fed. He kept prodding and asking what it was like when her blush made her stand out like a lemon amongst limes. He was roaring with laughter before she promptly left the kitchen with the tray of food and coffee and was far too willing to face Mitsuhide’s teasing then anyone else’s at that point.

She was nothing short of perfect in the meeting. Her head was in the game, playing as a pretty face, of course, to make the deal sweeter until the contract was signed anyway and then a blunt refusal to a private dinner as Mitsuhide was lurking a lot closer than previous candidates.

“You’re sighing a lot, little mouse,” Mitsuhide was suddenly behind his secretary, knowing they were alone on the floor, and that he had locked his office door without her knowledge, as they were finishing up the paperwork from the new contract signing. His body framed hers, with his arms boxing her against his desk. “I would put those papers down if I were you,” he warned his breath hot on the edge of her ear, making all of her hypersensitive. “I also think I will be buying your wardrobe from here on,” he murmured, sliding the skirt of her dress up over her ass before he began to tease her panties. He was rubbing her slit through the satin, secretly impressed that she had chosen to wear that particular pair from the ones he had bought. “You have been such a good girl today, so I’m going to reward you.”

“But what if someone walks in,” her breathy response elicited his mouth covering hers, possessively biting at her lips as he freed his cock from his trousers. There was no need to get undressed, he just needed the access before he plunged his member into her waiting cunt, keeping her panties pulled to the side for ease.

“Then you need to keep quiet,” he chuckled, his hands skimmed over her dress, admiring her figure from this angle. One that he had been imagining for a while, and one that he never believed that he would get to experience. He was gripping at her hips again, then made a move to slide his hand to her clit. She was soaked and greedily taking all of his length in, this morning had apparently had an effect as she was meeting him eagerly for each thrust of his hips. The way that she was tightening around him, it was obvious that Natsuki wasn’t going to last long, but then again, Akechi had no plans to hold himself off as he hammered brutally into the woman. She knew that she was going to be sore the following day, but the man was too damn good to care about that in the heat of the moment.

“Please,” her nails were dragging along the desktop, desperate to cling onto something to ground her in the tornado she was being whipped around in.

“Are you going to cum like a good girl, all over my cock?” His voice was low enough to break any woman within three miles. Natsuki was prepared to admit that to anyone who asked at that moment. His fingers were expertly playing her clit, grinding and pinching on the exposed nub as he played to find out how high she could get.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” her squeals were flooded with relief, her orgasm shattering her reality as the sudden spasming brought on Mitsuhide’s climax.

She looked thoroughly fucked as she was laying flat out on the desk, her dress still hitched up around her waist and her boss’ cock still buried in her. Her breathing was heavy before Mitsuhide chuckled as he slowly pulled out of her.

“I do hope you aren’t expecting to get away with anything now, my dear,” the man was already tucking himself back into his clothing as she blushed darkly and rushed to make herself decent. “Go to the toilet, collect your things and then meet me in reception.”

“Why am I meeting you in the reception?” Her voice was laden with suspicion before her emerald eyes were wide. Her boss was tilting her head up so she could see his eyes.

“Because my little mouse,” his thumb tracing over her lower lip. “We are going to spend the weekend learning a lot about each other in my apartment.”

“But it’s Thursday,” she frowned, though she made no effort to remove his touch from her.

“I forgot to tell you, we have tomorrow off now,” he shrugged before sauntering off in his usual cocky manner.

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer at any point for sure as the secretary rushed off to the toilets to clean up from the escapade, and trying to not worry so much about what her boss and lover had planned.

#Mitsuhide Akechi #ikesen #Ikémen Sengoku #ikemen sengoku #smut off

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qobiin · 5 years

Text

when i fill them, they’ll shine forever | ch 2

pairing: todobakudeku (bakugou x midoriya x todoroki)

genre: angst, fluff | abo au, growing up au, canon-compliant

warnings: swearing, puberty, trans male character, gender dysphoria, blood

word count: 4035

summary: Katsuki being an omega from birth changes a few things.

chapter two of when i fill them, they’ll shine forever

Katsuki wakes up to blood spilling between his legs one morning when he is twelve.

He ends up burning the sheets and searing a hole into his carpet once he realizes what is going on.

His mom yells at him about it, but it’s half-hearted at best. Eventually, she sighs and disappears from his doorway before returning with something purple gripped tight in her hand. She gives him the pad and he looks at the stupid flowers covering it, wanting to scream. He wants to kick and yell and bite and cry.

His life is the fucking worst.

Deku catches onto his bad mood as soon as Katsuki has stepped out the front door but he says nothing as they walk to school. Katsuki would prefer it if he did though, at least it would stop him from getting irritated by feeling Deku’s eyes on him the entire fucking day.

Katsuki’s mood drops during the lunch hour when he has to change his pad and almost has a breakdown right there in the girl’s bathroom. He gets a grip on himself quickly though, absolutely refusing to cry in public. When he emerges from the bathroom - double-checking that no one saw him - and makes his way to their usual table, Deku is already there waiting for him.

His alpha still doesn’t say a word as he sits down, just puts a lunch box in front of him and starts to eat from his own. Katsuki feels like he’s going to vomit, but he pushes his rolling nausea down and brightens considerably once he catches sight of the leafy greens, pomegranate seeds and meat that Auntie Inko prepared for him. There are two rice balls as well, but compared to the six that Deku has in his lunch, it’s not a lot. Which is exactly how Katsuki likes it.

He digs his phone out of his pocket and sends a thank you text to Auntie before he begins to eat.

Deku finishes first and quickly packs up his lunch box. From there, it is almost impossible to ignore Deku’s staring.

“What?” Katsuki asks between bites of his rice ball.

“Do you wanna get ice cream with me after school?”

Katsuki blinks, taken by surprise. “No.”

Deku frowns. “But you’re not busy today, so why not?”

“Because,” Katsuki starts with, mumbling the rest of his sentence.

“Huh?”

Katsuki takes in a deep breath and makes sure his voice is steady. “Because I can’t have dairy products for the next couple of days. Or spicy food. Or caffeinated things.”

Silence greets him, allowing him to drown in nervousness, but it doesn't last for long.

“Okay. Let’s go to the store and buy some fruit instead. I bet Mom will prepare it all for us if we ask nicely,” Deku pipes up, one sole finger tapping against his chin. “If not, then it would be a great time for me to learn. I know you avoid chocolate, but let’s get some of that too. Dark chocolate and bananas sound good, don’t they?”

“I guess,” Katsuki mumbles, picking at his food. “I don’t care.”

Deku hums. “Do you need any aspirin? We could pick that up at the store too if we need to. Or I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind giving you a few of hers. She gets really painful headaches, so she always keeps aspirin on hand.”

Katsuki sets his chopsticks down, glaring at the table. “Fine.”

“Okay, see you later! I need to go to the library and you need to finish eating or Mom will be disappointed. Bye, Kacchan!” Deku says while picking up his lunch box and scurrying away from the table.

Katsuki watches him go, glad for the time alone and the space that Deku is granting him right now. Deku always knows when Katsuki needs something and always gives it to him if he can. It’s just that Katsuki can’t help but feel guilty.

He never knows what Deku needs and if he does, then he never knows how to give it to him. He’s always left bumbling around, feeling useless and stupid. Katsuki understands that he is not a good omega in the traditional sense and that has never bothered Deku in the least, but sometimes, Katsuki wishes that he was a good, traditional omega. That he knew how to comfort his alpha and when to do it.

Maybe their roles should have been in reverse instead. Maybe-

Katsuki stops that line of thinking in its tracks. He doesn’t want to be Deku’s alpha. He wants to belong to someone, to have a place in a pack and have his mate watching his back. He wants to know without a doubt that he will be taken care of and that the same will be expected of him in return.

He doesn’t know what he would do if he was an alpha instead. Well, that's not right either. He does know what would have happened if he and Deku had been born with each other’s secondary gender. He would have fucked everything up, made things irreparable to the point that Deku would give up. Deku would be his hurt and damaged omega and it would be all Katsuki’s fault. Everything would have fallen into shambles, would have broken and never be glued back together again.

Things are better this way. At least if Katsuki goes too far, he knows that Deku will be able to rein him back in easily.

With his lunch finished, Katsuki packs up and makes his way to the library in search of his alpha.

“Hey, do you want your gift now or in the morning?” Deku asks on Katsuki’s thirteenth birthday.

They’re having a sleepover, sleepy and warm after stuffing themselves full during Katsuki’s party earlier.

Deku had forced him to invite people from school and from the few that actually showed up, they managed to have an alright time. No one was mean or worded things in a way that would make Katsuki bristle with anger. People were nice to his alpha and they even cleared out an hour before Katsuki’s set deadline of kicking them out.

All in all, his birthday was fine. He opened his presents after everyone left and managed to convince their parents to let Deku spend the night. He had pulled out the futon his parents got him soon after he and Deku got too big to share Katsuki’s bed during sleepovers as kids and gave him his favorite pillow. They brushed their teeth side by side in front of the bathroom mirror and Deku changed in the bathroom while Katsuki changed in his room. Deku knocked and waited for a reply before he walked back in and they both climbed under the covers.

Now they are looking up at the ceiling in silence. Katsuki feels tired enough to fall asleep right now but Deku had pulled him aside in the morning and told him that he had a secret surprise for him that he would give to him after the party ended and they got a moment alone together.

