#but held onto kevin like his life depended on it

[kevinsdsy]

literally shaking now that we know more about kevjean lore

[afurtivecake]

I didn't really care much for Jean when I read the original trilogy the first time because I, like Neil, was very much just cycling the thoughts, "But what about the rest of the season's games?" and "what's the deal the with Andrew?" Reading TRK the second time after reading TSC, I just want to pat Jean on the head.

It's so endearing to see that Jean has always been obvious as fuck when he's attracted to someone. No chill whatsoever. It's more obvious in TSC when he just freezes and his brain empties of all coherent thought. (like when he interrupts his own angry tirade to simply comment "Blond" at the sight of Jeremy). I hadn't noticed that he just forgets to keep shaking Andrew's hand in an intimidating fashion at the sight of Renee.

It's a bit confusing here what exactly Neil noticed about Riko but with TSC knowledge, it's clear that Neil noticed Riko noticing Jean's reaction to Renee because he's been so focused on keeping an eye on Riko. And it implies that Jean realized as quickly as Neil that Riko had seen him looking. In TSC, Jean can't stop himself from looking, but he's also mortally afraid of being seen looking. There's a line in TSC: "Jean knew better than to look at another man too long. He'd learned that lesson the hard way and would not survive a repeat". So he's definitely gotten into trouble for being caught looking before and this exchange in TRK suggests that the person who gave him trouble for it was Riko.

(I mean, my theory has always been that the reason Riko set the backliners on him as torment is that he caught Jean checking out Kevin in that obvious way of his and didn't like it. Why else would Riko not tell Kevin the whole truth about that incident?)

And then this bit at the winter banquet when Riko orders Jean to take Kevin and go? The line that he "held onto Kevin like his life depended on it" takes on a different tone because it's not that Jean's worried Kevin will go charging back unwisely; Jean's just scared. And holding onto Kevin like his life depends on it is not a bad summary of their entire relationship.

Like you know that Frenchman must have really SUFFERED because even Neil, who can't bother to give a shit about the majority of everyone he meets, can't help noticing how jumpy Jean is.

[capcavan]

If Riko hadn't been killed off, but he still had his broken arm, how do you feel his recovery and road (if possible) back onto the playing field would have been? How would Tetsuji have reacted to it?

Boy this really went in a direction as I wrote it

Considering the rules of aftg universe [Kevin whose hand been through meat grinder but could use it after few months without any physical therapy and being held together by duct tape ] Riko shouldn't have any issue healing from clean spot breaking of 2 bones in arm. Add to that the fact that Riko got professional care right after the breaking and as resident of cult i mean Nest he will have access to all resources needed to make safe and successful recovery. So depending if we want to use aftg law or real life law i think his recovery is possible it's just difference of ,, will he play in 2 months or in 6 months" With good diet and listening to his doctor, recovery and coming back to health won't be issue and assuming Tetsuji would not pit him against ravens and allow him to train with a coach he wouldn't loose more than 3-4 months [during which he can still do cardio and train other muscle groups, improve his footwork as well as study exy from more technical standpoint, research read books watch old games and THINK i think he would easily went back to play with his team in second half of the next season in games and bit earlier in trainings. But being separated form them for so long to allow for his healing and injury care would put a big rift between him and his team. They would be resentful and not at all sympathetic ravens are competitive Riko is star but he is also their captain, and i assume while Riko is decommissioned someone else took that position- temporarily as Riko would hope. But what if the Second Captain turned out to be better? What if ravens decided the new guy deserves their respect more than Riko does? I think Tetsuji would not extend his protection to Riko any more, Rikos little outburst on the court was embarrassing and illegal There would be no way for Riko to play exy after attack on another player, in best case scenario Moriyamas might keep him out of prison but I don't think any of them would care, I think Riko's most likely future is being murdered in prison depending if anyone who hates the family is behind the same bars.

[sheerbeautyreigns]

DESIRE

Part 51

"Bullshit. You could leave him right now if you were man enough."

“Wakey, wakey sleepyhead.” Paul nudged gently. Joe groaned, rolling onto his back, rubbing his eyes. He could smell coffee. “What time is it?” His eyes eventually opened. Paul perched next to him on the bed holding a cup of coffee. “Just gone 8. You need to leave here at 9 for your flight.”

Joe sat up taking the coffee from him. “Thank you. Man, I’m so tired.” Paul smiled “I’m not surprised after last night. You were so needy.” This caused Joe to blush. “Well I don’t know when I’ll see you next. I”ll take what I can get.”

“Well I’ll definitely be at the Pay Per View. I”ll book us somewhere nice that night. We could stay in San Francisco for a couple of days and then drive to LA. I’m looking forward to having you meet my friends.” He smiled.

“I hope they like me. I’m always a bit nervous meeting people and under the circumstances…” Joe trailed off taking another sip of his coffee. Paul gave him a re-assuring look. “Baby, they’re gonna love you. We”ll talk more about it next weekend but you’ve gotta get your ass up. C’mon!”

“I know, I know,” Joe groaned, pulling his covers off. He really didn’t want to have to leave this morning. He padded into the ensuite and shut his eyes as he stood under the spray.

It was only a matter of time until Paul’s hands were finding their way around his waist before he could fully turn around. “I need to have you one more time before you leave.” He breathed, pulling Joe close to him and sweeping his hair back before he kissed him hungrily. His hard cock pressed up against Joe, causing the young man to groan into his mouth. Paul’s hands lowered to his buttocks as his eyes met Joe. A dark smile crossed his face as Joe looked into his eyes. “Turn around.”

Joe did as told, pressing his palms against the wall as Paul motioned for him to part his legs a little more. He grabbed the nearby soap and lathered his hands before starting to massage Joe's opening. “Feels so good.” The young man moaned, lowering his head. “Please…” Joe breathed, looking briefly over is shoulder. “What do you want baby?” Paul asked running his fingers deeper into his prostate. Joe growled, feeling like he would cum right there. “I want your cock.” Those words were music to Paul’s ears. A hunger over took him as he withdrew his fingers, wasting no time in filling his hole with his hard cock. He loved to hear how needy he was. The bathroom echoed with both of their grunts and moans as Paul fucked Joe senselessly. Paul continued to fuck him, forcing his abdomen against the wet tiled wall. Joe clawed at the tiles, shutting his eyes, taking everything Paul was giving him. The older man buried his head in Joe's hair as he finally came. “Fuck me,” Joe shuddered, breathing against the tiles as Paul gripped his shoulders before he eventually pulled out. Slowly, Joe turned around and kissed Paul softly. The older man swept his wet hair back, reciprocating.

A sly grin crossed Paul’s face as he stepped out of the shower leaving Joe to finish washing himself. Once finished, he quickly dried himself off, got changed into some loose black pants and a black Nike t-shirt. Paul wore a grey suit and a black shirt as he planned to meet with Vince, Steph and Shane at Titan Towers later that morning. He loaded his case into Paul’s Range Rover and they headed to the airport. They held hands as Paul drove. “What are you going to do this week?”

“I’m just planning on taking it easy before Sunday. I’m having some gym equipment delivered but mainly relaxing. I know it’s gonna be pretty physical next week.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Paul smirked raising Joe hand up and kissing the back of it. “I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“Don’t be. They’re nice people. I wouldn’t hang out with them if they were assholes.” Paul assured him. “That go for your New York friend too?”

“He’s an exception.” Paul passed him a glance and a faint smile.

“Do you think you’ll put me with him again?” Joe asked hesitantly. “It depends on what his plans are for the evening.” He paused for a moment and looked at Joe. “Do you want to be with him again?”

“I dunno, maybe…since I’ve already met him.” Joe suggested before pursing his lips. He noticed Paul’s face harden a little. “It’s just because I’m a bit nervous.” He quickly added.

“You’ll have me. There’s no need to be nervous.” He said, resting his hand on Joe’s leg. The young man nodded, looking out the window. The mood had shifted. Joe wished he’d never brought it up. “Nadja usually likes to pre-determine who’s going to be fucking who since she wants to allocate rooms. If this is something you want, tell me so I can have it arranged.”

Joe swallowed. “It’s OK, it was just a suggestion. I don’t have to… “

“No, you brought it up-” Paul started. “Yeah but you don’t exactly seem thrilled so, it’s OK. If there’s someone else you have in mind…”

Paul sighed. “Look, baby. I don’t know if I can trust him. That’s all. He’s great when it comes to discipline but…in that kind of environment, I don’t like it.” He explained.

“OK,” Joe nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK babe, you didn”t know.” He slowed the car, pulling into the lane for the airport. “Its just one night. I want it to be special for you. Understand?” Paul looked him in the eye. “Yes Sir.”

Paul pulled into the drop off. He never got out of the car when Joe was around. “I’m gonna miss you but next week will be fun, I promise.” The older man leaned in and kissed him. “Love you.” Joe replied. “Love you too.”

It was Monday evening and Joe had just finished a tag match, tagging alongside Matthew against Colby and Drew. Sunday’s Clash of Champions match was announced as a Title Street Fight. Joe hadn’t had one of those in over a year. Part of him was looking forward to beating the crap out of Colby with Kendo Sticks and whatnot and another part of him knew he’d be a bit banged up “meeting” Paul’s friends a few nights later. Great timing!

Joe quickly showered and got changed. As he was packing his case, Colby walked in. “Hey man,” Joe looked up. “Leaving so soon?” Colby asked. “I just wanna rest.”

“Aww man, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come out for a few drinks with us. Just at the hotel. I figured since Paul wasn’t around, you might wanna join us?”

“Aww man that’s real nice but-” Colby cut him off. “Come on man. You never come out with us anymore. The guys think something’s up.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked with a furrowed brow. “Well, you disappear off all of a sudden after the show. You used to come out all the time so they’re starting to ask questions.” Colby explained “I hadn’t realised.”

“Hey man, I just wanted to let you know. Might help to show your face once in a while, keep up appearances y’know?”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “I guess you twisted my arm.”

“Awesome! You’re staying at The Regency right?” Colby checked. “Yeah, I’m heading there now. Meet you guys at 11?” He checked before they parted ways.

Joe arrived at his room about 20 minutes later. He jumped into the shower and freshened up. All he wanted to do was sleep but he needed to make time for his friends. He hadn’t realised he’d been neglecting them so hopefully tonight would change their minds. He slipped into smart black pants and a black shirt and headed down to the bar. There were about 5 others there including Colby, Drew, Jay, Kevin and Matthew. He blended in easily, like he normally did. They spent the next couple of hours catching up about work, life and generally having a laugh. Every now and then Joe would catch Drew’s eye. They hadn’t had a proper chance to catch up in person since that day in the hotel parking lot. After Colby called it a night, thanks to an early flight the next morning and the others were disbanding, Joe tapped Drew on the shoulder as he walked towards the lifts.

“Hey,” Joe said softly as Drew’s eyes met his. “I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“What”s up?” The scot asked casually.

“I just wanted to say sorry about everything that went down with Paul over the past while. I swear, it’s been nothing but drama recently.”

“You can say that again.” A small smile crept across Drew’s face as he pressed the button for the lift. “Are things better?” The lift door opened and they both stepped in. Joe pressed the button for the 9th floor. He looked at Drew to see what floor he needed. “I’m 9th too actually.” The doors closed. “So, are things better between you two?”

Joe hesitated a little as the lift slowed and the doors opened. His tone was hushed. “As well as can be expected. Things can’t be perfect all the time.” He shrugged his shoulders as they started down the hallway. Joe didn”t want to wake any of the other guests. “I’d been wanting to talk to you about it actually.”

“Really?” Joe looked at him with interest. “This is me,” Drew stopped outside room 382. “Do you want to come in?”

Joe looked down the hallway towards, his room. “OK, sure.” Gingerly he stepped in behind Drew. He hadn’t been alone with him in a hotel room like this in a while. Such good memories. He moved towards the sofa, following Drew’s lead. “Yeah so, I just thought it’d be good to have a chat since Paul’s not around. These kinda moments are a rarity nowadays.”

Joe forced a smile, lowering to the sofa, his body turned on it’s side to face Drew who was sat on the other end. “I know, we spend so much time together. It’s funny, Colby said earlier that some people have started to ask questions since I’m not around as much anymore.”

“I have heard a few people mention it yeah.” Drew confirmed. “It’s nobody’s business what you do in your free time but…you had me worried a while back. I’ve known Paul for quite a while now and I have to say, I’m a bit concerned.”

“Why?” Joe tried to brush it off.

“C’mon Joe, don’t play me for a fool. I know what kinda temper he’s got and how manipulative he can be. I just don’t want you to feel he’s backed you into a corner. I speak from experience…” Drew confessed, his eyes meeting Joe. “Don’t look so surprised. I may not look it now but I, too had a past with him. I looked up to him, I wanted to make an impression.” A long sigh escaped Joe as he sat forward looking into space. “I would do anything to make him happy until one day, I had enough. He was wearing me down physically, mentally…I just don’t want the same to happen to you.” Drew edged closer leading Joe to eventually look at him. “I’ve never known anyone like him before. I can’t explain it but It’s like I’m drawn in and I can’t go back. Even when things get bad, I…” He took a deep breath. Drew placed his hand on Joe shoulder “It’s OK…”

“It is OK. I keep telling myself that. We have these sweet moments where everything is perfect and I don’t want it to end but then, something happens and he’s suddenly in a mood. I feel like I’m treading on thin ice around him.”

“That’s how I felt. Sometimes he’d get physical-” Joe could see something building up inside Drew. “Hey, Drew, we don’t have to talk about this.” Joe said placing his hand on his knee. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.” Joe replied softly, trying to lighten the mood. Within moments, the room had fallen silent and Drew had leaned in to kiss Joe. The Samoan pulled away gently.

“I can’t .”

“Why not? Don’t you remember how we were? We couldn’t keep our hands off each other-” Drew pushed as Joe leaned back into the corner of the sofa. “I promised myself to him Drew. I can’t break it.”

“That’s bullshit. You could leave him right now if you were man enough. I want you so bad Joe-” He trailed his hand down to the bulge in Joe’s pants. Joe could feel his heart racing at Drew’s touch. “Just one night. Please. Nobody has to know…” Joe looked up at him with big brown eyes, almost speechless before Drew leaned in and kissed him again, gently. Eventually he reciprocated and soon enough they became entangled in a frenzy removing each others clothes.

Soon, they found themselves on the bed, Joe kneeling in front of Drew. His body shuddered as the lube touched his opening. “I’ve been waiting for this moment again…” Drew trailed off, a tone of conviction in his voice. His left hand rested on Joe lower back as he prepared his entrance. The Samoan”s low groans filled the room. He lowered his head, unable to bring himself to look Drew in the eye. Before he knew it, Drew was starting to penetrate him with his thick, hard cock. He knew how big Drew was but he was never prepared. “Aaaah fuck!” Joe fisted the bedsheets below, taking in his width. “I’m almost in.” Drew licked his lips, trailing his hand down Joe back, trying to comfort him. Drawn out breaths escaped Joe, trying to adjust to his size. Slowly and steadily, Drew began to fuck him. Joe lowered his head, feeling a deep level of shame, with every thrust but he couldn”t stop Drew. He was fucking him harder now, driving him into the mattress. “Please, fuck!” Joe let out burying his head into the pillow below as a way to muffle his own cries. “I’m cumming-” Drew panted before his seed shot into Joe's hole. He held Joe body firmly against his until he had completely relieved himself. As he pulled out, Joe slowly scrambled to one side of the bed, his body curling up. He had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. Drew crawled towards him, placing his hand on his shoulder, forcing him to roll onto his back. He could see the glassy look in Joe eyes as he looked down on him. He knew how Joe was feeling but he chose to ignore it, instead leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. He laid down at his side, placing his hand across his chest, rubbing, trying to ease him. “You deserve better Joe.”

He didn’t speak. He just swallowed, resting his hand on Drew’s before they eventually drifted off to sleep.

It was almost 5am when Joe stirred awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked off to his left. The room was only lit by a small opening in the curtains. It was almost sunrise. Drew was sound asleep next to him, lying on his stomach, his head turned the opposite direction. Joe lay thinking to himself for a few minutes and carefully slid out of the bed. He tiptoed around the room collecting his clothing from the night before and got dressed before quietly leaving the room.

He felt both relieved and pretty shitty for leaving Drew like that but he couldn’t face him. He already felt bad enough for sleeping with him. He got undressed again and climbed into his bed, determined to get a few more hours sleep before flying home at lunchtime.

[imaginingsoftly]

4 Times You Cooked, and 1 Time He Did - Kevin Hayes

Type: friends to lovers, Y/N insert shorts, 4 + 1 story

Requested: No

Warnings: swearing

(Y/N = Your name)

1. The day we met

Your hand was curled into a loose fist, ready to knock on the door in front of you. Your new neighbors had moved in the day before, and, from the sounds coming from the apartment as the move-in occurred, it was a group of very rowdy boys. That meant you made cookies as a welcome, hoping that it would butter them up so they’d be a little nicer if you needed them to quiet down in the middle of the night. Of course, in order to drop off the cookies and say hello you needed to actually knock on the door and introduce yourself. So far the shyness was winning on that front. 

Just as you finally steeled yourself to knock, drawing in a deep breath in the process, the door you were standing in front of opened suddenly. You stepped backwards in shock, stumbling slightly. An incredibly kind-looking face stared down at you in surprise as a hand shot out to grip your elbow. “Sorry, I-”, “Shit, are you-” You and your neighbor stared at each other in silence as you both spoke at the same time. Your neighbor smiled, nodding his head at you. “Go ahead.” 

Well this wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go at all. “Sorry. I’m Y/N. I’m your new neighbor.” You gestured at your apartment door, maybe a little needlessly, as you were the only other door on this part of the hallway. “I just wanted to introduce myself, and welcome you to the building.” The guy looked at you seriously as you spoke, like what you said was the most important thing on the planet. He was cute, in a friendly kind of way. He also looked familiar, though for the life of you it was impossible to figure out why. 

“And you brought cookies?” He smiled down at you when you nodded slowly. “I’m Kevin. If these cookies are as good as they smell, I think I’m going to be happy I chose to get an apartment instead of a house.” He chuckled lightly at his own joke, and you smiled gently at him. Kevin. It was a fitting name for him. He let go of your elbow suddenly, like he just realized he was still holding it. Honestly, you had forgotten as well. “I’m sorry to meet you and run, but I’m unfortunately late to a meeting. Thanks for coming by though!” You started to back out of his doorway when you remembered the cookies. “Here,” you said as you held the plate out, “these are for you. Welcome to the building!” Kevin stared after you for a couple of seconds as you backed away before responding quickly. “Thanks, Y/N. It was nice to meet you.” His smile followed you into the apartment and stayed in your thoughts for hours after the meeting. 

You worked through dinner to try and get ready for the upcoming playoff push. As a marketing manager for the Phillies, the playoffs were your favorite part of the season. It was a time where you could change up the content from your usual stuff, and this year’s playoff ad video was going to be great. One of your summer interns had come up with the idea of using fan videos of some of the highlights of the season to create a mashup, and the video her and the rest of the crew had designed was coming out beautifully. The slogan was going to have something to do with the fans being another part of the team. You watched the video over again and marveled at how well it had come out. The intern needed to become a full hire after this season.

A knock at your door made you jump, though when you opened it there was no one. Your plate, however, sat on the floor outside with a sticky note attached. Thanks for the cookies, it read, my teammates really enjoyed them. I barely got to eat one. The handwriting was slightly messy, clearly boys handwriting. You smiled at the note, and then at the door across the hall from you. It would appear you had a new friend.

