#but like in the last month ive taken up knitting again

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

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[calcifermovesthecastle]

Shared Language

Ghiaccio x Florist!Reader, gn pronouns, fluff ending

1000 follower giveaway for @therealcozyy after a million years I’m so sorry

Warnings: kind of angst, hospitalization and IV’s but nothing major

At the end of a busy day, all you want to do is close up shop and trudge to the apartment the floor above you, and collapse into bed. Thirteen Bridal Bouquets, Add on roughly six each for bridesmaids, as well as walkin customers have you frenzied and harrowed and exhausted, your hands aching with the amount of work you pulled today. Annoyance shoots through you when you hear the patronizing ring of the bell, signaling someone new, and you squeeze your eyes shut, collecting yourself before you turn around. 

"I'm horribly sorry, but we are closed for the night, so-" Your voice trails off when your eyes graze over the Passione pin glinting on the man's shirt, and you visibly wilt when your eyes travel up to his face. "Of course. How much do I owe you?" 

"It's a protection fee. It's not any lower or higher than it's ever been," He responds, looking just as annoyed with the situation as you feel. You sigh, biting your tongue, and crouch behind the counter, skimming the shelves for the envelope you usually keep the fee in. 

"Right, here you are. Um, let me count it out just to make sure I have it all, if that's alright?" 

His eyes meet yours, narrowing, before he shrugs, resting his hands on the counter. You flip through the bills, organizing them by every fifty euros. He watches you count like a hawk, his eyes flicking to your face when you purse your lips in a particular way and freeze. 

"Shit." 

You disappear into the back office, and he can see you rummaging around, looking more and more stressed as you go. 

"Is there a problem?" He calls after you, an edge to his voice.

"No, no, it's-" You come back out to the front, looking near tears as you open the cash register. Your voice cracks when you speak again. "No, there's not a problem. Give me just a moment." 

By the time you've finished counting, there's ten euros left in the register, and tears have started to pool into your eyes. You have to swallow to speak, and when you do, your voice is soft and catches on each word. 

"There. Ten-Ten thousand Euros." You recount once more just to make sure it's all there, tucking it back into the envelope and handing it over to him. His eyebrows knit as he glances to your register, and your lip trembles when you speak again. "Now, really, sir, I do have to close up for the night." 

Even though he's left your shop, he remains in his car, watching you lean over your desk and cry as you appear to do some calculations. Wordlessly, he drives away. 

    -

You're in the middle of arguing with a customer on the price of a standard funeral basket when the bell rings, and one glance over at the door has you panicking. 

"Shit, sir, you need to leave," You usher the fuming customer out the door and swivel, your eyes wide, at the man from last night. "Was it not enough?! Are you going to take my-" 

"Woah, slow down!" He holds up his hands. "I just- do you want- cazzo," He spits, shoving his hands in his pockets. You shift nervously, hysteria quickly threatening to well up past your throat. "Shit. I saw that you didn't have much left yesterday, so I wanted to- buy you lunch." 

You aren't sure if you heard him properly, but when what he says finally registers, your legs crumple underneath you. 

You wake to a concerned blue haired man, and a curious purple haired one who's taking your pulse and checking you over for injuries. 

"Oh, good, you're awake," The purple haired one smiles cooly, helping you sit up. You press a hand to the back of your head, wincing. "Ghiaccio here called me in a frenzy when you passed out. I'd pass out too if he ever asked me out to eat." 

The blue haired one- Ghiaccio, glares daggers at his companion, practically frothing at the mouth, his teeth grinding back and forth. The purple haired one pays him no mind, continuing his conversation with you as if you were old friends. 

"I don't think you need to go to the hospital, but my advice is close early and get some rest. 

"I- what?" Your mind is still trying to catch up to what's happening- two men from Passione acting so casual with you it's like you've known them for years. You frown, gingerly rubbing the back of your head. Not Ghiaccio chuckles, the corners of his lips quirking up with the action as he repeats himself. 

"I- I can't. I can't afford to close early. My rent is due in three days and I have 300 euros. That makes me 1700 euros short and if I'm short again I'll lose my business." 

"Have you eaten since last night?" Ghiaccio speaks up, his words harsher than he probably intends. You stare at him blankly. 

"No?" 

"Do you want to?" 

"I-" You glance at the clock. "I would, but…" 

"What if we brought you some food back here?" Not Ghiaccio coos, earning a death glare from his companion. You bite your lip, slowly getting to your feet. 

"I guess so? If you're offering." 

"I'll be back in forty minutes," Ghiaccio ushers his companion out of your shop, and you're left alone to mull over what happened. 

True to his word, he strolls back into your shop forty five minutes later, a bottle of water and a box of margherita pizza in hand. He sets it on your counter, biting his bottom lip nervously. 

"Are you pitying me?" You ask him quietly, reaching out for the bottle of water, pausing just before you grasp it.

"Since when is doing something nice for someone pitying them?" He looks genuinely taken aback, and you can see anger rising in his face. You decide to let the issue go, opening the box and taking a slice of pizza. 

"It's not something you had to do," You take a bite, feeling a little awkward that you're eating in front of him. "But thank you." 

He takes a slice of pizza for himself, looking uncomfortably stiff as he eats. You share a tense silence with him, your mind reeling with the possibilities of his presence. 

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" 

"I could ask you the same thing," You turn to him, pulled out of your funk. "You're standing in my lobby still as a statue, looking like I just gave you the worst news of your life." 

"What the hell does that mean?" He snaps, stiffening even more. You cover your mouth to hide the smile forming on your lips. Maybe you could enjoy his company after all. 

"It means if your eyebrows knit together any further, you're going to form a unibrow," You take a discreet sip of the water he gave you, laughing when he swivels to face the window, trying to see what you're describing. 

His heart stutters when he hears it, the way your mirth sounds so musical and carefree. God, he thinks to himself. He could listen to that forever.

"Hey, listen," You set the bottle of water down, moving around behind the counter for a moment. When you look satisfied, he watches as you come around the counter and present him with a small bouquet, mixed with white clover, pink sweet pea, Hydrangeas, and peach colored roses. "Thank you."

His face burns as he reaches out and takes the flowers, his heart hammering in his chest when his hand grazes yours. You smile gently at him, retreating back behind the counter. He can't find anything else to say, so he gives you a gruff goodbye and leaves your shop, sitting in his car long after he arrives home. 

-

"Who're the flowers from?" Prosciutto looks up from his book, eyebrow raised in question as Ghiaccio enters the hideout. Ghiaccio balks, stammering in a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 

"The florist three blocks down. Why do you need to know?" 

"Oh? They never give me flowers when I collect their protection fee," Prosciutto hums, tilting his head. 

"When's the last time you bought them lunch?" Melone drapes himself over the back of the couch Prosciutto lounges on, grinning coyly at Ghiaccio as he searches for a vase. Prosciutto hums again in understanding. 

"Their shop still not doing too well, huh? How much did they have left this time?" 

"You make it sound like you want their business to fail," Pesci whines, jutting his lower lip out. "They're always so nice to me when I collect the fee. They'd lose their home if they shut down." 

"They had ten euros," Ghiaccio answers, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, setting the arrangement of flowers inside and carrying it to his room. He gingerly places it on his windowsill, tilting it until he's satisfied that it would get the best amount of sunlight. Prosciutto appears in the door, entering without asking and leaning over Ghiaccio's shoulder to peer at the flowers. His mouth quirks up into a smile when he's satisfied and turns to leave. 

"What? What's that face for?" Ghiaccio stops him from leaving, his tone demanding. Prosciutto looks too smug for his own good, his eyes slanted downwards as he studies Ghiaccio's form. 

"Look up the meaning of those flowers and you'll understand," Prosciutto sidesteps and leaves with a wave of his hand, leaving Ghiaccio fuming. 

-

He had wanted to come by sooner, but unfortunately, got caught up in an odd schedule where he'd travel from job to job, and got stuck in Rome for a month on a hit that only paid One Hundred thousand euros. By the time he'd come back home, he did nothing but sleep and keep up on the paperwork for two days. 

The next time he shows up at your shop, you're not there, and the windows and doors have been boarded up. The sign on the entrance says "Gone out of business."    

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" He kicks the door frame furiously with each swear, earning some strange glances and some comments. 

"Christ, man, they weren't even the best florist in town. It's a wonder they stayed afloat as long as they did." 

"Heard it was because they couldn't pay their rent this month. Honestly, with how much Passione charges, it's not even a protection fee anymore, it's an eviction notice waiting to happen." 

"Honestly, they're just flowers. Why is he so worked up?" 

"The person running the shop wasn't even that personable." 

The crowd he'd accumulated falls silent when he turns around, his expression nothing less than smoldering. Some furtive glances at his pin, and soon, the street is empty. 

He meanders back home, kicking pebbles to the side, glowering at anyone even remotely in his way, and slams the door so hard it almost falls off of the hinges when he arrives, earning a displeased look from Prosciutto. 

"What's the matter with you?" 

"Where the fuck are they?" 

