#but it gets posted early because IDK when I'll be around tonight so at least there's that!

[practically-an-x-man]

For Talk Shop Tuesday: Give us the director's cut on your latest piece of writing!

Ooooh sure thing!!

So my latest piece of writing (not counting a new piece I will hopefully have finished tonight...) is Share Your Burdens, the new pre-relationship IndiHux fic I posted just before I did my masterlist redux. Let's get into it!!

Talk Shop Tuesday

Most stepped aside as they noticed him coming, and the only ones that remained were those facing the wrong way or otherwise too distracted to notice. If he were truly in a rush, he might have been sharper with them. But he knew from his conversations with Indigo that mealtimes were often the only break from work they got, and… he could find it within himself to be a bit more lenient, it seemed.

Right off the bat, we do see the way speaking to Indie has started to soften him, just a little. And it's not just their conversation about breaktimes that has him being a little gentler, but Indie's behavior itself - he knows that when she gets really into a conversation, she might not notice the people passing by around her, and it's by no means an intentional or rude gesture, so he learns to ascribe that same benign distraction to the others around him and be a little more lenient with them.

Especially in this stage of their relationship, she really helps him recognize this more grounded perspective, especially since he's never really had that himself - hyper-strict military childhood straight to a commanding position in the First Order, trained (intentionally or not) by his father to see everything as a power play or personal slight, so Indie's gentler perspective is a very good thing for him to experience at this stage in his life.

So many conversations in his life turned to the war, the ship, the cycling of duties, but Indie seemed more inclined to speak about the mundane and hopeful. It was refreshing in a number of ways.

This is part of the reason he even begins to soften to her. She obviously still respects him, but she's not in fear of him the way so many others are, and she doesn't enjoy talking about war. I'd imagine he subconsciously sees most people as instruments of war (again, how he was raised thanks to his father), but he can't do that with Indie because she never gives him an opening. She doesn't talk about war, she doesn't get all squirrelly about being face-to-face with General Hux, she forces his brain to see her as a real living person straight from the beginning and that's enough for him to start breaking down those ingrained biases.

Early-stage Hux is hard to write, honestly. He's an asshole in the movies and I'll fully acknowledge that, but for the fic to work I had to make him at least somewhat likeable, or at least open enough to change that he'll become likeable. And I'm a stickler for characterization. Making him too nice or understanding is definitely OOC, but making him too much of an asshole just isn't fun to read or write. And on top of that, he's got such a rich backstory that we never even see in the movies, and I think his character has a lot of complexity that the movies just end up dropping entirely. But as a writer, I spent the whole time wondering if I was making him too OOC, if the character growth I gave him was realistic at all, if it was too much of a departure from canon to even be enjoyable, etc..

Idk, I'm rambling. I just see so many of his actions as being motivated by his personal history and the way he was raised, less that it's what he inwardly believes and more what he's been trained to believe by his father, and to me that makes him very capable of change and growth as long as he's motivated to work for it. But... not everyone will see that from him, and it makes me worry I've misread things entirely.

Perhaps not implicitly, and perhaps he’d never have the honor of knowing her to that level, but… he could recognize that something was troubling her. That was a start.

Have to say, I love writing these little moments of dramatic irony whenever I write pre-relationship fics that exist after the main fic like this. There's just something about the image of him going "I'll never get to be that close to her :(" while everyone who reads this knows he'll end up literally sacrificing everything for her that makes me absolutely feral. It's such a specific little trope, but I love it.

He wondered if any of those thoughts were appearing on his face. She always seemed so adept at reading him.

What's funny is that if you place this fic in the actual timeline with the rest, this is the stage where Indie still feels like he's impossible to read. I intentionally wanted that bit of dissonance here, where from her perspective he's still inscrutable and from his perspective she can see everything - because Indie's used to reading people automatically and he's hard to read, while Hux has been walled-off and isolated his whole life and even the little flickers Indie gets feel like she's staring right into his soul.

“I mean, I know you excused me from the address as a thank-you for what happened in the elevator, but you got me Zero’s paperwork, and then you made all those scheduling revisions, and the new on-call regulations…

The scheduling revisions and on-call regulations are actually a bit of super deep-cut lore that I never actually put into the fic itself- only a tumblr post. The gist of it is that speaking to her so often made him notice a lot of systemic issues that the other higher-ups didn't even glance at, and he quietly begins to repair them (not even as a romantic gesture to her, just because he recognizes them as problems and seeks to fix them)

“Oh, and- here. Figure you haven’t eaten, given you weren’t at lunch.”

These two in particular have a bit of an ongoing theme of food as a symbol of love. Most of their early bonding and interactions take place around the cafeteria and meeting up for lunch, and after Indie gets long-distance attacked by Palpatine in one of the chapters of B&B, Hux has a whole internal struggle about telling her he loves her... which he then bails on, and Indie's next words are "Did you eat?". Then when they're on Ajan Kloss, the first scene of them openly together is sitting at one of the picnic tables, when Indigo redirects the rotten fruit that gets thrown at Hux. Finally, in the last scene before the epilogue, where Indie is in bed and recovering from surgery, Hux's first words are to urge her to eat something. There are other scenes, of course, but these are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

And of course, we have this here - before he's even begun to admit his feelings about her to himself, he remembers to grab her something to eat because he knows she hasn't.

Oh, and there's a reason for this - Indie grew up food-insecure due to living on Corellia, and Hux's mother canonically worked in the kitchens on Arkanis (which was often his only reprieve from his father). Food has a lot of meaning for both of them, and carries a lot of the emotion they can't always bear to admit.

The second was that, for once in his life, he was positive that he was doing the right thing.