2. Dinner and a show

“You know,” Kevin said as he walked through your front door, “I think you’re going to get me cut from the team if you keep feeding me cookies.” He said that with a mouth full of cookie so you took it with a grain of salt, rolling your eyes at him from your position in front of the crock pot. He looked good, dressed in his game day suit, though the tie sticking out of his pocket and the curls still damp from the shower ruined the effect a little bit. These nighttime dinners had become something of a tradition over the last couple of months, after Kevin had come home from a preseason game right as you were returning from a playoff game. You’d ended up sprawled on his couch with a pizza between the two of you, and a tradition was born. Tonight it was tacos, and the steak you had slow-cooked while you were in the office getting ready for the upcoming winter meetings made the entire apartment smell like what you pictured heaven to be.

Kevin dropped onto one of your counter top stools with a heavy sigh, and you slid a beer across to him along with an ice pack. He took the beer thankfully, but then raised an eyebrow at the ice pack. “I saw the hit,” you said as a means of explanation. “I turned the game on when I got back from work. Ice your face so I don’t have to look a black eye for the rest of the week.” Kevin raised his middle finger at you, but did as you asked. Your time together had become a nice way to wind down after your work and game days. Both of you spent so much time in the chaos of professional sports that sometimes it was nice to just slow down and enjoy a meal with someone that understood why you sometimes wanted to sit and eat your meal in silence. Kevin understood that more than you had ever expected. Accurate to your first impression, Kevin and the boys could get extraordinarily loud at times. He was the loudest person in the room, minus when he was with his shorter friend that fought so much, Travis something, but he could also be so quiet on these nights. 

The tacos were delicious, and Kevin ate his body weight in home cooking like usual. It wasn’t that he was incompetent in the kitchen; you’d seen him cook pasta and a few other basic things, but he wasn’t one for just throwing something together unless he’d made it a thousand times before. “You know, I think I’m going to have to keep you around just for how well you cook.” You rolled your eyes, like you always did, but you also couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest that your heart gave when he said he would keep you around. Joke or not, you were becoming pretty attached to Kevin. He was sweet, and goofy in an awkward and not at all athlete-like way. Couple the awkwardness with the math skills and you would peg him for a math professor, not a hockey player. “So,” Kevin began, talking around chunks of yet another cookie, “how was work? Did you revolutionize baseball today?”

You laughed out loud at the thought. Like offseason meetings were ever that exciting. “Planning for contract announcements, actually. I wanted to have the guys returning or just signing on make a little video either thanking the fans for their continued support or introducing themselves, depending on where they played last year, but everyone vetoed it.” You rolled your eyes at the memory. Greg, who thought he should have gotten your job despite your better qualifications, very loudly made his dissent clear. In the end, everyone else followed suit. 

Kevin, thankfully, was on your side. “I would have loved something like that! Especially for the new guys; you’ve gotta get the fans on your side before they have time to hate you.” You chuckled at his statement, even as you nodded in agreement. Getting Kevin amped up about any subject was your favorite thing to do. His accent wasn’t always clear, but times like now the Boston really came out. 

“Thanks for the support, Kev. It’s nice to know at least somebody is on my side.” He leaned over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, and you only had one thought: you were in deep trouble.

3. The one where you made his date dinner

Kevin’s voice was frantic as he threw pots and pans around his kitchen, smoking something sitting black in the sink. “Y/N, please! I need help! She’s gonna be here soon, what do I do?” The panic was new, and you swallowed to joke that almost came out of your mouth in response. He really did look stressed, and the hair you knew he had meticulously styled was now running wild around his temples in frizzy curls. He stared down helplessly at what you thought was supposed to be spaghetti. You sighed, walking over to stand in front of him. 

“We’ll make something else.” Kevin’s face still looked panicked, and you reached up to grab his face with both hands. “Kev. It’s gonna be okay.” He nodded. You smiled slightly, and he smiled back. “I’m going to go get a couple of things from my kitchen. Get out a couple of beers, trim the chicken, and I’ll be right back.” You patted his cheek gently and hurried out of the apartment. Hopefully you would be able to get rid of the smell before she got there. Kevin had a date, a girl he’d been dating for a few months, and you had shown up with the flowers he forgot to buy right as the pan of burnt spaghetti went into the sink. You were still trying to figure out how in the hell a box of spaghetti had turned into the black brick sitting in his pot, but that was a question for another time.

With minimal time and a general lack of great ingredients, you settled on beer-battered chicken and a salad. Thankfully you’d gone to the farmer’s market that morning, and had made Kevin go with you. There were tons of fresh vegetables sitting on his counter that would now get some good use. The only thing you needed from your apartment were cashews and some flour, which you grabbed before hurrying back across the hall again. Kevin was still panicking, though slightly less so, and the chicken was almost ready for the batter. You shouldered Kevin out of the way, throwing the beer, flour, eggs, and a couple of other ingredients into a bowl. Kevin hovered over your shoulder anxiously, at least until you elbowed him in the ribs. “Back up, Kev, I promise I’ve got your back.” He sighed, and finally sat on the counter out of your way. 

He didn’t speak until you threw the chicken into a pan of oil, and even then he spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. “Thanks for always having my back, Y/N.” You smiled over at him, though the chicken spitting oil quickly grabbed your attention again. The past year and a half had been nice. Kevin’s exodus from Philly for the summer came right around the time that the Phillies occupied most of your time and visits with Kevin were limited to late night meals, especially as he and the girl started dating. Kelsey, maybe? Or Karly? You hadn’t actually met; honestly, you weren’t sure she’d met any of his teammates either. It was weird no one had really met her yet, especially for a relationship that had lasted for at least two months. “Spring training is soon, right? When do you leave for Florida?” 

“In a week. When do you guys play in Tampa?” He answered the week after next, and you nodded. You had gone to their game in Tampa the year before when it fell during spring training, and it looked like you would be doing so again. The chicken was finally finished, and you threw together a small warm salad with a fresh cashew Caesar dressing. The plates looked good, and Kevin was already washing the dishes when you turned around. “I can get these, Kev, go fix up your hair.” 

He turned around teasingly, flicking water in your general direction. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Y/N?” You shrugged. He raised an eyebrow, and you were saved from a response by the sound of knocking at his door. Kevin quickly dried his hands, and you gathered your flour container. Kelsey/Karly stopped short when she saw you in Kevin’s kitchen, and you held out your free hand with a smile. “I’m Y/N, I live across the hall. it’s nice to meet you.” She raised an eyebrow like she was unimpressed, and your hand dropped to your side slowly. Her next words told you enough about what kind of person she was. “Why the fuck are you here?” So she was going be like that, then. Kevin stood behind her awkwardly, and you hurried towards the door before it got any more weird. He held out a hand to stop you, but said nothing when you turned your head up at him. 

You closed the door behind you softly, knowing that an echo from the door slamming would make the entire interaction even weirder. It wasn’t until the door had almost clicked closed that you heard a soft “thank you” from Kevin. A loud argument and a slammed door later the date was over, and you waited for most of the night for Kevin to come over for comfort food. He never came, though you woke up to a sticky note on your door with two short sentences.

I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.

4. Taco Tuesday

It wasn’t just the fact that there was about half the roster sitting in her apartment, or the fact that they were all halfway hammered. It was the fact that Kevin hadn’t bothered to tell you the ‘couple of guys’ he’d invited to dinner was every member of the team not married with children. Nolan was the only mostly sober guy of the group, and that was only because he was coming off of a stomach bug. Thankfully, that stomach bug meant he was the one designated to help you prep for dinner. The guys had begged for your steak tacos after hearing about them for Kevin and then Travis, who had suckered his way into one of you and Kevin’s post-game dinners. Right now, your main concern was having enough meat to feed everyone. 

Hands slid around your waist, squeezing slightly when you jumped. “I’m sorry for all the guys. I didn’t think they would all be so interested.” Kevin had to lean in close to your ear in order for you to hear him, and not for the first time you were thankful he was your only close neighbor. The people you shared a wall with were only around for about two months out of the year, and it wasn’t quite that time of year yet. “I promise I’ll keep them mostly chill, and we’ll get out early. I know you have an early call time tomorrow.” Oh, yes. First big road trip of the season. The early April roadies were your favorite, because the thrill of the travel hadn’t worn off yet. 

Voices sounded from behind you both, someone commenting on how close Kevin was standing, and he jumped away from you with an impressive amount of speed. You lamented the loss of his body heat, though your next thought was a mental slap on the wrist for thinking about Kevin that way. No matter how into him you were, you couldn’t think like that. You were just friends. Travis slid into the conversation then to make more comments about the two of you, though you knew he meant well. Kevin had finally broken up with Kelsey/Karly, and Travis felt bad because he had been the one to set them up in the first place. 

“So Y/N, how come you never bring a guy around to the bars with us?” You could have killed Travis for making that comment. He knew you had a crush on Kevin, had guessed it one night after a particularly rough day, and you were waiting for the day he decided to tell Kevin. “I might bring one around soon,” you said, much to the delight of the crowd around your apartment, minus Kevin. His head snapped up in a mixture of hurt and confusion, and you almost wished you hadn’t brought it up. “I have a date next week with a guy from your marketing department, actually.” Groans of disgust mixed with teasing met your ears at the same time Kevin slammed his beer bottle onto the counter. You would have to explore that outburst at a later date.

Kevin was distant for the rest of the night, and you had a feeling it had something to do with your date. The look on his face and the knowing smirk on Travis’ followed you into your sleep that night, and you tossed and turned until you finally went on a run around the city as daylight broke. A sticky note was waiting on your door when you got back, three brief sentences that made you release tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Have a great trip. Revolutionize baseball. You’re the best.

+1. Kevin finally says it

The date had been awful. There were really no other words for it. No matter how many times you dated someone involved in sports, their misogyny never ceased to amaze you. Jake had spent most of the little time you’d dealt with him mansplaining his job and hockey to you, no matter how many times you’d explained you understood both. If he worked for the Phillies, his position would have fallen under your management. In other words, you would have been his boss. You knew what his job entailed, but he couldn’t seem to get that. 

But really, the icing on the cake? When he asked if you’d gotten a job with the Phillies so that you could marry some baseball player. As if you could see those boys as anything but loveable idiots. Like hopeless little brothers. You’d gotten up and left then, dropping enough cash on the table to cover your tab and then some before storming out. The text you sent Kevin was angry, a request for beer and a friend, and then you’d walked the mile back to your apartment in heels that were starting to give you serious blisters. The blisters and the red you were still seeing almost caused you to miss the sticky note on your door. Two words, and a scrawl that was very clearly Kevin’s. My place, 8 pm. That note made you smile despite what was quite possibly your worst date ever, and you hurried into your room to change into something more comfortable before heading to Kevin’s.

You walked right in after a knock, and the sight waiting for you almost made you wish you had waited. Soft music was playing from the speaker on Kevin’s kitchen counter, and something in the kitchen smelled heavenly. Kevin looked soft, the Kevin you were used to, in a worn Red Sox t-shirt and some sweatpants that hugged him just right. You were thankful you’d gone with leggings and a long sleeve shirt, especially when Kevin turned around and saw you. His eyes lit up, and you didn’t miss the subtle up-and-down he gave your body. It all felt incredibly domestic, though you didn’t want to drop too deeply into your feels before you’d even had dinner, so you quickly shoved those thoughts away. “Wanna talk about it?” Kevin passed you a beer as he asked, and you shook your head. 

“Guy was a dick. Acted like I didn’t know anything about hockey, and then tried to mansplain his job, which is my job, to me.” Kevin snorted in disgust. He mumbled something that sounded like ‘dick’ under his breath, but the oven timer drowned him out. You jumped onto the kitchen counter as Kevin pulled on a couple of oven mitts. He had baked a lasagna, clearly homemade, and you took a deep breath as he placed the dish next to you. Kevin gave you a knowing smirk, and you knocked your beer bottle against his head gently. He knew you too well. His mother had cooked that lasagna when she was around for the mom’s trip, and you’d fallen in love with both the food and his mother. “Kevin, I love you.” He ducked his head, busying himself with scooping you a heaping plate of food. “That was the idea,” he mumbled under his breath. You chose to let it go, although the comment was filed under your list of things to ask him about at some point. 

Kevin handed you a plate of lasagna and offered up a slice of fresh bread, which you took gratefully. He scooped himself a matching plate, though his portion was definitely smaller and more diet-approved, and nodded you towards his couch. Rizzoli and Isles was set up on the television, a drama that you and Kevin had been slowly working through together. It was fun to watch him pick apart the locations and inaccuracies, as well as pointing out places that he had grown up terrorizing. He didn’t ask any more about your date, for which you were grateful. The silence was peaceful, minus the occasional comment about the show, and you devoured your food in an amount of time that impressed even Kevin. 

It wasn’t until later, when you were cleaning up his kitchen together, that you brought up his earlier comment. “Kev, what did you mean earlier?” He shot a confused look in your direction, and you sighed. “When you said ‘that was the idea’. What did you mean?” Kevin didn’t respond as he finished washing a plate, and he turned off the faucet after he handed you the plate to dry. You were patient, putting away the plate and then dropping the towel as you waited for a response. He would get there, in time. 

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/N.” Wait, no. Kevin? Liked you? You were frozen, unable to form a sentence. It was like he’d watched your dreams and decided to play a sick joke. Kevin ran a hand over his face and through his hair at your lack of response. “I always knew I didn’t have a chance with you, so I figured being your friend was just as good.” Now it was really just like the Twilight Zone. Either that, or Kevin was reading your mind. It was the exact battle you’d had with yourself several times in the last year-and-a-half plus. Your head spun as you tried to come up with a response, but the only one you came up with was to surge forward and kiss Kevin. 

It was like nothing you’d imagined. Kevin was a lot taller than you, enough so that it made kissing him a little difficult at first. After he got over the initial shock of you jumping him he crouched a little, and you wound your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. Kissing Kevin felt right, like the one thing you had really been missing over the last couple of years was him. He smiled as you drew back for a breath, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah?” You laughed at his question. “Yeah,” you repeated, leaning in for another kiss. Kevin obliged, and you melted against him. 

You finally left Kevin’s the next morning, rushing out the door so that you could shower before heading in for another game day. Kevin’s kiss on your cheek and a promise for an actual conversation followed you out, though the smile on your face lasted all day. You returned to your apartment that night to see a sticky note on your front door, in Kevin’s writing like always. 

My place, 10 pm. Kiss for entry.

[dayurno]

River Yazzie?

Send me a character from one of my WIPs and a 💬 and I’ll reply with an out of context piece of their dialogue excerpt of them

okay this is still very much outlined and not fully written so bear with me! <3

It's only when the two of them are standing in River's dingy kitchen that Kevin has his first true inhale, willing his heart to stop bruising his ribcage and holding onto the cup of tea River gave him for dear life.

[River]: Kevin. What happened?

[Kevin] inhales. Exhales. Inhales. Exhales.

[...]

K doesn't say anything for a while. He exhales shakily, then calls softly: River.

Unhesitatingly, R raises their arm. K tucks himself under it easily, resting his head against their shoulder, and a part of him is still so young —  a part of him still feels so small, so fragile, so dependent on love and protection and security.

R gently grazes a hand up and down K's back, down K's arm, around K's scalp. K wants to curl into them and disappear; wants to be loved and cared for and adored like one would a child. R: Kevin, [sighs sadly]. My poor Kevin. [a soft murmur] My poor sweetheart. 

It's depraved and it's filthy and Kevin doesn't deserve it, but no one has ever called him sweetheart; not since Kayleigh.

When K's breathing evens out and he stops crying and shaking, the world is so quiet Kevin could swear it ended. River held him gingerly, a hand to the back of Kevin's head like a mother would, and gently shushed the crying out of him.

[choruscas]

suptober day 08: electric

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer) it tags you in all my short stories like these so you never miss them!

also, i’m so sorry that these stories are late! i went on vacation and i totally forgot my writing ipad and had nothing else to use to post these! hopefully these long oneshots will make it up. thank you!

boss!castiel, assistant!dean

Working two years at an insurance company really had a toll on some people. Sometimes it sagged their skin, brittled their bones, or grayed their hair. Sometimes the bosses made your ears bleed and your nose crinkle, wishing it was five o’clock already.

But not Dean. Sure, he was thirty-two and going on strong, but he wasn’t old compared to the rest. There was still a kick in his step, his bones were mighty and strong (thanks to Sammy’s tips on how to stay fit while literally doing nothing) and maybe he had a little bit of a gut going on, but nothing he couldn’t fix.

His boss? Castiel Novak.

Lots of people didn’t like him, as he had lots of enemies. Dean wasn’t sure why, as he didn’t care. Before he accepted his job as assistant, lots of people told him about Castiel. (“Novak’s numbfuckin’ gorgeous, man.” — “Be careful with that one, he’s pretty rough.” — “He’s like... emotionless.” And those were only a few examples.)

He was stone cold, monotonous, soulless.

Even heartless, some said.

But there was a mighty, mighty problem.

Mr. Novak is the most attractive person in the entire world to Dean. Once he saw a picture of his boss, with his piercing blue eyes and five o’clock shadow, Dean was submissive nearly immediately. In his interview, Dean just could. not. stop. staring. Even if his life depended on it, he could not stop looking at the movement of his broad shoulders, the work of his rough hands, the flickering of his eyes like pure fire.

-

Dean sat in the office’s kitchen during lunch break. Normally he would go out and maybe grab a cheeseburger of sorts but today Mr. Novak seemed very different. He seemed sad, to Dean. And since Dean was in love — no... had a huge crush on his boss, it upset Dean himself.

Eating a spoonful of pudding and sucking on the plastic utensil, April Kelly sat down in a chair at Dean’s table, flattening her skirt before she sat. Dean eyed her suspiciously, as she looked a little revolted by something.

Hushed in a whisper, she asked: “So is it really true? Are you and Mr. Novak... a thing?”

Nearly choking on his spoon, Dean jerked his head back and began a coughing fit. A few other employees looked at Dean whose face began to turn red and the tips of his ears tinged shades of pinks.

There was a lot of things Dean had heard in his life that he had the same question for: what the fuck? For example, walking in on his gym teacher and science teacher going at it like rabbits in the teacher’s lounge, or the time poor seven year old Sammy came home with a broken arm and said that a squirrel had snapped it in half. (In reality, he fell of a tree because he tried to jump to a branch with a squirrel, but little children had dramatic memories.)

But this question? Cream of the crop. Takes the cake. Out of all the questions she could’ve asked. “Hey, are you a diabetic owl too?” Or “Have you dated nineteen Katherine’s all with the same spelling who also dumped you?” And sure, those questions would’ve weirded him out, but this one... just mind boggled him.

How in the fuck could Dean even be remotely in Castiel’s league? Hell, he didn’t even think he was gay.

“No— what? Who said that?” Dean gawked, his eyeballs practically falling out of his head.

April rolled her eyes softly. “Bartholomew.”

Dean huffed explosively. Bartholomew Strautman. World’s biggest fucking idiot in the world.

“That bastard? April, you know that’s not true. You’re smarter than that.”

The assistant knew for a fact that she was not, but he didn’t wanna hurt her feelings for rumors she didn’t even start. Dean’s nickname for Bartholomew was B.S., because that’s normally what he was fucking full of whenever he was around him. Dean’s surprised he’s never swallowed a damn sandal for how many times he stuck his foot in his mouth.

Now, Dean didn’t really like April, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to be nice to her. He was only mean to bitches who were mean to him first, otherwise, it was just insensitive.

“I just hope it’s not true.” she sighed sadly.

Dean quirked his head. “Why?”

“I really like Mr. Novak...” Her voice then became a whisper. “And... I think he likes me too.”

Dean blinked multiple times. “Uh— Yeah. Maybe.”

Her head peaked up to meet Dean eye to eye. “Really?” she exclaimed.

Now, Dean wasn’t really expecting that.How the fuck is he supposed to tell her, “Hey, you’re kinda dumbass and I don’t like you... and Castiel is mine, so fuck off.”

So instead he just told her that she might have a chance. It saved him from having to deal with a full-grown temper tantrum (which she’s had before because her printer paper wouldn’t fit in the copier. Dean had fixed it by simply rotating the paper.) in the middle of work, which he would much rather not have.