"That's rather vague," Prosciutto lights a cigarette and leans back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee. "Did you have a hit go wrong, or-" 

"The fucking-" Ghiaccio all but stomps over to where his colleague sits, ripping the cigarette from his mouth and taking a deep dreg himself. Prosciutto's brow furrows in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything as he pulls out another from his silver case and lights it. "The florist. They went out of business. Where did they go?" 

"Like I should know the answer to that," Prosciutto scoffs, tapping his ashes into the tray on the end table. Ghiaccio follows suit, taking another deep inhale, sputtering when it goes up his nose. Prosciutto huffs again, shrugging. "What am I? A babysitter? I told you they were going to go under." 

"Well, who collected their fee last?" Ghiaccio throws himself into the chair perpendicular to Prosciutto, tapping his ashes out. Prosciutto hums. 

"Had to have been Risotto. The rest of us were all on hits at the time it's usually collected." 

Ghiaccio bolts up, putting out his half smoked cigarette, earning a glare from Prosciutto. 

"If you're going to steal my smokes, the least you could do is finish them. These are expensive, you know." 

"Then buy a cheaper brand," Ghiaccio retaliates, walking back towards Risotto's office. "We're on a budget anyways, aren't we?"

Just barely in earshot, he can hear Prosciutto telling him to fuck off. Inhaling deeply, he knocks on his capo's door. 

-

"No clue." 

"What the fuck do you mean, no clue?" Ghiaccio's voice is nearing hysterics, and he taps his foot fast, his eyes blown wide. Risotto's demeanor doesn't change, he just hums. 

"Exactly that. I collected their fee two weeks ago. I was in and out. I didn't even know they were shut down until just five minutes ago, when you burst in here screaming about it." 

"Cazzo. CAZZO! Fine, I'll find them myself!" 

"You said Melone went and helped you with a fainting spell they had? See if he can help." 

"See if that slimy- oh." 

-

Of course. 

Of course it had to snow. 

You sit against the brick wall of the alleyway, doing your best to ignore the drug deal to your left, and the way your stomach twists painfully. 

"Hey! Hey, you!" 

You hunker down, your brow furrowed miserably, and close in on yourself a little more to stave off the cold. 

"Hey, you, on the ground! Get the fuck outta here. This is my turf!" Your screamer's legs appear in front of you, and you look up at him, dead eyed. "Jeez, you look like real shit, you know? When's the last time you ate?" 

"Leave me alone." 

"What, not even a hello?" Your perpetrator sneers, crouching to your level. You don't have it in you to even glare. You're too hungry. He scoffs, eyeing you. "Tch. Find somewhere else to starve to death, huh? You're making it hard for me to do my business." 

"Do you have to humiliate me any more than I already am?" You sigh, trying to get to your feet. "Fine. Just leave me alone."

You lean heavily on the wall, your legs trembling underneath you. Homelessness has not treated you well, and the stares your emaciated body receive only further your spiral into despair. 

You've barely made it to the next alley over when your legs give out, and you collapse face first into the accumulated snow. Hazily, you think to yourself that you have to get something to drink somehow, and pull yourself up, grabbing handfuls and shoving it into your mouth, nevermind how cold you already are, your thin long sleeves and tattered excuse for pants clinging wetly to your body. The only thing you can do now is wish for death to come faster than it does. You fall down onto your side and stare blankly at the opposite wall, willing yourself to fall asleep. 

You think you see a pair of legs come to a halt in front of you before you slip into a haze. 

-

When you wake again, a flat white ceiling greets you instead of a cloudy sky, and you notice the weight of a blanket on you. Hazily, you glance over and notice an IV drip hanging out of your arm, and a somewhat familiar blond haired man in a suit sitting next to your bed, smoking a cigarette and absentmindedly reading a newspaper. His eyes flick over when he senses your movement, and his brow shoots up. The paper is set aside, and he takes a generous hit from his cigarette before speaking. 

"Good morning. We weren't sure if you were going to pull out of that or not. You've been asleep for almost four days. It's funny. You lose your business, and suddenly, you drop off of our radar. It was quite a chore to find you, you know." 

"Are you mocking me?" You croak, trying to pull yourself up into a sitting position. The blond appraises you for a minute, puffing smoke out of his mouth. "Are we in a hospital? I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to smoke in hospitals." 

"I doubt the staff is going to give me a hard time," The man speaks lightly, lounging back. "You certainly are something. You've been awake two minutes and you already have a smart mouth?" A small smile lights up his features. "I guess you could say that you're a trooper." 

"I'm starving," You bite your lip, turning away, your eyes widening when you finally place the man. "Shit! You're from Passione! Oh my god, oh, I lost my-" 

"I already know that," The man waves you off. "I'm just here to keep an eye on you and take you home once you get discharged." 

"But I don't- I don't have a home," You place your thumbnail between your teeth, looking at him anxiously. He dismisses you again, snubbing out his smoke.

"That's why I'm here, kid." 

His vagueness annoys you, but one glance at the box of apple juice and ham sandwich on your bedside tray has anything you want to say dying in your mouth, and by the time you've scarfed it down, tears spark at the corner of your eyes, and any animosity towards the gangster has dissipated. 

"Thank you." 

-

The blond- he's since introduced himself as Prosciutto, drives in silence away from the hospital, not saying anything to you about where you're going. You fidget nervously in the passenger seat, jumping when he parks the care and tells you that you've arrived. 

You're still a little unsteady on your feet, so Prosciutto guides you down the stairs with a hand on the small of your back, and leans across you to unlock and open the door. The minute you step inside, you're greeted with almost everyone who's come to collect your protection fees. The only one missing is the blue haired one who bought you lunch- Ghiaccio. 

The...boss… Risotto, as introduced, gives you a quick tour of your new residence, telling you that everything is free range, that he's going to have you take on some of the deskwork in return, and shows you to your room. Inside is a bed and a few changes of clothes in the closet. At this point, you're teetering on the edge of bawling your eyes out, and you can barely choke out a thank you, giving him a wobbly smile. You swear you can see him smile in return. 

-

You're sitting on the edge of your bed that night, fidgeting nervously, your mind spinning 100 miles per hour, when there's a knock at your door. You practically jump out of your skin, and call out a shaky "Come In." 

The door creaks open slowly, and there he is, his hands hidden behind his back. 

Ghiaccio. 

You stand slowly, your eyes searching his face. 

"Did you-" You catch yourself, starting towards him hesitantly. He seems just as hesitant as he walks towards you. "Did you make this happen?" 

"Not really," His voice is soft and hoarse, and the way his brow is furrowed tells you just how worried he was, but the light in his eyes shows you how relieved he feels to see you in person again. "I just suggested it, really. Sort of… Panicked... When I saw your- your shop-" His voice falters when you reach out and grab his shoulder. Tears are welling in your eyes for what feels like the eightieth time today, and your lower lip trembles when your hand comes in contact with him. He's a little cold to the touch, but it's comforting and refreshing. 

"Thank you," You manage. He swallows thickly, revealing his hands and shoving something harshly in your direction. He's beet red now, and looking anywhere but you. You grab it, taken aback, and look down to inspect it. 

Now you really start to cry, tears spilling onto the arrangement of Daffodils, Daisies, purple lilacs, irises, and lavender roses. So much said in one little bouquet. A sob expels from your throat, and you look up at him, catching him watching you out of the corner of his eye. 

You set the flowers on your bed, stepping forward to wrap your arms around him. 

"They're good?" He sounds nervous, and stiffens at the contact. 

"They're wonderful," You confirm, your voice thick as you bury your face into his shoulder. His arms wind around you, then, and you can hear the relief in his voice when he murmurs to you again. 

"Welcome home."

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 16

<- Part 15 | Part 17 ->

Summary: A flirtatious moment in the hospital garden turns sour. 

Warnings: Brief nsfw themes, injury-recovery angst, post-traumatic stress/flashbacks, graphic past injuries, KISSING, hurt/comfort. Love and fluff. 

3,700 words

After being gutted left him with a limp, a cane, and an overbearing sense of weakness, Frederick Chilton began copying Hannibal Lecter. His patterned suits, his clean-shaven face. The mimicry wasn’t deliberate exactly, but he looked to a man who radiated calm dignity and strength, and tried to capture some of it for his own.

It didn’t work. Frederick Chilton was still Frederick Chilton.

But shaving the beard did make him look younger. The razor glided over his smooth cheek as he cut through the facial hair that had grown unruly in the hospital. A new man stared back at him. One not traumatized by Gideon’s knife.

Only a few months later, he was shot in the face, and let the stubble grow back to distract from the scar. To obscure the hollowing where maxillary bone was missing. Like a chameleon, Frederick was always changing—hairstyles, wardrobes, colognes—always imitating someone, drawing the eye away from a flaw, never comfortable with himself. Ever improving. Refining. Hiding.

Every day, the burn ward’s physical therapists had him using one exercise machine or another. A pedaling machine lowered over his bed so he could build muscle while lying on his back before he was able to walk. The next step was a tall, rolling frame that he strapped into like a fighter pilot hanging from a parachute harness, which allowed him to take a few weightless steps. His legs shook. His feet did not know how to align themselves on the ground anymore. He hissed curses when you cheered him on just for shuffling one foot forward along the smooth grey linoleum.