This right here is my favorite line in the fic. I don't even have much else to say about it, I feel like the line itself lays it out pretty clearly, but I think it shows so much of Hux's character in such a succinct little package. He's an innately troubled person, constantly pushing himself beyond what he can reasonably take, so having a decision that he feels truly, one hundred percent confident in (and having it be a selfless decision at that) is a really impactful thing for him.

“He’s anxious but very well-trained. Resolve this quickly and there should be no issues. And… assess his nutrition and give him a full dietary panel. He seems thin.”

I'm not sure how much this really comes across in the fic and how much is just in my own head, but... Hux projects himself onto Zero. That line about him seeming thin was meant to be the biggest hint towards that, since in canon Hux's father would criticize him about being "thin as a slip of paper and just as useless" (that line is also the inspiration for Indie's recycled paper mural on the wall of her quarters, which we see in B&B).

Hux sees this thin, anxious creature that is incredibly devout to Indigo, and while he doesn't recognize it on any conscious level, he sees a bit of himself reflected there. That same subconscious reflection is what drives him to take care of Zero for her (a way of making up for all the care he didn't have as a child), and why he chooses to pay for the nutrition panel even though Zero doesn't strictly need it.

“He’s also ordered a weekly nutrition panel. Apparently Zero’s a bit malnourished. I’ll come to collect him next week, same time, for the next treatment.”

He lies about ordering the panel for Zero because he knows Indigo would protest if she knew it was coming out of his pocket. She's already on the fence, even when she believes it's all the Order's resources, so he just... lets her keep believing it's the Order's resources instead of tipping the scales.

I know I said before that it's tough to write Hux especially in the early stages, but this was one of the few details that came easily to me. It blends his cleverness and cunning with those first little glimmers of him softening for her, and to me just really feels like something he'd do. I don't know how to describe it, but I do know that this moment was locked in from the moment I started writing this fic.

“Hm. She’s pretty, for a rescue. I thought for sure she was a purebred, like from a breeder and all.”

I'm sure there are a lot of people who would choose to make Millicent a purebred, breeder-bought animal, probably as an echo of how strict Hux is about how he wants things in his life. He likes things in line, in order, with that perfect facade of professionalism, so that would even influence his pets.

But I went a different direction: like I said before with him and Zero, I think he subconsciously projects himself onto the animals. He sees them as these lost, fragile things, like the young boy he was growing up on Arkanis, and he bonds to them. Millicent being a rescue is almost symbolic to me - not just because he and Indie are both "rescues" of their own right, but because it's another thing in his life that isn't quite what it appears to be. She's a beautiful animal and most people who see her would assume that she's a legacy breed that he paid a lot of money for, just because that's what they view General Hux to be like, when in reality she was an impromptu rescue from a random shelter, adopted not for appearance but for companionship and temperament.

[elizabethplaid]

daily notes - may 17, 2024

Sometime Thursday, the anxiety stuff seemed to be done. However, now I'm fighting hormonal fatigue, as it's time for the monthly cycle. It had been light since earlier in the week but Thursday and Friday wiped me out. Since waking up Friday afternoon, both arms feel tingly - pinched nerves from how I slept.

I went to bed around 6:30-7pm, very tired. Woke again around 9:30 but stayed in bed reading. After 11ish, I got up and ate. I'm tired again, arms more tingly - a thin line down each arm, elbow to fingertip. I've eaten and caught up with some internets. I want to sit up and digest for another half-hour at least, even if I close my eyes.

I'll text LL-K, ask if she wants to open the library for me. I don't think I'll be worse than last week, but I won't be a whole lot better, so it's best to stay home. Because of car troubles, dad would have to drive me anyway. I know he won't mind unlocking the building for K.

I actually skipped my weekly call with phone friend, which was scheduled for Friday night. I'm too fatigued to be sad about missing out. Hoped to try again tonight (Saturday), but idk how I'll be doing.

It sucks how the stuff that upsets my routine seems to overlap, not just one thing at a time. The combo amplifies it and interferes with how I perceive things. Logically, shit happens and it's better to take care of myself. Getting through past guilt, I'm always a little antsy when I can't see through my prior commitments (eg library duty).

Lizard brain? Fatigue and anxiety telling me to turn my back on things, shutting down and wanting to hide or sleep. Toddler-tantrum side resists sleep. I've been fighting with short-bursts of sleep on-and-off for nearly a year.

Body exhausted, brain needs stimulation but doesn't have stamina for imagination.

I know this is a routine down-swing. So much excitement last week, I need time to recover. And I'm watching to see how it compares to March - when I had a really bad down-swing. All I can do is watch and wait, try to sleep if/when I can.

I will keep repeating for as long as it lasts: I'm in good spirits about this, and that is a very important thing to note. And I must remind myself that I was able to pull myself out of my last bad down-swing, and I did it quite well. Trust the process, trust that time will ease the tension. The world moves at a fast pace, and I do not move anywhere near that speed.

There's a tension of tears under the surface. It will bleed through if I close my eyes long enough. I get, like, metaphoric hypnic jerks that shake me out of it, so I cannot get the release I need. The tears are probably just fatigue - a toddler tantrum, like I keep saying. Over-stimulated, now with my body hurting and adding to the aches.

Ok, plan of attack: Text LL-K about library. Text counselor for phone session (next week, but I'm planning ahead). Leave my phone on the floor while I try to sleep.

I am grateful to be able to navigate through this, that I can talk myself through this, that I have a "success story" in recent memory to guide me now. Grateful for supportive friends, too. Lego-friend talked me into going to bed early last night, and it really felt like a tantrum with myself. Phone-friend was okay to reschedule, and I know they'll be okay if I need to reschedule again.