It was an hour before Dean left work. He normally got there at eight o’clock in the morning, because Castiel needed his coffee before nine. Granted, Castiel had never asked Dean deliberately to make his coffee, but Dean’s attempt to swoon him with bribery kindness were his day-to-day tasks. So at the moment,

The elevator dinged and Dean turned around in his desk, just having finished beating Kevin Tran in Crazy 8. Every day they’d play something different. Monday was Crazy 8, and sometimes they’d manage to round a few other people too. Today, they had managed to grab Bobby Singer, Anna Milton, and Meg Masters to play a few rounds. Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s, Thursday’s and Friday’s, it would just be Kevin and Dean playing.

Dean turned around to see his boss, and he just so managed to exit out of the tab and onto some random website that totally looked like work.

Fuck, was he hot.

His black overcoat was off and his white dress shirt was rolled up, the cuffs on his sleeves were unbuttoned, and he looked like a little bit of a mess. However, it was extremely attractive and Dean found himself biting his lip to stop himself from drooling over him.

The whole office sort of stifled quiet as Castiel’s cold eyes peered around the room. Dean, however, was the closest to him and he could just smell the cinnamon and black coffee radiating off of him.

“Dean.” Castiel said softly, looking down at Dean who had just grabbed a pen to twirl around his fingers.

“Yes sir?” Dean snapped up, straightening his posture and tugging at his sleeves.

“I need you in my office.”

Whispers quirked across the office floor, probably rumors about their relationship. It has never happened and Dean had told himself over and over again that it wouldn’t happen.

However, the thing that happened next was terrifying.

Once they had reached his office, which was a story up from his desk, Castiel had taken the lead and Dean found himself shaking with eagerness (and nervousness) of what’s next to come. Castiel had held the door open for him and once Dean reached inside, Castiel shut the door and locked it.

It was normal for Dean, but in this circumstance, he overthought everything. So the door locking was terrifying to him.

Castiel laid his hands flat on his desk and eyed Dean with precaution.

It made Dean tremble in his bones.

“You have heard the rumors, have you not?” he asked, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. It was such an innocent gesture that was so un-Castiel that Dean found himself nearly falling on his knees to worship him.

“Yeah-“ he stopped himself. “Yes sir.”

Castiel’s hands left the desk and he began slowly walking toward Dean, eyeing him as if he was prey and Castiel was the predator. Dean was then trembling in his shoes, feeling as if he could throw up from how nervous they were.

Now, Castiel’s next question was yet another question that Dean was not expecting.

“Are you romantically attracted to me?”

Not wanting to lie, Dean succumbed to Castiel’s look of prestigious nature. “Yes... yes sir- I...”

Castiel shushed him. “I’ll be after work. Make sure everybody is gone and turn off all the lights before you come back here. 5:30, Dean.”

Fuck.

-

Dean eyed the clock with such suspicion that he wanted to smash it in the floor and turn the minute handle to 5:30 already. At five o’clock, people should be starting to pack up and leave.

And as five o’clock pulled around, they did just that. Dean said his goodbyes, trying not to look suspicious. Because normally when the clock struck five, Dean was up and out faster than you could say cherry pie. He liked his job (the sexy boss sure helped) but relaxing was better to him in his opinion.

At about 5:15, people were still taking their sweet precious time.

5:20. Dean still had to go all the way to the basement to turn off the lights.

5:25. Anna Milton.

“Hey Dean, good job on Crazy 8 earlier! You’re pretty good.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes and slap her in the face. He knew exactly what she was doing, like she did everyday. Flirting.

“Listen, Anna— Mr. Novak-“

“Castiel is a cheapskate, he can wait.”

Dean’s nostrils practically flared from the informality and disrespect she had for him. Since Dean was in love had a huge crush on his boss, any disrespect towards him made him blood boil.

“Anna...”

“If the rumors are true...”

“They’re not.”

“Alright, whatever.” she flung her hands up in defeat, sighing like it was her last breath. “If you wanna play another game sometime, my house is always open to move some furniture around.”

Dean shivered. Anna was cute and all, but she was toxic and manipulative as fuck. He only had eyes for one man and one man only.

Shit! It was 5:29.

Once the door and shut and he knew Anna was out of the office like Castiel had said, Dean ran to the basement, his messenger bag almost falling down the stairs many, many times.

He really needed to work out instead of using Sammy’s stupid techniques of having good posture and drinking water (also while watching TV, a detail Dean “forgot” to tell Sam) to burn calories.

He finally reached his office, after having to run four flights of stairs, he finally made it. At 5:35. Fuck.

Knocking on the door made Dean realize how hard he was shaky. In all honesty, this was probably the scariest thing he’s ever had to do.

What if he gets fired? What if he breaks his heart? Fuck. Anything could happen.

“Come in.”

And so Dean did, and the sight he saw was a sight for sore eyes. His tie was untied and hanging around his neck, his belt was off, and his dress shirt was untucked.

The sex they had was indeed not heartless. It was soft, and full of something Dean never though Castiel was capable of giving him: love. He treasured him as if he was the richest gold or rarest diamond, kissing his every freckle and blemish like he was made of glass.

(tags below)

@potato-painter

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

The Sparrow

Green light filtered through the window. It made the room feel like it was under water, or on some foreign planet. Andrew dropped his arm over his eyes trying to block it out, trying to will himself back to sleep for another hour. Or three. Nobody was counting.

A sharp pip sounded from somewhere outside. A minute passed, and it sounded again. And again. Andrew dropped his arm and glared out into the greenish dawn. A little bird hung from one of the branches of the giant vine that clung to the side of the house. It stared at him, cocking its head to the side, bright eyes considering. Pip!

“You’re an asshole.”

The bird gave a self-satisfied pip and flew off. Bastard. Just what he needed, an alarm clock with a mind of its own.

He yawned and stretched, taking inventory of what hurt. Knees. Left thumb. Right hip. Better than yesterday. He left his cane where it was, leaning against the wall.

Going down the narrow stairs that his physical therapist had assured him were a terrible idea, he entered the tiny kitchen and grumbled at the landscape of boxes he could see stacked in the living room. The coffee maker was the one thing he had set up yesterday, and he listened to the gurgling sounds as the water dripped through while he looked over the boxes. Finding the one labeled Dishes, he dug through and pulled out a bowl and a mug.

He took his meager breakfast out onto the patio. The cracked concrete was shot through with weeds; the abandoned furniture peeling and rusted. The little pipping bird was back to sitting in the vines. He couldn’t figure out why it was there; other than the vines that were assaulting the house and a few coarse weeds, the yard was bare dirt, hard and unwelcoming and littered with junk. It was ugly as hell, but Andrew didn’t really care. All he had to do was lift his head, and the view was spectacular: rolling mountains, the caps slowly baring themselves to the spring sun, the slopes a mix of trees and green expanses that he knew from photographs were covered with flowers. Someday, he’d walk there. Someday, he’d reach the top.

Scoffing at himself, at his stupid impossible dreams, he creaked to his feet and went in to take his medications.

~

Andrew’s house was full of strangers. If he hadn’t just bought the thing two days ago, it would’ve been tempting to set it on fire.

They weren’t technically strangers, as Allison had pointed out, given that he worked with them. But when Renee had said she’d be stopping by to help him unpack, he would’ve preferred it if she’d mentioned she’d be bringing half the town. He glared across the room at Renee, who pretended not to notice while she helped her girlfriend unpack cooking supplies. There was banging overhead where Kevin and Matt were putting together his bed. On the one hand, he was glad he was going to be able to stop sleeping on his mattress on the floor. On the other hand…

Movement outside caught this eye, a flash of reddish brown in his front yard. “What—”

Renee paused in her silverware sorting and followed his eyes. “Oh good! Neil came.”

“What, you hadn’t brought enough people?”

His words were punctuated by a crash from upstairs, followed by Matt’s voice calling a strained, “Everything’s okay!”

“Neil’s a gardener,” Allison said, as if that should have been obvious.

“Great.” More help he didn’t want. He made his way outside, but Neil had disappeared. Grumbling, he walked around the house, only stumbling twice. A slender man stood at the edge of his backyard, facing the mountains. Andrew tried to pretend that the man didn’t improve the view considerably, and stepped up to his side.

The man gave him a slashing glance, then a matching smile. “You must be Andrew.” He held out his hand, shrugging when Andrew didn’t take it. “Neil. I’m a friend of Allison’s.”

“What fresh hell do you have in store for me?”

Neil laughed easily. “Depends on what you want. Clean all this trash up to start; after that it’s up to you.”

“Up to me.” So far not a damn thing had been up to him, despite Renee’s lip service. “In that case, can you get rid of the assholes who have taken over my house?”

“Sorry, no,” Neil said, grinning. Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and he cursed himself for his weakness. “You know how it is. Once you’re in Renee’s clutches, you will help people and you will like it.”

“I most definitely will not.”

Neil laughed again and turned back to the yard, picking up one of the discarded plastic buckets that littered the space. “I better get started.”

It was rapidly becoming familiar, getting dismissed in his own house. He would have stayed just to watch Neil work, but Dan called his name and he headed back inside to prevent a book-arranging disaster.

~

The rumble of a truck pulled Andrew out of the mental cocoon he went into whenever he started working on his book. The week had been blessedly quiet, save for his avian alarm clock, but it appeared that was at an end. Grumbling, he forced himself to his feet, leaving his cane leaning against the couch.

Neil was standing on his front walkway, rubbing a hand sheepishly through his hair. “Morning.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m here to figure out what we’re doing with your yard. Didn’t Allison tell you?”

Andrew thought of Allison’s parting words on Friday. “You’re welcome!” He hadn’t known what she meant and hadn’t cared. Evidently he should have. “Why?”

Neil looked at him, nonplussed. “Because having that yard basically being a wasteland of dirt is criminal?”

“Hey, it’s my wasteland of dirt.”

That damn smile made a reappearance. “You deserve more than that.”

“That’s such bullshit. Nobody deserves anything.”

Neil cocked his head to one side. “Do you really believe that?”

Andrew studied his face, the faded scarring across his cheeks, the stubborn set to his jaw that made the smile a lie. “How much is Allison paying you?”

He looked genuinely startled at that. “Nothing. I volunteered.”

“Why? What do you get out of this?”

Neil looked away, color staining his cheeks like a sunrise. “Everyone deserves a little beauty in their lives.”

Andrew wondered what it was like, going through life with the evidence of other people’s viciousness on your face, and believing in beauty anyway.

~

Slowly the garden took shape, each Sunday adding a little more. When Andrew greeted him the third Sunday leaning on his cane, the truckload of gravel went back to where it came from without a word. The next week, he came outside to find Neil laying out paving stones in a sunburst pattern where the concrete had once been.

Neil was interesting and unpredictable, some days working for hours in silence, others chattering at length about plants and birds, on this continent and others. Sometimes Andrew helped, raking the dirt in the raised beds, then setting the native perennials Neil had picked out gently into the sun-warmed soil. Sometimes his hands wouldn’t close on the tools, and he sat in the shade of the house and talked or read aloud from the book he was writing. Once he stopped, uncertain if Neil was even listening; his friend raised his head from where he was setting out a bird bath. “Is that it?” Neil asked, disappointment coloring his voice, and Andrew bit back his smile as he turned back to his book.

Neil arranged shrubs around the house and planted a couple of flowering trees for shade. Soon Andrew’s little pipping bird had friends of his own, and he woke to a melodic cacophony each morning. One afternoon, they sat in silence on the new furniture Andrew had ordered, sipping lemonade and watching fat bumblebees tumble in and out of hot pink flowers. The garden was almost done; the summer had already passed its peak. Andrew looked at Neil, at his summer-sky eyes and his autumn hair, and he swallowed back the grief as he realized these Sundays were drawing to a close.

~

The singing was not enough to stir him. He heard it, dimly, through the haze of pain, but he closed his eyes and drifted back into the darkness.

~

“Andrew?”

He knew that voice; it wrapped itself around his heart and pulled, forcing him into consciousness. Stifling his groan was impossible, and Neil was at his side in a flash. “How can I help?”

“I need to take my meds.” His voice sounded like gravel, and he tried to clear his throat but it was too dry to make a difference.

“Bathroom?”

Andrew hummed, and Neil disappeared, only to reappear in a second with his pill case and a glass of water. “Can I?” Neil asked, hovering an arm over Andrew’s shoulders. Nodding didn’t hurt, at least, and Neil slipped an arm gently behind him and coaxed him into a sitting position against the headboard. He held the glass so Andrew could suck some water through the straw, then handed him the pills, one at a time. When he was done, they sat there like that for a while, Andrew avoiding Neil’s eyes. He hated this, hated that Neil found him like this. Hated that this was the new reality of his life, where he could be going along okay and then suddenly be incapacitated by pain.

It hadn’t struck him down like this since he first got sick; he would never forget that panic, being alone and unable to move without screaming, having to drag himself to the bathroom. Then the weeks of doctor’s visits and tests, the medications that helped the pain but messed him up otherwise, until they finally found a cocktail that worked, more or less beating his immune system into submission. He had moved here out of sheer stubbornness; maybe he should call it stupidity. But he needed this. He needed the mountains out there, calling to him. He needed to believe that one day he would climb up there.

“Why are you here?” he asked, shattering the silence.

“It’s Sunday.”

But the garden is finished, he wanted to say; you are wasting your time with me.

Neil reached out like he was going to touch his hand, but refrained when he saw the red, swollen joints. “Did you think I was just coming for the garden?”

“Why else would you bother?”

“Andrew…I could have finished that garden in two weeks, if I’d wanted to. That was my plan, at first.” He laughed, shaking his head as if at himself. “But then you wouldn’t let me cut down that damn vine because that sparrow likes it…”

Andrew closed his eyes, hearing the unspoken words behind Neil’s soft tone. “I will never be more than this, Neil.”

“You’re Andrew. What more do you need to be?”

~

There was music in the trees. A symphony composed of wind through tree boughs, of the singing of birds, the chattering of squirrels, the baseline of leaves crunching underfoot. Andrew paused for breath, gulping down some water. The early springtime air traced cool fingers through his hair, and goosebumps erupted down his arms.

Recapping his water, he followed the sound of footsteps in front of him. His walking stick was worn smooth where his hand rested, and he rubbed his thumb in the glossy spot as he negotiated his way over some roots.

“It’s just up ahead,” Neil’s voice called from somewhere out of sight. Andrew took his time, even though he knew he would follow that voice anywhere. He had waited a year for this; he could wait a few minutes longer.

The trees finally opened up to a scene out of a movie. Flowers, blue and purple and white and yellow, all bowed before the wind that tore across the meadow. Neil stood on a little rise, one hand shielding his eyes, staring west. Andrew climbed up to stand next to him. He could see their house from here, the windows glinting in the sun. When he squinted, he could discern the blossoms on the flowering cherry Neil had planted near the bedroom. The tree was still small, barely taller than they were, but it bloomed with reckless abandon. Warmth crept through him that had nothing to do with the springtime sunshine as he thought of their tiny tree, and the nest the sparrows were building in its branches.

Neil bent down and kissed him, soft and lingering. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded, looking at the riot of color all around him. Up above, he could see the peak of the mountain looming white; once, he had longed to reach the very summit. Once, he had thought he would never set foot in the woods again. His free hand found Neil’s, tracing the familiar calluses and scars. “Beautiful.”

[wantstoflyafraidtofall]

CHAPTER 8 IS UP!

read on Ao3

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Notes:  Here it is! Chapter 8! It took me a while with school and the next chapters will most likely take some time as well, but I got it done and am going to work hard to get the rest done too! I would estimate around 4-5 more chapters, maybe 6 depending on how things work out.

Enjoy!

(Chapter below the cut)

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“Sam?” Dean asked, confused.

He knew his brother had gotten back from his trip with Jess a few days ago but didn't expect for him to visit this soon. He’s trying to hide it, but Sam’s nervous, he keeps shifting his weight and tucking his princess hair behind his ear.

“Uhhh, am I interrupting something?” Sam questions, glancing between his brother and Cas.

“No, come in.” Cas says.

A tense feeling follows Sam inside the house. He is practically radiating with worry even though he is doing his best to hide it. Even Cas seemed a bit nervous. Did something happen?

They walk into the library and sit, the uncomfortable air following them and making their postures awkward and tense. A feeling of unease set into Dean’s stomach, he felt out of the loop.

Sam and Cas’s quick glances at each other made him squirm in his seat. They weren’t telling him something.

“So, what brings you to our humble dwelling?” Dean says nonchalantly, trying to hide his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm…” Sam traded another look with Cas, “I wanted to know if you wanted to come stay with Jess and I for a bit.”

“Why would I-”, It suddenly made sense. Sam, appearing unannounced the morning after the knife incident and asking Dean to leave with him.

He turned his attention to Cas who was growing extremely nervous. He met Cas’s eyes with a stone hard glare, Cas looked down at the floor guiltily.

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean hissed, “You called Sam to take me away like some teenager in detention!”

Cas was looking at him with wide, apologetic eyes, “Dean I-I-I’m sorry, but-”

“But what, Cas?” Dean rose from the chair, glaring down at him, “Does “let's figure this out” mean kicking me out and solving this on your own now?”

Sam rose from his chair and tried to angle himself in between Cas and Dean, “Dean, stop! He is just worried for your safety!”

“How much did you tell him, Cas!”

“He didn’t tell me anything other than he was worried about you, Dean! He said you would like to have the option to share what happened yourself.”

Dean was about to yell again but held back. He took a step back from his brother and housemate, turning away from them. He took a deep breath and sighed, letting his shoulders relax.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew Cas would get rid of him one way or another. Everyone gets rid of him one way or another.

They see how broken he is, how he can't be fixed, how he is just a mess of problems in a pretty package. And then they get rid of him like a hand-knit sweater from your grandma that you would never wear.

“I guess I should go pack.” Dean said as he began walking out of the room.

A hollow feeling ate away at Dean while he packed his duffel with a week's worth of clothes. He didn't know how long he would be gone but he would just wash and re-wear the stuff he brought.

He was grabbing some shirts from the dresser when he heard footsteps behind him. He knew who it was without turning around and a burst of annoyance flared in his chest.

“Dean?” Cas said quietly.

“That’s me.” Dean replied, not looking towards the doorway where Cas stood.

“I...I’m sorry. I’m just worried that I can’t protect you. That you’ll get hurt. I know you're mad but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Yeah, well next time you should maybe ask what I think before getting my brother to take me away.” Dean turned to see Cas, shoulders slumped, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes.

He felt a pang of hurt when he saw the tears in Cas’s eyes but that was just added to the pain he already felt from being abandoned again and ended up just adding more fuel to the fire.

Dean turned away and zipped up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and walking past Cas without making eye contact. He walked down the stairs, limping slightly on his bad leg with each step.

Sam was waiting by the door looking at Dean with a muddled expression, something between apologetic, nervousness, and relief. He walked past him and looked for Sam’s car. The only car was Baby, meaning Sam took an Uber down.

Dean walked over to Baby, tossing his bag in the back before settling in the front passenger seat. Sam wasn't going to let him drive right now but Dean didn't have room to care right now.

He waited a minute for Sam to finish his goodbyes to Cas before he saw the door of the house open and his moose of a brother clomp down the stairs.

Sam got in the driver's seat and started up the car, slowly pulling out of the driveway. Dean risked one last look at the house, catching sight of Cas standing forlornly on the porch, cheeks still damp with drying tears.

He curled into himself, looking out the window at the trees and houses passing by with glassy eyes. Trying to keep everything stuffed inside again, just like always.

He felt numb, his body seemed so heavy. Was he really going to lose everything again?

Dean knows he’s broken. He sees how everyone looks at him and treats him like if you push him too hard, he will break.