One damned foot.

As if he couldn’t walk before. As if one shaking, machine-assisted step was an accomplishment. He was an overgrown baby in a Jumperoo.

While he could not walk on his own yet, he could get into and out of a wheelchair without screaming bloody murder. This allowed him a new level of freedom, if not autonomy. He still required two nurses to lower him into the chair. Still needed help getting to the bathroom. But he could at least use the bathroom instead of a bedpan and catheter.

Healing came at a cost.

Until now, he had caught flashes of his reflection in polished surfaces. Warped teeth in a metal IV pole. The fuzzy silhouette of a mask in the black of his computer screen.

He stood with his hands on the bathroom sink, staring. The nurse at his left elbow tugged him, told him it was time to sit back down in the chair. He needed support to stand, a babysitter to ensure he didn’t fall, and she was tired of waiting.

The thing staring back at him did not move.

When he took the compression mask off for the one hour per day he was allowed to remove it for cleaning, he somehow expected to find his own face beneath it. Skin. What he saw was a stranger. Gnarled scars made an uneven backdrop for one dead blue eye and a skeletal grimace. His own bones were buried somewhere underneath like bedrock, but the flesh was rearranged and distorted.

If he had met this man a year ago, Dr. Chilton would have felt inward pride at his ability not to sicken at the sight. He would have shaken his hand with a smug, professional detachment that said, “I am accustomed to horrific things in my line of work—abnormal psychiatry. This does not shock me as it would a layperson.”

He was a creature to be pitied.

Then a familiar reflection appeared out of the blind spot of his left side. Your image wrapped its hand behind the broken stranger, and he felt it land on his lower back. Warm. Comforting as your face, which was knit with worry. You told the nurse you could handle it from here, and she retreated out to his room.

When she was gone, Frederick began to laugh, dark and cruel, eyes never leaving the matching set staring cruelly back.

“What is it?” you asked, tightening your grip on his arm as he began to tremble.

“Do you think I look younger without a beard?”

The laugh cracked in his throat. His shoulders heaved as he finally looked away. It was too embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.

***

The heat of July was not easy on a body that could no longer sweat and was covered head to toe in a compression suit, but Frederick Chilton was thrilled to be outside. As the automatic sliding doors opened, he breathed in deeply through the nose and exhaled the spinning summer fragrances with a blissful sigh.

You resisted the urge to tease him. Of the pair, you were the more outdoorsy by far, and the last time you dragged him camping, he’d managed to complain the entire two days. He was not, generally, one to appreciate sunshine and birdsong. But this was different.

It was his first time away from the lifeless hospital air—the same smells day after day—in four months.

Now a breeze hit his face—a breeze! He had forgotten what that felt like—and brought with it the smell of cut grass and flowers, and exhaust fumes from the nearby roadways. The scent of gasoline urged his stomach to wring itself empty, but it was faint and easy enough to shake off as sparrows chirped and flitted about the hospital’s “meditation garden.”

Gently curving paths snaked through the landscaping of lush greenery and small trees. Few flowers were planted, out of respect for patients with allergies, but a fountain at the center babbled soothingly. The walkways were wide and smoothly paved, so the grey wheels of the hospital-issue wheelchair rolled over them easily, performing their function despite being over-worked and worn down, not unlike the staff. The black rubber handle grips had a dull patina from hundreds of hands, yours being the latest to circle around them as you pushed.

It was nice to have a private courtyard to enjoy the fresh air without the eyes of the general public watching.

Frederick was able to wear clothes from home now, but they had to be loose-fitting and short-sleeved to not interfere with his treatment. In a navy polo shirt and athletic shorts, he felt horrifically under-dressed, and did not want to be seen that way. The fashion crime was almost as bad as the face he could not bear looking at.

An elderly patient and what appeared to be her adult daughter sat on one of the benches between two daylily patches, blooming garishly cheerful red and gold. The daughter looked up, and Chilton looked away.

“You are certain you checked the bedroom closet? Left-hand side, second drawer to the bottom?” he asked again, agitation rising.

He was looking for the more fashionable Chino shorts he rarely wore, preferring to overheat in long pants than expose his pale, door-knob knees to imagined ridicule. You told him the housekeeper must have misplaced them.

He clenched his fist as tightly as the pink, shiny-scarred claw could manage and went on a gruff, impotent rant about the help growing careless without him to keep them in check. (If anything, the “help” were desperate to keep you in check without him there to manage your habit of leaving everything out—your clothes on a chair, the cereal box on the counter.)

“I know, I know. Awful,” you nodded along to the music of his words, if not the lyrics. You wished he would change the subject, but he pressed on with his investigation of the Case of the Missing Shorts.

“Mrs. Pérez brought a load of laundry down from the bedroom last Wednesday,” he noted. Frederick had taken to watching the security feeds remotely from his laptop. “Has she been using the cheap dry cleaner on Cherry Street instead of the good one so she can skim the difference? I have explicitly instructed the staff not to use them—they have lost or ruined several articles over the years. Inform Mrs. Pérez that I will not stand for lazy—what?”

Your tense smile began emanating a tenser whine.

It was rather suspicious.

Frederick watched you for a moment, puzzled, and then resumed, “The new security guard shares my pant size. Perhaps—”

“I DID IT. I brought them to Good Will.”

“You what?!”

Clicking the wheelchair brake, you doubled over the back of it, laughing at your childish ruse and how seriously Frederick had taken it. God, the man could never let anything go! “Over a year ago! You never wore them!”

“Come here.” His clipped tone did not invite argument.

You walked around to the front of his chair, the repentant pout on your face strongly undermined by rounded cheeks that were barely holding back a chuckle.

He growled with affectionate anger—the kind where he wanted to grab behind your knees and pull you into his lap, telling you with a low purr exactly how much trouble you were in. Except at the moment, your weight crashing onto his skinny, bony lap would have bruised a femur and torn five stitches. And if he was not confident enough for a kiss, he was in no condition to promise punishments of that nature.

So he gave your rump a sharp smack and tried to make his mouth smirk in that playfully disdainful way that said, “I love you, but I am going to kill you. You know that, right?” Sometimes wanting to kill someone can be such a personal, intimate love language.

“Doctor Chilton!” you gasped, feigning shock. “Such a naughty patient. I have told you time and again, this is simply unprofessional.”

The old woman and daughter had moved on, leaving you alone in the garden.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, catching on to the new game you were playing. Back when he was the administrator of the BSHCI, you would often saunter into his office playing the oversexed patient to his sleazy therapist. Now the roles were reversed.

“You protest,” he said in a low, lecherous tone, “and yet you continue to lavish extra attention on me. Do not think I have not noticed.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” you deflected coyly. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

He grabbed your hand and spun you to face him, skeletal fingers interlocking with yours. Even through the compression glove, you could feel how skinny they had become, knobby knuckles protruding.

“Doctor,” he corrected.

You swallowed. “Doctor.”

“Why deny it? You guard all my treatments for yourself like a prize when other nurses could do it. You crawl into my bed to warm me with your body heat—hardly standard practice. I think you like the attention,” he said, giving your ass another lurid slap.

“D-Doctor! I’m not supposed to—we’re not supposed to…”

“If you worked at my hospital, I would fire you for such fraternization. Yet you call me unprofessional.” His hand still rested on your ass.

“You would fire me, doctor? Why fire me when there is so much I could offer?”

“And what is it you would offer me?” he asked, voice thick with meaning. His fingers kneaded the fat of your ass gently. It would have been harder, more possessive, if his hands were at full strength.

Not long ago, getting an erection had been painful, though he’d had several corrective surgeries since then, and the grafting had time to heal. Perhaps the sunlight was sparking him back to life. He was in a flirtatious mood—more excited than you’d seen him in a long time, and you were not about to tell him to slow down.

“Anything you want, doctor.” You lowered yourself in front of his chair, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him expectantly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

No one else was in the garden, and statues and shrubberies hid it from the road, but it was not entirely private. Anyone could walk in or see from a window of the tall buildings. You were just pretending. You weren’t going to slip his cock out right there and suck it for all the world to see. And yet… it had been so long. The thought of your moist lips closing over his lonely, aching hardness, your head bobbing in his lap���

“You… are fascinated with me, nurse,” he observed, licking his non-lips. His composure was holding, but barely. “You have seen many patients, but never one as badly burned, have you?”

“No.”

“Does it excite you?”

You took a moment before answering. Part of him resented you for still finding him attractive. At his lowest, he even blamed you for wanting these brutal injuries to happen. A bird sang a few metallic notes on a nearby branch before fluttering down to drink from the fountain. You stroked the top of his narrow thighs, careful not to push too far by going near his cock, but he showed no sign of hesitation today. The heat in his eyes as he watched you was not accusing, but hungry.

“Yes,” you panted. “You are striking. I’ve never met anyone so strong, so resilient.”

“Do you dream of kissing me? Your most striking patient?”

“Yes.”

The sun beat down hotter, but it was only your own internal temperature rising. The birds seemed to pause in their songs, and the leaves on the trees ceased to flutter.