No more stream of consciousness. Too tired. Must post. :P

[bytheangell]

This Is the Coda That Never Ends... Part 15

(Read on AO3) (Read from the start)

This is not at all how Magnus pictured the rest of his night going. 

“Great, she wants them back! So, what now?” Simon asks, clapping his hands together in anticipation. 

Standing beside him Magnus hears Alec mutter “I’m going to kill him,” under his breath while his hands clench at his sides. 

Magnus wonders if Simon truly understands what he’s just done, even if he didn’t exactly dissuade the idea himself. 

Magnus meets Clary’s gaze and sees the same girl who came to him to get her memories back just a little over a year ago, fierce and determined, and gives her a small nod. Honestly, he didn’t really expect any other answer from her once the offer was on the table.

“Alexander…” Magnus starts, chancing a glance over at his husband to see the thinly veiled frustration and annoyance there, wondering how much of it is directed at him. “Can we talk privately for a minute?” 

Alec actually looks like he might tell him no for a second before his expression softens ever so slightly. 

Magnus offers a quick half-smile, half-grimace to the group. “Pardon us. Just going to steal my darling husband for a moment, we won’t be long.” 

By the time he’s done speaking Alec is already halfway across the room so Magnus follows Alec out of the front door Simon left open, shutting it behind them. 

“What were you thinking, Magnus? You know the whole point of this is to keep her from remembering too much, and now you’re just offering to throw her memories back at her like it’s nothing?” Alec is, rightfully, feeling a little betrayed by Magnus siding with Simon, he can tell. He certainly doesn’t blame him. 

“She’s getting her other memories back, Alec. All on her own. But the ones we took from her? SImon’s right, she’ll never have them again unless we get them back. She didn’t choose to give those up, we did that.” Magnus reminds him. 

“I know,” Alec admits. “But this wasn’t the plan. I should’ve known better than to let Simon get too close to this…” 

“Don’t be too hard on him, Alexander. He only wants his friend back,” Magnus points out. “Tell me you wouldn’t have ruined any plan to do the same for Jace if it were him?” 

Alec opens his mouth, hesitates, and closes it again. “That doesn’t make it right,” Alec says finally. “He knew exactly what he was doing. Both of you did. We could’ve talked it over first, but now…” 

“Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Magnus says, and there’s a hint of a question behind the words, asking for a bit of forgiveness of his own. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t look her in the eyes and lie about this. She never wanted the truth hidden from her, not even as a child; Clary fought it every time Jocelyn brought her to me, you know.”  

Sometimes Magnus thinks that Alec forgets his history with Clary and her family, with Jocelyn and Luke and Valentine. He watched her grow up, he shaped her childhood by taking those memories and experiences away from her at her mother’s request - Clary’s more than just someone who wandered into his life a year ago. 

“Good to know she’s been nothing but trouble her entire life, and not just since Jace bumped into her outside Pandemonium,” Alec says with a roll of his eyes. 

Alec is tense. Magnus knows how much he hates things being out of his control. Clary’s memories returning, Simon not blindly following his instructions the way they know Izzy, Jace, and Underhill would (hell, even Magnus was determined to play along for now before Simon broke ranks first), he can sense his husband silently panicking the more variables slip out of his control.  

“If we lied to her about this she’d never trust us again. We can’t help her if she won’t come to us. What if she tried to go to the police? What if she ended up turning to someone who’d take advantage of her to help? We’re her best shot,” Magnus points out, standing by the decision he made in the moment. 

“I wish I never knew about any of this,” Alec says finally. “If she just got her memories back, and came to us afterward… but you know I can’t let this happen without telling the Clave now. They’re going to want to track her, to monitor everything she does, everywhere she goes. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by not getting involved but she just had to ruin it by showing up at the Institute, didn’t she?” 

Magnus knows things haven’t been easy for Alec this past year. Even before he was Head of the Institute, covering for his siblings, for their involvement with Clary from the start, has always been something that left him uncertain. It only got worse as Head of the Institute, and then Consul. ‘The Law is the Law’ holds a lot more weight when you are the Law, but just the fact that Alec’s here, now, shows he’s still willing to follow his heart over the rules, and that’s part of the reason Magnus has grown to love him over the years. 

“You could’ve ignored Izzy’s calls,” Magnus points out. “Or said something to the Clave the moment she told you what happened with Jace. You didn’t have to come here today. I didn’t have to buy her art, or offer the loft as a place to take her, or show up tonight when Simon called me. We both know you care too much to just ignore her while this happens, Alec.” 

Alec sighs again, but this time the frustration is with himself. “Yeah, well, it’d be a hell of a lot easier if I could.” 

Magnus smiles softly and reaches out to place a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Last I checked, the man I fell in love with never took the easy way out of anything.” He leans in for a kiss, a short, chaste press of lips that has the tension melting out of Alec’s shoulders and arms immediately as he leans into it. 

“How about you go do whatever Shadowhunter things you need to do about this, maybe give Luke a heads-up on the ‘returning Clary’s memories of him’ development? Clary didn’t seem to react negatively to seeing me again, so I’ll stay and take care of things here.” Magnus suggests, the words coming slower and with more weight than a casual offer to ‘babysit’ the others. He doesn’t outright say what taking care of things here entails but the way Alec’s eyes narrow shows that his ever-intuitive husband suspects the implications. 

“Magnus-” Alec starts, but Magnus shakes his head. 

“Just let me take care of this,” Magnus repeats, cutting him off. He doesn’t want Alec to be entirely in the dark - this isn’t the sort of thing he wants to do behind his back. But he wants Alec to have all the plausible deniability in the world in case there’s fallout. He is, after all, the Consul. “We’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll meet you back home.” 