Honestly, he feels like that himself sometimes. He feels like he’s hanging on by his fingertips, hanging on for the sake of others and not himself. That the reason he is still here is because he can't leave Sam with the burden of a lost brother.

And Cas, he had helped Dean. When he was slipping, when he almost fell, Cas was there holding him close. Taking him off the ledge where he hung so he could sit on top, looking at the view.

Guess he was wrong. Cas was just being a nice person. Paying for his stay with actions, nothing more than that. He didn't really care.

Dean let himself open up again, let his walls down, just to be reminded of why he built them so high in the first place. And now those walls are so, so broken. Practically dust blowing in the wind. There is nothing to rebuild and nothing protecting him from himself.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek. And another. And soon he was silently sobbing, his body shaking with the effort to hold it in.

Sam kept nervously glancing at his brother, not sure what to do. Not sure how to fix this. He couldn't fix Dean’s past so he doesn't even know how to try now.

They continue driving. They drive further and further away from Cas and the house. Further from Charlie and Kevin and Gilda. Further from the fish pond and amazing kitchen. Further away from home.

He knew this was coming so why did it hurt so bad?

~~~

Dean tossed his bag onto the floor by the dresser and looked around the dark guest room. There was a small closet and bathroom to the right and a queen bed centered on the back wall.

He didn't turn on the light when he closed the door and made his way to the bathroom, flipping on the dim shower light, filling the small bathroom with a yellow glow.

When he was sent home, he had spent days sleeping and recuperating here. He spent weeks in that bed, showering in this bathroom, and now he's back again, still broken, maybe more than before.

He thought he was getting better. That he could go have his own house and take care of himself and become a functioning member of society.

He just seemed to be going in circles. Never escaping his past, always returning to the same places, same ideas. He’s 24 but his life is basically already over. Why did he ever think it would end?

Dean slowly stripped out of his clothes and brushed his teeth, the actions were muscle memory and required no thought. Dean flopped down onto the bed, his mind empty and body heavy.

He felt so empty. Alone.

When will it stop?

~~~

The phone started ringing again. Dean rolled over in his burrito of blankets to check the name. He saw Charlie’s number and sighed. She has called him at least 3 times a day since he left but today the count is up to 7.

He declines the call and rolls back over to face the laptop, un-pausing his episode Doctor Sexy MD.

It’s been 5 days since he left. 5 days and not a single call from Cas. 5 days of sitting in Sam’s guest room doing nothing other than watching TV and moping. 5 days of Sam nagging him about his health and needing to eat more and get out of bed.

Dean gets where Sam is coming from, he knows that this isn't healthy and that he might feel a bit better if he got up, but he doesn't want to. He knows that as soon as he stops, as soon as he gives himself one second to breath, the thoughts will come right back.

It’s either non-stop movement or no movement. He tried non-stop after Lisa and that didn't help so Dean’s going with option 2. Which isn't any better if he’s being honest.

Lisa was only his girlfriend for a few years during and after high school but when she left him it still hurt. It hurt so much.

“Dean, you're just not the one for me. You're a great guy but I can't be with you while you're across the world fighting on a battlefield, I just can't,” Lisa had said, “Good bye, Dean.”

The words were like a blow to the stomach and had Dean careening off track. It took him almost 3 months to get back on his feet and join the military. He was a marine, like his dad.

That blow was nothing to what he felt now. He felt like he had been stabbed over and over and now was just lying on the floor, bleeding out while everyone watched.

He can’t stop thinking about Cas. The days they spent in the library reading, when they would sit in the back yard watching the fish and talking, nights where Dean would cook dinner while Cas watched from the island, being wrapped in Cas’s arms every night, how they had almost kissed, how Cas sent him away.

After everything, Cas still doesn't want him.

No one wants him.

There was a gentle knock on the door before a beam of light split through the darkness. Sam peaked his head in the room, glancing around before stepping fully inside.

“Hey, Dean, I just got off a call with your friend, Charlie. She says something wrong.” Sam says, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Tell her I’m fine and she doesn't need to call me every fucking day.” Dean snapped.

“She says it's about Cas.”

Dean moves into a sitting position. Sam holds out his phone, letting Dean grab it out of his hand before he exits the room.

“Charlie? What's going on?” Dean asks

“Well hello to you too, asshole,” Charlie replies, “You’ve been completely ghosting me, dude!”

“I’m sorry but I really haven't been feeling great. What’s going on with Cas? Is he alright?”

“Well he hasn't answered his phone since Monday, the same day you also vanished. I went to knock on the door and check up on you but your car wasn't there so I figured you were out. When I checked again, there was still no car and when I knocked there was no answer. I didn't even know you left!”

“Again, sorry, but where's Cas?”

“Well I thought he was with you but Sam says he stayed. There hasn't been any lights in the house and the door and windows wont even open.”

Panic rose in Dean’s throat. Now that Deans is gone, it's just Cas and the shadow, and the shadow will definitely win.

“Thanks, Charlie, I’ll try and come back as soon as I can.”

“Ok, Dean. Just take care of yourself, ok?”

“Yup, you too.”

Dean ended the call and rolled out of the bed. He walked out of the room, blinking in the bright light of the hall, letting his eyes adjust before walking out to the living room to hand Sam his phone.

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly and Dean just shook his head before making his way back to his room. He considered packing up his stuff but it would be way more suspicious and he has the rest of his stuff back at the house anyway.

He got back in bed and tried to focus on the episode of Doctor Sexy but kept thinking about Cas.

Was he ok? Will Dean be too late?

After what seemed like forever, Dean saw the clock read 1:00am and closed his laptop. He grabbed a small backpack out of the closet and put in his more essential items he brought with him and slid into his shoes.

He crept out into the dark hall and found Baby’s keys in the dish by the door. Carefully, he opened the door and slipped outside sighing with relief once the door was shut tight behind him.

He jogged over to the impala and climbed inside, putting her in neutral and letting her roll down the slight slope of the driveway. Once he was on the road, he started up the engine and mentally apologized to Sam.

Dean knows Sam would have let him go but he would tag along and Dean wants to do this alone. He needs to do this alone to keep Sam safe.