You had waited so long—was he really asking?

His gloved hand reached down between his legs, and nailless pink fingertips stroked the side of your face thoughtfully a few times. Then he motioned you to get up off your knees, offering his hand as a symbolic gesture only. You put some of your weight on the padded rubber armrest as you stood.

“It will not be pleasant. For either party, I imagine,” he said, breaking character.

“It will be for me.” Your voice was soft.

“I do not know what to do like this. Mash my teeth against your face?”

You laughed a little. It was probably more nuanced than that, but that sounded basically accurate. “We’ll find out together.”

He looked off into the distance, toward the humming road weaving through the city. A warm breeze brought the smell of sea off the harbor: salty, humid, and stagnant with rotted fish and garbage. “The memory of your lips against mine is already fading,” he said. “That memory is all I have left of them. Whatever this will be, it will not feel the same.”

“I know.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. The dark blue polo was informal for his old life, but the woven cotton texture was rich compared to the thin hospital gowns you were used to him wearing. The last kiss you shared with Frederick was preserved behind a glass display case in your memory palace. A new kiss might break the hermetic seal. You could forget what it felt like to kiss him before. But it seemed worth the price to build new memories—a future just as full of love as the past.

He looked up at you like a broken ceramic being pieced back together with gold. His eyes shone with love, but his shoulders were slumped low.

“You may say I’m a slutty nurse for wanting to kiss my patient, but you’re to blame!” you said, playing the game again. “How could I resist your charm? I bet you seduce every nurse—I’m only your latest conquest!”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“No, my dear,” he purred, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to him until your face was inches from his. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He breathed in. He nodded.

You leaned the final inch down, and pressed your lips to his teeth.

The Red Dragon’s teeth sunk through flesh and tore deep. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, the taste so metallic and strong it drowned out almost everything else out—the pain, the unnatural tearing, little pops of veins, ligaments, and muscles stretching to their limits before giving up, his own screams. The truth of his face with all its illusions of grandeur was revealed before him: it was just meat. Nothing but raw, shredded meat.

“NO!” he screamed, and pushed you hard.

It was different than the peevish denials other times you’d tried to kiss. He pushed you away with so much force you staggered backward, and his wheelchair nearly tipped over. It reared on two wheels like a panicked horse and would have fallen except the worn brake gave way, and he shot backward several feet until the vacant bench stopped the chair’s momentum.

“No, no! Get away! No!” he begged no one, shaking and thrashing so violently he risked ripping his healing scars.

His back, legs, and arms were glued to the wheelchair, and he couldn’t escape. No—could have if he were desperate enough, strong enough. But he was terrified of ripping his skin off. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat and made it difficult to think straight. Dear god, he was afraid something happened to his back. Of being disfigured again.

He was afraid to die, but he dreaded even more the thought of surviving yet again to find another piece taken from him.

Not another. Not again.

If he cooperated, he had to be spared this time. He would cooperate. Do everything The Red Dragon said, and fate would be merciful. He had to go home. He had to go home. To see you again. It was not fair that he survived two attempts on his life only to die here. It was not fair! He was going to get married to the love of his life. Things were finally going right. The Dragon’s shadow fell over him. The acrid stench of his breath as he leaned down toward Frederick’s mouth—

“Frederick!”

You ran after him and tried to restrain him before he climbed out of the wheelchair and fell to the pavement, but it only made him struggle harder. Fuck. You weren’t sure if touching him again was a good idea, but you didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt himself.

“Shh, I’m here.”

Crouching next to him, you tried to keep him seated, murmuring soft, reassuring words. Eventually, he stopped thrashing to escape, his jerking limbs resigning themselves to passive trembling. His eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They didn’t see anything but a dark room with a flickering projector.

You laid your head on his lap. “I’m right here. It’s OK. You’re safe, Frederick. You’re safe. Shh, shh...”

It took several minutes, but his breathing began to slow, and he began to calm down. His fingers found your hair and stroked it, mindlessly running over the contour of your scalp. Familiarity. Recognizing you, he grasped at your shirt to draw you closer, clutching you like a teddy bear to his chest. It was an awkward angle, but you shifted so your butt was partially supported by the bench he’d crashed into, and used the chair’s armrest to hold yourself in the bent position. Frankly, even if every muscle in your body cramped up, you weren’t going to leave him as long as he needed to hold onto you.

Finally, he whimpered your name and asked what happened.

“I… kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed and wiped his face, which he discovered was soaked with tears, and looked off into the trees. You sat back onto the bench, straightening your crooked spine, but keeping a firm hold on his hand, staying close as he returned to reality. He would be embarrassed. Add this to the growing list of Ways Frederick Chilton is Broken and Useless. But for now, the humiliation was dulled by the fact that he was not in that room again, with the projector flickering. You stayed that way for a while, sitting in the dappled shade of the garden and the warm breeze, the fountain burbling a constant, relaxing, tuneless song.

“The last man to bring his lips to mine bit them off.”

“I’m so sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t have been so stupid...”

He squeezed your hand. Straightened up in his chair. “I heard the FBI has the video. Have you watched it?”

You shook your head, then quickly added, “No,” aloud, knowing his vision was poor and still focused on the tree branches swaying and morphing in the wind. Jack Crawford had offered, but you didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t bear to.

It had been hard enough hearing him describe how Francis Dolarhyde glued him naked to his grandmother’s wheelchair and made him watch macabre home movies of the families he had slaughtered. His voice was too calm, too distant from the memory as he dictated graphic details for the Journal of Psychology, desperate to tell his story, grab his fame before he died.

You should have known how your mouth coming at his would make him feel. You were so caught up in your romantic imaginings, you forgot how kiss-like that moment of horror must have been, just before the pain.

The nightmare his life had been for months already, and would continue to be. The scar tissue that wouldn’t fully mature for two years. Two years wearing a compression suit to help them heal. Years of follow-up procedures so that he can continue to move. To breathe. To hear. Longer until he could get a new face. His entire life altered forever.

It started with a kiss.

“We don’t have to kiss. I should never have pushed you to,” you apologized, wincing preemptively.

You expected him to be angry. To sarcastically tell you, “Now you decide we don’t have to? Now that it is too late? What fine timing.”

“I am not weak,” he bristled instead, but his agitation only spanned the length of a breath. He squeezed your hand softly, and pulled you halfway into his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and back. “I did not think that would happen either,” he spoke comfortingly into your hair. “Attempting it for the first time in a wheelchair was a mistake. I should have been more aware of that, but I grow tired of not being able to show my affection. You are not the only one impatient for my recovery, darling. I want to try again.”

“Now?” You pulled back, widening your eyes at him.

“No,” he said plainly. “I think not.”

• ● • ━━━━━�� ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @barbingchilton​ 

[theasstour]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟑.𝟒𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

A/N: Thank you to the lovelies who nominated Strange Tides, Baby Blue, and moi for the 1D Craft Awards 🌊🐚 If you have the time and feel like spreading some love, go vote for your fave fics and authors here ✨ ENJOYYY CHAPTER 5! x

Tuesday, 7 July

“I’d say you’re doing quite alright for someone who has just gotten into knitting,” Bessie said, looking at Y/N’s creation over the rim of her glasses. “What technique did your mother teach you again, sweets? ‘Cause you’re a natural.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Y/N answered honestly, taking her blue square back. “Are there different types of knitting styles?”

Bessie’s laugh was warm and joyous, looking out at Camila, Florence, and Barb, who smiled at Y/N. Though Y/N had been scared of being judged by these women for not knowing how to properly knit at first, there was nothing but kindness and appreciation in their eyes. It seemed they really were just happy to see the beginning of Y/N’s knitting journey. They had all been beyond helpful, taking their time and being patient with her as she learned the ins and outs of knitting. She was still not sure what she was making, but she was knitting a bunch of squares to start off, and she would see where to go from there.

“So,” Florence said, turning her attention back on the knitting in front of her. “What do you think of St Ives thus far, Y/N? Is it living up to your expectations?”

“You’ve been here a month now,” Bessie said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. And Y/N couldn’t believe it herself. Time had flown by so incredibly fast it did not seem quite real. It seemed like only yesterday she had checked in here and met Bessie, or when she ran into Harry and started their little thing. It just did not seem real that time had gone by this fast. In a month’s time, summer would almost be over and she would have to start thinking about checking out and finding out what to do next. Going back home to Winchester was out of the question, but she didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

Y/N took a deep breath, telling herself not to think about that now. Debating what to do after she checked out of The Roaming Crab Inn could be done at another time, not while she was knitting with four lovely ladies. For someone who had lived her whole life with a plan laid out for her near and far future, Y/N was awfully relaxed about the prospect of the chapter of her life that would start once she left St Ives in August.

“I love it here,” she answered truthfully, finding some red yarn so she could start knitting a red square. “I’ve met so many people while staying here, it’s been amazing.”

“It’s been fun to meet Harry’s family as well,” Barb said. “If your name comes up in conversation when we’re at the chess club, Jessa won’t shut up. She’s so proud Harry’s dating such a lovely lady.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, both because she took pride in that compliment but also because she knew Jessa wouldn’t think of her like that when she and Harry “broke up” later.