“If anything goes wrong-” 

“Nothing will, but if it does you’ll be the first person I call. Now go,” Magnus says, giving Alec one last kiss goodbye before making a shoo-ing motion with his hands. Alec hesitates and Magnus wonders if he’ll let this happen without him, but then Alec nods, turning and waiting expectantly for the portal Magnus opens for him back to Alicante before returning inside to the others. 

“Where’s Alec?” Izzy asks immediately. 

“Alexander had some business to attend to,” Magnus says candidly. “And so do we. Lorenzo, we’re going to need a few things from your workroom.” 

Lorenzo considers Magnus for a moment, shooting a questioning glance Clary’s way which earns him a small nod of confirmation from Magnus. 

“I suppose dinner can wait, then,” Lorenzo says, waving his hand back towards the kitchen and sending a flow of yellow magic that direction. “Which one is it?” He asks. 

“Valak,” Magnus informs him. 

“Of course it is. Surprised he even took them after the last time,” Lorenzo comments casually before turning and vanishing down a side hallway. 

“What’s going on?” Clary asks, whipping her head back and forth between the two warlocks so fast she may very well give herself whiplash. 

“Nothing is going on,” Izzy states, glaring at Magnus and crossing her arms. “Because we are not doing this behind my brother’s back. No way!” 

Magnus moves closer to her so he can lower his voice in response. “Isabelle, your brother left me behind to take care of things here,” he explains, hoping she’ll catch his drift without him implicating Alec in more than he should out loud. The more everyone believes this is him acting on his own, the better. “If you’d like to join him, just say the word. We’ll be fine here if you need to go finish some reports.” 

He’s giving her the same out he gave Alexander - if she’d rather keep her nose clean of this, go back to the Institute now and claim she had no knowledge of his immediate plans, he wouldn’t blame her. Studying her reaction he knows her answer before she even opens her mouth again:  her expression shifts from that immediate stubborn flash of anger to concern the moment she looks over at Simon and Clary who are talking quietly amongst themselves. 

She doesn’t want to leave them. He doesn’t blame her for that, either. 

“I’ll stay,” she settles. 

“Alright then,” Magnus confirms with a nod, placing a hand on her arm and giving it a light squeeze, a small act of reassurance.  

“I don’t suppose there’s any hope this is being relocated elsewhere?” Lorenzo asks upon his return. 

“Only if you’re kicking us out,” Magnus states. “It would be the most convenient, however - the warding against anything going wrong is already the strongest in the city, outside the Institute but we’re hardly going there.” 

“What could go wrong? Magnus, what are you doing?” Clary asks, still confused. 

“Exactly what you wanted, Clarissa,” he says, slipping back into the name she told them to use back at his loft. This is about to become much more stressful for all of them, so the most at ease he can keep her with small considerations like that, the better. “We’re getting your memories back. Well, some of them, like Simon said.” 

Clary eyes the supplies in Lorenzo’s arms warily. “And it’s dangerous magic?” 

The group shares a look, each one silently asking the others who is going to be the one to break it to Clary that they’re about to summon a demon and hope she doesn’t freak out 

“Your memories were given to a memory demon. It’s the safest way to guard them, after all, anything else can be broken or tampered or lost forever. We just have to summon him and get them back,” Lorenzo explains matter-of-factly. 

“A what?” Clary replies. 

“It’s a very simple summoning. He’ll demand something in return, probably a memory from each of us because he’s terribly dull and predictable, and then you’ll get yours back and we’ll be on our way,” Magnus elaborates. 

“No way. Magic is one thing but I’ve seen enough horror movies to know you don’t mess around with summoning demons. I know you said you weren’t some creepy cult but all the signs are stating otherwise right about now.” There’s a panicked edge to Clary’s words and Magnus wonders if, after everything, she simply might not be ready to enter back into the Shadow World. 

“What happened to ‘whatever it takes’?” SImon points out. 

“Well… yeah, but…” Clary falters, and none of the others push her. They all wait, silent, for her to make her own decision now. “Alright, I guess. I’ll try it.” 

“Wonderful!” Magnus exclaims, already moving to push the sofas aside to make space when Lorenzo stops him. 

“Oh no you don’t, Bane. You can stay here but we are not summoning anything in my living room. We’re going to the basement where there won’t be any collateral damage done to my Van Gough if things get dicey.” 

There’s another moment then where Magnus is half-convinced Clary isn’t going to willingly go with them before she turns and follows Simon and Isabelle, with Magnus bringing up the rear down a set of spiralled stairs and into a mostly empty stone-floored room of Lorenzo’s basement.  “This will be perfect. Clarissa, be a dear? Take that black chalk and draw a pentagram on the floor large enough for us to stand around, then go over it with this,” Magnus instructs, taking a glass jar of black sand and handing it to her. 

“And I need to make sure everyone here is willing to do their part. The demon will play on any break in concentration, any lack of sincerity in agreeing to whatever his price is. He may only ask me for something, he may ask all of us, but our resolve has to remain strong until the end.” Magnus looks around the group, getting nods and “yes”s from each individual, ending with Clary as she connects the final line within the circle and steps back. 

“I’m ready,” she says. 

“Everyone take a spot at a point,” Magnus instructs. 

Izzy glances down at the simple pentagram on the ground. “Wasn’t the last one much more… elaborate?” She questions. 

Magnus thinks back for a moment before giving a slightly surprised chuckle. “Yes, it was. I’m afraid that was a bit of… misdirection on my part. I just needed to buy some time for something before we got started.” 