“Now, before I fall asleep. We’ll forget about it in the morning,” Katsuki answers, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up in bed.

Deku gets onto his knees and crawls over to his backpack, pulling a long, flat box from it. It’s wrapped in red paper with bombs scattered across it periodically and Katsuki grins at those details before he rips into it.

Beside him, Deku snorts in amusement but doesn’t comment. Katsuki spares him a glance, still grinning and opens the box.

In it is a piece of shiny, black fabric.

“Deku, if you got me a fucking dress, I am going to decapitate you,” Katsuki growls, glaring over his shoulder at his alpha.

Deku only smiles back in reassurance. “Lift it up. Unfold it and you’ll see it’s not a dress. I would never insult you like that.”

Katsuki pulls his lips back and bares his teeth. “It better not be.”

He turns back to the box and picks up the fabric. It’s smooth and shimmery, but not in the way that he expects. When he holds it up in the moonlight, confusion swarms him. He detests dresses and skirts, but a crop top? Seriously? Just what kind of game is Deku playing here? Does he want Katsuki to kill him?

“Did you really wait until we were alone to give me a fucking crop top? Do you have a death wish, you fucking idiot?”

Deku shifts beside him, nervous and twitchy. “It’s not a crop top, Kacchan. It’s a binder.”

The binder falls from his hands and lands back in the box unceremoniously. Katsuki can barely remember to breathe as Deku goes terribly still beside him, the beginning of a mumbling storm already on the tip of his tongue. Katsuki looks at his alpha from the corner of his eye, watching as his face flushes in the dark and the moonlight falls across his hair. Deku's hands twist in his lap, the mumbling storm roaring to life within another instant of silence between them.

“If you don’t like it, I can return it and give you the money I used instead. I just thought you might like it since I overheard Auntie talking to Mom about you outgrowing another sports bra, so I started researching and found out that it’s okay to bind at any age as long as you do it safely. I started saving up then because the good ones are really expensive and I knew a cheap one wouldn’t work and would probably mess with your lungs or something even worse. This one had really great reviews and I didn’t think you would like a full tank top kind of binder, but then I had to wait because they ran out in black and I know you would have hated the other colors available. So then I started worrying that I wasn’t going to be able to get it in time for your birthday, but then two weeks ago, they re-stocked it and I bought it! It came to my house last week and Mom knows because the package got there while we were at school and she opened it to make sure it wasn’t like a bomb or something since you know how paranoid she can be. Which I don’t blame her for ‘cause sometimes villains target random people and it’s better to be safe than sorry, but yeah. She asked if it was for you and I can’t lie to her, so she knows, but she promised she wouldn’t mention it and she asked me if you were thinking about starting hormonal treatment when you’re old enough and I told her I didn’t know. I started doing research on that too and found out you can’t start those until you’re sixteen and only with parent’s permission and only if your doctor isn’t mean about it, which sucks because I don’t think doctors should have that kind of power over people who are trying to be okay with their bodies if they aren’t going to treat those people respectfully and such. I get it if it’s something that would put a person’s life in danger, but I just don’t- Ah!”

Deku only cuts off his long spiel when Katsuki turns and lunges at him. He squeaks in terror and stills as Katsuki throws his arms around him. Katsuki grips him tight, pressing his face into his alpha’s shoulder and inhaling deeply, feeling his eyes burn dangerously.

Another moment passes before Deku’s arms come down around him gently and suddenly Katsuki can’t fight the stupid tears that have been trying to escape him for the last five minutes. He knows Deku starts crying when his alpha sniffs and shifts until they end up lying on the floor, holding onto one another.

Katsuki is quiet as he cries, but Deku tightens his hold on him anyway when he starts shaking and runs a hand through his spiky hair.

“It’s okay. You’re amazing and you deserve to be happy, Kacchan. It’s okay. You can cry. You can be sad if you want to be. I know it hurts, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” Deku chants under his breath, voice cracking multiple times in between sentences.

He almost wants to tell his alpha to shut the fuck up and just let him cry, but the words, his scent, and his embrace are all comforting enough for Katsuki to allow it. Just this once.

Katsuki curls himself further into his alpha and cries himself out, hoping that if he does it now then he won’t do it again when he tries the binder on for the first time.

(He does.)

“You can go straight home today, Kacchan. I have to stay after school for another talk with the school counselor.”

Katsuki frowns at Deku, raising one brow in silent question.

Deku shuffles awkwardly on his side of the lunch table, gaze stuck on the food that he has been picking at for the last twenty minutes instead of actually eating. “She wants me to consider other schools.”

In the sudden silence that befalls their table, Katsuki’s chopsticks snapping in half seem to echo around them. He’s so overcome with an indescribable wave of anger that he barely notices the fact that his palms are starting to smoke too.

“Kacchan, you’re gonna set off the fire alarm again,” Deku’s voice filters in through the omega’s haze of anger.

“I’m going to kill that bitch,” is Katsuki’s only answer.

Deku sighs, continuing to pick at his food now that Katsuki isn’t in danger of exploding their table (again). “Please, don’t. I already told her that it’s where you’re going and I plan to be with my mate, but she keeps insisting. She wants me to either pick more schools to apply to or apply to UA’s general course instead.”

“She can go die for all I fucking care,” Katsuki spits out. “Watch when you become the first fucking quirkless hero and at a stupid interview they ask about your childhood and you bring up that bitch’s name and this stupid, shitty school. They’ll regret the way they’re treating my alpha like he’s some weak, defenseless piece of shit!”

“I think that’s one of the nicest things you have ever said about me, Kacchan,” Deku murmurs, but there is a smile slowly blossoming on his face so Katsuki can hardly feel embarrassed about his outburst.

“Shut the fuck up, nerd. Go tell her that she can fucking suck it.”

Deku laughs, some of his normal behavior beginning to bleed through. Katsuki pats himself on the back for a job well done when Deku acts like he usually does for the rest of the lunch hour.

Once the final bell rings, Katsuki walks over to Deku’s desk and hauls them away into a secluded hallway where no one will bother them. Deku looks confused and smells nervous, but he calms considerably after Katsuki glares at him then pulls him into a tight hug.

They stand there embracing one another while subtly scenting the other, then Katsuki growls under his breath and breaks away.

“See you later, nerd! Mom’s making your favorite tonight, so you better fucking be there,” Katsuki yells over his shoulder.

Deku’s voice is light behind him. “Bye, Kacchan!”

“Why the fuck did I have to fucking come and get it?” Katsuki mutters to himself, kicking a can angrily against the alley wall. “Fucking Deku and his stupid shitty taste in food!”

He knows he doesn’t mean it. He’s just angry his homework time is being cut into right now. All because his mom didn’t have the ingredients she needed for katsudon, Deku’s favorite, which Katsuki had angrily texted her about making tonight under the lunch table when Deku wasn't paying attention.

Whatever. As long as it makes Deku happy.

That’s his last cohesive thought before something dark and sludge-like crawls out of the shadows and engulfs him whole.

After it is all said and done and the stupid heroes have finished ripping Deku a new one, Katsuki finds that he can barely even look at his alpha.

The heroes insist that Katsuki should be looked over by a medical professional, but he’s furious and the last thing he wants to do is take his shirt off in such a public space.

It doesn’t help matters that All Might is smiling and conversing with police and reporters alike, trying to make everything cheery as all hell. It doesn’t accomplish anything except making Katsuki even angrier than before.

Finally, when he is allowed to leave, Katsuki books it. Deku was allowed to leave first and probably decided to not wait up for him, thinking that Katsuki would actually let a paramedic check him out first. Fuck that.

In the distance, a familiar head of dark, curly hair appears and Katsuki kicks it into high gear, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“DEKU!”

He hates how his voice cracks, but there’s no helping it. There is no time either since Deku turns immediately to look at him.

“K-Kacchan! What are you doing?” Deku stutters, face turning bright red as Katsuki advances.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, you stupid fucking nerd!” Katsuki yells, not caring about how loud he is. “But I’m still going to kill you!”

Deku takes a step back, flushing and stuttering again. “W-What but-?”

Katsuki can feel his hands beginning to smoke and if Deku’s eyes looking down then flickering back up are any indication, then his alpha knows it too, but Katsuki doesn’t give a fuck.

He’s so fucking angry. So pissed off that those heroes were so fucking useless that his quirkless alpha had to jump in to try and save him. They are the reason his alpha thought it was necessary to throw himself into danger and Katsuki was close to blowing his top back in that alley, but in front of his alpha, he can’t keep it together anymore.

See this is the thing. Katsuki isn’t angry that he had to be saved. Well, maybe a little, but it isn't the reason he wants to blow up this entire neighborhood then run back to that alley and beat the shit out of those pro heroes and one sludge villain in particular.

Katsuki is angry because his alpha threw himself into danger that Katsuki could barely handle. He has a powerful quirk, but it did absolutely fucking nothing to stop that villain earlier. Deku is quirkless. Deku is soft and gentle and incapable of not lending someone a helping hand. He’s an alpha, yes, but Deku is so, so fragile. Katsuki knows that his alpha can grow a spine when he fucking wants to and that he can throw a mean punch, especially since they started working out together. Katsuki knows everything about his alpha and that is exactly why when their eyes met, Katsuki was struck dumb with terror because he knew what was going to happen next.

He knew and he was terrified for his alpha.

“You could have gotten hurt, you idiot!” Katsuki spits out, growing angrier when his eyes start burning.