“Speaking of people you’ve met, my son tells me you went to the pub with him, Harry, and their little group.” Florence looked at Y/N, smiling. “Did he invite you to his birthday this Saturday?”

“Yeah, Harry told me we were invited,” Y/N said.

“Dax and Harry have been close ever since Harry came to St Ives. He even slept at the lighthouse for close to a month after Harry’s father got lost at sea.”

Y/N stopped knitting. When she looked over at Florence again, the older woman was already knitting so she didn’t notice Y/N’s sudden interest. She looked over at Bessie who only gave Y/N a nod as to confirm what Florence had just said, and in that second Y/N was very happy Bessie knew her and Harry’s relationship was only pretend.

“The day they found the empty boat was absolutely horrible. All of St Ives in mourning. Remember it like it was yesterday,” Camila went on, sighing dramatically. “Devastating time.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Bessie chimed in. “It is such a sad time to reminisce about.”

“Yes, no reason we should think about such things,” Barb went on. “I’m sure it’s a touchy subject for Y/N as well, seeing as Harry is so close to her.”

Y/N focused entirely on her knitting, not really wanting to say anything in regards to Harry’s dad. She knew he died, but she hadn’t really questioned how that happened. For some reason, Y/N had assumed he had been sick, but knowing something happened to Harry’s dad while he was at sea… she didn’t know how to feel. Was it worse to have a loved one be sick and know the end was inevitable and close, or to have them ripped suddenly and unexpectedly out of your life?

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down, girls,” Florence said, letting a bright laugh escape her lips. “Maybe we need some tea to brighten up our mood some?”

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Bessie said, getting up from her seat. “Y/N, dear, would you give me a helping hand?”

“Of course.”

Y/N got up and followed Bessie inside to the kitchen, the three others chattering away as the two started making a new batch black tea. Bessie busied herself with finding some mugs, her sugar, and milk, as Y/N just stood beside the kettle and waited for it to finish boiling. With her arms crossed, her mind wandered off to all those times Harry mentioned his dad and his death, not once had he mentioned he was sick, so Y/N didn’t know where she had gotten that idea from. She knew it was not something she should be speculating or thinking about, but right then, she could not help herself.

Instead of thinking about something so tragic, she forced herself to think about Dax’s birthday party the coming weekend. Harry had only mentioned it in passing yesterday, but Y/N was already looking forward to it. There wasn’t much else she did now anyway besides knit, read for the UCAT, and lie about being in a relationship. Throwing some partying into that mix seemed like a bit of fun.

Saturday, 11 July

“I’m about to do it,” Y/N said, eyes on her laptop screen in front of her. Her white summer dress blew a little in the wind from the open window beside her, but the breeze was welcomed, as it always was in Cornwall.

Harry looked up from where he was going through some bills on his couch, wearing his red knitted jumper along with a pair of short dungaree shorts. Y/N was sat on the other side of his tiny house in the windowsill beside his bed. It was big enough to fit her, her books, and laptop, it was kind of her spot now.

“I’m really about to do it,” Y/N repeated, more for her own sake than for Harry’s - who was a little confused and sat with his mouth open, waiting for her to elaborate – because she simply could not believe she was doing this.

“What?” Harry asked after a while, and when Y/N met his eyes, he blinked a few times as if readying himself for whatever she was about to say.

“Apply for the UCAT exam.”

Last week, Y/N had taken Harry up on his offer to study for her UCAT exam at his place. She came over Friday, and upon seeing her walking up to his house around 8:30, Harry walked toward her on the gravel path. She didn’t know why, but she liked that he did that instead of just standing stoic and just watching her. It made her almost feel urgently desired at his house when he did that.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted as they fell into step beside one another. “Report time?”

“Yeah, just walking around and checking everything.”

She smiled. “And so you walked over here to check on me?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Y/N wanted to laugh, but Harry was looking at the gravel in front of him, lips sucked into his mouth as if telling himself to shut up. He walked her all the way into his house, telling her to make herself feel at home. She sat down by the round table and placed her books out before her, sighing a little to herself as she opened the first one to the page she’d left off on last time. Before going about his day of lightkeeper chores, he made her a cup of tea and told her to help herself to anything in the fridge. He left in a hurry to report, and Y/N didn’t see much of him till two hours later, when he came inside to look through some paperwork.

The rest of the week, she’d popped by almost every single day and then stayed for hours on end. Though she’d mostly been studying, she had also stayed a little longer just to hang out with Harry. She felt safe on Clodgy Point, with Harry, who, once she got him talking about something he found interesting, would talk someone’s ear off. It was so nice to hang out with someone her own age. Someone who would curse and who didn’t need to gossip all the time. There was something so relaxing about Harry’s presence and his little bungalow that attracted Y/N. She simply could not study in her own room anymore, and Harry didn’t seem to mind. He’d meet her on the gravel path and walk her to his house before he went off to report, every single day without fail. She always looked forward to seeing him there, a sight that made the moors around her seem less turbulent and the world a little more colourful.

Though she sat by the door the first two days, she ended up in the windowsill after a while. When Harry caught her there, he asked if her bum wouldn’t get numb from sitting there all day, to which Y/N jokingly said not to worry, she could just bring a cushion next time, though she always forgot. She didn’t mind though; she liked that windowsill so much that her sore arse didn’t bother her. It also seemed Harry liked that his windowsill was being used, because at one point, he brought his Super 8 camera out, taping her doing her work in the windowsill.

On Monday, something happened that took Y/N’s breath away. Harry walked into the house, zipping his mouth shut when their eyes met as if to tell her he didn’t intend on interrupting her. He made himself something to eat for lunch and sat by the round kitchen table, minding his own business and looking out of the window beside him every now and again for some sort of entertainment. Once he was done eating, he washed his plate up and then, instead of walking back out to work, he walked over to his piano. Y/N immediately sat up a bit straighter, resting her hands on her bent knee as she watched Harry open the piano chair, pull a notebook out, and then sit down once he closed it.

Harry’s hands hovered over the keys before he slowly started pressing down on them, producing the softest melody Y/N thought she might have ever heard. He moved along with the piece, feeling the rhythmic waves take over his body and guide him through the history that melody held. It was clear Harry had some sort of attachment to that piece. Y/N didn’t know how carefully musicians played, how much attention and care they gave to each of the pieces they performed, but there was something graceful and almost intimate about watching Harry perform that piece. Y/N simply could not put her finger on it, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Once he was done playing that specific melody, about to start the next one, Y/N opened her mouth, “What’s that piece called?”

Harry looked at her over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows some as if he hadn’t heard her right.

“Is it well-known?”

“No, uhm…” He furrowed his brows some, looking at the dresser stood beside the piano where a few photos were placed. “I wrote it myself?”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it’s a few years old.”

Y/N couldn’t help her smile. “Does the piece have a title?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Saving Grace,” he explained. “It’s got a dual meaning.”

“Which is?”

“Well, I was 20 when Grace was born. Until then I hadn’t really been around babies, so it took some getting used to when Grace was around most of the time. It had only been my dad and me for a long time, then Jessa came into our lives, which ultimately brought Gracie.” Harry looked out the window Y/N sat in. “It had been a very… content life till then. Nothing spectacular, Dad and I really did love each other and were best friends since before Mum left us when I was 6. But…” He trailed off. “But then came Jessa and Grace, and they truly changed all that. They made us so happy.”

A warmness that was not due to the hot temperature outside, made its way like a wave down Y/N’s body.

“Grace became my little person, you know? Though I worked at St Ives Bakery and had friends, I still didn’t know what I wanted to really do with my life. I was about to apply to study music at uni, but… I dunno, I just didn’t. Grace became my purpose for a little while. I earned money so I could take her places and buy her ice cream, or I taught her how to walk, talk, and we did everything together.” Harry turned back to the piano, playing the first few notes slowly. “This melody came to me when I watched her walk without trouble around the moors outside, she was looking at flowers and she was so happy. The melody tries to capture that moment and how perfect that day was.” He stopped, glancing at the sheet in front of him. “She was two years old.”

���So, essentially, you try to capture feelings and moments in your music?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any other pieces?”

Harry chuckled, looking over his shoulder at her. “You know, the reason I started playing was to help you concentrate. Piano music is great for that.”

“Sod my work, I want to know more about your music.”

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, turning his body in her direction now. “I’ve never heard you say that word before! Never heard you speak like that!”

Y/N laughed, but persuaded Harry to play a few of his other pieces before he went back to work.

That Saturday when Y/N brought up the exam, Harry hadn’t played any piano. He sometimes would, both to calm himself down, but also to help Y/N concentrate. She would sometimes take breaks just to listen to him, but his playing really did help her focus. Harry was doing some of his work in the house that Saturday, probably to keep her company, but she was very happy he was there. She needed someone to talk this through with.

There was an instant pull to the edges of Harry’s lips, something that he didn’t have to think about, it was instinctive and genuine. A slight breath left his mouth, almost like something of a chuckle, a relief of sorts that made her all hot. He smiled and got up from the couch, a reason for his movements as if he moved a little easier now that he’d just heard that.