“But all you did was talk to Alec--” Izzy starts before her words trail off into a knowing grin. “Of course you did.” Izzy glances around the circle again. “Don’t you want us to hold hands this time?” Izabelle asks, a sly smirk on her face. “Or is that only a requirement when Alec is around, too?” 

At least Magnus has the decency to look a little guilty at being caught, even a full year later. “I plead the fifth.” 

“Magnus!” Izzy laughs, shaking her head.

“Can you blame me? Your brother didn’t exactly make things easy for me, I had to take the opportunities as they presented themselves.” Magnus can only shrug at the admission. 

“Are you two done discussing Magnus’ horrid courting attempts? In case you forgot, we have a demon to summon, and believe it or not I do have other things to be doing than this,” Lorenzo says. 

“Yes. Of course,” Magnus clears his throat. “If everyone’s ready, let’s begin.” 

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter two: coffee times ten

part three of sudden desire

prologue / one / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

summary: coffee, coffee and more coffee. coraline ropes marcus into babysitting duties.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: the slightest smidge of angst? boyfriend material marcus (needs his own warning because he’s soft af), mentions of divorce? mentions of pregnancy? two idiots being domestic af without realising it. honestly i’m just pulling these warnings out of my ass idk what counts anymore

author’s note: sorry if there’s any errors, i’m honestly the world’s worst proofreader (last time i went to post this, there were still passages from when this wasn’t fanfiction and marcus was an actor like cora, cause that would have made total sense!) but also i get super hypercritical so it’s best if i just don’t read and reread my work oops... anyway, enjoy!

Monday morning comes and she’s wearing the dress that he likes. It's the yellow one she wore the day they met, the reason he calls her sunshine, and she smiles as she sweeps effortlessly into the coffee shop. Coraline pushes the sunglasses she's wearing up onto her head and greets him with a hug and a small 'hello' muffled against his shoulder. 

It's only January but the sun still seeps in too brightly through the shop's thatched windows; it casts her in a halo of gold as she sits in the armchair across from him. Even despite the warmth pooling in the air, he can tell she's still cold, from the way her shoulders shrink inwards and she wraps her arms around herself. If she is cold, she doesn't let him know, just takes a moment to run her hands up her arms before wrapping them around the mug of coffee he'd ordered her. He'd told her to go see someone about it — constant chills aren't exactly normal — but she'd refused, brushing off his concern with a simple shrug of her shoulders and an insistence that she'd be fine. She'd also pointed out that it was, in fact, January and it was meant to be cold, even if it wasn't. It still hasn't stopped him from worrying, though. 

"You left early last night." He points out. Last night, some high-end gallery opening in downtown D.C., too many cameras and far too many people. He’d invited her as his plus one, purely platonically, of course, and because he knew she was the only friend he had that liked art just as much as he did, though she hadn't wanted to go. He hadn't blamed her, especially when they’d got there; Coraline's ex, Scott, and his new girlfriend had shown up, apparently friends with the gallery owner, their hands a little too wandering. If his ex and their new partner showed up, flouting their relationship in front of him, he'd be pretty upset and reluctant to go, too. He’d managed to persuade her to come the night before, albeit through incessant nagging, so much so that he thinks she probably only relented to shut him up. Though, looking back at it now, he wishes they had just stayed at home.

Coraline hums into her coffee cup. Her brown hair still falls in loose, half-styled curls around her face; she tucks a little behind her ear. "I was tired. My bed was calling," she insists with a bright smile. 

He doesn't entirely believe her, even though she's a pretty great actress and, consequently, just as good at hiding how she really feels. Because he knows she saw them last night. It was hard not to; a cramped room like that gave you no place to hide, and they weren't exactly being subtle. He saw the way she'd shuffle uncomfortably then their laughter would filter through the quiet space, soft but still piercing. Marcus was convinced that they were doing it on purpose, especially when he caught Scott stealing glances from across the room whenever he thought no one was looking. He was trying to get a reaction and, being as graceful as she was, she hadn't given him that, even if she had spent the entire night with her brows furrowed and wearing a smile he could tell was fake.

He watches her curiously; the way she sips her coffee slowly, how her hair curls softly against her neck, the gentle curve of her pink lips that seems permenant around him. But he’s never been the most subtle, at least, not around her. She notices him staring, gaze lingering for far too long over the gentle contours of her face, and their eyes meet for a second; they're immediately lit by another even brighter smile that pulls across her glossed lips. "What?" She questions. Her cheeks always flush pink whenever he looks at her for longer than a moment. 

He shakes his head, returning her smile, perhaps a little too enthusiastically when his teeth peak through a little. "Nothing, I just-" I just want you to be happy, he thinks. But he doesn't say it, because she must know that already, and just shakes his head. "Nothing." He repeats. 

"You're staring."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are." She chuckles, poking his leg with the toe of her boot. “Why are you staring?”

"Cora, I'm not staring."

He is staring. He can't help it. Especially when she smiles. 

She regards him for a second. Sometimes, he wonders if she can read his mind, given the way her eyes trace over his face like she's reading a book. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind if she did read his mind. "I'm fine." She answers the unspoken question lingering thick in the air. The real reason he's looking at her like he is. A laugh lilts at the edges of her insistence and he can tell that she's lying; there's a furrow pulling at her eyebrows that gives her away. He’s learned to look for it. "Why wouldn't I be?" She knows exactly why. But it seems like that's all they talk about, how she is. And she doesn't want to anymore. She's fine. 

Because your ex-husband spent the entire night trying to make you jealous, he wants to say. But he doesn't. He leaves it alone.

Marcus leant back in his chair. He doesn't push it. "No reason." 

Coraline peers at him over the top of her coffee cup — it's almost too big for her hands — but she doesn't press it further, even if she does raise her eyebrows a little. Or, at least, she doesn't get a chance too, because someone is calling out to her from across the coffee shop. "No reason." She repeats with a soft hum. 