Baby rumbled out of the neighborhood Sam lives in and he began heading home. He had to get to Cas before it was too late.

~~~

It was still Dark when Dean pulled into the drive. He could see the dark outline and shadows of the house but just as Charlie said, not a single light was on.

Once Dean parked the impala, he walked to the back and got a flashlight out of the trunk. He turned to the house, looking up at the tall columns supporting the roof and balconies over the porch.

His stomach dropped when he caught sight of red, beady eyes glaring down at him from Cas’s balcony. He could see the white sparkle of teeth and the outline of the shadows body. It was practically sucking light out of the air, making it darker than the shadows surrounding it.

Dean ripped his eyes from the shadow, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he sprinted towards the house, bounding up the steps and to the door.

He backed up a bit to get momentum to try and kick it down but saw a sliver of darkness along the edge of the door. It was open.

Dean carefully crept forward, kicking the door open wide. I swung open, showing the dark, quiet interior of the house. He crossed the threshold and as soon as he stepped inside, it was like being sucked into a vacuum of cold, dark, silence.

He took a step forward, moving further into the house. The door snapped shut behind him with a loud boom, causing Dean to jump as he was plunged into darkness.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving carefully into the living room, grabbing the fire poker from the stand below the mantle. He gripped the rod in both hands, holding it at the ready.

Dean turned back to the atrium and saw the shadow smiling devilishly at him before flickering back out of existence. Dean tightened his grip on the fire poker and marched forward, clearing one room at a time.

The ghost didn’t show again but Dean felt it there, watching him. He made his way up the stairs, hoping to find Cas upstairs. He carefully searched the entire second floor, under beds, in closets, in the bathtubs, but Cas wasn't there.

Then it hit Dean. There was one place he hadn't looked.

The basement.

He spun on his heel and jogged down the hall and bounded down the stairs spinning to go towards the basement but stopped. The ghost, obviously not pleased that Dean discovered where Cas was, was blocking his path to the door.

It reach an inky black arm towards him and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He swung at it with the bar and it cut clean through the tentacle, making the shadow creature flicker and release a high pitched hiss, making Dean flinch.

The shadow looked a bit surprised, Dean took the moment and lunged at the ghost, swinging the bar and slashing it right across the middle of the thing.

It released a shriek, leaving Deans ears ringing and his vision a little spoty, but the shadow was gone. It had just… disappeared.

Dean got up from the floor, having fallen when the thing shrieked and ran down the hall to the basement door.

He grabbed the handle but it wouldn't turn. He began kicking the door, but it wouldn't budge. He began panicking.

Who knows how long Cas has been down there? What if he's not even alive?

Dean shook his head, adjusting the grip on the fire poker in his hands and lining up diagonally with the door.

He raised the bar above his head and swung down on the door handle. The knob popped off with a crack and the door rattled in its frame a bit. Dean backed against the wall and launched himself forward, kicking the door with his good leg.

The door-frame splintered a bit as the door was ripped open, revealing the dark, musty basement.

Dean peered down into the murky depths of the basement and looked for a light switch by running his hand on the cool concrete of the wall as he made his way down the steps. His fingers bumped into the plastic switch and he flipped it, light filled the large, empty room.

Empty except a small, dirty body laying curled up in the middle of the blood streaked floor.

----

@stuff-that-is-other, If you want to be on the tag list, send an ask!

[therainroguefanfiction]

🌀 Storm Coming (A SKET Dance Fanfic) Chapter 3: A New Determination

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous Chapter

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That night, I tossed and turned, unable to grasp sleep for more than ten minutes as a time. Kevin’s words kept repeating in my mind like a ghostly echo. Being in a foreign bed, in a foreign country certainly didn’t help, either. So much had happened in such a short span of time and my body wasn’t handling it well. I wanted to go back to Florida. I wanted the comfort of my eight-year-old mattress and the cheetah print comforter my grandma had given me for my twelfth birthday. I wanted my room, with its dark walls covered in anime posters and random things I thought were cool at the time.

More than anything, I wanted security.

I rolled over onto my side. The red digits on the clock shined through the darkness like angry eyes. It’s only two in the morning? It felt like I had been lying here for ages. My gaze moved to the window. The tan shade had been pulled down, covering all but a small portion of the glass at the bottom. From this angle, I could just make out the darkness outside.

I forced my eyes closed. I needed sleep. Without it, my anxiety would be even more out of control.

It felt like I was lying there for hours with my eyes closed, but I refused to open them, I refused to move. If my body wouldn’t co-operate, then I would force it to sleep.

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My eyes fluttered open but quickly closed at the bright light shining directly on them. Shit, why is the sun so friggin’ bright? I forced myself into a sitting position, glaring at the small stream of sunlight filtering through the uncovered section of window. Man, I really hate the sun. I glanced at the clock, taking in the numbers that glared at me. Seven-thirty… I guess five or six hours isn’t too bad.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the carpet soft against my bare feet. I stretched my arms above my head, stifling a yawn as I headed for the bathroom down the hall.

I tried to ignore the mirror on my left but it was huge and I found my eyes snapping to it like a magnet. My hair, as black a raven’s feathers, was sticking up in all directions and looked greasy even though I had taken a shower before bed. I briefly wondered if I had sleep-walked my finger into a light socket. There were bags under my eyes, a combination of stress and fitful sleep, my green eyes dull and tired.

I pinched my cheeks, tugging them away from my face before releasing. My face is round and chubby, like a soccer ball. My nose is big, my eyebrows are bushy. I glanced down at my body, poking my stomach that had the quality of jello. Most Japanese high schoolers are thin and pretty, aren’t they?

I hung my head, turning the water on as I washed my face. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in class.

My eyes widened. W-Wait a minute… I’m talking like I’m going back to school… had I made up my mind without even realizing it? I looked back at the mirror, surprised to see the determination in my eyes. I gripped the edge of the sink, my mind made up. I wouldn’t let this chance slip by me!

When I stepped out of the bathroom, the smell of eggs and bacon reached my nose, making my stomach whine. Kevin was at the kitchen sink washing the dishes. Two plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, rice, and toast were sitting on the living room table, covered by plastic wrap to keep them warm.

“Good morning…” I said softly.

He smiled over his shoulder at me, turning the water off and drying his hands on the dishtowel perched on his shoulder. “Morning, Sammy. Did you sleep okay?”

Not at all, but I didn’t want to tell him that, so I just nodded. He motioned for me to take a seat before pouring out two glasses of orange juice and setting them on the table before sitting to my left.

“Were you… waiting on me?” I questioned.

“Of course! A family should always eat together!” He smiled, sticking his index finger in the air.

Together? My brow furrowed as I carefully unpeeled the plastic wrap from the plate. I couldn’t remember a time when mom and I had eaten together. Rarely did we cook our own food because she was always busy and I couldn’t be trusted not to burn down the house, so we usually just ate TV dinners or canned food. Occasionally she’d bring home some fast food, but we usually took it and went to our own rooms. There were no set meal times – we just ate whenever we felt hungry.

When was the last time either of us had even sat at the kitchen table?

I glanced at Kevin, who clapped his hands in front of him (“Itadakimasu!”) before digging into the food. Judging from his joyous expression, he really loved food, both cooking and eating it.

He noticed my gaze and frowned, lowering his plate. “Do you not like eggs? Alissa didn’t say anything about food preferences. I should have asked, but I was a bit… blown away at the time.”

“Ah, no… no, sorry.” I bowed my head and took a spoonful of eggs into my mouth. W-What is this… I’ve never tasted eggs that tasted this incredible before. I didn’t even know eggs could be this good, I didn’t know that someone could change the flavor of eggs so drastically. Without hesitation, I began to shovel the rest of the food into my mouth.

Kevin laughed and I froze. The flavor of the food had made me forget he was there. God, I must look like a pig. “I’m glad you enjoy my cooking. It’s something I’ve always prided myself on.” He took a long gulp of the juice before setting it back down, his hand lingering on the glass. “I was really worried about it. Alissa let me walk into this completely blind. She didn’t tell me what food you like or dislike, she didn’t mention any allergies either. It’s pretty important, so I assumed you didn’t have any, but I chose eggs because the likely hood of being allergic to those is very low.”

I lowered my spoon as I glanced at him. I thought I had been the only one that was going mad with worry about this situation, not wanting to step on his toes or burden him, but… he had been worrying about it, too, he just hid it better than I did. We’re complete strangers living under the same roof… we’re on the same playing field.

“I… I don’t mind eggs,” I mumbled, shifting slightly. “I… I hate onions, but onion powder doesn’t bother me. I can eat onion rings, though… mom always said that was weird.”

“The cheeseburgers last night had onions on them.” He stated, softly. “But you ate them because you didn’t want to upset me.”

I nodded, taking the last spoonful of eggs.

“Well, no more of that. I want you to feel comfortable being honest with me, no matter what it is, and I’ll do the same to you. Is that a deal?”

I chewed, thoughtfully for a moment. “So… If I become… too much for you, you’ll tell me… right?”

Kevin smiled softly, resting his hand on my arm. “You will never become ‘too much’ for me. Did you know I’ve always wanted a child? But I wanted to wait until I was financially stable and had gotten married. That way, my kid would grow up with two loving parents in a stable home. I didn’t want my child to grow up in a broken home like I did.” He paused, his thumb rubbing over my skin. “I’m not sure what came over me that night, the night I met your mom. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, the confidence she exuded.”

I studied his face as multiple emotions flickered through his eyes as he recalled the memory of that night.

“She was flirting with me all night and showed a genuine interest in me and my life. At one point, she even told me that she could picture us getting married and having a family.”

I held back a scoff at that comment. One thing my mom would never allow was for her to be tied down to a man. She loved the attention, but she refused to be in a relationship. There were always men asking her out, asking for her hand, but she always turned them down. To be honest, I’m surprised she kept me. I briefly wondered if she had tried to get rid of me but failed. I didn’t linger on that thought.

“I was a bit tipsy and completely smitten… After that night, I didn’t see her again, but we kept in contact over the phone. I tried to meet up with her several times, but she always had some excuse as to why she couldn’t see me. Eventually, I gave up on thinking we could have something, but I couldn’t bring myself to completely cut her out.” His eyes met mine and I saw the warmth and sadness in their depths. “I’m glad I didn’t because I might not have met you.”

My eyes widened as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“To think that I had a beautiful daughter all this time. I… I missed your first steps, your first words. I wasn’t there to comfort you, to protect you, to let you know that you were loved and wanted.”

Tears fell down my cheeks, matching the tracks against his own.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most…”

I don’t know what came over me, but my body acted on its own. I flung myself at him, clutching tightly onto his shirt like my life depended on the contact. I sobbed into his chest, his arms holding me close. Even though he was crying, too, he still comforted me, telling me it would be okay.

“I-I-It’s not your – your f-fault,” I sobbed.

His grip tightened. “I promise you, Samantha, I will make up for the lost time. I will protect and comfort you when you cry. I’ll be here for you, always and forever.”

“I-I promise that I will… I will change!” And in that moment, for the first time in my life, I felt confident that I could change, that I would change.

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“You can do it tomorrow?” Kevin glanced at me and I nodded nervously. “Tomorrow works for us, thank you so much for this, Karamatsu-san. See you soon!” He hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Okay, he’s going to set up the placement test for you.”

I nodded again, feeling my chest growing cold as my anxiety started to grip my heart. Now that it had been finalized, I was beginning to have second thoughts. I wasn’t sure if I could do this. I wasn’t even that smart, there’s no way I could pass.

A warm hand rested on my shoulder and I met Kevin’s warm eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. I believe in you, now you just have to believe in yourself.”

Believing in myself was a subject I most definitely failed at, but… I didn’t want to let Kevin down. He had done so much for me in the short time I had known him, and he was so happy to have me in his life despite the trouble that I bring. I… I want to make him proud.

“I… I’m going to go study!” I announced, jumping up and heading to my room. I sat at my desk, opening my laptop, but I could only stare at the text entry field on the browser. What the hell am I supposed to search for? I typed in ‘placement test’ and got a bunch of results for college so I added ‘high school’ to the end. Several practice quizzes came up.

I clicked on the first one. Let’s see how bad this goes…

After about twenty minutes, fifteen questions and a bad headache, I finished the online test. I hovered the mouse over the results button but hesitated. What if I got them all wrong? No, I’m not a complete idiot, I had to have done decent… right?

I clicked the button and the results came up. Eight right and seven wrong. I winced at those numbers. Most of the questions I had gotten wrong had been math questions – my worst subject. I would be able to pass the test with this? I guess… even if I fail it’s not the worst thing in the world. I’ll still be allowed in as a first-year.

With a sigh, I grabbed a notebook from the drawer and began to search for free online study materials. I didn’t have much time, but I was determined to learn at least something before tomorrow.

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Be My Nightmare Ch4

Focus

Welcome back, everyone!!! I am so, so sorry this took so dang long. I wanted this chapter to cover so much and yet it feels like nothing happens at all, a tough one to nail down. Anyway! Hope you enjoy!

Word count - 4,415

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

__________________

---Reader---

The rest of your weekend passed uneventfully. Once V was stable, he didn’t have any further issues and you were able to catch up on tedious housework. You kept rehashing his words in your mind, dissecting every possible meaning until you could barely see straight.

After so many years of boredom, it was a delight to have the murderous artist in your care. Staying engaged had always been a struggle for you, even as a child. Most situations and people simply didn’t hold your interest. It wasn’t always easy to hide, but you managed most of the time.

You knew from experience what it cost if you failed.

Don’t think about that. There’s no point.

You sighed and set down your bag, reaching over to power up the CPU on your desk. Time to get to work. It was Monday, so your first patient would be Kelly Williams.

A classic case of bipolar disorder, the poor woman had been stuck in a major depressive episode for three months. She was so predictable you probably could have written up your notes for the session before she even arrived, but you followed protocol and checked your email as you waited for Kevin to deliver her anyway.

You minimized the browser as she shuffled in, eyes downcast and limp hair hiding her frown. You pursed your lips as she settled on the couch with a morose sigh. Kevin gave you a nod and left, clicking the door closed behind him.

“Hello, Kelly. How are you feeling today?” you began.

I’d bet my next paycheck I know her answer.

Her sad grey eyes lifted to meet yours. “Hanging in there.”

Yep. This is going to be a long hour.

You covered all the same topics, reviewing her trauma and possible causes for her illness. Diligent notes filled your notepad, but the words didn’t stick in your mind. It might be worth shifting Kelly to another doctor, considering how little you cared about her treatment. Dr. Malphas wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. You only wanted to make sure she was receiving the care she needed, right?

A soft knock interrupted your musings as Kevin returned. You said your goodbyes and promised your patient some menial reward, nothing important but something that would be meaningful to her.

The moment the door closed, you released a deep sigh. Honestly, there were only two or three patients here that interested you. A man with detailed visions of the future that occasionally came true, a woman who spoke a language of her own creation, and your favorite murderous artist. The rest you could deal with in your sleep.

On that note, who’s next?

Jacob Miller. The infamous serial killer who targeted women that resembled his mother. How utterly mundane.

It didn’t surprise you to realize how little the well-known madman interested you. His spree of kills thrilled and horrified the state of Utah for months until he was caught, all from a scrap of fiber he’d missed when disposing of one of his victims.

But his profile was quite basic. A broken home, absentee father and disciplinarian mother. Run of the mill patterns of animal abuse and rejection from potential sexual partners, the same fuel that brought about the likes of numerous big names. There was nothing new or unique about him.

As Kevin brought Jacob in, you tried not to let your eyes glaze over in disinterest.

“Good morning, Jacob.”

“Hello, Dr. Waras. How was your weekend?” the twisted man replied.

You pursed your lips. His manners belied a twisted core. “Nothing special, but we’re here to talk about you.”

His lips twisted into a dark grin. The man was an arrogant prick, always happy to talk about himself. Sometimes you wondered how he managed to avoid death row, but it wasn’t your problem.

“What do you want to know, Doctor?”

About you? Nothing.

“Let’s talk about your childhood a bit more,” you said instead.

---V---

The ceiling truly was a monstrosity. He’d been staring at it for hours, trying to pinpoint exactly what about its beige visage disturbed him so much, and he thought he finally had it figured out.

It was the bumps.

Little dapplings of the plaster, random and unintentional. As if whomever built the room had no idea patients would spend almost all their waking hours staring at their work. A few sections resembled faces or vague outlines of familiar objects, but the majority was an expanse of rough mediocrity.

He wanted to splash blood across it in sweeping arcs of color, break the horrible monotony with crimson streaks of life.

At this point, he’d settle for sidewalk chalk.

Someone’s coming.

The artist tuned to the hallway and sure enough, the familiar scuffle of Kevin’s feet approached. It must be time for his meeting with you and he smirked. What perfect timing.

Remember the plan.

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware,” he replied to the insistent tone rattling in his skull.

He arranged his features in a neutral expression, feigning indifference as the heavy door creaked open. Kevin’s signature shuffle came closer and the strap at his left arm loosened.

“Time for therapy,” the orderly informed him.

He resisted the urge to strangle the bumbling idiot as his arm regained its freedom. “Wonderful.”

Moments later, the artist stood beside Kevin rubbing his wrists and cracking his neck. Someday he would tear the man apart for stealing his autonomy, but not today. Today, he needed to gain an ally.

“So… Kevin. How did you end up here?”

Watery brown eyes blinked at him in confusion. The artist’s fingers twitched.

Don’t do it…

He clenched his hands. Kevin’s day would come and what a delight it would be…

“I… uh… I transferred from the hospital a few years back.”

V hummed and held his hands forward for the damned cuffs. They clicked into place as he replied, “Fascinating. Do you enjoy the work?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s all right, I guess. Gets weird now and then.”

He followed Kevin into the hallway, white soles squeaking on the linoleum. Nine doors identical to his own dotted the walls, useful information for later. Clever emerald eyes paid special attention to where the guard’s hand went to buzz them through to the offices.

“You’ll have to tell me some of your more interesting stories sometime,” he replied with a convincing twist of his lips. Child’s play.

Kevin grunted and gestured forward, inviting V to lead the way. “We’ll see.”

The thick door to your office already stood open, welcoming him in like an honored guest. He smirked as you nodded at Kevin and dutifully cooperated as the man latched him to the wall. You looked lovely, as you always did. Pen tucked behind your ear, a hint of excitement in your eyes.

“Thanks, Kevin. See you in an hour,” you said, dismissing the man.

And then there were two…

Stay focused. You’ll need your wits for what’s to come.

You offered him a smile as the door clicked shut. He mirrored it with ease.

“So, V. How are you feeling after last week? I haven’t seen you since your episode.”

He hummed and leaned back, settling his weight onto the couch. It was impossible not to indulge his aching body in the soft cushions after the maddening position he’d been stuck in all day.

“Truthfully, I’m bored. One can only stare at the same patch of ceiling for so long before it grows tedious.”

You tapped your pen against pursed lips. How lovely you’d look in red…

Focus.

“I can definitely understand that. I may be able to help, if you’re interested,” you replied.

There was no hiding the curiosity in his eyes, nor did he bother trying. You were too smart for that. “Do tell.”

“I can give you an assessment, and if it goes well you might be cleared to be left unrestrained. All you have to do is answer a few questions and be honest.”

He smirked. How adorable. “I’m ready when you are.”

You picked up a clipboard and read the first question aloud. “You find a lost young boy one day, and he appears to have stolen property. Would you A, hug and reassure him; B, take the property by force and leave him there as punishment; C, pick his pocket and leave him to his fate; or D, lead him home and call the authorities?”

He almost laughed. The entire basis of the question was absurd; what action he took depended on what the stolen property was. Why bother taking the item if it wasn’t something that appealed to him? Not to mention the lack of a ‘keep walking’ option.

“A,” he said. You made a note and continued.

None of the following questions were any better, all based on faulty logic or lacking the detail needed to truly make a decision. He chose his answers based on what he imagined his mother would do, using her kindness and empathy as a model for normal behavior. With each response, you marked your sheet and nodded approvingly.

“Okay, last question. Your house is on fire. What do you save on your way out? A, your little brother; B, your prized collection of baseball cards; C, whatever clothing you can carry; or D, the family photo album? Assume that anything not chosen is destroyed.”

For heaven’s sakes, only an imbecile would fail this.

“A, of course.”

You made a final mark and your brows furrowed as you tallied his answers. He occupied himself with images of you with a blade to Kevin’s flabby throat, grinning as you slashed it open. Blood would stain every inch of your clothing; never would you look so beautiful.

“Interesting… According to this, you shouldn’t even be here, let alone in high secure,” you began. Suspicion bloomed in your gaze as you met his eyes. “You weren’t being truthful, were you?”

No shit, Sherlock!

He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at Griffon, searching for the right words. How had he missed this, how could he be so foolish as to expect you to believe a good result?

Take it again. As many times as it takes.

He had to take it another three times before you surrendered with a deep sigh. Not once did his answers change.

“I’ll have to clear it with Dr. Malphas, but I can’t justify stopping you.”

He smirked. Victory was sweet, indeed. Even this tiny increase to his freedom would do wonders for his plans, not to mention he’d no longer need to bother Kevin for a bathroom trip to indulge himself. It didn’t matter that there was a camera in his room, watching his every move. He knew where it was, it would be easy enough to hide his activities from its view.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. A tiny smile graced your lips at his gratitude. Progress.

“Just doing my job. Now, let’s get back on track. Do you remember anything from last week?”

He brought his legs onto the couch, drawing his knees to his chin as was his preference. “Fragments.”

Ink marked his answer on your notepad and he almost growled in jealousy. His fingers itched to create, to design and defile. It took all his will power to remain seated and keep his hands from reaching for the pen. The sketches last week had left him needy and craving more time to hone his craft, the pull growing stronger with every reminder.

“Would you care to elaborate?” you asked.

He didn’t bother to consider the ramifications as he opened his mouth. The need was too strong. “I’ll tell you about it if you give me a pen and paper.”

You idiot! Now you appear weak, willing to succumb to her will if she only throws you a treat. What are you, a dog?!

He flinched. Vergil had a point; he should have been more careful. Somehow, he needed to shift the scales back in his favor, or at least back to equality. To let this stand would be unacceptable. But how?

The rumble of an opening drawer stole his attention as you withdrew the same hunk of charcoal he used before. A clipboard with several sheets of fresh paper occupied your other hand and his eyes glittered in excitement as you handed them over. He licked his lips and quivered in anticipation, considering his options and refining several ideas.

“May I make a request?”

His gaze shot to yours. A request? So, you wanted to see more of his work. It fed his ego and he nearly purred at the image of you begging him to draw you, dripping in viscous blood after your first kill.

“I cannot stop you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to betray his thoughts, not yet. Caution was a worthy ally.

“Can you draw Griffon, or Vergil? I’m curious what they look like,” you replied.

Don’t you dare!

Speak for yourself, asshat! You do your thing, Van Gogh.

Lips twisting in amusement, he nodded and drew the first line. Griffon was always interesting to draw, though he still hadn’t managed to get his eyes right. Something about the triple-iris was irritatingly difficult to capture. Not to mention how much he hated feathers.

Still. An enjoyable challenge.

“So, tell me about last week.”

Now’s your chance. Do not waste it.

The artist hummed in acknowledgement, eyes locked on his work. He kept his hand elevated so as not to smudge the charcoal unintentionally, his fingers swiping across the pristine page to leave shadowy streaks behind. But how to utilize this opportunity? How best to regain his control of the situation?

Perhaps a quid pro quo?

He smirked and lifted his eyes. You were staring at him. “I seem to be having trouble remembering. Maybe you can jog my memory?”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his Cheshire-like glee. He had you, how could you possibly refuse him?

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?”

He leaned back, casually adding another series of marks to his artwork as if your suspicion meant nothing to him, as if he didn’t care if you went along with his ideas. “I’m suggesting, Doctor, that you provide me with incentive to share.”

“Such as…?”

“For now? Blue.”

You stared at him as if he were an alien. “You want… blue?”

“I cannot do Griffon justice without the proper color,” he replied with a teasing smirk.

An easy trade, a small token to get you used to the idea. What harm could there be in allowing him more colors to use in your own office? It was a simple request, one not worth refusing and as you reached for your drawer, he congratulated himself for his cleverness.

“I don’t think I have any blue pens or anything, let’s see…”

“I’ll make do with whatever you have available,” he replied as you rummaged.

The drawer looked moderately chaotic, as if you put some effort into keeping it organized but you didn’t care enough to maintain it. Post its and paperclips were strewn about, pens and highlighters shoved in the corner. A thumb drive resided amongst a collection of pins.

A single flash of sapphire drew his gaze. Your delicious fingertips hesitated at the item, but you pulled it out a moment later as nothing else offered itself up. He almost laughed as you held it out to him.

This will be interesting to work with.

A makeup compact, full of blue powder. The color was dark and rich, serendipitously close to the exact shade of the demonic bird.

“This is all I’ve got,” you murmured.

The artist schooled his features into a look of disappointment, playing down his excitement as he accepted the small container. “It will suffice.”

He tested the substance on a fresh sheet of paper, swiping it across with the tip of his thumb. Discerning emerald eyes judged the depth of the hue, analyzing how much he’d need to achieve the proper coloration. If he layered it with the charcoal, it might just work.

You cleared your throat as he began, pen held at the ready for him to speak. That’s right, he was expected to describe last week in exchange. He’d nearly forgotten. Visions ricocheted in his mind, echoes of the night that became his ruin. He didn’t remember everything, but there was enough to recognize the memory. Enough to relive the delightful experience.

But it wouldn’t do to share every detail with you. He chose his words with care, selecting a few key details and adding meaningless drivel for good measure. The day may come when he recounted every moment, but you were nowhere near ready.

“I remember red, a great deal of it. Someone was screaming, but I don’t recall why. Yellow walls and a rhododendron.”

He paused to let you note his every word, swirling blue across the black outline of feathers. The sparkles were a bit much, but he couldn’t do anything to fix that. By the time the scratching of your pen ceased, he was almost finished.

“That sounds intense. Did it feel like a dream or more like a memory?”

He paused, wondering how far he could press you today. It was worth a try; even if you refused it would help him regain a position of strength.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any purple, would you?”

Your eyes sparkled. A slight twist of your pink lips was all the confirmation he needed that you knew what he was up to and you didn’t even glance at your desk before you responded.

“I’m afraid not.”

Despite the setback, he couldn’t help but smirk. There was something odd about you, and every time he interacted with you it became clearer. You got the same amusement from the mental battle as he did, the same thrill every time you scored a point. The same rush of fascination and curiosity.

You were more than just another sheep.

All he needed to do was draw out the wolf.

“That’s a shame, Y/N,” he purred. Your chair squeaked as you shifted.

A soft knock on the door signaled the end of your hour with him. He sighed and handed you the clipboard, his drawing of Griffon’s proud flight on full display. Your eyes widened, a slight inhale escaping your lips that would fuel his fantasies for days to come.

“So that’s Griffon?”

He nodded as the door opened and Kevin approached, handing you the makeup and charcoal. It pained him to surrender the supplies, but this way you didn’t have to ask. A subtle difference, but one that reinforced his autonomy instead of your control over his life.

But there was one last gesture he wanted to make.

The moment Kevin freed his hands, he extended one to you with a soft smirk. The orderly’s meaty fist wrapped around his wrist and he didn’t fight back, content to wait for your response.

Suspicion tinted your eyes, mixing with interest as he parted his lips.

“I wanted to thank you, Doctor. I look forward to sleeping unrestrained tonight.”

You shared a glance with the orderly and he let go. The urge to strangle the man for his interference was powerful, but he ignored it. In due time, the man would pay. For now, let him imagine he had won. Far more interesting was your reaction.

You looked startled, but not fearful. More intrigued than anything else.

Perfect.

The same hand he licked the first time he met you clasped his own, shaking it in a gesture of mutual respect. You didn’t need to know his true goal; to feel your skin and memorize its texture. The knowledge would add depth to his fantasies and he focused on the smooth warmth, hungry for every detail he could glean from such brief contact.

The hands of one who works indoors…

He brushed his index finger across your wrist as you pulled back, a more intimate touch not immediately apparent to the accursed third party watching his every move. The barest twitch of your fingers revealed your awareness of his boldness, but you didn’t say a word. Another victory, then.

“Until tomorrow,” he murmured.

---Reader---

The heavy door clicked shut and you released a deep breath. Your heart was pounding, mind consumed with the artist’s simple caress. Those same hands that were capable of such artistry had taken at least three lives; you couldn’t afford to forget how dangerous he was. The mind games, the trickery and bargaining, none of it mattered if you lost your focus.

What is my focus?

You leaned back and pursed your lips. In broad terms, your goal with other patients was to help them reach a point where their ability to function in normal society was no longer impaired. If they weren’t capable of that much, you were meant to guide them to stability so they could at least have appropriate quality of life.

To envision V in normal society was close to impossible. You couldn’t picture him in a suit, sitting at a cubicle like ordinary folks. Imagining him on a commute was anathema; with a family, unthinkable. The man was an outlier and no amount of treatment would change that.

So how can I help him?

You growled in frustration and rubbed your eyes. The flesh he touched still tingled, the nerves jangling with odd enthusiasm. It made no sense; the man was a murderer and here you sat like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Absurdity. You were smarter than this, better than this.

This isn’t a comic book or some crappy romance novel. Life doesn’t work that way. He was trying to manipulate me and I cannot let him win.

You glanced at the drawing of Griffon, marveling at the unearthly beauty of the creature’s forked beak and massive legs. A demonic bird, the hallucination of a crazed murderer, and you found it beautiful. What an incredible mind he had, to come up with such a thing.

How sad to imagine all the things he could have done with that mind, instead of slaughter. He could have written the next Lord of the Rings, painted the next Sistine Chapel. Manifested something profound instead of destroying the lives of a young family.

Maybe he still can. If I can help him, who knows what he’ll create?

A subdued knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Was it already noon? Time flew right by you, more proof of the ridiculousness surrounding you. With a final sigh you grabbed your purse and locked your computer, heading to join Kotomi for lunch.

“Hey Y/N! How was your weekend?” she asked as you entered the hallway.

Charlie buzzed you through the security door; Ben must have called out sick. “Pretty boring, to be honest. How about you?”

Her eyes sparkled as she described a trip to the museum with her mother, skimming over any interesting parts like she always did. The elder Ishida was legendary in her hatred of psychiatry, and every time she and Kotomi got together she had a new story of her mother’s lectures. You grinned as you reached for the button to call the elevator, all too aware of her heels.

“So, did she disown you for working here yet?”

“Y/N! Not so loud! Wait, what’s that on your wrist?”

You hadn’t noticed before, but a streak of charcoal marked where the artist touched you. It was just dark enough to draw attention and you rubbed it against your pants, grateful you wore black today.  A pale grey outline remained no matter how hard you tried and you huffed in annoyance.

“It’s charcoal,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “The artist?”

You nodded and stepped forward as the elevator arrived. Her heels clicked to join you as she crossed her arms and gave you an intense stare.

“You let him touch you? Have you lost your mind?!”

Did he do it on purpose? Was this why he wanted to shake my hand?

Lithe fingers grasped your shoulders as almond shaped eyes met yours. Her concern was sweet and you wished you had the right words to reassure her.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you. I know how you get with these people; you need to be extra careful with him. I’ve heard rumors, he sounds really dangerous,” she insisted.

You managed a small smile as a ding announced the elevator passing the second floor. There was no change in its motion and you licked your lips, searching for the right words. Of course he was dangerous; you weren’t an idiot, you knew that. And yes, maybe you shouldn’t have let him touch you, but Kevin was right there and you couldn’t let him have control by refusing.

“Look. I know, okay? I know what he’s capable of. I read the police report. But I have to take a few risks to help him, he’s too smart for the standard approach. It’s my job to work with the dangerous ones. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes softened and she dropped her arms, though she still looked troubled. The second ding marked your arrival at ground level and you stepped off in silence, wondering what else you could say to ease her concern.

“Do you want me to sit in on your sessions? Maybe I can help somehow,” Kotomi offered.

How did she do that? How did she make herself seem so genuine? Was she actually that genuine or was it all an act? It was impossible to say for sure, but you had no reason to doubt her sincerity. Her offer meant all the more considering her aversion to violent offenders, her fear of being around the most twisted minds.

You smiled at Lenny as he buzzed the two of you into the administrative wing. The echoes of Kotomi’s steps rattled through the air as you neared the staff lounge.

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright. I promise to be careful,” you said.

The remaining charcoal on your wrist drew your eyes as you opened the door. You couldn’t deny the rush his touch gave you, despite the alarm bells that rang in your head. Maybe Kotomi had a point, maybe you were being reckless. No other patient had ever touched you so intimately, with or without permission. Was this response normal?

Did it matter?

~~~Next Chapter~~~

[ravenvsfox]

rockband chapter 5 babey 😈🤘🏻

Neil tilts a record out of the stacks, and the sun catches the sleek surface and shows him his reflection.

“You’re not even in the right section,” Kevin calls. He’s two rows away flipping through rock-punk CDs, looking exhilarated when they fall towards him like dominoes.

The whole store is no bigger than a spacious bedroom, and the shop front is all boxy windows, letting in honeycombs of late-afternoon light. Kevin’s never looked so relaxed, dragging his fingers along the spines of albums, inspecting the equipment behind the till, smiling and chatting with the owner.

“There is no right section,” he mutters, sliding the album back into its slot. “It’s all music.”

“Right,” Kevin says. Neil glances up and finds him unexpectedly close, mouth pursed reluctantly with amusement. “Except we’re not here for all music.”