“Are you really?” he asked, taking his tea mug and nodding at Y/N’s beside her. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I feel like it’s stupid to study for an exam if I’m never going to take it.”

“That makes sense, yeah.”

“So, I’m just gonna do it now.”

Harry put their mugs down, filling up the kettle before making another round. Y/N liked that he just assumed she wanted another cuppa. She liked the fact he made her this hot beverage that took a long time for someone to drink up. That he made her several a day. She really liked that.

“I’m thinking, you’ve been reading for weeks and you clearly know the material, you might as well,” Harry said.

“There’s just… I dunno…”

“What?”

“No.”

Harry was quiet, so when Y/N looked at him, he was already looking at her, waiting for her to continue. Both knew she wouldn’t hold back once she’d already started saying something.

“I’m scared I won’t show up.”

Harry frowned. “Why? That something is gonna come up?”

“No, that I’ll just oversleep on purpose or find any possible solution so I won’t have to go. Maybe my brain will refuse to revise the entire week before it, I tended to do that in school. When I have an opportunity to, I make things hard for myself.”

Harry plopped two sugars into her cuppa. “I won’t let that happen.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “How, you’re gonna carry me out of my room and to your van, then drive me to the exam?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She laughed, looking back at the laptop in front of her as Harry walked over, putting the tea down beside her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I think you should just do it.”

“I know I should, but… once I sign up, it’s all happening. It’s not just something I’m thinking about doing, it’s actually happening and there’s a date I gotta work toward.” She sighed. “It’s not just a dream anymore.”

“It stopped being ‘just a dream’ the second you bought those books,” Harry said, sipping his tea as Y/N looked up at him where he stood beside her. “When you started reading, you knew what you were doing and yet you did it anyway.”

She studied him for a second, meeting his eyes the second before she turned back to the laptop. “Guess you’re right.”

“I’m right.”

She flung her arm out, hitting him just across his knee. “Cocky.”

“No,” Harry giggled. “I’m correct. You should try being it sometime.”

“Tone it down!”

Harry laughed, walking back over to his paperwork again. He sat working for a bit longer, finishing his tea before he put everything back in the folder and walked back out of the house and to the lighthouse. When the front door slammed shut, it was like Y/N was slapped out of a sort of trance. She had just been looking at the UCAT website, mouse hovering over the ‘Register and Book’ button, mind somewhere else completely. She remembered what Harry said, how registering and taking this exam wouldn’t make this dream of hers reality all of a sudden, she had done that herself when she started deliberately revising for the UCAT.

She clicked the button and made herself a new user on the website. Reading through everything carefully, Y/N felt her heart picking up speed. It was dawning on her that she was really doing this, despite everything, she was finally registering to take the test. The next few minutes as she took all of this in, she completely forgot where she was. All she knew was the information being fed to her. The wind, the sun, the fly flying around her head, nor whatever Harry was doing was any of her concern. She focused entirely on registering and booking a date. A fee of £75 had to be paid, and though Y/N would never have thought about paying that kind of money before, she hesitated now.

She didn’t have a job, her parents weren’t providing for her anymore because… well, she wasn’t talking to them, so she only had the money on her one card left. Though she was sure she could afford the test fee, there would come a time when she couldn’t. Money had never been a problem until now. This hadn’t been something she thought about before, it hadn’t been a problem then because her parents were filthy rich, but she recognised this now. However, this test had been on her mind for years and it was something she really wanted to do, so spending money on it wasn’t something she needed to feel guilty about. Y/N paid the fee and sat there staring at her screen as a ‘Thanks for your booking’ popped up on her screen. Her test was September 10th. That was in two months. In two months she would be taking the UCAT.

She got up from the windowsill, shaking her clammy hands to dry them some, a shaky breath leaving her parted lips as her heart galloped inside her chest. It didn’t feel real. None of it felt real. She was doing the UCAT exam. This was her first big step into dentistry. She was actually doing what she had been dreaming of doing for years now.

She had no idea what made her do it but she walked out of the house, instinctively walking towards the lighthouse. Harry was already halfway to the cottage from the lighthouse, halting a little at Y/N’s abrupt exit. She stopped when she saw him.

“I did it.”

Those three words took a few seconds for Harry to comprehend, but when he did, he gave her the biggest grin she’d ever seen on his face. His eyes completely disappeared behind his cheekbones, crinkles appearing beside them, and his crooked smile was accompanied with his brilliant dimples that breathed light and meaning into every situation they were present in. The sight of it made her own appear and she put a hand over her chest, feeling her heart still going hard against her ribcage. Harry must have not thought a lot of it, because he nearly opened his arms, but they quickly fell to his side. Next, he went to give her a high five, but that almost seemed inappropriate because it was such a huge moment to Y/N.

But Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about the way Harry had opened his arms for her just now. Couldn’t stop thinking about how he wanted her close like that to congratulate her on what she’d just done. And, the part of her that hadn’t really experienced someone’s noticeable pride in her like this before, wouldn’t mind at all. That’s why she ran towards him, and the two seconds Harry had to prepare, Y/N both saw the visible shock at her sprinting for him, but also a sort of jubilation like it was an honour. Y/N threw her arms around him and Harry quickly wrapped her in his, a breath of relief skimming her neck and making goosebumps run through her entire body. She laughed as Harry picked her off the ground, groaning in triumph at the news of her finally having signed up for the UCAT.

She leaned her head against his, smelling that same perfume on him that she remembered smelling when she wore his knitted jumper a few weeks ago. Her theory had also been right: Harry was an amazing hugger. His grip was tight and she was sure he closed his eyes, really immersing himself completely in the person he was embracing. Fingers spread out across her back, the tips of one just touching her shoulder blade and the other on her waist, squeezing her slightly for a few seconds before letting her down again.

“That’s amazing, Y/N,” Harry said, and Y/N tightened her grip.

When they finally let go of one another, Harry ran inside and came back some seconds later holding his camera, said he needed to document this. Y/N did a few poses that made Harry laugh, then proceeding to run out into the field beyond the lighthouse. She felt absolutely ecstatic as she ran around, grinning and jumping, her arms held up high and her heart soaring. After all this time, she was finally pursuing this. If she was able to do something that terrified and excited her like this, then what else could she do? Part of her felt like she could do anything now.

Porthgwidden Beach was like Harry described it: small. Once Harry and Y/N arrived at the tiny car park above the beach, Y/N stopped for a moment to take in the beach that wasn’t even a fraction of what the other two major beaches of St Ives were. Some Tiësto song was playing somewhere and the beach was crowded, all guests of Dax’s birthday party. The Porthgwidden Beach Café seemed to have been booked for the occasion as well, people around their age all sitting grouped around the table with their bottles and cups. No one seemed to be going crazy on their alcohol, which reassured Y/N some because it had been a while since she had been drunk, a glass or two of anything would make her very lightheaded and giggly. She had brought with her a bottle of wine in her tote bag, Harry seemed to be relying on his mates having brought drinks. If not, Y/N wouldn’t mind sharing the rest of hers with him.

Y/N had left Harry’s place not long after she signed up for the UCAT so she could get ready for Dax’s birthday party in her own room. She wore a dark green column midi skirt along with a white tee shirt and some short heels that she regretted wearing the second her and Harry stepped out into the sand. He looked over his shoulder at her once he noticed her struggling a bit, offering his hand for her to hold so she could take her heels off. While she did that, she took the liberty to study him again. His outfit was simple, yet effortlessly hot. High waisted mid wash denim jeans, a baggy black tee shirt tucked into them, along with some white socks and black Converse. Y/N had a theory Harry would end up taking his own shoes off by the end of the night too.

The two had met on Island Street where they knew none of the other partygoers would venture. That way, people would’ve seen them walk together all the way to the party, assuming they must’ve spent time at Harry’s place before coming here. They had discussed this plan over a last cuppa tea before Y/N left earlier that day, Harry had seemed very happy with himself for coming up with that one. And as they stood there, Y/N holding his hand while taking her shoes off, they heard some loud whistles followed by a “There they are!”

Looking over, they saw the birthday boy making his way over, arms spread wide and the biggest grin on his face. “My boyo!”

“Dax, not now-“

But the man didn’t listen. He hugged Harry to him, causing Harry to take a few steps, resulting in Y/N losing her balance. With a squeal, Y/N almost fell face first into the sand again, but Harry was fast to bring one hand under her armpit and the other to her hip. He dragged her toward him, her torso flat against his. She saw Harry’s eyes on her face in her peripheral vision, felt his breath on her cheek.

“Oi!” Dax laughed. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Got a bit carried away seeing this hunk.” Dax put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, causing Harry to jump right out of his trance and let go of Y/N, as if couples didn’t normally embrace each other like this without hesitation.

“Happy birthday, Dax,” Y/N smiled before picking up her shoe, shoving the pair into her tote bag along with her cardigan and Harry’s red knitted jumper.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Harry said.

“You know, I expected you to be the first one here.” Dax crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Harry.

Harry furrowed his brows at Dax. “What do you mean?”

“Well, isn’t your best friend’s birthday important to you?”