She peels her eyes away from Marcus, almost like it's some great hardship to stop looking at him, and turns her smile towards whoever had called her name. He recognises her as Loren Hull, Coraline's childhood best friend, struggling to push through the door with a stroller, even as someone holds the door open for her and another helps her inside. 

Coraline watches with amusement as Loren teeters towards them. "How are you?" She asks as she hugs her. Her attention switches towards the gurgling baby in the stroller; she was chewing on a toy, far too preoccupied to pay attention to anything that was going on around her. That was until she catches sight of Coraline and cries out with glee. "And how's my favourite goddaughter?" She coos. 

Loren huffs out a groan. Her blonde hair is tied haphazardly on top of her head, curls spilling out at either side, falling into her face. There are dark circles beneath her green eyes. "She's great-" She grins down at her daughter for a moment before her head throws back. "But I'm exhausted." She's talking far too fast, the words falling from her mouth, in the same way, an almost nonsensical rambling might. It's almost like she thinks that, if she doesn't talk fast, she'll never be able to get the words out. "I can't stay long- oh, hey, Marcus-" It's like in her hurry and she hasn't noticed he's there until now. He doesn't blame her; Coraline has mentioned that she's still getting to grips with being a single mom. "-but I need coffee otherwise I'm going to pass out."

Coraline is grinning down at Loren's daughter, Maisie, whispering soft 'hello's at her, completely distracted by the baby who seemed just as captivated. The baby giggles and reaches for Cora's fingers, kicking her legs excitedly under the pink blanket. "I could look after her tonight if you need some rest." Her eyes don't leave Maisie, who's tiny fingers wrap tightly around Coraline's pointer finger. Half of him wonders if she'd actually meant to offer her help or if the whispers had come out before she had chance to think them through. 

"You could?" Loren's face lights up with relief. 

"Of course!" Cora's eyes come to rest on Marcus. "Would you mind?" 

"Not at all." He shoots her a smile. They're meant to be seeing a movie. It's some horror film he's never heard of; he isn't a massive fan of horror but Coraline had wanted to see it — it had something to do with her and her father watching horror films together when she was younger, even if they were terrible and laughably cheesy — and had managed to persuade him the night before at the gala, when they were both a little too tipsy and he was trying his best to distract her as Scott's lips dragged over his new girlfriend's neck. He'd glanced up every now and then, just to see if she was watching them. Luckily, she never was. 

"Oh, you're a lifesaver." Loren exhales, like she's been underwater for months and her head has only just poked above the surface. "Both of you." She turns to Marcus and flashes him a bright but exhausted smile. 

"What are best friend's for?" Cora chuckles as Loren pulls away to order her drink. "Drop her off later."

"I'll be by at seven," she announces as she grabs her drink, backing the stroller out of the coffee shop with decidedly more grace than when she'd entered. Patrons part the way for her and she murmurs a 'sorry' at everyone she passes or accidentally whacks with her nappy bag. 

Coraline's eyes linger on the baby for a few moments longer as they leave; her expression flickers, softening, like she's considering something, like she's plagued by conflict. Coraline taps her fingers on the table, perfect pale pink nails rapping a steady beat against the wood. Eventually, her eyebrows furrow and she draws back into herself, like realisation has hit and she's snapped herself back to reality. 

"Are you sure you don't mind? You can find something else to do, you don't have to become a pro bono babysitter with me." She wants him to help her out. She really does. She tries not to let the hopeful glint reach her eyes.

But she feels especially bad because Marcus rarely has days off. It's a rare Sunday when he's in between cases and hasn’t been dragged in on a weekend. And she's dragging him along to look after a baby he's never even met before. 

He shakes his head. "Why would I mind?" He gets to spend time with her. He enjoys her company too much to turn her down.

She shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. He can tell by the way that she scowls that it's gone a little cold. He doesn't know how she drinks it, anyway. There's too much caramel — it was far too sweet — but she seemed to like it and he'd seen her tired self go through three in an hour before. "Changing diapers isn't exactly a thrilling pastime."

"I'm sure I'll live."

Coraline pushes herself to her feet. A breeze ruffles the skirt of her dress, billowing the pale yellow fabric against her knees like it had a mind of its own. She finishes off the last drops of her drink and sighs. "Well, then, we’re going to need some more coffee."

...

Coraline has been rushing around her apartment for most of the day. She isn't sure if she's nervous or if she just has too much caffeine buzzing through her veins. Perhaps it's both. She's not even aware of her surroundings, only that Marcus has been sitting on the couch trying to get her to relax for the past hour and she's fussed meticulously over every square inch of her apartment at least three times. She just needs to keep her hands busy. 

"Cora, she's a baby." He chuckles as Coraline scowls at the magazines on the coffee table. She bends down to straighten them, huffing out an inpatient breath as she does so. "She's not going to care what your apartment looks like."

She ignores him, turning swiftly on her heels to straighten out the woollen throw draping over her couch. "Relax," Marcus insists. He watches her with concern as she pauses, sucks in a shallow breath and turns to slump down against the opposite end of the couch. Her head falls back against the cushions. "What's wrong?"

"It's just-" She doesn't even know what she means to say. She doesn't really have an explanation for it — why she's frantically rushing around her apartment trying to keep her mind off Maisie and the babysitting job she'd found herself — so she doesn't bother offering one. Maybe it's because all she can think about is how much she'd wanted a baby when she was with Scott and how she has no idea what she wants anymore, now that he's gone and she's alone again. Everything's so confusing now; she can barely bring herself to think about it. It just doesn't make sense. Coraline tells Marcus a lot of things (he probably knows more about her than Loren does, and they'd been best friends since they were six) but some things just weren't for sharing. Maybe he already knows. She hopes he does, it would make things much easier, and then she doesn’t have to bite back pointless tears when she eventually tells him. 