“What are we actually here for again?” Neil asks, distracted. He can see Andrew waiting outside with his back to them and his arms crossed, serious and stock-still as a bodyguard.

“Inspiration.”

Neil watches Kevin’s face. The crease that’s usually between his brows is only suggestion now, a slouchy, un-tensed line. He’s tolerable like this, Neil thinks, almost impressive, choosing music to feed his creativity.

“You love it here,” Neil accuses. “This is a vacation for you.”

Kevin scoffs. “Like you’re not the same.”

Neil shrugs. There’s an upright piano on the wall and he wants to squeeze the keys in his hands like fingers in a crowd. The sound of voices and tires on asphalt from outside spreads like frosting over the crumbling drumbeat from the stereo. The rusting brown of the wallpaper behind the counter looks almost orange with the full force of the sun on it.

He could live and die in a place like this, head down, hands full of bright new music and dark classics, never in silence, never alone.

"Come look at this,” Kevin says. Neil follows him to the far corner of the shop where there are picked-over alternative CDs and peeling tape labels. He plucks an album from the stack and wiggles it at Neil. “Old school Ausreißer.”

Neil squints at the cover art. “You look like a bad metal band.” The original four are caught in the middle of a set, dressed in all black under a red spotlight, mid-howl. The word Ausreißer is so stylized that it’s almost illegible.

Kevin rolls his eyes and puts the CD back in its slot. “Things change. When we found you you looked like you were on day ten of a bender.”

“I can go back to that, if it’s the look you’re going for. Wouldn’t want to stand out in a band full of junkies and burnouts.”

“Funny,” Kevin says flatly. “Just bring that smart mouth to song writing.” He gathers his little stack of music and a clear box of sturdy picks, and drops them on the front counter to be checked out.

Neil hesitates, swaddled in the darkest, warmest corner of the store, reluctant to splash back out into the cold. He can already see how it will play out: Andrew’s silence and Kevin’s focus, the way they take up so much of the sidewalk that Neil has to fall in behind them or walk in the gutter, the drive home like a never-ending commute to nowhere at all.

He’s listless without a stage, and Kevin won’t let him forget that he’s not a natural born songwriter. He’s waiting for inspiration like that second raindrop after you swear you felt the first one.

His eyes wander and catch on a lurid red flier stapled to the bulletin board above the stacks, and he does a double-take. Foxes. Township Auditorium. Friday, January 25th.

“Dan’s group is playing this Friday?” Neil wonders aloud, and Kevin looks at him over his shoulder, handing bills off to the cashier.

“Oh yeah, the Township gig. I think they’re hanging out in town for a week or so, too.”

“We should go.” He thinks of the way the girls had laughed about their public personas and plastic recognition. He wants to hear them for real, as magnetic and driven as they were at Abby’s, assuring him that they do pop like he’s never heard in his life.

“Waste of time,” Kevin says, accepting his bag with one of his frozen, ken doll smiles and making towards the exit.

“We’re not touring right now,” Neil argues, catching up. “We can take two hours off from the new album.”

“We can,” Kevin says, “but we shouldn’t.”

“And yet you find the time to drink six hours a day.”

“The creative process looks different on everyone,” he grits. They push out into the sunlight and Andrew looks vaguely in their direction, his face chapped from the wind.

“Great. Mine looks like going to local concerts and supporting our label, and you know full fucking well that Wymack would agree with me.” They start walking, Neil leading them in a frantic triangle down main street. Andrew doesn’t ask or care about what they’re arguing over, which is why Neil tells him, “I want to go to the Foxes concert on Friday.”

“Then go,” he says. He’d been chain-smoking while Neil and Kevin were in the shop, and he looks irritable and sick. His pallor has been almost bruised lately, like something’s wringing him out and leaving marks behind.

Neil flips Kevin off and walks further ahead of the group, buoyed by the opportunity to be part of an audience again. He loves the silky anonymity and sway of the crowd almost as much as being doused in lights and held up by a mic stand.

Kevin’s still talking about accountability and wasted talent, but he’s lost his audience.

Neil reaches the van first, parallel parked at a wicked angle. He waits for the muted click of the unlock button, then climbs into the passenger seat. There’s a parking ticket folded over the windshield wipers and Andrew sets them going so that it flutters down onto the street.

“It’s not going to be the same in the crowd as it is onstage,” Kevin says calmly from the backseat.

Neil turns his head. “I know.”

“The fans know who you are now, and I’m not sure you’re ready for what that actually looks like.”

“I’m pretty good at blending in,” Neil says, eyes narrowed.

“You’re not,” Andrew says, pulling jerkily out of the spot without looking and nearly catching a hyundai by the nose. “You’re loud.” Car horns blare on all sides like a chorus of agreement.

“You draw attention,” Kevin agrees grimly. “I’d rather you stick it out in the studio where you can’t get into trouble. And Wymack would agree with me about that.”

Neil watches pedestrians swarm and cars criss-cross beyond the window. “So what, I join a band and now I’m on full-time house arrest?”

“Shouldn’t you be used to keeping your head down, runaway?” Andrew taunts. His hands flash as he makes a left turn, ink spelling yes over no over yes. Neil gives him a look.

“You’re not talking about staying on the move, you’re talking about hiding. And in my experience, your problems catch up with you when you sit and wait for them to go away.”

“I’m not talking about your fucked up past,” Kevin says irritably. “If you want to stumble into the nearest concert, you can, but if you misrepresent us or pull some stupid shit to distract from the set, Wymack will kick your ass. If Dan doesn’t get there first.”

“Don’t worry Kevin,” Andrew says, glancing away from the road to fix Neil with a cool, knowing look. “He has winning impulse control. Right Neil?”

Neil clenches his teeth and ignores him. “I realize that you don’t trust me, but I need you to understand that I don’t care. I’m not going to stay in the cage until you figure out if you’re ready to unlock it or not. I’m not going to live that way anymore.”

“You’re on a team now, and you have to care,” Kevin argues.

Neil scoffs. “Tell that to Andrew.”

Kevin looks pained. “He’s—“

“What? An exception? I’d love to know why I’m held to a higher standard than the person with concealed weapons and an unreliable drug dependency,” Neil says, fuming. Andrew pumps the brakes so that Neil topples forward into the dashboard, then he’s thrown back again when they accelerate. He grips the headrest and seethes, “you’re fucking psychotic.”

“You—“ Kevin starts.

“Kevin,” Andrew says, toneless, barely there, and Kevin stops short. Neil recognizes that easy power, that tongue-biting obedience.

They collapse into strained silence, Andrew looking infuriatingly tranquil, the air around Kevin vibrating with how badly he wants to speak.

Neil thinks about the corner of the music store and that old album, an Ausreißer from back when Neil was still lost in between hotel rooms, when his mother was alive, and she could change the course of his life with just the tips of her fingers. He thinks, things can be so easy and so ugly at the same time.

They get out at Palmetto, Neil wrenching doors closed behind him, trying to feel like he has a raft to himself for once, like he’s not always sharing, feeling for someone else’s shifting weight.

Nicky’s spread between two chairs when he gets to the studio, and Neil’s relieved to see the easy smile on his face. It fractures when he gets a good look at him.

“Oh no. Was it unbearable? I thought music shopping would mellow Kevin out, at least.”

“It was fine,” Neil says, rolling a chair towards the table where they left all of their notes and stray music. He sweeps everything off the table, feeling a vindictive shock when it all settles on the floor; every dangling idea, stagnating chord progression, and experimental piece of garbage.

“Yeah, you seem fine,” Nicky says sarcastically.

“Better,” Neil says, rummaging in the heaps of wasted work until his hand closes around a discarded pen. “I’m inspired.”

_____

The dye burns cold on his scalp. He paints the wispy place above his ears, and tucks it up into the rest of the gummy mess. There’s a dark streak on the porcelain of the sink, and he rubs it with one gloved finger.

Someone knocks at the door, and Neil reaches behind himself to open it. There’s a beat, and a flutter of movement, and then his eyes meet Andrew’s in the mirror. 

“Brown,” Andrew remarks.

“You wanted me to tone it down,” Neil says, focusing on smothering his auburn roots and pointedly ignoring the rest of his reflection.

“Don’t put Kevin’s words in my mouth.”

Neil meets his eyes again. “What do you want?”

Andrew doesn’t reply for a long moment, and then he starts to peel down his armbands. It’s like watching a snake shed its skin, and Neil’s so startled to see it happening that he turns around to watch him directly.

He’s expecting the thatch of scars, but it still knocks the wind out of him to see them, tender pinks and whites that nudge all the way up to the ink on his wrists and hands.

Andrew plucks the brush out of Neil’s limp hand and scoops up a mound of colour that looks black in the weak light.

“Head down.”

Neil complies, chin towards his chest, and feels Andrew smooth the dye from just below his ear up into the coil of loose, wet hair. He can feel the damp heat from Andrew’s bare wrists, smothered for most of the day.

“Who put you in a cage?” Andrew asks, and the hair on Neil’s neck stands up.

“What—“

“You said: I’m not going to stay in the cage until you figure out if you’re ready to unlock it. I’m not going to live that way anymore.” He says it robotically, like an automated recording.

“I know what I said,” Neil snaps, starting to look up, but Andrew grips his neck and steers his head down again.

“Then you should be able to explain what you meant. Without lying to me.”

Andrew’s initiating one of their trades, he realizes, baring a secret and nodding at Neil do to the same. He closes his eyes, flinching when the brush makes sudden contact with his neck.

“My mother.” It’s an easier answer than the reality--a web of injustice too thick to see through. A childhood spent escaping from one cell block to another. 

The brush stops midway through a glide towards his hairline. “She hurt you?” Andrew asks, low.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You know better than anyone that protecting someone can get bloody. Our circumstances weren’t--they were never good enough for us to have a decent relationship. But she kept us moving.”

A bare hand curls in his hair, and Neil’s eyes open. His breath catches when he recognizes the hateful look on Andrew’s face.

“Did she hit you, yes or no?”

Neil swallows thickly, trying to focus on the feeling of Andrew’s hand against his scalp. “Yes.” The hand tightens painfully. “But she’s dead now. My parents are dead.” He doesn’t know what drives him to say such a hasty, partial truth, like it has any bearing on the way it felt to be forced to the ground and pinned until his arm broke. Death gets rid of the person, not the memory. 

Andrew’s hand drops altogether. He moves into the space at Neil’s side, hip to hip, and rinses his hand under the tap. “If she was beating you, she wasn’t protecting you.”

“You don’t understand what people are capable of when they’re struggling to survive.”

Andrew steps slowly and lethally into Neil’s space. “Yes, I do,” he says, nearly whispering. Neil’s eyes hitch down to his destroyed wrists. 

He nods, and Andrew backs off. He feels a strange, remote disappointment watching him move away, like climbing out of a roller coaster and watching it take off without him.

“We’re not keeping you locked up,” Andrew says. “We do not own you.”

Neil shakes his head a little, running a hand over his hair under the guise of checking for dry patches, trying to reclaim the tingling, grounding feeling of Andrew’s fingers.

“Contractually, you do.”

“You’re with us,” Andrew says, “until the second someone abuses your contract, then you leave. We both know you could outrun me if you really wanted to.”

“Maybe,” Neil says, on the blunt edge of a smile. “But you might be able to outlast me.”

Andrew looks at him in the mirror for a long while. “You’re disgustingly stubborn,” he says. “And dense. I wouldn’t count on my ability to put up with you for that long.”

Neil shrugs. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I won’t leave. We have a deal.”

“I just told you—“

“Not the contract. You and I have a deal. And I’m not ready to give it up,” Neil says, and he means it. The tenuous promise of protection, the give and take, the lure of the stage. He’s only grown more and more obsessed with the whole thing.

Andrew wavers. He reaches for his discarded armbands, and takes his time rolling them back up. Neil feels a painful rush of recognition at seeing his scars swallowed up, and he reaches out impulsively to hold him by the wrist. Andrew’s fingers are still ruddy with dye.

“This isn’t a cage. You’re nothing like—it’s nothing like my mother.”

At Abby’s, he’d told Andrew he reminded him of home, the most nightmarish insult he could lay his hands upon. And for a jarring second, Andrew’s commanding relationship with the band had looked like the dynamic between himself and his mother, ceaseless authority meeting senseless devotion. He’s been stupid enough to mistake Andrew’s promises for Mary Hatford’s threats.

At length, Andrew tugs, and Neil lets go of him.

Long after he’s gone, and Neil’s hair is washed out and limp, wet brown, he can still feel the raised scars underneath the fabric of the armband, and beneath that, a curiously rabbiting pulse.

______

And “monster” does not begin

to cover bolts and stitches in my skin

sinew held with safety pins

but you made me

the creature not the man, right?

but this lab coat’s fitting pretty tight

and if you’re living out of spite

are you a person or a feeling,

and would it hurt to look at you directly?

gunshots speak louder than words

but the warning shots you heard

don’t work for people who’d prefer

to die than to live on their knees--

“It needs workshopping,” Kevin says, tossing the notebook onto the coffee table.

“I think it’s great, Neil,” Nicky says. “The Frankenstein stuff is cool, our fans eat that shit up.”

Neil shrugs, and he gathers his notes back up from the table, out of reach from prying eyes. They’re assembled in a loose square in the living room, with Andrew at the window, a cigarette burning delicately between two fingers.

“You call yourselves the monsters so— I don’t know.”

“It works,” Kevin sniffs. “They’ll get it. They’ll like it.” It’s a more generous response than he was expecting, and he knows it’s the most approval Kevin can bring himself to show. “How soon can you match it musically?” he asks Andrew.

“I already have a melody,” Neil interrupts. He stands, walks over to the keyboard Kevin insists they always keep on hand, and presses the ‘on’ button. “It’s not very complex,” he says, walking his right hand over a couple of keys until the power catches up and the notes start to voice.

He plays the song through once, low arpeggiated chords and a sustained, high tenor line. He sings when he can’t help it, crooning until it gets too high to sing softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Andrew’s fingers drumming against the windowsill.

“You’re right,” Aaron says when it’s finished. “It’s not very complex.”

“Downer,” Nicky accuses. “It’s just keys right now, we can amp it up.”

“Is it worth it?” Aaron complains.

“Yes,” Andrew says, leaning over to put his cigarette out in the ashtray balanced on the arm of the couch. They all look at him expectantly, and he gets up, grabs the music directly out of Neil’s hands, and disappears into his room with it.

“Well that’s a good sign,” Nicky says, bemused. “Guess we’re going to that concert, Neil.” When Kevin opens his mouth to protest, Nicky says, “Wymack signed off on it. Plus we’re making headway on the b-side tracks, and Andrew’s actually working.”

“I’m not going,” Kevin says, crossing his arms.

“Me neither,” Aaron says. “Allison will have our balls if we pull focus from her.”

“So we won’t,” Nicky says. He ropes Neil in by the shoulder and tousles his newly dark hair. “No one will even know we’re there.”

______

Later, Nicky sends Neil to ask for the car keys, and he finds himself standing in the dusk outside Andrew’s room, delaying the inevitable confrontation.

Andrew comes out before he can knock, wearing boots and a black baseball cap, keys clenched in his fist. They nearly collide, and Neil staggers back a step. 

“You’re coming with us?” he asks dumbly.

“You and Nicky can’t be trusted alone,” he says. It’s an insult, but it hits Neil like warm water from a shower-head, like relief.

“Did Kevin ask you to do this?” Neil asks, but Andrew ignores him, brushing past into the living room, then the entryway. Nicky pushes off from the back of the couch where he’s been waiting, looking back and forth between the two of them nervously.

“We’re all going?”

“Apparently,” Neil replies.

“Cool. Weird. Shotgun.”

“Neil’s sitting in the front,” Andrew says, cranking the screen door open.

“Family really means, like, nothing to you when Neil’s around—“ Nicky’s saying as he follows Andrew out into the night.

Neil breathes out, lacing his shoes and listening to Nicky chatter circles around Andrew, who is steady and silent, already fixed in the driver’s seat.

He’s been picturing the Foxes concert as that same ambiguous darkness from before he joined the band, skulking in the back of bars and hoping to be caught. Now he imagines Andrew and Nicky propping him up like brackets, a drink he actually paid for, the hair-raising knowledge of what it feels like on the other side of the performance.

Wind shivers through the front door and underneath Neil’s collar. He jams his hands into his jacket pockets—the leather already stiff and unyielding from the cold—squares his shoulders, and opens the door.

______

They’re smuggled in through a door backstage, already late. Nicky clings to Neil’s sleeve so tightly that it pulls down over his hand. 

Renee comes to greet them, as unnervingly pleasant as the last time he’d seen her. Neil keeps expecting her even-keeled demeanour to clash against Andrew’s like icebergs meeting, but they only seem to thaw around one another. 

Andrew greets her, and she knocks her knuckles into his hand and smiles.

“I’m glad you guys came. Don’t tell her I told you, but Allison’s raring to show off.”

“I bet she is, competitive bitch,” Nicky says good-naturedly. “All you foxes are such a handful.”

Renee seems to be considering whether or not he’s joking when Dan appears at her elbow. “Walk in the park compared to your lot,” she says, smiling sharply. Her eyes flit to Neil and she softens. “Still doing okay, Neil?”

“She means, have we ruined your life,” Andrew says in German.

“Quick, tell her how saintly we are,” Nicky says.

“And lie?” Neil asks in exaggerated German, as if scandalized. “I’m fine,” he says to Dan. “Excited to see a Foxes set.” 

It’s a bigger venue than he’s used to, and the energy is intimidating, people whisking past them and calling instructions to one another.

Her smile quirks, and she lets her arm drape around Renee’s neck. “We’ll try our best to impress, then. As usual.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nicky says. “You’re a big deal, we get it. Don’t you have warm-ups to do?”

Dan snorts. “Time off is making you a little mean, Hemmick. You better watch him, monster.”

Andrew stares blankly back at her, and Nicky says, “you try living with Kevin 24 hours a day and tell me how personable you’re feeling.”

Dan winces. “Point.” Someone ducks close and whispers in her ear, and her face flickers through several shades of confusion and annoyance. “Okay, shit. One of Allison’s pegs came loose and her tuning is all over the place. Sound check’s in five, and Matt’s on the wrong side of drunk, but um. The show must go on, I guess.”

Renee ducks out from under Dan’s arm, excusing herself, and Dan squeezes Neil’s shoulder in parting. “See you out there. Try not to get into trouble.”

“Yeah right,” Nicky says, and she aims a kick at his shin. He falls back a step, laughing, as she jogs after Renee. “Hey, rock and roll, Dan,” he calls. “Or whatever it is you guys do.”

He’s still beaming when he loops his arm with Neil’s and steers them towards the door. Neil looks anxiously back at Andrew, but he’s a step behind them as usual.

They wait for a lull in passersby, and then they’re out in the thick of the crowd, pushing conspicuously from the front of the stage to the side of the room. Eyes linger on them and narrow, and his throat starts to constrict until he feels Andrew’s hand thread into the shirt under his jacket, keeping him tethered.

Nicky can’t resist dancing a little to the opener, as obvious as they already are, and he bobs through the aisles, shooting furtive looks back at Neil to see if he’s enjoying himself. The band on stage is too high energy for their low energy song, jumping and twisting to a half-time rhythm. 

Andrew’s hand tightens at the small of his back, and Neil glances back to see him eyeing the thrashing drummer with distaste.

“I thought you didn’t care about technique,” Neil tells him over the music, and Andrew tears his eyes away. He’s frowning, and Neil relishes that off-guard little furrow of emotion.

“I don’t,” Andrew says, “I also don’t listen to bad music if I can help it.”

“Guess we must be pretty good, then,” Neil says.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No,” Neil agrees. “You didn’t.” He knows that it’s true, though. Somewhere past the layers and layers of bandages that Andrew wears, there must be raw flesh. It’s just that Neil can’t tell if he’s healing or rotting underneath it all.