He turns his face away, letting out a deep breath and fighting back the stupid fucking tears. Deku has gone still in front of him. His panicked scent has turned towards confusion and slowly, so slowly that Katsuki can barely recognize it, a growing sense of horror. Both of them do not speak and Katsuki has never felt further apart from his alpha than at this moment.

“You were going to die,” Deku eventually says, finally breaking the stifling silence that had befallen them.

Katsuki feels his hackles rise in defiance and anger again. “You don’t know that! You don’t know shit, you stupid nerd! You had no reason to put yourself in danger like that because of me, Deku!”

Deku steps back like he has been struck, his expression and scent changing quickly. “You’re my mate, Kacchan. I will always do my best to take care of you in any way that I can. Me being quirkless doesn’t change that.”

“That has nothing to do with it! You said I could take care of you, you fucking promised, shithead!” Katsuki growls, advancing rapidly on his alpha with his palms smoking then coming to an abrupt halt as Deku flinches.

Katsuki draws back, looking at the street instead of Deku’s emerald eyes. “I am not more important than you, fucktard. There were heroes there and you didn’t have to do that. Why did you do that? I didn’t need your fucking help and you know that! So why did you run into it anyway?”

He keeps his gaze on Deku’s bright red shoes, his eyes burning fiercer than before. Katsuki does not know what he expects his alpha to say, but it isn’t what he ends up hearing at all.

“You’re my heart, Kacchan,” Deku murmurs, his voice so soft and gentle and Katsuki can’t help the fucking tears that fall down his face then. “That villain attacked me earlier and I almost died. I know firsthand that it might have killed you too. The only thing I could think to myself at the moment was, what am I supposed to do you without you?”

Katsuki feels his head snap up and meets Deku’s watery gaze with his own, suddenly frothing at the mouth angry again. He hates this. He hates this so much and he hates how it’s his alpha who always manages to bring this stupid emotional bullshit out of him when he would rather ignore it all and suffer in silence. But no, Deku has to force it out of him and make him talk about feelings otherwise Katsuki just feels guilty and shitty.

Fuck Deku honestly and fuck stupid ass feelings too!

As if Katsuki wouldn’t have done the same thing. As if Katsuki would not be terrified of losing his mate, alpha, and best friend all in one fell swoop! As if Deku is so fucking noble for throwing himself into danger when all it did was make the situation worse and scare ten years off Katsuki’s life.

“WELL, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITHOUT YOU? This is a two-way street, motherfucker, and you can’t fucking assume that I would ever want you to get fucking hurt because of me!” Katsuki all but screams, shaking and trembling as tears continue to trail down his cheeks.

Deku is much too calm when he says, “I know. I didn’t mean to imply that your feelings don’t matter, but Kacchan… You would have done the same thing.”

Katsuki doesn’t reply, not deeming that statement worthy of an answer at all because they both know it’s the truth. It is what Katsuki was thinking just mere moments before, what he refuses to speak aloud after all that has already happened today.

He is too tired for this crap. He wants to go home and pretend like the world doesn’t exist for a few hours.

Deku must read it in the slump of his shoulders or the dejected look on his face because soon he’s speaking again and giving Katsuki the escape he needs. “If you want some alone time, I can give you space, Kacchan.”

Katsuki can only make himself nod. Deku gives him a gentle and sincere smile anyway, the kind that makes Katsuki want to punch something.

“Okay… and Kacchan?”

He looks up again, letting their eyes meet. Deku looks rattled and tired, but assured too, something that Katsuki rarely ever sees from his alpha.

“I love you.”

What the fuck?

What.

The.

Fuck.

Absolutely not, Deku can fuck right off with that bullshit. Katsuki wipes his face quickly with the singed sleeve of his uniform and flees.

He runs the rest of the way home, crying again, and when he bursts through his front door, his mom is in the kitchen. His dad isn’t home yet, so he ignores her greeting and runs into his room. Locking the door, he lets his tears fall freely.

He feels so stupid and small, something he abhors with all his might. Ugh.

a/n: if you’re interested about how this is all coming together, check out my #progress-report tag (:

thanks for reading! please remember that my requests are open

#todobakudeku #bakudeku #todobaku #tododeku #bakugou x midoriya x todoroki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #chaptered #f:bnha #g:angst #g:fluff #t:chaptered #p:ot3 #p:bakugou/midoriya/todoroki #wifttsf #m: fic

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marvelousbirthdays · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday, romanoffsbite

April 25- Darcy/Bucky, something fluffy or funny, maybe with the prompt/idea: "you sit behind me and poke me every time i fall asleep during 9am lectures thank you can i buy you a coffee?", for @romanoffsbite

Written by @thestarfishdancer

Darcy covers her mouth as she yawns discreetly, giving her arm a sharp little pinch to try and get the blood going or something. The jolt lasts a little, but not as much as it would if Professor Sitwell didn’t have some lame rule against food or drink in his classroom, meaning no triple shot of espresso in her mocha to get her through this early class. Or if the stupid lecture hall was a decent temperature. Or if Sitwell knew how to present and not just drone. It’s practically like having a white noise machine.

Her eyes are drifting shut against her will again when she feels the heavy leather tread of a boot against the small of her back through the hole in her seat. It’s not painful – never even close. She doesn’t know how the hot transfer always seems to instinctively know when she’s going to lose the battle and prods her awake, but he does.

She turns in her seat just enough to shoot him a grateful look – she’s done as much since the first hesitant poke a few weeks into class, not wanting him to think its unwelcome. Lord knows she’d never make it through the class if it weren’t for him. Whoever thought it was a good idea to schedule any class at 8 am is unusually cruel and sadistic, she’s sure.

Probably Sitwell himself. He’s the worst.

She manages to keep herself awake on her own until the class ends some fifteen minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief as Sitwell finally dismisses them, and only two minutes over time for once.

“So,” Darcy says, turning to the guy she and Jane refer to as her Hot Wake Up call since they don’t have to bolt from the room so the next class can take over for once. “Long overdue, dude, but thanks. I’ve been dying here. Like every class.”

Hot Wake Up Call kind of freezes, before shrugging and giving her a half smile. “I’ve noticed.”

He hesitates, shoving his hands into his pockets. It’s his default, she knows, having seen him around campus once or twice with the All-American Ken Doll blond who seems to be a close friend doing the same thing. He’s seemingly self-conscious of the latticework of scars on his left hand she has a sneaking suspicion run all the way up. His friend is good looking too, but she tends to prefer the scruffy, brooding thing Hot Wake Up Call has going on.

Not that Hot Wake Up Call cares. Probably.

“Well, anyway,” she says. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Almost as good as a coffee.”

“Yeah, Sitwell’s rule’s just…”

“Stupid and patronizing, like we aren’t a bunch of adults who can manage to take notes and be caffeinated?”

“Yeah,” he gives that half smile again. “That. If you don’t mind my asking…”

“Shoot,” she says, pushing tugging on her beanie and adjusting her glasses.

“You don’t really seem into this class, so why did you keep taking it?”

“Firstly, it’s not the class, it’s Sitwell. This subject should be fascinating, but somehow he manages to suck the interesting out of the room. Secondly, I badly, badly want to take Dr Carter’s class, because she's amazing, but this is a prerequisite, and it isn’t offered again until next year.”

“Well, that makes sense,” he says as he walks alongside her out into the hall.. “Knew you weren’t coming for Sitwell’s pretty face, anyway.”

“Well, other pretty faces are a draw,” she says with a wink, the cooler air of the hallway making it easier to feel a bit bolder. “Though I’ll admit the early hour would be easier to take if my roommate/BFF wasn’t’ an astrophysics genius who keeps wicked odd hours.”

“Ouch,” he says. “Mine’s an art student, so I get it.”

“Really?” she wrinkles her nose in confusion. “They come in and out until three in the morning on the regular because they have to look at the stars?”

“Nope, but they do come in and out at three in the morning because they decide they hate half their portfolio and have to go back to the studio to start over two days before it’s due.”

“Ouch,” she repeats. “So… caffeine is your friend.”

“Caffeine is my friend,” he nods.

“Speaking of which… I don’t have another class until noon and need an espresso IV today, and I think I owe you one…”

“Are you offering to treat me to coffee, doll?”

“Darcy,” she says. “And yeah, I am.”

“Bucky,” he says. “Well, James, but no one calls me that except my great aunt.”

He’s smiling at her, full on smiling instead of the half, and damned if it isn’t devastating.

“So… Bucky…. coffee?”

“On one condition,” he says. “You let me take you out for the next one.”

“Deal. It’s a date.”

She’s half worried he’ll correct her assumption, but he doesn’t. Holy crap. She has an actual date with Hot Wake Up Call guy. Jane’s going to freak.

Taking the world’s most boring poli sci class with the world’s worst teacher? Best decision EVER.

#Darcy Lewis #Bucky Barnes #college au #WinterShock

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todorosy · 6 years

Note

May I request Present Mic, Aged-up Shinsou and Aizawa discovering their non-binary ace S/O has debilitating chronic insomnia and has ever since they were a very young child. (Living on a few hours of sleep per WEEK). They’re always on the brink of total collapse but hide it like a pro & have a strict medication regime too so they keep ducking out of evening dates/whatever to go home & take them. But, eventually, they just drop unconscious when with the boys. Bonus if S/O uses ASMR with Mic.