Coraline lets out an overly-dramatic sigh and turns her head towards Marcus. He's still watching her, brown eyes softer now. He smiles and she shakes her head to clear away the thoughts. "I'm glad you're here, you know," she admits. Her eyes drag back up to the ceiling. 

"Of course you are. You'd never survive without me." He quips. 

"Oh, sure. How I ever managed to live twenty-eight years without you, I'll never know."

Marcus' eyes crease at the corner as he laughs a little at his joke. "I know you'll be good at this whole baby thing." She lulls her head to the side to watch him; she shuffles against her hip, resting her cheek against the dimpled green couch cushion and watches him as his dark eyes light up. In the time that she's known him, barely even six months, though it seems like far longer, she can only think of a handful of times when she'd seen him without a smile. Even then, most of those were after a long day of paperwork, and she could usually make him smile after a few minutes of prodding at him to tell her what's wrong. 

"I have work early tomorrow." Coraline points out. "This was a bad idea. I should be sleeping."

"Well, you did offer.”

"I know, and it was a terrible idea." She sighs. "Y’know, I think Maisie hates me."

"Maisie is a baby, Cora."

"Babies still have feelings, Marcus."

He chuckles. "She loves you, don't be ridiculous."

His words are punctuated by a knock on the door. It's almost frantic, like whoever's on the other side's intentions are urgent. Coraline groans a little as she stands up; she knows exactly who it is and she drags her feet towards the door, trying her best to push past her concern. She lowers her head to the door's peephole before yanking it open. She has a wide grin on her face when she greets Loren and Maisie. "Good evening." Her voice is lilting, soft and bright and cheerful, like Marcus is used to hearing. It makes him smile, the way she's gone from a worry that seemed to be spreading rapidly through her back to her bright self. He's never seen her so panicked, even around her ex; she's normally so laid back and relaxed. 

Coraline pulls the door open a little further before sweeping Maisie and her stroller inside. Loren murmurs that she's asleep and Cora starts to rock the stroller back and forth, trying her best to keep the baby asleep for as long as she can. It gave her time to regain her scattered composure. Marcus pushes himself up from the armchair he'd been reclined in and sweeps over to take Maisie from Coraline and away from the entryway. 

"Oh-" It startles her a little, when his hands reach out and fingers accidentally brush over her wrist. "Thank you." She smiles at him softly as he backs the stroller out into the living room. 

"Marcus is here?" Loren's eyes light up and a grin pulls at her lips when he falls out of earshot. Her eyebrows raise playfully. 

"Yes."

Her grin only widens. "Are you on a date?"

"No." Coraline scoffs. 

Loren doesn't seem to be giving up and she certainly doesn't believe her. She never does, not usually. She seems to have convinced herself that Cora and Marcus are in love or secretly dating, or both. "This is a date, isn't it?"

"It's not a date, Loren." Cora rolls her eyes but she can't help but smile. She tried to conceal it but she can't stifle the way her corners quirk upwards. It's most definitely not a date — that had ever even crossed her mind — and it's just hilarious how Loren seems to be convinced that her oldest friend is harbouring a secret affection for her best friend. She looks between them both with a glint in her blue eyes, like she knows something they don't and she's just waiting for them to figure it out. Except there’s nothing to figure out. They’re friends. Just friends.

"Whatever you say.” She giggles. Loren smiles back at Marcus, who's stood back by the couch, rocking the stroller back and forth. Coraline follows her gaze and smiles fondly at him; he's not paying attention to them and he doesn't notice the way they're both watching him. 

"We're just friends," Coraline insists again as she turns back to Loren. 

"Sure you are." She smirks. ”I promise I won’t say ‘I told you so’.”

"Just go." Coraline takes her best friend by the shoulders and guides her back out of the door but she can't help the smile that spills onto her lips again. 

"Can I be your maid of honour?"

"Go home and sleep!" 

"Please!"

"I'm shutting the door now, goodbye."

"There are diapers in the bag and she's already been fed," Loren adds hastily as Coraline inched the door shut. "I'll be back in a few hours."

...

Maisie slept for a little while, but now she's wide awake, giggling and trying her best to grab Coraline's curls. The baby sits on Cora's lap, small fingers reaching out towards her insistently. She'd offer her one of the toys Loren had left for her but she only seems interested in them for a few seconds before Coraline's hair tumbles over her shoulder and she grows distracted again. 

She's torn between tying her hair up or just letting Maisie tug on it to her heart's content. But she doesn't; she just lightly whispers no with a shake of her head, a smile and a shake of whatever toy she reaches for first. And it's a never-ending cycle until finally, Maisie decides that hair isn't for her and she prefers the blue teething ring that Coraline reaches for last.

"You really are great with her,” Marcus comments. 

She chuckles, a breathy laugh through her nose. "I'm great with everyone." She pokes her tongue at the corner of her lip and grins. He notices, when she does that, says something about herself being great or that she's good at something, her cheeks flush pink a little. She only means it as a joke, he knows that, but it's almost like it embarrasses her to say or think anything like that. Her eyes betray the way she struggles with it. 

"I have nephews." She shrugs. "I was a great babysitter back in the day."

Maisie makes a gleeful noise, halfway between a squeal and a laugh, and drops the teething ring to the sofa, disinterested. She makes a grab for Coraline's hair again, reaching forward to try and swipe it between her fingers. But Cora's own fingers block her clutches. "No," she whispers quietly with a smile and a chuckle. She pushes her small hand away gently but Maisie delights in it, face illuminating in a grin, and reaches out for Coraline’s curls insistently. 