They come to a stop close to the stairs up into the stands, and Nicky gestures at an empty patch halfway up. Most of the crowd is standing already, chaotic, but they climb up into the mess and find their seats, Nicky on the inside and Andrew in the aisle, with Neil sandwiched in-between.

“Our fans are louder,” Nicky leans over to say smugly.

“That’s because they’re trying to keep up with you,” Neil says. “Decibel for decibel.”

“Fuck you,” Nicky laughs. His eyes are bright, and he grips the seat in front of him to get the leverage to see through the masses.

They ride the energy of the crowd to the end of the song, and then the group is hollering goodbyes and filing offstage, and people start to sit down or escape to concession. Nicky relaxes back into his seat and pinches Neil for his opinion.

“I don’t think we missed much,” Neil says.

Nicky shrugs. “Yeah, but we were like that once. You got to skip Ausreißer’s adolescence, Neil, you lucky shit. It was not pretty.”

“Kevin showed me your first album,” he tells him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Nicky groans. “Those were dark times. I used to wear leather biker gloves on stage, like a tool.” He rustles in his inner jacket pocket and produces his flask. “Drink to forget?”

Andrew reaches across to pluck it from his hand before anyone can drink. He unscrews the cap and points it at Nicky. “I know you’re already fucked, Nicky.”

He scoffs, making a messy grab for it that Andrew dodges. “Hardly.”

Andrew swallows a generous shots worth, then passes the flask to Neil. This is familiar by now, sharing space and booze and drugs as a means to an end. They get drunk like they’re grappling down a cliff-face together, connected by rope.

Neil hesitates. There are strangers on all sides and the sick smell of sweat and beer in the air, but there’s something about his back to the wall and a concert ahead that he trusts. This is how he spent the years after his mother’s death, anonymous and drunk, losing control in measured doses like taking medication.

He drinks, the mouthpiece still wet from Andrew’s mouth, and screws his face up at the tartness of the flavour—a salty, lemony vodka. Nicky tries to steal the flask halfway through his sip, so Neil pushes him away by the face.

He and Andrew share the rest of the liquor, and he puts the back of his hand to his face to feel it warming up. It’s a relief, to feel his edges shaved off. It’s like he’s less defined this way, less likely to be recognized.

Stagehands are fiddling with amps onstage and taping wires down, and the buzz of the crowd is suddenly deafening.

“What’s the deal with Renee?” he hears himself asking.

“What d’you mean?” Nicky asks.

“You like her,” Neil guesses, jabbing Andrew with the base of the flask to get his attention. “But she’s nothing like you.”

“She’s one of us,” Andrew says.

“But she’s not, though,” Neil says, half-frustrated and half gawking at his own lack of composure. He wants his curiosity back inside where it can fester and wonder in circles and die. “I thought Wymack only took in strays. Charity cases.”

“You have met her twice,” Andrew says coldly. “How well do you think you can judge a person’s character in that time?”

“Pretty well,” Neil says grimly. He thinks of the cross around her neck and the prim lace of her collar, attention-grabbing hair offset by dark, serious eyes. He saw Matt’s track marks and Allison’s rage before Dan had even whispered their stories to him, but he can’t read anything on sweet, prim Renee.

“Lucky she doesn’t care what anyone thinks,” Nicky interjects. “She’s waiting to be judged by God, I think. Everyone else’s opinions are just… noise.”

He can’t imagine anyone who was really like them believing in God like that, but he bites his tongue.

“Little orphan Neil Josten gets in some trouble and he thinks he knows what rock bottom looks like,” Andrew muses, and Neil’s stomach sinks. “You haven’t even hit it yet.” He looks unfocused, and it occurs to Neil that he might have taken something before they left.

“You’re right,” Neil says. “But you promised that you’d be there when I do,” he reminds him. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Nicky asks. “Neil?”

“Neil?” someone else says, and Neil looks over to see a woman and a couple of scruffy looking dudes frozen halfway up the stairs. His eyes drop to the shortest of the two, who’s wearing elbow-length armbands identical to Andrew’s. “Andrew! Nicky! Oh my god,” he says.

Nicky puts on a winning smile. “Hey!”

“I can’t believe you’re here—like, for real, there were rumours, but—oh my god— “

“He’s completely obsessed with you,” the woman gushes.

“Katie,” he hisses, and his friend shakes him good-naturedly by the shoulders.

“He’s afraid to say it, but—“

“Fuck off—“

“—every single album—“

“That’s very cute,” Nicky interrupts, cocking a flirtatious grin at the guy who’s holding his own cheeks, dismayed.

“We couldn’t believe you were just, like, changing your sound completely,” the taller guy says. “But Neil, man, I see why they’d take a chance for a voice like yours. It’s sick, dude.”

“Thanks,” Neil says stiffly.

“He’s not used to being recognized, yet,” Nicky says apologetically. “You’re taking his fan virginity.”

They titter, and the woman says, “we’re honoured.” She nudges her friend and widens her eyes meaningfully.

“We can’t really hang out though, sorry guys. Low profile tonight,” Nicky says. His smile is less believable by the second.

“Totally,” they chorus.

“I just quickly want to say, Andrew,” the first guy starts, breathless. “I know you get this all the time, but your lyrics saved my life. I couldn’t believe someone understood me like that, and—and you’re my--you inspire--I mean. I’m sorry, I’m so tongue-tied, I—“

“I didn’t write them for you,” Andrew says. 

The fan’s face crumples. Nicky looks at Neil, panicked, and then he forces a loud, incongruous laugh.

“Wow, good one,” Nicky says. “He doesn’t mean it, obviously.”

“Don’t I?” Andrew says.

“We appreciate it,” Neil interrupts. “But we can’t talk anymore.“

“Right, sorry, I’m so—“

They urge one another up the stairs, apologizing and thanking them, the one guy looking on the verge of tears through the bars of his friends’ arms, until they disappear up to the next level of seats.

“You could’ve pretended to be human,” Nicky hisses as soon as they’re gone.

“They call us monsters,” Andrew says. “What do they expect?” 

Nicky groans. “Please can we have fun, and not ruin anyone else’s night, especially our fans? People are gonna egg our car.”

Neil’s stomach squirms, and he crosses his arms over it. There could be well-meaning, invasive people like that everywhere, and now he’s tipsy and angry and stuck.

The house lights go down a few minutes later, and the whole crowd sucks in a collective breath before they plunge headfirst into cheering.

Neil’s arms loosen. Nicky stands up at his side, hooting, and everyone follows suit, craning towards the stage, wanting to be the first thing the band sees.

Dan comes out first, waving with both hands, and Matt follows, winking at the crowd and sliding his guitar over his head. Allison and Renee emerge from either side of the stage, Allison towering in high heels and glowing under the lights. Renee’s hair is wild, and her face is different, tongue caught in her teeth, almost cocky.

They fit behind their instruments like joints cracking into place, and they play their first chord in perfect unison, all of them operating different parts of the same body.

The crowd roars their approval. Neil sits upright. He’s surprised to feel Andrew standing up beside him, stepping into the aisle to watch. He follows without thinking.

The jangling, bopping drum line doesn’t wait for the strings to catch up, and Renee doesn’t need to watch to see that they’re following her. Her wrists are supple, and she’s lost to the music like she’s been playing for hours and not seconds.

The room goes up in flames when Dan starts singing, like the fans are all hungry, dry wood, and she’s a spark. She works the microphone free from its stand and starts running with it.

“Fucking excellent, right,” Nicky shouts, and Neil nods, mesmerized. The crowd moves together even separated by sections and rows of seats. 

It’s nothing like an Ausreißer concert, where boiling blood turns into wine, and everyone turns their desperate faces up to the stage like they’re waiting to be healed. Foxes sing like they’re in love and they fought for it. 

Neil can admit that they’re as musically proficient as the monsters, too, making up for lack of technical flair with a complete understanding of their sound.

Matt smiles dopily down at his guitar and then at Dan, like he can’t decide which deserves his attention more. When she floats towards him, he gets springy with it, teasing her with guitar licks, carving shapes into her oaky voice. Allison’s hand goes protectively to her tuning pegs whenever she has a break in the music, but her bass is rich and in tune.

They do an old-fashioned crescendo like it’s a classical piece, and Dan is almost conducting, hitting the air when Renee smashes the cymbals, gesturing for more when Allison starts a slippery solo, so fast that she laughs and tosses her hair, exhilarated.

Neil makes a hurt noise that gets swallowed in the din, but Andrew looks at him anyway. Neil looks back, studying his wide black pupils and wondering why he only bothers to pay attention when he’s stoned.

He remembers the wide eyes of the kid with the armbands, the agony of his disappointment, and he forces himself to look back out at the band.

One song finishes and another climbs on its back. People move and mill out of their seats towards the stage. He feels like he’s seeing double, like he’s watching a long pilgrimage that’s somehow been condensed or played back.

The first break in the music, Dan laughs her way out of the song, takes a swig of wine, and says “how was that?” into the mic, pointing out towards the place where the monsters are standing. Nicky puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles.

Her stage presence is unparalleled. She’s funny and a little hard on her audience, begging them to sing louder, drive her offstage if they can. Neil can see why she’s in charge, unofficially. She paces circles around the stage like she’s boosting morale. She barely needs the microphone to be heard.

They topple back into their set without warning, a trust fall of a count-in where Renee bangs out a few warning shots and everyone’s hands fly to their instruments.

Somewhere in the thicket of fans, Neil hears someone call, “Andrew!” He sees an incongruous flash, turned towards the audience and not the stage.

“Nicky, Nicky Hemmick! Nicky, over here—“

“Andrew,” Neil starts.

“We love you, Neil,” someone screams.

“Don’t—“

Neil’s jostled down a stair, and Andrew yanks him back up.

“Ignore them,” Andrew says viciously.

“Yeah,” Nicky agrees, but he’s clearly rattled. “What are they gonna do?”

Neil struggles to get his bearings. A few of them are still shouting, recording them with their phones or fighting their way through the crowd towards them. Nicky motions for them to stop, but a few people get close enough to beg for autographs or snap blurry photos of themselves with the band members in the background. He wonders if it was the fans from before, upset enough to tip off the whole crowd to their seat numbers. 

“Bet you didn’t think we were this famous, huh?” Nicky jokes nervously. 

Andrew has no problem with shoving people away, and Nicky frantically apologizes as many times as he can before he just starts shaking his head. Neil is forced painfully into Nicky’s side, and he can hear people in their row restlessly asking what’s going on.

Most of the audience is oblivious, still focused on Foxes’ raucous energy, but the three of them are surrounded for another ten minutes before people start to get frustrated enough to give up. The rest of them are shoulder-tapped by security, and the throng dwindles to nothing.

“You okay?” Nicky asks. Neil nods, but when he blinks he can still see pinholes of light from camera flashes. He knows that the photos will end up online where anyone can see him as he is right now, and they can guess at his habits or zero in on his location if they want to.

He’s been reckless for a long time, but standing pooled in stage lights feels entirely, chokingly different from wading down into the crowd and feeling the attention slither around him like seaweed.

Andrew crushes a hand to the back of his neck, and Neil inhales all at once.

“Kinda ironic that crowds freak you out so much when you sing for one every night,” Nicky says. He’s standing half in front of Neil, eclipsing the concert still unfolding in the background.

“It’s not the crowd.” Neil shakes his head to clear it. “It’s—they all know who I am.”

‘They think they do,” Nicky corrects firmly, fingers curling into Neil’s arms. The harpy tattoo peers out from under his sheer sleeve, a monster in a veil.

“They want to,” Andrew says, gaze tossed out to the back of the venue. His face is so blank and washed out under the lights that it’s like it’s been chemically stripped of colour. “You’ve caught their attention.”

Neil pulls free from Nicky’s arms and sits heavily in his seat. “I don’t want it.”

“You might not have a choice,” Nicky says, sitting next to him, smothering the distance Neil keeps trying and failing to cultivate.

“You always have a choice,” Andrew says, and when Neil looks up at him, he’s holding out his right hand with its painted yes. Neil accepts it gingerly, and Andrew drags him to his feet.

They watch the rest of the concert from backstage.

Andrew sits propped up on an amp, and Nicky alternates between trying to get the band’s attention from the wings, and mimicking Matt’s solos with vigorous air guitar. Neil suspects he’s trying to get him to laugh.

Neil has enough distance now to feel stupid about locking up during such a minor incident and proving Kevin right. The crowd has already forgotten them, or never knew they were there. The show goes on. 

They’re coming up on their encore performance when Neil feels a buzzing at his hip. 

He fishes an unfamiliar cellphone out of his pocket and stares uncomprehendingly at the message lingering on screen, sent from a number he doesn’t recognize.

A neat little ’60’ and nothing else.

[jemej3m]

What Now? (p4)

getting there

Team dinners, whilst frivolous and daunting, did make a difference. A small difference, but a difference all the same. Neil never organised them: That was the parent’s job. But they always invited him, and he always felt inclined to go, even if it was just to help the parents understand the game and give them advice on injuries, or affording equipment.

This time, it was held at a park. Two fathers were grilling burgers, a group of mothers huddled around with champagne, and the rest sitting at a park bench nearby. The kids were running themselves to death, laughing and rolling around the grass. Neil watched Robin, hesitant but still enjoying herself, and made sure she didn’t get too anxious whilst out in the open. He’d ignored offers of beers in favour for some water, and kept himself propped against a nearby tree.

“Very social of you.” A new figure appeared by Neil’s side. He recognised Kevin’s windswept hair in the ruckus of children, though it was newly cut. Good. He’d been having trouble with his helmet. But where Kevin was, his father wasn’t far behind.

“Social functions aren’t my thing.” Neil offered.

“Neither.” Andrew said, remaining civil as he sipped his beer. “Do you ever get sick of it?”

“Of what?” He glanced at him. He was dressed casually, a sweater over a button-down, skinny jeans, boots. He always was well dressed, Neil acknowledge.

“Being looked down at. Being gossiped about. Dealing with prejudice. Young, single parenting. All of it.”

Neil shrugged. “It gets easier to ignore after a while. My coaching fees are much less than other local teams, I’m equitable, I don’t take shit. Parents who can’t wrap their heads around that can fuck off.”

“What comes after the neophyte team?” Andrew nodded towards the other children.

“I sort them into A League, B League or C League, depending on what they can handle.” Neil rose a single eyebrow. “Are you trying to be nice to me so that Kevin can get into the A team? It wont work. I don’t take bribery.”

“I don’t give a fuck where you put him, so long as it’s just. Besides, I know he’ll get into the A’s. He’s a stubborn little shit.” Andrew said. “Maybe I promised my son I’d get along with you, because he’s friends with your daughter now.”

Neil snorted. He was right about Kevin: The kid worked harder than any of them. “How decent of you.”

For a moment, they remained in comfortable silence, until Andrew asked: “What’s your sob story?”

“Mine, or Robin’s?” Neil bit his lip. “Because everyone already knows my sob story. Or did you forget that I’m a crime-lord’s son?”

Andrew was unimpressed.

Neil shrugged. “Kidnapper’s van crashed outside of my old place. Rescued Robin from within. Haven’t let her go since.” He took Andrew’s beer for a sip, which gained him an even more unimpressed glare. “Yours?”

“Not as tragic as yours.” Andrew stole his beer back. “My old exy coach’s heart gave out. He was too sick to look after him. Carted Kevin off to me, for some reason.”

“Good of you to take him in.” Neil offered.

“Good of you to take a foster kid out of the system.” Andrew returned.

They’d reached a comfortable level of appreciation. Neil didn’t realise how easy it was to just talk to him, until the evening was close to finishing and they’d spent the entire time chatting.

As Neil and Robin walked back to their car, Robin tugged on his hand. He looked down at her.

“You seem very happy.” She skipped along beside him. “Did you have too much adult juice? Should you be driving?”

“I didn’t have any, sweetheart.” Neil promised, mildly amused.

Was it that noticeable?

How odd.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Allison narrowed her eyes. “Do you like him?”

They sat opposite each other at Sweeties, Jeremy, Laila and Robin crammed next to each other and playing a badly set-up chess with salt and pepper shakers they’d stolen from other tables.

“What?” Neil stammered, immediately flustered. “No!”

"First you’re yelling about him, cursing him, mouthing off about his clothes and his pretentious job and car and his nerdy son. Now you wont shut up about how he hangs around at practise, and you talk about everything and anything, and you’ve offered to take Kevin to games, and he’s offered to take Robin to school. Look at you! Moon eyes, pink cheeks. You’ve fallen head-over-heels for him!” Allison cackled, clapping loudly and drawing the attention from other tables.

Thank god that the kids always ignored them. Neil spluttered, shoving her hands away as she wiggled her fingers at him teasingly. “I do not.”

“Oh, it’s so romantic.” She cooed. “Two single fathers, too busy because of their jobs to find partners, connecting through their kids bullying each other! How dreamy.”

“Fuck off, Allison.” He muttered into his coffee. Then he slammed it onto the table. “No, no. I’ve never been attracted to guys, I’ve never been attracted to anyone, period. I’m too busy, Robin needs me, I - no!” He lowered his voice even further. “He’s probably, like, 35!”

“You’re in denial, boy.” She sung. “He’s only 25.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because I’ve researched the shit out of him?” Allison said, with the tone of duh? as she twirled hair around her finger. “You’ve both got tragic pasts, with young kids, obsessed with your careers; you’re the perfect age and height for each other - I’m floored you haven’t already got with the man yet, Neil. Honestly.”

“This conversation is over.” Neil demanded 

Allison simply put her sunglasses on, despite being inside. “Whatever. You’ll thank me for enlightening you soon enough.”

Unknown Number: Your pestering friend has taken up all Renee’s time. 

Neil frowned at his phone. Sorry, who is this?

Andrew. 

N: ah. right. hello. 

A: What’s the blond solicitor’s name? Annie?

N: allison. how do you know renee? 

A: Kevin is friends with Bee and Abby.

N: for a moment there I thought you had managed a social life outside of your child. shame. 

A: Fuck off.

A: Also, you can’t talk. 

N: ik, ik

N: thank u for enlightening me about this. they met at the show-your-parent-around-school evening. i didn’t think anything would come of it and allison’s a sneaky lil bitch for hiding it from me.

A: Renee likewise. 

A: Might as well take advantage of it, shouldn’t we?

N: hm?

A: Do you want to grab dinner sometime, yes or no. 

N: sure. might catch them whilst they think they’re clever :D 

A: If you make me regret this, you’re paying. I’ll get you at 7 o’clock, Friday evening. 

N: i’ll be on my best behaviour

I KNOW THIS WAS SHORT BUT i promise i will make up for it

:)

also yes i will try upload a more cohesive version of this for ao3. this is all just drafting (for when i get the time)

[sandrawrites13]

hiding and fist fight | | day nine

“ be careful making wishes

                                                                                                   in the dark. . . ”

welcome to day nine of the thirty-one days of horror! i’ve decided i’m going to include a quote from a song that you can listen to while reading for more of a spooky effect. the quote you read above is by fall out boy and is called my songs know what you did in the dark.

which, brings me right into the ninth prompts, hiding and fist fight. following reader and erin hannon from the office. 

triggers: SHOOTING, a fight, fist fight, violence, near death, oc! luna, fear, and uh character deaths maybe idk nvm

it all started amongst how other things start. 

jim and dwight. 

you weren’t really a part of the debate that was going on, since you were on a coffee run with pam (who was eager to go running out with you, claiming mindlessly about “cece always keeping her from running around”). 

all you know is that when you returned, you were pretty much immediately thrown into a giant fight and you were forced to pick sides. 

on one hand, there was dwight who for sure did nothing to cause such a heated dispute to break out, and on the other side there was jim, who most certainly did. 

so, of course, you sided with jim. but you didn’t say that to them. you said it in your head, or to erin while you stood at her desk, laughing at the two of them duke it out. 

dwight had stood up with sticky notes all over his back, getting in jim’s face, who seemed unphased. luna, your best friend, stood chuckling, holding onto her boyfriend’s arm. “dwight, just calm down,” she said, coughing back a laugh. 