Harry was quiet for a second. “Oh, my word, Dax.”

“I’m just a joke to you.”

“You sure are.”

“Look who it is!” Ellie called, grinning as her and the rest of Harry’s little gang made their way over. “You made it!”

“We were starting to think you two wouldn’t come,” Amir said, his hair in the most effortlessly pretty bun at the top of his head. “Too busy?” Amir wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re too caught up in people’s sex lives for it to be normal, mate,” Harry said, taking the cup Fatima offered him. “Cheers.”

Something about Harry referring to him and Y/N’s sex life made Y/N’s cheeks feel awfully hot. Even though their joined sex life was non-existent, it still got to her. Maybe it was the way Harry always dodged those questions so the two wouldn’t have to answer any awkward queries they had absolutely no idea about. She didn’t know, but she rummaged through her bag so people wouldn’t see how flustered she suddenly got.

“Just trying to make conversation,” Amir said.

“Well, don’t,” Jo chimed in, their smile mocking and Amir only huffed in response.

“By the way!” Dax exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re going Terraland next week, you coming this year, Y/N?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows in question. “What’s Terraland?”

“Theme park in Helston, we go every year towards the end of the summer vacation,” Jo explained. “Harry here-“ They gestured at the man standing beside Y/N. “-Doesn’t like Terraland.”

“I do,” Harry protested. “I like laying by the pool and not doing shit. I don’t particularly like it when you force me on rollercoasters.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll come if Harry decides to.”

“Brill! All of us are coming, maybe a few others,” Amir said.

“So, it’s like an adventure park with rollercoasters and such?” Y/N asked

“That and pools, very much the kind of thing you visit when you’re on vacation in, like, Spain,” Harry explained. “But it’s in Cornwall.”

“Good for a group of grown up kids, ey?” Dax grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Come, Y/N, babe.” Ellie linked her arm with Y/N’s, taking Y/N off guard, but she didn’t stop Ellie. She looked at their arms and smiled a little. “Let’s get you a cup so we can get this party started.”

“Love your skirt, by the way,” Fatima smiled as they reached a table with tons of cups and napkins.

“Ahh, thank you. Haven’t worn it in a while, so I felt it was fitting to do so today.” Y/N glanced down at her skirt, running her hand over it before reaching for a cup.

“Ellie and I were saying the other day that you’ve got such a sophisticated sense of style, you need to take us shopping.”

“Could use a few pointers,” Ellie agreed, watching Y/N as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Really?” Y/N screwed the cork shut before putting the bottle away, smiling at the two girls. “I mean, it’s not that good-“

“-Out of respect for what Harry said, I will stop you before you discredit yourself,” Ellie smiled back.

Y/N laughed. “What about respect for me? Respect me wanting to discredit myself for having a mediocre clothing style.”

Both Fatima and Ellie joined in on the laughing and the three girls walked away from the table so they could hang out by themselves. Though St Ives had around 11,000 inhabitants, Y/N was sure a lot of the guests weren’t locals. Maybe friends from University or friends-of-friends, everything to get a good party going. Judging by what Fatima and Ellie told Y/N, this was an annual thing. Dax Rose held a massive birthday party and absolutely everyone was invited. Bring your own alcohol, bring a friend, and bring a smile, and you were welcomed with open arms. People were sitting in the sand or by the café, others were just standing around, some were dancing, and a group was also taking a swim and joking around in the water. Y/N genuinely liked the atmosphere; it was just really freeing and nice. People wore whatever they wanted, laughter could be heard everywhere, and it just seemed like everyone wanted to have a good time.

Though anyone could come join the party – something that made her look around her a few too many times -, there were still enough people there to notice something suspicious going on.

Fatima, Ellie, and Y/N stood just talking for a while. It was really nice to talk to some girls her own age again, she couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. She had some good friends at school but once they had gone off to University or moved away from Winchester, she fell out of touch with most of them. Y/N knew it wasn’t personal, she quite liked the fact her friends had acquired new lives for themselves, being happier and more fulfilled. But she had missed just standing around chatting nonsense. The conversation didn’t hold much significance, there wasn’t much crucial information going around, or any sort of seriousness attached to it, just some mates having a chat. Y/N found herself wondering if Fatima and Ellie would come if she asked them out for lunch one day.

“I saw this documentary the other day, it’s on iPlayer,” Ellie said. “It was super interesting and disturbing.”

“Oh?” Y/N said, tipsy at this point and just holding the cup of wine in her hand, not wanting to drink more in case it would make her dizzy and very giggly.

“Yeah, it was basically about all these people who committed gruesome murders in the UK, and who go free now.”

Y/N looked up from her cup with wide eyes and at Ellie as Fatima gasped.

“Yeah, I can’t remember what it was called…” As Ellie started thinking, a shadow appeared beside Y/N and she jumped. The tall red-haired man standing beside Y/N only smiled at her, holding a hands up to indicate he was friendly.

Fatima clicked her tongue. “Are you trying to give her a heart attack, Cam?”

“No, I’m sorry, darl,” the man said, looking at Y/N as he held a hand out for her to shake. “Just saw an unfamiliar face and thought I’d introduce myself, is all. I’m Cameron.”

Y/N took a huge breath, meeting Ellie’s eyes before looking at Cameron and shaking his hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he mused under his breath, nodding his head as his hand fell to his side again. “Haven’t seen you around here before, Y/N.”

“I’ve only been here a month now.”

“Too bad we didn’t meet earlier, then.”

Y/N’s eyes widened a bit, the compliment taking her off guard. She only chuckled some, wrapping both her hands around her cup as she looked down at the liquid in it.

“When did you come back, Cam?” Ellie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Two weeks ago. Are you on vacation here then, Y/N?” Cameron didn’t even spare Ellie a look, his undivided attention on Y/N as she continued to stare at her drink.

But suddenly a pair of black Converse appeared beside her bare feet. She felt a hand on her lower back, a warm and comforting pressure that slowly trailed its way to her waist, wrapping his fingers around her curves and bringing her toward him. Her figure fell against his, fitting against his side as if they’d done this before.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re trying to pull, Cam,” Harry said, his voice steady and a little darker than normal. Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol he had drunk this far or it being late, Y/N didn’t know, but she knew she liked it.

Cameron was quiet for a second. “Your girlfriend? Mate, you got a girlfriend?”

“This is her,” Harry continued.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Haz.”

“Don’t apologise to me, apologise to my girlfriend.”

Cameron smiled, as if he couldn’t believe Harry, but he met Y/N’s eyes. “I apologise, I didn’t know.”

Y/N nodded, not really knowing what else to say or do. Cameron looked at the other three, saying a quick goodbye before buggering off. As he disappeared, Harry’s hand slid back around her waist as he came to stand in front of Y/N. She felt his touch along her forearm, rough fingers caressing her with such sensitivity as if he was afraid of crossing a line. Whenever he touched her like this, she could tell by the rough skin of his hands that he wasn’t used to being gentle like this; wasn’t used to being careful when touching someone else. His work made him have rough skin and maybe even a rough touch, but he was always so incredibly cautious when he reached for Y/N.

He slid his hand into hers, squeezing her fingers as she wrapped them around him. Their eyes met and upon seeing him in front of her, seeing him this close, she felt her eyes widen a bit. Though the entire reason why he was doing this was because there were people around watching them, it still felt like everyone was intruding on a special moment between the two of them.

“You okay? Saw he made you jump a bit,” Harry said, hooded and glassy eyes searching her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just came up out of nowhere,” Y/N answered, offering a smile because she knew Harry’s concern was genuine.

Y/N wasn’t sure if Ellie or Fatima noticed Harry’s slight hesitance because by the sound of it, they were chatting amongst themselves, but Y/N did. Harry leaned in, eyes on hers till he closed them. Every single hair on Y/N’s body shot up as Harry pressed his lips gently against her cheek. He was covering her view of Ellie and Fatima, so the two couldn’t see the immediate shock on Y/N’s face. Their conversation halted, she was aware of that, but all her attention was focused on Harry’s lips and how hot her entire body got in the matter of a second. She closed her eyes, eyelashes brushing his skin. Harry pulled away, resting the right side of his forehead against her left for a few seconds. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating, how clammy her hands were. Could he tell she wanted to reach for his neck and hold him there, but she was carrying her cup and her other hand was already holding his? Could he feel her breaths on his neck like she could feel his? Did he want to stay like that, safe in each other’s company and unbothered by everyone else, for the rest of the night?

“I’m sure there are taxis driving about town if you two wanna go home,” Ellie said, and Fatima cursed her right away.

Harry took a step away from Y/N, clearing his throat as a familiar redness came to his cheeks. His hand was about to fall away from hers, but she gripped his harder, not ready to let go yet. He gave Fatima and Ellie a tight-lipped smile before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, the muscles in his face relaxing.

“El, I need a refill,” Fatima said, and though Y/N couldn’t read their faces yet, she could kind of tell what that meant.

“Let’s go get you a drink then. See you two in a bit.” Ellie and Fatima walked off, falling into conversation right away.