Marcus reaches down to pick up the toy as Coraline laughs, too distracted to even bother. His arm brushes hers as he does so. She's always struck by how warm he is. The first time she'd noticed it, the day they'd first met, she thought it was because of the sun streaming in through the briefing room’s glass windows. But she’d noticed it every single time he’d touched her since — even just the slightest touch or brush of a hand — until she thinks she’s used to it. She isn’t. His touch warms whatever bare skin it touches immediately and she shudders; Marcus doesn't seem to notice and she's glad because she doesn't want to explain that one fleeting touch from him warms up her entire, otherwise freezing, body.

It's a cliche, she knows that. The kind of cliche you read about in cheesy romance novels. It makes her cheeks burn — Coraline knows she's going bright red; she can feel it crawling slowly over her skin and she shivers like there's a cold breeze dancing it's way up the back of her neck — because she doesn't know what it means. She's never really felt it before she met him, this odd, confusing burn that started in her chest, then blooms out like flowers through her whole body. She usually just brushes it off because it happens whenever and wherever, without warning It just arrives out of the blue, triggered by a glance or a laugh or the briefest touch of a hand. It's ridiculous but she can't help but turn it over and over and over in her mind at night, when she tries to sleep, until she's restless and staring at the wooden beams that stretch across her bedroom ceiling. 

"Do you want kids?" Coraline asks. It’s out of the blue. Her expression almost makes it seem like she wants him to ask her the question, like she's desperate to talk about it with someone, anyone, before it bursts from her chest. Although, he can't help but wonder if she never meant to ask, or if she regrets asking, given the way her eyes fall back to Maisie who's resumed her chewing on the teething ring again. Though, Coraline barely realises she's given anything away. Then again, she doesn't even realise that there is anything to give away. She's so enchanted by the baby and the brush of Marcus' arm against hers that she's giving away maybe a little more than she intends. It's strange to see her like this given her flustered panic of just an hour earlier. 

Marcus takes a moment, a pause to figure out the right answer, then he nods a little. "I would, yes. Some day." He pauses for another second, watching the way her eyes glimmer as she looks at her goddaughter. He already knows her answer before he even asks the question. Or, at least, the real answer. "Do you?"

Coraline's eyes light up; her blue eyes look like the sky on a sunny day. "Maybe," she hums. When she looks up to meet his eyes, the small smile she gives betrays the truth. But she cuts it off like it's wrong or forbidden or downright ridiculous, like she shouldn't feel those things. He notices the way her lips falter like she's biting back the urge to say something, a secret on the tip of her tongue, and how she tugs her lower lip in between her teeth to stop her from smiling again. 

He thinks he knows what makes her so unsure about that. Why she cuts herself off and seems to tell herself it's wrong. She's mentioned it once before, when she was tired — she talks a lot when she's tired, but it's mostly incoherent mumblings that he has to admit, he finds adorable — that Scott didn't want kids. Marcus has never brought up what she’d told him (if she really wants him to know, she'd have told him by now, when she's completely coherent and conscious) but it tugs at the edge of his thoughts as her sentences go quiet when she sees a mother and their baby. They make her smile fondly. It's a smile that's been all-too-lacking since her divorce. 

He understands. It’s happened to him before, twice now. Twice he’s faced heartbreak, that horrible moment when things go sour. When you’re left with a million little ‘what ifs’, wondering where exactly things went so wrong. Wondering if there was anything you could have done, anything at all, to make things better. It’s a dull ache that sits deep in his chest. And it’s agonising. He hates how familiar the feeling has become. 

Marcus has never told her about his past relationships - about his first marriage and eventual divorce, about his last engagement and how it had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, how he’d found himself alone in D.C. without a soul in the world to talk to - and he also hasn’t told her that meeting her was like a fresh start, like the sun had finally peaked through the rain clouds that had hung over his head for so long. She’d helped him settle, finally, even after six months struggling to feel at home in a new, lonely city. She’d welcomed him, helped him find new friends, and stuck by him the entire time. She doesn’t have to be his friend; he’s sure she has much cooler, younger friends that don’t spend most of their days hunched over an ever-growing mountain of paperwork or hidden away inside some tiny downtown art gallery. Sure, he’d be upset if their weekly meetings came to a halt, but he wouldn’t blame her if she chose someone more like herself over him.

Mostly, Marcus just hadn't wanted to dredge up old feelings, not when she was in the thick of a divorce and clearly struggling, no matter how much she pretended she was okay. So he never told her what had happened. When she'd confided in him for the first time those few short months ago, spilling her deepest secrets, staying up until 3am just pouring her heart out to him over the phone, he'd wondered if it was best to tell her. To let her know that he knew how she felt, that he understood. But he still hasn't. She’s asked about his past before, nagging until he relented and revealed things he's never really had much trouble revealing before, and he has told her parts of it. But he usually skirts around the details, like there's nothing important to reveal. He isn't sure why he does it, especially when she opens up to him so easily. He guesses that the moment has never seemed right. 

Maisie's hand is twisted into the fabric of Coraline's dress. She shakes the teething ring in her hands like it's a rattle. "I've never had the chance," she admits, suddenly. "To have kids."

"You've still got time."

"Barely." She sighs. He raises an eyebrow, like he's asking her what she means, but she doesn't continue. She waves a hand and brushes off his concern. "It's not important," she insists. 

But it is important. He knows it is. And, if it matters to her, it matters to him.

[dyker-farmer]

Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do. 

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably. 

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh. 

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning. 

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.