Ahhh I’m sorry this took longer than it should. This was weirdly a lil tedious to write but I really hope you enjoy this!

Hizashi Yamada

Many people wouldn’t expect you and Yamada to be together. You were usually quite and timid while he was loud and had an explosive personality. While many people didn’t expect you two to be together, many people didn’t even know!

You weren’t a fan of social gatherings and events due to your tight medication regime for your chronic insomnia. You wanted to keep this illness away from Yamada and friends to prevent them from worrying, but putting on the whole show was even more exhausted. This exhaustion weighed down heavily on the minimum amount of energy you had to function on throughout the day.

“Y/N can you please come to this show? It’s really important to me and It would make me so happy if you came.” Yamada begged. Of course you felt bad for all of those times you had dodged out of his show and came up with excuses to miss out, but you were still unsure.

One day couldn’t hurt, right? You had been on top of your game ever since you received the medications so one unusual day couldn’t hurt you.

“Okay. I’ll go.” You smile. “I’ll always be there to support you.”

During the whole show, your eyes were lit up by the stage lights and colorful lasers that rapidly flashed through the crowd. You were so mesmerized at how happy and content he looked up on stage. You were glad that you got to see him in his element like this. It was almost like you forgot all about your medications and illness.

“Yamada!” You looked so good out there!” You exclaim as you jump at him into a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m so happy you’re here, Y/N.” He squeezes you.

You watch on as he talked to his friends and producers, though you felt your vision fade in and out as if they were pulsating. Your body was suddenly hit with heaviness once your adrenaline high went down.

Before you knew it, your eyes fluttered closed and your body gave out. The last thing you heard was your significant other calling out your name and a pair of arms grabbing yours to support your weight.

You woke up to the blinding hospital light, you quickly recognized your boyfriend and your friends standing by your bedside, staring down at you with worry in their expressions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yamada says with a hard expression. “Why did I have to hear from Midnight and not you?”

“Yamada, it’s not a big deal, really. I have it all under control I just have to remember to really stick to my medication regime next time.” You sigh. “I didn’t think it would recoil like this.”

“You could have told me! I wouldn’t have asked you to come watch me tonight.”

“But I wanted to.” You smiled “And I don’t regret it one bit! You were so amazing out there and for once I felt like I was alive!”

After you were released from the hospital, he made it his mission to help you as much as he could. He did extensive amounts of research on treatments and ways to help you get some rest.

“I really do not think this is going to work.” You unsurely say as you laid on the couch on your back.

He shushes you “You’re ruining the mood. Now please, let us at least try it.” He says, clearing his throat into the microphone, causing you to flinch.

“Do you really need a microphone for this? I mean you are Present Mic. I rather get 0 sleep than have my ear drums blown out right now”

“Trust the process, Y/N” He rolls his eyes. “I can be quiet if I wanted to.” He began bringing random objects up to the mic and tapping his fingers against it. You snorted as he grossly whispers into the mic, but hey at least he was trying!

Shinsou Hitoshi

Both you and Hitoshi had the same issue with getting enough sleep every night. Though you two would stay up until the late nights almost every night, he would eventually fall asleep while you were stuck in a timeless state of exhaustion.

“I’m glad I got more sleep than usual.” He says as he walks out into your shared kitchen.

“Must be nice.” You jokingly roll your eyes, taking a sip from your mug of black coffee. “I got 0 sleep as always.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I know we joke around about that a lot but like you’re not getting ANY sleep at all?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“It was a hyperbole, Toshi. I’m fine.” You smile. “And here’s your coffee. Black with a splash of milk”

“Thank you very much. You know I should cut down on caffeine. I heard it’s terrible for your body. I’m trying to keep up with all of this training and keep up to shape too.” He stirs his coffee around.

“Coffee is a lifestyle. You can’t just quit cold turkey.” You take a long sip of the hot and bitter drink.

“I think it’d be fun. Let’s just do a little detox.” He flashes a wide grin to get you on board with the idea. “Puh-lease?”

“Gosh fine. I’ll go on this detox with you, but understand that one wrong word in the morning will get your dick chopped off.” You grumble.

“I’ll take the chance. Starting tomorrow.” He says before pressing a sloppy kiss onto your cheek.

It had only been 3 days since you’ve started this dumb detox. Your arms felt heavy as you continued on with your Sunday chores. You set the vacuum up to take a break from the tedious chore.

Once your hear the front door open, you immediately perk up and rebuild your energetic facade.

“Hey Y/N, are you ready to go to the store later?” He says, walking to your shared room.

“Ehhh. Do we really have to go today?” You smile sheepishly. Normally you would push through your exhaustion, but these past few days have been hard on your body.

“Unless you want to starve, then sure.” He chuckles. “Are you okay? You don’t look too hot.”

“Gee thanks.” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine. Let’s just get it over with. The faster we leave, the faster we get home.” You mumble.

After a few steps, you felt lightheaded. Your vision slowly fade to black. You feel A pair of arms grab into your shoulders.

“Y/N, what the fuck? What’s wrong.” He helps you sit down on the floor. You feel him shift his position so you would be sitting in between his legs so you would lean up against his chest. “Do you need a doctor? Should I call my dad?”

You remember those lectures your doctor would give you when you were first diagnosed with chronic insomnia. No matter the situation, always tell someone if you were going to pass out. It had been a while since you’ve lost consciousness due to exhaustion, but you vaguely remembered the feeling of your body growing heavier and heavier.

“I…I’m going to faint.” You groggily say as you feel your body grow limp against your boyfriend’s chest.

“Fuck!” He says. “You’re okay, Y/N just give me a moment.” You feel his body shift to reach other to what you presumed to be his phone. “You’re going to be okay.”

And that was the last thing you heard.

“…Are you serious? Where did you find these?” You hear.

Your eyes quickly popped open and sat up. You found yourself laying in your own bed. Quickly recalling what had happened before you fainted, you mentally cursed at yourself.

You see your boyfriend walk out of the bathroom, followed by his father.

“Y/N what are all of these?” He says, holding the handful of pill bottles you thought you had safety kept hidden away.

“Hitoshi, don’t ask dumb questions. I just told you what they were.” His dad rolls his eyes playfully. “How you feeling, Y/N? The only sleep you’ve had in a while, huh?”

“Chronic insomnia? It was that serious and you didn’t tell me?” He says frantically reading the labels on each pill bottle.

“I know it was wrong of me to keep it away from you, but I’m fine. I’m used to it by now.” You shrug. “Thank you for being there when…that happened.”

“You had me so fucking worried.” He hopped onto the bed with you and hugged you tightly. “I didn’t know what was happening.” He cups your cheeks and stares into your eyes. “You have to tell me everything.”

“Y/N we’re going to have to have a visit with your doctor.” Hitoshi’s father interrupts. “Your caffeine intake was affecting your medication so we have to make some adjustments, okay? No more caffeine.”

“Are you serious!?” You exclaim, ripping your face away of Hitoshi’s hands.

Aizawa Shouta

As pro-heroes, you and Shouta worked long hours. Though your hours were long and tedious, you two made a great team. You met during one of your late night patrols and since then you’ve been partners, in more ways than one.

You were ready to call it a night and head back to your apartment until you got a message from your significant other signaling you to head to center city to provide backup to handle a higher level villain attack.

After said message, your reminder set off to take your medication.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath. Of course you bolted to center city in the instant, but you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if you missed one of your many pills.

Once you arrived to the destination, you see buildings and cars on fire and civilians running in panic.

“H/N! Over here!” Once of the other heroes call. “We need to put these fires out.”

You made your way over to the burning cars and buildings to put out the flames with your quirk. There was still no sign of Shouta, as the chaos continued around you, but you trusted him to stay safe and do his job.

But that worry was ever growing in the back of our mind.

After the fact, the city block was left with debris and ruble scattered throughout the streets. Your body was sore and tired from the constant use of your quirk, and the small battles with lower level villains.

You leaned onto the side of the building to support your body, You felt weak and numb, as if you were to collapse at any moment.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” Hizashi says, quickly jogging over to you. “Are you hurt? Where’s Shouta?” He asks, analyzing your body for any visible damage.

“I..I’m fine. I’m just a little worn out.” You wave off his worry. “And there’s this, but it’s no biggie.” You raise your palms up to show him the rawness that was caused by the overuse of your quirk.

“You don’t look too good, Y/N. Here, let me help you get to the paramedics.” He wraps your arm around his shoulder to provide support.

“Hizashi, I’m fine. Really.” You mumble. Your knees felt wobbly, as if they were ready to give out as any moment. This wave of exhaustion hit harder than usual. You felt like you were ready to fall over the edge.

“Hey, can we get the paramedics over here?!” Hizashi calls out. “It’s Y/N! They’re about to faint at any moment!”

“Y/N? Yamada, what’s wrong with Y/N? What happened?” You hear the familiar voice come closer and closer, followed by rapid footsteps.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t have been hurt by those thugs, right? They took them out no problem.”

Hizashi passes you off into Shouta’s arms.

“Hey, what’s wrong.” He sets you down to sit on the ground. “Are you hurt?” He asks sternly.

“No, I just…I don’t feel…” You mumble.

“Maybe they got hit in the head.” Hizashi suggests. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. Let’s get them to paramedics, like right now.”

You feel Shouta effortlessly pick you in his arms, bridal style. “You’re going to be okay.” He says to you as paramedics rush over to you. “I’m right here.”