“no, you calm down! you better stop this jim!” 

“stop what?” he asked nonchalantly. “not my fault you’re in a sticky situation.” 

and that right there, my friends, that send dwight shrute off the edge. 

he growled, ripping off the sticky note that was on his chest and throwing it (and failing to) dramatically to the floor, before getting in front of jim’s face and pushing him. 

jim feigned hurt, even putting a hand over his head. “oh, woes me. not that, dwight. don’t do that!” 

dwight, unamused, growled before once again pushing him, this time over luna, who unsuspectingly tripped him and actually sent him down to the ground with a thump. 

you jumped back in surprise, a hand over your mouth as you collapsed in giggles from the sight before you. it was when luna yelled out his name you realized that something went wrong. 

“for fuck’s sake, dwight!” she shouted, helping him to sit on the floor, some blood on her hands. “he hit his head!” 

“it’s fine,” he mumbled out, groaning. “i think i have to go to the hospital, though.”

everyone in the office screamed similar things: “dwight!” “idiot!” “what the fuck?” “did anyone see my candy bar?” 

the latter was from kevin, of course. 

“i’ll take him to the e.r.,” luna said, putting her hands up, “i can’t believe you did this, dwight. you went too far.” 

dwight shook his head, “i just reassured my statement as alpha male.” 

psh. as if. you knew jim was the real alpha male. 

“whatever? who cares?” you asked. “just get him to the hospital! do you need help?” luna looked over to you, shaking her head as she rushed jim out of the room. 

“thanks, y/n. we’ll give you an update.” 

“drive safe!” screamed erin and pam at the same time, earning a small chuckle from dwight as he scoffed. erin turned to you, her smile faded. “you think he’s alright?” she asked. 

“he’s fine,” you reassured with a smile. “another one of dwight’s things.” 

“this is more than a thing,” she riposted, but quieted anyway. “anyway. are you gonna actually do work or just stand here?” she asked, her smile returning as the phone rang. 

you rolled your eyes, walking back to your desk as your own smile came upon your face. 

=-= timeskip uwu =-=

about four hours passed before people started to leave. it was stanley, as usual, that initiated it, and then andy (who, despite saying he would never leave before his employees, always does), and then a few others. you, however, didn’t leave until erin left, and some people liked to stay late for the extra pay. 

currently, you were with erin, pam (of whom was waiting for the babysitter to get home from dinner with cece), angela, oscar, toby, and meredith. 

you were right about ready to leave when it happened. 

a loud bang that clouded your hearing and made you jump. for a minute, all of you just stared at each other, confused. and then there were haste footsteps up the stairs, followed by what you knew was gunshots.

erin jumped from her spot behind reception, standing and frozen like a deer in the headlights. 

“was that--?” pam was interrupted by more gunshots, now closer than ever. 

“close the door!” yelled oscar, instructing you. you jumped at the sound of his voice, running to the door to shut it. 

your hands were shaking, your heart beating out of your chest. “were those gunshots?” you ask, shakily. you look up to toby and oscar, petrified. 

“i need to get bandit!” cried angela, running to her desk. “he can’t hear this.” 

“everyone, we need to go in the conference room,” toby instructed quietly, in a hushed whisper. as soon as he said that, there was a loud bang on the door and you realized that this situation -- as crucial as it was -- was very real. 

you gasped, jumping back in the hindsight to scream before soft hands covered your mouth. “shhh,” erin whispered. “we need to go.”

you followed the group into the conference room, you in the middle of a breakdown, and following toby and oscar, who not only seemed like the most rational ones, but the bravest (which was odd, looking back at it). 

“oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” pam ranted off. “there’s no way that’s a shooter. there’s no--.” 

CRACK

in a loud and booming movement, the sound of the door being kicked open surrounded the office and clouded you in your adrenaline. meredith shut the door as silently and quickly as she could, ducking out of view from the windows. 

“everyone, get under the chairs so they can’t see us,” toby instructed, and you did as he told. 

“i don’t wanna die,” you whispered, wiping your tears, “this has to be a joke. this has to be dwight pranking us back.” 

“shhh, y/n,” oscar demanded. you sharply shut your mouth, not even realizing you were still holding onto erin’s hand until you were both under chairs together, your palms connected, both of you on your stomachs hidden from view by the chairs. 

you looked over at her, and she seemed petrified, but had no indication. it felt comforting to have her near you, but both your morale and your mindset wouldn’t allow you to think rationally for a moment. 

when you noticed the others, they were in the same regards. horrified, scared, oscar pulling out his phone to dial 9-1-1 while pam put her knees to her chest from behind her chair. 

toby was still, unmoving, and angela was holding onto bandit as if her life depended on it -- which, it very much could. under her breath she could be heard murmuring prayers, her eyes shut in her own personal talk with God. meredith seemed as content as could be, probably drunk and not even assessing the situation properly. 

on the outside, you could hear the intruder rummaging through the office. knocking computers down, going through your stuff, and every now and then -- shooting a gunshot up to the ceiling. 

you were in your own dilemma, praying, God, don’t let him come in here. you wanted more than anything for him to notice that all the doors were locked and for him to just leave on his own. 

but you were scared. 

you looked over to erin, and she locked eyes with you. your heart, beating out of your chest, just irrationality controlled your anxieties, prolonging them. you wanted to get out of this alive -- was that so hard? 

everything you had ever wanted to do was coming in flashes. everything you didn’t see. everything you wanted to eat, to look at, to watch. every person you wanted to talk to, to be friends with, to love.

“i’m scared,” you whispered to erin in the hushest tone you could manage. more of a lip-synch, that she had to figure out. “erin, i’m so scared.” 

“it’s going to be okay,” she whispered back, holding your hand even tighter. “just keep looking at me.” 

“i don’t want to die.” you wept, choking back a sob. she readjusted herself, holding your chin so you locked your eyes on her. 

“just. . . keep looking at me,” she instructed, more calming herself down than you. but you didn’t mind it, because even just staring inside of her icy eyes for however long could make all your anxieties turn to nothing but washed paper. 

when you heard the sound of boots on the outside of the conference room, you held your breath, staying completely silent. erin’s breathing, even if it was misplaced and uneven, was comforting that made you want to drown in her. 

without thinking, and partly out of fear, you leaned forward and kissed her slowly, tears streaming down your face. 

you just wanted to feel something good, even if it meant you were about to die. you didn’t care anymore. you just wanted to do it. 

she kissed back, and it made you happy, but you wouldn’t have felt regret anyway. fear makes you do crazy things. 

you didn’t care about anything in that moment. not even the fear of dying. you were so ready to go, but if you were going to go, you just wanted it to be when you were connected in her arms, finally doing what you wanted to do. 

you didn’t retract yourself from her, no matter how hard you tried. your eyes, swollen shut from tears, didn’t have to stay open to imagine her, and to see her, and to hold her. you were just there existing, kissing erin hannon. 

and it was beautiful, and terrifying at once. 

you didn’t stop until three minutes later, when you heard police sirens from outside the window and the sound of running from combat boots as they bolted out the front door of the office. 

the scent of horror and despondency filled the already thick air, and just when you wanted to tell yourself it was okay to let go and that the bad person was gone, you couldn’t. 

so she did. 

when she pulled away, you could see red stains under her eyes from her own tears, her face drained from any colour and a plastered look of only trembles rolling down her features. to the side of you were the rest of your friends, all shaking and in tears themselves, angela still mid prayer by the time the police finally came into the office and knocked heavily on the conference room. 

oscar jumped to his feet, glancing out the window a few times before he finally peered outside, creaking it open to see the serious and somber look of a man dressed in all blue, who instructed everyone outside. 

you followed immediately, nobody daring to speak. 

silently, you fell back into erin’s arms, collapsing as she held you, herself breaking down. 

and you broke -- with her. 

a / n - 

me: :( 

erin:

me: :) 

[saleintothe90s]

381. It Came From the Daily Show: one episode from August 1999, and one from September 1999

(June and July here)

August 26, 1999

I have a treat for the episode for August -- I uploaded my vhs copy of it!

 By August, Jon is still walking to his desk at the beginning of the show -- I still can’t remember when he stopped doing this. Jon has to get through the show quickly tonight, it’s their back to school episode, and he has to go out and buy notebooks, binders, and toughskins. Sometimes he chafes! Ya’ll are like what on earth are toughskins? Toughskins were these ugly pants for kids that Sears used to sell in their catalog back in the day. They were supposed to be more durable, but I can’t imagine they were very flexible. Here’s a commercial.

Headlines - Pilot to Coke-Pilot : American Airlines employees caught smuggling cocaine. There may of been an incident of cocaine leaking out onto the food in a food cart...”resulting in an entire coach section running up and down the aisles with sandwiches held aloft screaming, ‘WOO-HOO! HAM AND CHEESE! YEAH!’.”

American Airlines had to change their slogan: 

Clinton Vacation Diaries: Day 5 - Bill is on vacation golfing at Martha’s Vineyard. People were watching him and began singing “God Bless America”, which is creepy. 

Tough Glove - Little League World Series heats up. Kids from all over the world come to a little town in PA to learn new ways to call their teammates homophobic slurs. Hey, Jon said it, I didn’t. Winners will either be sent to their rooms ... or their looms depending on where they are from. This is one of the crueler segments that I’ve covered from this series, and something Jon and crew got away from come late ‘99 and into 2000. 

Correspondent Piece - Stilt Stalkings: Stephen Colbert interviews Uncle Sam who says that his ex wife is stalking him.  “I want you to leave me alone!” he says. 

Stephen: Did you ever go through his garbage?

Ex-wife: no....

Stephen: Good, because he peed all over it. 

After commercials, Jon asks, “...is it a bad sign if someone in the audience says to me, ‘GET IN MAH BELLY!’?”

Other News - Going Going, Gun : “Los Angeles bans gun sales at gun shows. Gun Lobbyists say, ‘gun shows don’t kill people, people shows kill people.’”

Interview - Nia Long: I usually skip the interview in these entries, due to time constraints, but this one is special. Nia teaches Jon what a ho bag is. Nia lost her luggage three times on this promotional tour. However, she says that he mother always told her “no matter where you go, always carry your ho-bag”.  

Nia: you know, your toothbrush, your condoms, a clean pair of underwear, your protein drink...

Jon: My apartment is a ho-bag!

Jon was just reading Family Circus. 

This Just In - Nice Cans:  Campbells introduces a new soup label. Because that was news in 1999. I love this stupid thing so much, Jon and Crew makes something as trivial as soup funny. This was the Daily Show I loved for years that sadly went away.  

“Many say collectors will be rushing out to stores to buy the old cans, and place them on a trophy shelf alongside the bittersweet dream that was Crystal Pepsi.”

“The new label also features a photo of soup in a bowl, which will come as a revelation to the millions of consumers who up until new always ate their soup of out a hat!” 

I actually remember those new labels, haha. The Campbells can had stayed the same all my life until then. So when that changes, you notice it. 

Out at the Movies - Summer, 1999 wrap up: Jon says in the introduction that Frank will tell us why the Summer of 1999 movies went so “horribly, horribly wrong” -- but I’ve read articles where people declare 1999 as one of the best  years for movies. Maybe 20 years ago, people were focused on the disappointment of The Phantom Menace, and Eyes Wide Shut? I mean, in the How Did this Get Made podcast episode about Lawnmower Man, Jason Mantzoukas even says that he CRIED when he saw how bad Phantom Menace was. 

[from my hometown newspaper, Daily Press]

September 30, 1999 -- I uploaded this one from my old tapes too.

Here we are, bby. This is one of my all time favorite episodes. Jon learns all about Garth Brooks’ alter ego, Chris Gaines. Oh boy, Chris Gaines. Garth Brooks like, wanted to be a rock n roll star, and star in a movie or something so he created this character named Chris Gaines? Garth even went to make believe land, and gave him a whole backstory. I remember one was his mom or his dad coached swimming in Australia? There was even a faux Behind the Music on VH1 about Chris and how his bandmates died?! It was seriously one of the dumbest things from 1999. By the way, The Lamb never became a movie. 

Headlines - Alter Egomaniac: Garth puts on a TV concert of his alter ego, but he performs on stage as Garth? Will he ask himself for an autograph of Chris Gaines?

I found the entire interview that played in between songs for the special, including the music video for Chris’ first band Crush (because that’s an original name for a band). Garth is totally lost in Chris Gaines when he’s explaining the faux musical video. You have to watch it. The bizarre “did you know?” about Chris’ fictional life are also in the clip. Was this music video made for the movie that never got off the ground? So many unanswered questions.

Jon says we can’t care about this stuff because CHRIS DOESN’T EXIST. 

Media Responsibility -  The correspondents are here to criticize the media.  Yada Yada, this is all Chyron jokes: 

It also includes a clip of a guy in a bullfight where his pants were removed by the bull. Classic Daily Show clip. 

Stephen Colbert has to go freak on some bones? I wanna know where that shower was. Is it the one in Jon’s dressing room? Did they got to a co-workers apartment just for that shower scene? 

Ooh! This episode has its commercials intact! There’s gonna be an SNL marathon Friday night in honor of Superstar. Also, a Phantom Menace Playstation game came out about four months too late.

Other News - Web of Receipts: amazon.com becomes an internet flea market with the launch of z shops. They’re gonna offer more than just books n cds. e.

(the interview is missing from my clip)

Out at the Movies with Frank DeCaro: For the Love of the Game - My boy Frank didn’t like it. Kelly Preston looks like Lisa Loeb, Kevin Costner has a bunch of crow’s feet. 

“Isn’t this a long way to go just for a full head of hair?”

--

For more entries similar to this, check out my Daily Show favorites from 1999-2001 zine over at my etsy shop. 

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[leahlisabeth]

The Shop Across the Street

This is my pinch hit for @icecream-is-an-ok-fruit for the @aftgexchange.  I went with the Minyard-Josten Rivalry with a Coffee Shop twist.  Hope you like it! Fic is under the cut.  Or read it on AO3!

Neil looked up as the bell in the entrance rang.  “Ugh, Kevin, you need to take the trash out again.”

“What?” Kevin popped out of the kitchen where he was plating up the premixed kale and arugula salads.  “I just took it out ten minutes...oh, hi Andrew,” he said as he caught sight of their newest customer.

“Kevin,” Andrew nodded.  “Cooked anything with flavour lately?”

“I’ll have you know that our chili chocolate granola bars have been selling very well,” Kevin practically yelled, eyebrows drawing down and sparks burning in his eyes.

“Oh yeah? I’ll buy one then,” Andrew said, not taking his eyes off Neil.

Neil didn’t break eye contact as he leaned down in the display case, pulled out one of their granola bars and put it on a plate for Andrew.  Andrew strode closer, set the plastic bag he was carrying on the counter and snatched the bar off the plate.  He held it out at arm length and crumbled it in his fist, spraying granola all over the floor, the counter, and Neil.

“It’s a little dry for my taste,” Andrew smirked.

“What did you come here for anyway?” Neil glared as he kept Kevin from leaping across the counter and throttling Andrew.

“Can’t a guy just pop over to bring a Christmas gift from my coffee shop to yours?”  Andrew opened the bag to reveal a white cake box.

“Is this meant to kill me quickly or slowly?” Neil asked.  “Did you use cyanide or just your normal levels of sugar and refined carbs?”

Andrew rolled his eyes and opened the cake box.  On the top, exquisitely done in modeling chocolate and icing was a tiny elf dressed in green with both middle fingers sticking up and a santa in his suit, turned around, bent over, and mooning everyone with the words “fuck you” written on the ass cheeks.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Neil said, putting his hand on top of Santa and pushing him down into the cake until it broke apart.  He put his hand to his mouth and licked the icing off his fingers, once again holding Andrew’s level gaze.  “Cloying and grainy, as usual.  And the almond extract is burning in the back of my throat.  If i ordered this in a restaurant, I would send it back.”

“They say Christmas is the time to share your true feelings.  I think this cake says it all,” Andrew replied, bowing deeply and turning to leave the coffee shop the same way he had come.

Neil turned to his customers, catching them putting their phones quickly out of sight.  “Kevin, trash that cake and post it on our instagram.  And I think it’s time to change the name of our hot chocolate.”

Neil took a break a few hours later, sitting in the back to escape the steady stream of customers there to try their new drink.  He looked at the shop’s instagram to see that Andrew was also marketing a new drink, a sweet caramel latte with a cinnamon sugar rim and an...anatomically detailed marshmallow floating on the top.  It was appropriately titled the “You First, Josten.”

Neil laughed, shaking his head and commenting a string of knife emojis below the photo.  Kevin pounded on the door yelling that they had another rush of customers and that Thea had to leave for a doctor’s appointment and there was no one to man the counter.  

Neil sighed and stood, tying on his apron once more.

By the time Allison and Matt showed up for their evening shift, Neil was half asleep on his feet.  Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he had chosen to live on the opposite side of the city and not within running distance.

The lights were on in the living room and a delicious smell wafted to him in the entryway.  The cats greeted him at the door, mewing as if they hadn’t been fed in years.  Neil just rolled his eyes and headed toward the good smells.  The TV was on low playing one of those cooking competition shows that his partner insisted he hated but watched every episode of.  The coffee table was spread with Neil’s favourite chicken alfredo and garlic toast.  There was even a hastily thrown together Caesar salad on the table.

“You must have come home early today,” Neil commented, dropping tiredly onto the couch and propping his feet up in the other man’s lap.

“That’s disgusting,” Andrew said, engulfing Neil’s feet with his warm hands and beginning to work out the soreness from a long day standing.  “I guess people preferred the ‘Fuck Off, Minyard’ to the ‘You Too, Josten.’ We were slow and Renee had it handled.”

Neil groaned as Andrew found an especially sore spot in the arch of his foot.  “I thought for sure they’d be heading over to you to see how I’d retaliate.”

“Who can predict what the vultures will do?” Andrew said.  

“True,” Neil said, leaning over to serve himself some pasta.

They ate quietly for a while, the silence occasionally punctuated by a disgusted grunt from Andrew when one of the contestants did something particularly stupid.

Neil eventually set his plate on the coffee table and lay back, eyes closed.  He drifted for a while.

“I wonder what they’ll do when we come out,” he says, half to Andrew, half just musing out loud.

“Depends how we do it,” Andrew said, his hand tightening around Neil’s ankle and shaking just a little.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.  You can go on pretending to hate me forever if you want,” Neil said, afraid suddenly that he had assumed too much.

“I’m never pretending,” Andrew said, relaxing his grip on Neil’s ankle.  “I hate you with every fiber of my being.”

Neil looks at Andrew and he knows the look on his face is unbearably fond and Andrew is going to call him out on it in a moment.

He doesn’t.  “Have you thought about it? How you’d want to do it?” He asked, focusing his attention back on the TV.

“A few times,” Neil said, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.  His feet were cold.  “Maybe you could just come in some time and kiss me instead of flipping me off.”

“Or I could propose,” Andrew said quietly.

Neil laughed.  “We’d have to get a ring and everything.  Otherwise people wouldn’t believe us.”

Andrew fumbled at his side for a moment and tossed Neil a velvet covered box.  “What about this one?” he asked.

Neil opened the box to see a simple band of platinum with a stripe of jet black obsidian running down the center.  He was about to laugh again but he looked at Andrew again.

Andrew’s eyes were soft and his hands were shaking again.

“Andrew,” Neil breathed.  “Is this?...”

“Yes or No, Junkie?” Andrew’s voice broke on the ‘no.’

“Yes,” Neil said, gripping the box so tightly his knuckles went white.  “Always yes.”  He couldn’t think of a single time in his life that he had cried from happiness, but he tasted salt in the kiss that followed.