Before you knew it, your body goes limp.

When you wake up, you immediately notice the familiar face sitting by the hospital bed. You look over to see the IV dripping a clear fluid into the tube connected to your vein.

“So how did the mission go?” You mumble

“Swimmingly.” He says sarcastically. “Doctor says nothing from today was the cause of your blackout, but it was just that your body was exhausted. Care to explain?” He cocks an eyebrow. “And I know you haven’t been sleeping either, so what’s been going on.”

You debated on whether or not you should tell him the full truth. You saw the fear in his eyes when he saw you in your state at the scene. Maybe it was time. After all, you had been keeping this secret from him ever since you’ve started dating.

“Well, my handsome, loving, most compassionate boyfriend of all time…” You stretch out. “I have this thing. Called insomnia. And it’s chronic.”

“…Chronic insomnia? And you didn’t think it would have been a good idea to tell me?” He crosses his arms.

“I mean, I did, but I just didn’t want it to distract you from your work and I didn’t want you worrying about me all of time, you know? I always try to work our lives around my medication regime and it has worked out pretty well, since we never go out anyways.”

“And you’re usually done patrolling after halfway through the night. But this time we had another issue so you weren’t able to take your medicine, is that correct?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but please don’t be mad. I don’t want this affecting my work or us or anything.”

“It already has though, Y/N.” He puts his face in the palms of his hands. “You looked terrible out there. Just because of a pill you missed. You have to tell me these things so I can help you. We’re a team aren’t we?”

“We are. I’m sorry.” You sigh. “I’ll keep you updated with everything from now on, okay?”

“Good.” He leans over the bed and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Now get some rest…if you can.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #hizashi x reader #aizawa x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shinsouxreader #aizawaxreader #hizashixreader

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ginnyweatherby · 6 years

Text

Anything Your Heart Desires Will Come to You

This story is somewhat of a sequel to this one I wrote awhile ago, but it can stand on it’s own. I just wanted to write about Charlotte going to Disney World, since she wasn’t able to go on Lefou and Stanley’s last trip with her brother and sister... This time Gaston tags along too!

I struggled with this story more than anything I’ve ever written, but after days weeks months of fighting with it, and I even seriously considered scrapping it a few times, I think I can finally say it is finished. 100% family fluff because that is my jam and I hope it is yours as well.

Being born in the middle of first semester meant Charlotte’s birthdays often went by without much of a fuss. Quiet dinners, a small (or as small as a family such as hers could accomplish) party if it fell over a weekend.

But last November, Charlotte Mae Durand-Lefou had turned twenty-one years old.

No one wanted to admit it out loud, but not many people thought she would make it this far. Between her endless hospital stays, and more surgeries than anyone her age should have to endure, twenty-one seemed like an even bigger milestone than it was to everyone else.

Still. She had college degree to obtain. So, once again, her birthday went by with a nice dinner (featuring her first - doctor-approved - adult beverage) with both sides of her family, complete with Michelle singing an endless chorus of “Happy Birthday”, while Barney tipped off the waitresses to join her.

Now, it was early May, the weather was warm and Charlotte didn’t have a care in the world. She’d completed the school year with good grades, didn’t have to think about exams or reports for a few months, and still had two weeks of freedom before her summer internship began.

In honor of her twenty-first half birthday, her father agreed to take her and the family on any trip she wanted… within reason. Michelle was still only six, after all.

Despite her love for princess movies and countless Mickey Mouse t-shirts, Charlotte had never been to Disney World.

Which is why today Charlotte was checking her reflection one final time as she placed her Minnie Mouse headband over her unruly hair. She may have accomplished reaching adulthood, but that didn’t mean she couldn't spend a week with her family (and her favorite Uncle Gaston) embracing her inner child.

Michelle was running up and down the halls of their hotel, her Little Mermaid backpack bouncing on her shoulders as her family dragged the bulk of their luggage into their rooms. At six years old, she didn’t fully understand the responsibility of “carry your own bag, Michelle!” Lefou shook his head as he watched his daughter practically float in excitement before swiping the room key to his and Stanley’s room. “Michelle, honey, over here.” Michelle skipped back to the rest of her family and leaped past them to bounce on the bed. “Papa, this bed is huge!” “That’s because they knew there’d be a little girl trying to destroy it,” Lefou teased, finally releasing his grip on his suitcase, Michelle’s suitcase, and his backpack. He let out a sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from his aching body. It had been a long day of travel and he couldn’t wait to put his feet up and rel- “WHEN ARE WE GONNA GO TO DISNEY WORLD, PAPA?” Lefou let out a breath. He should have known better. “We just got here, Michelle,” Stanley appeared behind them, relieving himself of his own luggage. “Take a breather.” “I wanna see Ariel,” Michelle whined. The mere thought of visiting a theme park after spending so long in transit exhausted Lefou. He didn’t know where children got their energy, but he envied their apparent never-ending supply. He had to get his in the form of caffeine... he thought he saw a coffee shop downstairs... “We will, just relax,” Stanley laughed, pushing open the door to the adjoining room, where Charlotte and Michelle would be staying. Barney had managed to convince Gaston to allow him to stay in his room across the hall to not have to share with his sisters. Michelle – who was usually found attached to Charlotte’s hip whenever the latter was around – caught sight of her sister unpacking some of her things and jumped off her parents’ bed with an impressive thud on the carpet to run through the doorway. “Is this my bed, Charlotte?” Michelle asked, and Lefou saw her climb onto one of the beds, before hopping across to the other. The girl had boundless energy and it wore him out just to watch her sometimes. “Pick whichever you want,” Charlotte said. Michelle flopped onto her back on the bed closest to the window, seeming to test out the mattress. “I think I want this one...” “Alright then I’ll take the other o-” Charlotte turned around to see Michelle, flat on her back, arms sprawled on either side of her, eyes shut and sleeping soundly. “How did she fall asleep so fast?” Charlotte peered through the doorway to look at Lefou in disbelief. Lefou shrugged, as he heard Stanley chuckle behind him. “She’s like a battery... she just keeps going and going...” “Until she stops.”

Lefou was simultaneously juggling a handful of tickets (as no one else could be trusted with such responsibility) and doing a head count as he led his small parade of family members through the front gate of the theme park. Stanley stood next to him, his nose deep in a map. He had spent most of their last trip in a similar position, and soon enough he would probably be pulling a bottle of sunscreen from his backpack insisting everyone lather up. Gaston had Michelle balanced on his shoulders to keep her from running off in her excitement; Barney was hovering behind them from a distance, pretending that fifteen was far too old to be on a Disney vacation with his family. Lefou knew he’d warm up to the idea soon enough. … and then there was Charlotte. She may have been legally an adult – as difficult as her father found it to believe – but she was looking around the park with a look of awe and wonder usually reserved for small children seeing snow or fireworks for the first time. Lefou stayed away from theme parks during her childhood. He didn’t want to disappoint her when she discovered most of the rides were forbidden for those with heart conditions such as hers, but this was her choice... and he soon realized he may have made a mistake keeping her from it. There were still plenty of things she could enjoy this week. “It’s even more amazing in person,” She muttered under her breath as she looked to Cinderella’s castle.

Lefou smiled as he watched his daughter take everything in. If he was honest, he never got tired of seeing the castle, himself. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” Stanley asked, as he finally tore his eyes away from the map to follow her gaze. “It’s unbelievable,” Charlotte said, with a small nod of her head.

Normally, Lefou would have taken a photo of such a precious sight, such a beautiful expression on her face… but not only were his hands too full to root through his pockets to find his phone, but he soon realized part of the magic that Disney so often promised was being present in the moment.

To his parents, a trip to Disney meant a week with the family, a few dorky kiddie rides, matching family outfits… Their choice today was a Finding Nemo theme, with Lefou and Charlotte sporting orange and white to be Marlin and Nemo, respectively, Stanley wore blue to be Dory, Michelle was wearing a pink dress and cheering “aww, you guys made me ink!” every few minutes, even Gaston had been talked into wearing green and brown to be Crush, and finally, Barney wore a yellow shirt that Charlotte had insisted on emblazoning “I’M OBNOXIOUS” across the front in permanent marker.

Stanley said it was a rather fitting quote.

… but to Barney, a trip to Disney meant more than matching costumes. It meant thrill rides (the Haunted Mansion was his favorite) and most importantly, the snacks. There was something about food in the shape of cartoon mice that just tasted better.

They’d hardly walked through the front entrance before he was begging Stanley for a few dollars to buy popcorn. His dad was something of a pushover when it came to the kids, and easily relented. Now, while they were headed towards the Finding Nemo show that Michelle insisted on seeing, Barney spotted a Mickey pretzel cart and he wanted nothing more than to partake in one.

He rummaged through his pockets for the spare change he’d accumulated from all his earlier snacking, and managed to come up with enough for two pretzels. He figured he would treat his Papa since he was the only one willing to wait behind as the others charged ahead toward the theater.

“If you keep eating like this, you might actually have to start buying shirts in a size medium,” Lefou teased, poking Barney’s skinny arm, before taking one of the pretzels from him.

Barney rolled his eyes, as he bit into an ear. “I’m a growing man, Papa.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Lefou said. “I still see that tiny little thing hardly more than six pounds in the nursery when I see you.”

“Papa.”

“A little taller now, I'll give you that.”

Barney opened his mouth to reply when they reached the theater. “Ooh, can we get some popcorn? It's not a show without popcorn!”

“Bartholomew, you still have a massive pretzel in your hand.”

“What if I promise to share with Michelle?”

Lefou sighed, before handing Barney his wallet.

Charlotte and Michelle were on a mission. They were determined that over the course of their visit, they would meet every princess they possibly could. Michelle met Ariel on their last trip, and in the two years since, had spoken of little else. Barney had dragged Gaston to ride one of the bigger rides that his sisters couldn’t, so they began their quest, with Lefou and Stanley hovering behind, making sure Michelle stayed within eyesight… They trusted Charlotte, but Michelle could be a handful. “Keep an eye out, Michelle,” Charlotte was holding the younger girl’s hand. “Poofy dresses and dainty voices are a dead giveaway for princesses.” “What does ‘dainty’ mean?” Michelle asked, taking her role of "lookout” very seriously. “Watch ‘Snow White,” Charlotte said. “You’ll understand.” Only a moment later, Michelle’s voice rang out in the busy crowd, “IT’S AURORA!” “We found one!” Charlotte said, laughing at Michelle’s enthusiasm. There wasn’t much of a line to see their princess, and in no time Michelle was falling into the arms of Aurora. “Oh, my, hello there, Princess!” Aurora greeted with a chuckle, trying not to topple over from the force of Michelle’s hug. “How are you today?” “I’m good,” Michelle said, politely, as she pulled away. “Charlotte and me are gonna meet all of the princesses today!” Aurora flashed her a smile. “Is that so?” “Yep! You’re our first stop.” “Well, I’m honored,” Aurora said, looking past Michelle’s head to her family. “Then this must be Charlotte?” “It is!” Michelle said, excitedly, as Charlotte walked up to the princess and gave her a hug of her own. Lefou managed to snap a picture of the sweet exchange, pleased to see both of his daughters involved in the magic together. “Are you friends with Ariel?” Michelle asked. “You know what?” Aurora said, “I am. I think I saw her swimming around somewhere today. I bet you could still catch her if you look really hard.” Michelle’s excitement was contagious as she squealed at the thought of meeting Ariel again. She liked Sleeping Beauty well enough, but nothing would ever hold a candle to The Little Mermaid in her mind. “What about you, Princess?” Aurora turned to Charlotte, who turned slightly pink at the nickname. “Do you have anyone you would like to meet?” “Oh, I’m just happy to meet you,” Charlotte said, honestly. Lefou knew that Mulan was her favorite princess movie, but she was a fan of them all. “I’m flattered,” Aurora said, putting a hand to her chest. “You’re both so sweet. I can’t wait to tell Phillip about you two! Now tell me, is there a prince in your life?” She glanced over Charlotte’s shoulder to see Lefou and Stanley. “... or perhaps a princess?” If Charlotte was pink before, she was magenta now. “There might be... uh, a prince, that is.” Stanley, who’d just taken a swig from his water bottle began to cough. “... Excuse me?” Aurora giggled a delicate laugh behind her hand as Lefou pounded his husband on the back while he spluttered to get him to breathe properly again. “Did you know that?” Stanley hissed into Lefou’s ear as the girls continued to talk to Aurora. “Not exactly,” Lefou admitted. “But she’s twenty-one, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” “She’s too young.” Stanley insisted. He didn’t even know Charlotte until she was twelve, but he had fully accepted her as his daughter to the point where he was apparently scandalized by the thought of her having a boyfriend. Lefou decided not to tell him of all the times Charlotte had mentioned her dates in the past. “She’s an adult,” Lefou corrected. “By the time I was her age... she was already born.” “That isn’t exactly easing my state of mind,” Stanley grumbled as they watched the girls give Aurora one last hug before waving goodbye. “Sorry, Dad,” Charlotte said, as they began to walk away. “I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack back there.” Lefou snorted. “He’ll get over it if we buy him a churro.”

“Did someone say ‘churro?” A familiar voice asked from behind them. They turned around to see Barney, now sporting a smile and Gaston who looked a little green in the face. “Those rides were a lot more fun before I turned forty,” Gaston muttered, steadying himself on the handle of the wheelchair Charlotte used if she tired from walking too much. “You aren't suggesting we're getting old, are you?” Lefou asked, steering them in the direction of the churro line. Between this, the Mickey-shaped ice cream Barney insisted on, and the bucket of popcorn Stanley had refilled three times already, he was sure he was gaining a few extra pounds this week. “Never,” Gaston said, before turning to Charlotte. “Well, bud, what’s next?”

“Michelle and I are still on the hunt for more princesses,” Charlotte said, as Stanley handed her a churro. “Maybe there’s one out here for you, Uncle Gaston.” “If he hasn’t found one yet, I think it may be a lost cause,” Barney snorted. “Oh, really?” Charlotte said with a smirk. “... maybe for you, then?” Barney’s freckles appeared even more prominent on his face as he blushed… or maybe that was just the sunburn. “There’s Tiana, Daddy!” Michelle said, pulling on Stanley’s hand and pointing across the way. “You’re right,” Stanley agreed. “Barney, maybe this is your shot!”

Barney grumbled under his breath, his pale face now just as red as his hair.

Lefou couldn't help but laugh at his son’s disgruntled face. He wrapped an arm around Barney’s shoulder as they watched Michelle give Tiana one of her signature bear hugs.

“Oh, Bartholomew,” He sighed, as Tiana complimented Michelle on her dress, before greeting Charlotte. “I must say, you could do worse than a princess.”

Barney shrugged his father’s arm off his shoulder, but Lefou could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Charlotte?” Tiana gasped, once Charlotte had introduced herself. “Why, that’s my best friend’s name! Are you sure that's not you, Lottie?”

Charlotte laughed, as she shook her head. “I’m not interested in kissing any frogs, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Stanley muttered from beside Lefou. “At least she's not kissing him.”

“Maybe he's already turned into a prince,” Lefou teased, reaching over to squeeze his husband’s hand.

“Lefou!”

Tiana offered to take a picture with the group, and while Lefou was usually behind the camera, Gaston offered to hold it to make a family photo of it.

“Say… uh, ‘frog’, I guess?” Gaston said, as the family crowded around the princess and flashed their smiles.

“Uh, frog, I guess!”

Gaston only groaned as he snapped the picture.

As they walked away, Charlotte leaned into Barney’s side. “So, what did you think of her? I bet I could get you her number. My name is Charlotte, after all. I have connections.”

Barney retorted with something Lefou was glad Michelle didn’t overhear.

Late afternoon was setting in and Michelle was getting cranky.

To counter her mood, Charlotte plopped her in the wheelchair and was pushing her towards the “It’s a Small World” ride for the third time that day. Charlotte was able to ride that one, and even though Lefou would have rather done anything but listen to that song for another fifteen minutes, he would never refuse her. “And here we thought she outgrew strollers,” Stanley commented as Michelle giggled when Charlotte hit a bump. “It can be fun to be pushed around,” Charlotte admitted, as they approached the line. Charlotte didn’t often use her chair, and it was mostly used to carry their bags, but Lefou could tell she was getting a little winded and may need to trade with her sister soon. “Do you want to sit down?” Lefou asked. Charlotte sighed, seeming to admit defeat. As much as she didn’t like to use it, insisting she was well enough to go without, it had been a long day, and they would be in this line for awhile. “Michelle, sweetie, can you stand up?” Stanley asked, reaching down to lift her out. “No, no, she’s fine,” Charlotte scooped her sister out of the chair, before falling into it, Michelle settled on her lap. The younger girl looked close to a nap. “Are you sure she’s okay there?” Stanley asked. “She gets heavy after awhile.” “She’s alright,” Charlotte said, letting out a breath. Lefou took over pushing the wheelchair as the line moved forward. “Do we really have to go on this one again?” Barney asked. “I think I’ll have this song stuck in my head for the rest of the day.” “The week,” Gaston corrected. “The month.” “The year.” “My life.” “I like the song,” Michelle chimed in, sleepily. “Do you now?” Stanley asked, throwing a mischievous glance in Barney and Gaston’s direction. “... Can you remind me how it goes again?” Michelle perked up a bit as she began a chorus of “it’s a small world after all...” “Dad,” Barney whined as Gaston let out a groan. “Just trying to keep a kid entertained for the next half an hour,” Stanley said, a little too innocently. “... it’s a small world after all!”

Their day ended a little earlier than they’d anticipated. Lefou always loved to watch the fireworks show at Disney, but they had another few days for that. Michelle had fallen into a heavy sleep, trapping Charlotte (who was also getting a little worn out) in her chair, and Barney’s combination of roller coasters and absurd amount junk food made him sick, putting him in a sour mood for the rest of the day. The sun hadn’t even begun to set yet, but they decided to call it a day and head back to the hotel. “I’d say that was a pretty successful first day,” Stanley said. He was sprawled out on the bed in their hotel room, scrolling through the pictures he’d taken on his phone that day. Michelle was curled up next to him, her pigtails in disarray, bangs plastered to her forehead. She had sticky ice cream residue on her dress, and Lefou saw a hint of sunburn on her cheeks. She was cuter than ever. Charlotte was resting in the room next door, while Gaston and Barney went downstairs to check out the hotel pool. Lefou couldn’t imagine swimming after a day like today, but he’d never been nearly as athletic as they were. He’d swim later. He fell onto the bed, taking care not to wake his daughter, before flipping on the TV. “Successful indeed,” Lefou agreed, flipping through the channels. “We wore Michelle out, at the very least.” “She’s not the only one,” Stanley said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Lefou checked his watch. “There’s still an hour and a half before the dinner reservation.” With that, Stanley scooted down on the bed, fluffing the pillow a bit before closing his eyes. Unsatisfied with the choices on TV, Lefou shrugged and laid down on his own pillow, and in no time they were both asleep, Michelle snuggled up between them.

The next day was somehow even muggier than the previous afternoon, and it was still early.

Lefou was already drenched in a layer of sweat, and could feel himself growing more irritable by the minute. He didn't want to spend his vacation in such a foul mood, but if they didn't find air conditioning quickly, he might just melt into a puddle like that talking snowman in Frozen.

Stanley took the girls off to meet a few more characters, while Lefou and Gaston took Barney to ride the Haunted Mansion for what was sure to be the first of many times. Since it was his favorite ride in the park, they always made a point of hitting it at least once, and the line had been too long the day before.

Barney walked ahead of the adults, impatient to reach the line as soon as possible. Lefou and Gaston trailed behind, talking among themselves.

“He acts so high and mighty sometimes,” Lefou chuckled, as he watched Barney try and keep from racing too far ahead, “but look how sweet he is when he cuts the act.”

“Don’t you remember being a fifteen year old boy?” Gaston asked. “Between puberty, parties and wooing girls, you’re lucky he wants to spend a week with his old man at all.”

Lefou let out a dry laugh. “Our teen years were vastly different, my friend… and as much as I appreciate you, I hope my son doesn't go quite as crazy as you did.”

“I have to agree with you there,” Gaston said, honestly.

“Come on, you guys!” Barney called back to them. “We’re almost there!”

They were now at the entrance, and Lefou watched as Barney allowed a mother and her young child to cut in front of him before they entered the line.

“That was awfully nice of you,” Lefou commented.

Barney shrugged. “She was really little. I guess I could wait a little longer.”

No, Lefou didn't have anything to worry about.

“Okay, who’s thirsty?” Lefou and Charlotte were balancing handfuls of souvenir mugs in their hands, before carefully placing one in front of each family member.

“Do I want to know what you spent on the specialty drinks, love?” Stanley asked, taking a sip.

“Probably not,” Lefou admitted, falling into the seat next to his husband. He pulled his own cup close to his face, inspecting it. It was brown, with a rustic feel to it, but he couldn't identify the characters on the side. A handsome, rather muscular fellow in a red coat, and a squat little man with a large, pink nose.

“I don’t know who they are, but this guy is ugly,” Barney said, pointing at the smaller character on the side of his mug.

“Just think,” Stanley said, rolling his eyes. “Since Papa undoubtedly spent a fortune on these, we get to keep them forever.”

“I hope they stay in the back of the cupboard.”

“Actually, Papa,” Charlotte said. “I'm not sure why, but this guy has always reminded me a bit of you…”

“Should I be offended?” Lefou asked, taking a sip. Maybe it was a little expensive for a glorified cup of apple juice…

“I don't think so,” Charlotte said. “The other guy reminds me of Uncle Gaston.”

Gaston looked pleased at this fact.

“Do you know what movie he’s from, Char?” Barney asked. “I’ve seen his picture around, but I can't figure out who it is.”

“You mean you’ve never seen-”

Before Charlotte could finish her answer, Michelle let out a shriek, her pricey apple juice now spilled all over her dress.

Stanley sighed, before reaching into his backpack for his pack of trusty wet wipes.

Even though she wasn't his daughter, Charlotte had been a big part of Gaston’s life ever since she was born. He had spent many of his college days at Lefou’s apartment, holding that tiny little girl against his shoulder, wondering how he ever got to the point where his friends were having babies, and wondering if someday he’d have one or seven of his own to coddle.

Now his favorite Little Buddy wasn't so little anymore. Twenty-one years older, and was tall and smart and everything Gaston had hoped she would turn into, plus some.

He watched Charlotte fall into her wheelchair, pulling Michelle into her lap as Barney pushed them around. He loved each of his little “nieces and nephew”.

“Disney magic making you emotional?” Lefou asked, handing Gaston a bottle of water. “You look lost in thought… which is strange for you.”

Gaston chuckled. “A dangerous pastime indeed. No, I was just thinking about-”

Before he could finish his answer, Charlotte let out a gasp and then a snort.

“Oh, I am so getting a picture with him,” She said, pushing herself out of her chair, and taking Michelle’s hand.

She led their group a little farther down until they met her destination. Gaston never saw the thrill in meeting the characters at Disney World. They were just people in costumes, what was so exciting?

Upon closer inspection, he noticed this must be the man who was on their drinks earlier that afternoon.

A large man with padded muscles and a long black ponytail gave a charming smile as they approached.

“Well, hello there,” He greeted. “What brings you here to see me today?”

Charlotte was the only one who was familiar with this character, so the rest of the family hovered behind as she spoke to him.

“I just had to meet everyone's favorite guy,” Charlotte said, her smile growing wide. “Rumor has it there's no man in town half as manly.”

Even though Gaston didn’t know who he was, Charlotte was obviously smitten.

“Perfect, a pure paragon.” The man said with a wink.

“Now, who do you have with you today?” The man took in the crowd of people behind Charlotte.

“My dad, my other dad, my brother, Barney, my sister, Michelle, and my…,” Charlotte snorted again before continuing, “Uncle Gaston.”

The man’s eyes darkened as he looked Gaston up and down.

“Uncle Gaston, you say?” He crossed his arms as Gaston took a step closer.

“That's what they call me,” Gaston said, furrowing his brow. Just because he didn't know who this guy was, didn’t mean he was about to feel threatened by a children's character.

The man took another step closer. “You look like a strong guy, Monsieur.”

Gaston flexed his muscles (he could practically feel Lefou rolling his eyes behind him), and a smirk of his own crept over his features.

“Not nearly as much as me, of course.”

Gaston felt his face fall. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The other man flexed his arm, that annoyingly handsome smirk still tugging on the corner of his mouth. “I just mean I'm the strongest guy here.”

“Sounds like a challenge, doesn't it, Gaston?” Stanley taunted from behind them.

Gaston turned back to see him and Barney trying not to laugh at the interaction with this mystery character.

“A challenge?” The man let out a hoot of laughter. “This guy would hardly be a challenge… but I'm always ready for some healthy competition. How are you at push-ups?”

Gaston threw his head to either side, resulting in a series of crackling noises, before falling on all fours. “Oh, you're on!”

It was late, and Charlotte was sitting on Lefou and Stanley’s bed, snuggled up to her father’s side with the TV turned low, the light casting shadows across their faces in the dark room.

Stanley was asleep in the chair near the window, Barney passed out on the floor, and Michelle curled up like a cat at the foot of the bed. Their day had ended after watching the parade, Gaston heading to bed as soon as they arrived back at the hotel - still a little huffy about losing his little competition against the buff character.

Charlotte and Lefou were the only ones still awake to finish their movie, despite their own exhaustion. Charlotte yawned as she laid her head against Lefou’s shoulder. Michelle may have watched this movie hundreds of times due to her love for all things underwater, but Finding Nemo was really Charlotte’s movie with her papa.

When she was younger, she didn't understand why her father cried so much when watching a movie about animated fish in a dentist’s office, but as she got older, she began to realize.

It couldn't have been easy on him (or her mother, of course) when Charlotte was born. He became a single dad so quickly, only for his child to come out with some serious health issues. Charlotte absentmindedly ran her fingers over the large scar across her chest. It had been a source of insecurity for a long time, but she’d learned to embrace it, and it didn't bother her anymore. She didn’t even mind when Michelle asked questions if she wore a lower neckline.

She watched as Nemo swam with his lucky fin and she knew this is why her father loved the movie so much. It was just her and her papa against the world for so long, much like Marlin and Nemo… and like Nemo, she could have gotten lost.

Lefou stroked her hair - a mess after spending a long day out in the humidity - gently as they continued to watch. It was nearly over now.

Michelle rolled over, jostling the bed a bit.

It wasn’t only her and her father anymore. Now she had a full life with a big, loving family.

Barney let out a snort in his sleep, as Nemo and Marlin were reunited again.

Charlotte nestled even closer under Lefou’s arm and closed her eyes as the credits began to roll. She thought she heard him sniffle, but chose not to bring attention to it for once.

Despite the dozens of times she had seen the movie, for the first time, she felt herself get a little choked up as well.

It could have been so much worse. She could have been lost.

Thankfully - like Marlin - she knew her papa would always be there to find her.

Another reason Gaston tagged along for the trip, was because Stanley and Lefou’s wedding anniversary happened to fall in the middle of their vacation. They didn't make extravagant plans for the occasion, but they did want a little alone time to celebrate their nine years of marriage together.

Stanley pressed a kiss against his husband’s sleeping forehead to rouse him. It was early, but Stanley always struggled to sleep in past six, even on vacation. He was already showered, and his breath tasted of mint toothpaste.

“Morning, love!” Stanley greeted, cheerily.

His husband - who much less of a morning person - mumbled something, his face smashed into the pillow.

“Happy anniversary,” Stanley tried again, poking Lefou’s cheek, his coarse facial hair scratching at his hand. “Can you believe it?”

Lefou rolled over, his face no longer in the pillow, but it was now marked with pink wrinkle indents. “Believe what?”

Stanley situated himself against the headboard as Lefou groped the nightstand for his glasses. “Nine years, Lefou… that’s a long time.”

“You're making us sound old,” Lefou teased.

Stanley chuckled, pressing another kiss into Lefou’s hair. “Do you think Gaston will be able to handle the kids today?”

“He said he’ll take them to Disney Springs,” Lefou said, snuggling up to Stanley's side. “I’m sure they'll be too busy looking at souvenirs to act up.”

“That will keep them busy for awhile, then,” Stanley said. “Which is good because I have plans for us this evening.”

“Is that so?” Lefou asked, a smirk crossing his face.

Stanley nodded, a grin of his own spreading across his lips. “I’m taking my man out for a nice, perhaps overpriced dinner, have a drink or two, and then we can, um, come back here for awhile.”

Lefou snorted, and opened his mouth to make what was sure to be a witty retort, when they heard a (rather violent) knock originate from the door between their bedroom and the girls’ room.

“Sounds like Michelle is awake,” Lefou chuckled, as Stanley untangled himself from his spouse to unlock the door.

He cracked it open to reveal their youngest daughter, waving a folded piece of purple construction paper in the air.

“Happy anniversary, Daddy!”

“Good morning… Let’s see what you have there,” Stanley plucked the card from her hand, and brought it over to the bed for Lefou to see, Michelle close on his heels.

Lefou took the card and read it aloud, squinting as he tried to decipher the spelling of a six-year-old. It was a sweet note with a cute little drawing of their family, Lefou and Stanley holding hands in the middle. At the bottom of the card, Michelle had even convinced Charlotte and Barney to sign it.

“Thank you, darling, I’ll be sure to put it in my book when we get home.” Lefou said, kissing Michelle’s head. He kept all the cards and drawings his children made for him in a scrapbook he often liked to page through. He still had the first wobbly drawing of flowers Charlotte made for him when she was hardly more than two.

“What do we do on anniversaries?” Michelle asked, wedging herself between her parents in the bed.

Lefou laughed. “Daddy and I are going to dinner tonight, no kids allowed.”

“No kids allowed” were three of Michelle’s least favorite words, and she made her opinion known with a disgruntled noise.

“But you get to spend the day with Uncle Gaston, and your brother and sister,” Stanley pointed out.

Michelle's response was a much cheerier noise.

Before long, there was another knock at the door, this time it was Barney, asking if Michelle wanted to go downstairs for some breakfast.

Michelle's noise was the happiest of all for the promise of sugary cereal was better than anything else Stanley or Lefou could have said.

“Are you coming too?” Michelle asked, once she had reached the door and opened it, revealing her brother, still in his Superman pajama pants, and sporting an impressive case of bed-head.

“We’ll be down in a bit,” Lefou said. “Go on ahead.”

Michelle slammed the door behind her, and Lefou let out a laugh. “I love that girl more than anything, but she has far too much energy for seven o'clock in the morning.”

“Shopping, shopping, shopping,” Michelle sang as Gaston hoisted her onto his shoulders. Disney Springs was crowded tonight, and he knew her well enough to know she had a habit of running off when something interesting caught her eye.

Barney and Charlotte were beside him, debating on which restaurant was the best one to stop at for dinner, while Michelle was insistent to find something to add to her ever growing Little Mermaid collection. Gaston was just hoping to keep them out of their parents’ hair long enough for them to finish whatever they had planned for the evening… Perhaps he didn't want to know what they had planned, exactly.

“Ooh, let's stop here!” Michelle said, pointing her finger in the direction of one of the shops.

Gaston was starving, and was really hoping Charlotte and Barney would make up their minds soon so they could get something to eat, but he supposed they could make a detour while they decided.

He led them into the store, and placed Michelle on the floor. “Stay close to us, you.”

Michelle nodded, before taking Barney’s hand and leading him toward the back of the building.

“I guess she saw something she liked,” Charlotte snorted, before wandering off to browse the shelves herself.

Gaston headed to the opposite end of the shop, wondering if there was anything with antlers to add to his own house. The Bambi stuffed animal Michelle brought home for him after her last trip still sat proudly in his room.

“UNCLE GASTON!” Michelle’s voice rang throughout the store, causing a few people to look in her direction.

Gaston sighed.

Michelle weaved her way through the shelves (and customers) until she reached him, holding something red in her arms.

“It’s Sebastian,” She explained, offering Gaston the large stuffed toy. “He goes with my Flounder! Can I get him? Pleeeease?”

Gaston never was able to refuse the kids what they wanted, at least not when they gave him those big doe-eyes.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Gaston asked, peering at the price tag… Well, at least Lefou had paid for his plane ticket.

“I do, I do, I do!” Michelle bounced on the balls of her feet, hugging Sebastian tightly.

“Alright, then,” Gaston chuckled, as Charlotte found her way back to them.

“I think I found an anniversary present for Papa and Stan,” She said, displaying a little snowglobe with Donald and Daisy Duck on the inside. Lefou collected snowglobes, and Stanley did love Ducktales.

“It’s perfect,” Michelle declared, giving her nod of approval.

“I like it too,” Barney agreed.

“Anything catching your eye, Barney?” Gaston asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket as they made their way to the cashier.

“Yeah,” Barney said. “The restaurant across the street… wait, is that a Mad Hatter hat?”

Splash

Barney pulled his head above water, shaking droplets out of his hair like a dog when he resurfaced.

“Hey,” Charlotte wiped her face dry with the back of her hand, where Barney had apparently splashed her with the force of his cannonball into the hotel pool.

“It’s a pool, Charlotte,” Barney laughed, using his hand to splash her intentionally this time. “You’re supposed to get wet!”

“I know, but my hair takes forever to dry,” Charlotte said, as Michelle floated by them, her goggles falling down her face.

Before Barney could retort, an even bigger splash soaked all three of them, this time Gaston was the culprit.

Charlotte sighed, wiping her face again.

“When’re Daddy and Papa gonna come in?” Michelle giggled, as Gaston pulled her from the water, before throwing her back in, her arm floaties causing her to bob like a buoy.

“Right about now,” Stanley said, walking into the pool room, and placing his towel on a table, Lefou close behind.

Michelle cheered as her parents walked tentatively into the cool water.

Michelle doggy-paddled over to Stanley, while Lefou - clad in a pair of heinously neon swim trunks - made his way to where Barney and Charlotte were wading.

“It’s humid in here,” He commented, already beginning to sweat.

“That's because you still have a shirt on, Papa,” Barney said. “Are you afraid of getting sunburned inside?”

If Barney didn't know any better, he would say Lefou was turning a little pink in the face. “Maybe if your father hadn't…”

Lefou cleared his throat, muttering something about his anniversary, and Barney tried not to imagine why he kept pulling his neckline a little higher, and why Stanley kept throwing mischievous glances in their direction.

Charlotte snorted, her laugh echoing through the high ceiling.

It was late on their final day of vacation, and Charlotte was sitting in her wheelchair, Michelle asleep in her lap. While she didn't want the week to end, she was exhausted, and couldn't wait to tell her mother all about her trip - and to sleep in her own bed again.

Barney was revoked of his wheelchair-pushing rights after he rammed into Gaston’s ankles three consecutive times, and Lefou had taken over, while his son followed sleepily behind.

The parade was enchanting as ever, and now they were all gathered around a garbage can in their matching Mickey ears, while they waited for the fireworks to start.

“You wanna see the fireworks, Michelle?” Charlotte asked, adjusting the girl in her lap.

Michelle mumbled something unintelligible and nuzzled her face further against Charlotte’s shoulder. Charlotte supposed they had already seen them a few times.

… and yet, they never seemed to get old.

Her father always told her the fireworks were his favorite part of the day, and Charlotte now understood why. She watched in awe as bright colors exploded over the sky and reflected on that beautiful castle, all while her favorite Disney songs played behind them. The first night they’d seen them, she cried… and she thought she might again tonight as a final farewell.

The song faded into “You’ll Be in My Heart”, and she was certain she heard Lefou sniffle behind her. That song always seemed to make him emotional for some reason.

Charlotte hugged Michelle a little tighter as the finale blasted, and she heard the ooh’s and ahh’s of the people around them, and thought she might have let one out herself. She couldn't help it.

The crowd erupted into applause, and Charlotte contributed the best she could with her sister constricting her arm movement.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” Lefou commented, as they followed the funnel of people out of the park one last time.

“It’s really beautiful,” Charlotte agreed, while Barney only yawned impressively. Their trip had apparently worn him out just as much as it did herself.

“But,” Stanley leaned down and lifted Michelle out of Charlotte’s chair, and onto his shoulder. “I still wish I could figure out who that princess in the yellow dress was!”

Charlotte smiled to herself, choosing not to say a word. She supposed he would figure it out on his own eventually.

#SHOUTOUT TO ALLY FOR BEING THE MOST PATIENT HUMAN ALIVE WHILE I DRAGGED MY FEET WRITING THIS #THIS ONE IS FOR YOU MY FRIEND #the last couple of scenes are a little rushed #those are just little bits i wanted to add somewhere #the pacing of this was so hard to figure out and i was only 75% successful in doing so #but i hope you can excuse that and enjoy it anyway #disney #beauty and the beast #lefou #stanley #stafou fan fiction #stanfou #stafou #random ramblings #weatherby writes

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