Harry made sure they were completely alone, that no one was eavesdropping before he said lowly, “Sorry if that was too much, I just… I just thought it’d look good, you know? To kiss my girlfriend- my pretend girlfriend around other people just to underline that we are… you know…”

Y/N nodded, biting her lips together as she watched Harry continue to try and find his words.

“Also, sorry if you wanted to chat to Cameron, I’m… I don’t want this to get in the way-“

“-I didn’t. I don’t.”

Silence stretched on, eyes on one another as the party continued around them. They didn’t have any regard for it as they kept their attention on one another. Y/N had answered so quickly and so honestly that it made her nervous when Harry didn’t say anything. Because it was true that she didn’t want to talk to Cameron, she didn’t know who he was and would probably never see him again. But she knew who Harry was, and she wanted to see him all the time. There was a comfort in his presence that settled over her like a warm, safe blanket. She liked being around him. She didn’t want to be near Cameron or anyone else.

“Do you think people think we’re a couple right now? Are we believable? Is this believable?” Harry mumbled.

Y/N giggled. “Well, you just kissed my cheek out of nowhere, I’d hope it’s somewhat believable and that they think we’re a couple.”

Harry laughed, looking down at their hands. “Yeah, it’s kind of… it’s kind of easy, isn’t it?”

Y/N frowned. “What is?”

“Being like this with you. I might feel like a right idiot when I take your hand or kiss your cheek, but you don’t make me feel like one.”

She smiled.

“It’s natural. Not that… that being in a relationship with you and acting like this is natural, I didn’t mean it like that, but it’s-“ He stopped himself looking up at her again as he bit his bottom lip, shrugging slightly. “-It’s like joking about with a friend and just having fun, feeling comfortable.”

“Yeah?”

“You know… I hope I don’t sound like a melt and I’m probably only able to say this ‘cause I’m a tad tipsy,” Harry said, and Y/N giggled. “But you’ve become one of my best friends. If not best friend, a very good one. Like… dunno, I can talk to you about anything, I don’t feel weird being silent around you, or saying or doing stuff that is weird, and I-I feel like you might feel the same way about me. At least I hope so.”

Her smile widened. “I do.”

He let out a small breath and Y/N chuckled.

“It’s sad that when this ends it’ll look weird if we remain friends, won’t it?” Y/N hated that she was thinking and talking about a time in the future they both knew was coming, but avoided talking about at all costs.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do exes stay friends without it being weird to a degree? If you start dating someone for example, will our friends expect us to act a certain way, and if they do and we contradict their theory, will that make them suspicious of us?”

Harry furrowed his brows a little.

“I want to hang out with you and it’s sad to think that in August, we might have to part ways and never talk again ‘cause it’ll look… weird. Dunno, I haven’t really gone through this before.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle. “Neither have I.”

Y/N laughed.

“I mean, I’ve gone through a break-up, but not like this.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t talked to my ex since it happened.”

They were quiet for a moment as Harry digested Y/N’s choice of words. “You haven’t talked to your ex since you broke up either? Like, at all?”

“He, uhm, he’s sent me texts, but I don’t want to talk to him.”

Harry must have noticed how little Y/N wanted to talk about her ex, because he looked down at their hands again and let their conversation end there. Y/N held her cup out for him and Harry took it, looking at it. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she wanted any more of it, but she shook her head. He poured it out in the sand.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” Harry asked after a little while, wiping something off the corners of his mouth with his free index and thumb.

“The party?” Y/N met Harry’s eyes and then searched for Ellie and Fatima, she’d have to find them later. “Yeah, it’s nice. I like your friends.”

“There are a couple more who want me to introduce you, so we’ll have to do that later if it’s okay.”

“Of course.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the now empty cup. “And are you enjoying yourself in St Ives?”

Y/N smiled. “I am, it’s fun.” As she laid extra pressure on the last word, Harry looked up and as she raised her eyebrows, he knew she was referring to them and their fake relationship. He chuckled and Y/N watched him.

“Is it everything you hoped it’d be?”

She was unsure what he was referring to, but she said, “More.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answered, folding her hands.

“So, you’re… you’re staying?” Pause. “Right?”

Confused, Y/N furrowed her brows at Harry, studying his face to try and find some sort of explanation to that utterance. She slowly opened her mouth, and said, “Staying?”

“Here.”

“On the beach?”

“No.”

“In St Ives?”

Something that could be interpreted as a nod happened, but no words left Harry’s lips. Instead, he continued to look at her, eyes searching her face as if he could find her answer somewhere there. A slight breeze blew past them, making a curl come loose and hang in front of Harry’s eye. He quickly pushed it away, not letting anything prevent him from seeing Y/N fully as she realised what Harry meant. Y/N felt his fingers brush her arm on their way down.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Harry didn’t say anything or nod this time around. Their eyes didn’t waver, looking at each other and not daring to look away. Y/N didn’t register till then how close they were standing. When the wind blew from behind Harry, she smelled his familiar scent and it made something inside her flutter. It was instinctive to look down at his lips, just as instinctive to look up and feel her breath hitch somewhere in her throat as she saw his lips part. Unapologetically, Harry’s eyes did the same that Y/N’s had done just a few seconds prior. A fire-hot shiver ran up her spine as he glanced at her lips, taking a step forward so that their hands rested against one another. Y/N wanted to look at his lips again, but she simply could not look away from his eyes. He was so close and she didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to look away.

“Do you think we’re believable now?” Harry whispered, his voice hoarse.

Y/N couldn’t bring herself to answer, she was waiting for something unspeakable; something that couldn’t be put into word for fear of the reality of those words being too raw, too true. She felt his curl against her forehead. His breath on her nose. Her body prickling with anticipation and confusion, unable to properly decipher if what was going on was all part of the show or if this was genuine. Harry was too respectable to make a move, and Y/N was too perplexed to do anything. If she kissed him, how would he feel? Would he take it as her being genuinely interested in him, or that they were just doing it to seem like a genuine couple? And if she kissed him, would she interpret it as her genuinely fancying him, or would she do it just to feed into their façade?

Before she could think about anything else, someone shouted something above the music and everyone else talking. It seemed to have caught quite a few people’s attention, because the volume on the beach lowered considerably. Harry tore his eyes away from Y/N and looked in the direction of the commotion. Y/N did as well, craning her neck to see beyond the group of people that were hugging and crowding what looked to be a new guest. Harry froze in front of Y/N and she looked at him, then back at the group.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“My…” Harry mumbled, pausing for some seconds. “Emilia.”

Y/N looked back at Harry. “Emilia?”

Harry nodded.

“Your ex?”

“The one who lived in Munich for two years, yeah.” Harry ran a hand through his hair before he met Y/N’s eyes. “I haven’t seen her since she came back, think she came back sometime last week.”

“Do you want to go say hi?”

“I…” Harry glanced in Emilia’s direction again, clearly thinking it over thoroughly. “I mean… yes, but… she’d meet you as well. She’d have to.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Dax won’t be able to keep himself from bringing up the fact that I have a new girlfriend. Pretend girlfriend, but… you know…”

Y/N nodded.

“If she knows I’m here and I’m with my new girlfriend, she’s gonna wanna meet you.”

She inhaled sharply. “Why would she want to meet the person you’re supposedly being intimate with now?”

Harry’s eyes grew wide for a single second before he composed himself, blinking himself back to reason. “Dunno. Emilia is very sociable. Just like you.”

“But she’d meet the person you’re with now, I don’t see why she’d want to meet them.”

“Maybe she’s happy for me, maybe she wants to meet someone who supposedly makes me happy,” Harry offered, shrugging his shoulders.

Y/N stared at him for a few seconds. “I know you said she didn’t want to be with you ‘cause it affected her mental health, and I get that, but leaving you when you were at your lowest is still an awful thing to do.”

Harry glanced at Y/N.

“And then not talking to you for two years after just sodding off to Munich. She doesn’t know what you’ve been through since then, do you think she’s gonna care now?”

Harry furrowed his brows. “Y/N, I loved Emilia.”

“I’m aware, but the people we love don’t have to love us back the same way we love them. One part always ends up loving more, feeling more, doing more. We can’t choose how much we love someone, and we don’t have a say in how they love us, but the fact of the matter is that if you love someone, you act like it. You let them know.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he just bit the inside of his cheek and continued to look at Y/N.

“I’m fully aware you loved Emilia, probably still do, but it doesn’t sit right with me that she just removed herself like that completely. You’re not a toxic person, you were just going through a rough time.”

“Harry!” Amir shouted, waving Harry and Y/N over. “Harry, mate!”

Harry watched Y/N for a few more seconds, probably either debating what she’d just said or losing every shred of respect he had for her, Y/N didn’t know. He nodded in the direction of everyone and the two started walking there, strolling the distance in silence. She didn’t know how she was supposed to interpret said silence, if it was a good kind or if he just didn’t want to talk to her for the rest of the night because he had taken offense to what she’d said.

When they reached the group, they made space for Harry and Y/N, and the first thing Y/N noticed was the brunette standing on the opposite side to the circle from them. Her blue eyes lit up when she saw Harry and she smiled at him instantly, clearly happy to see him after two years of no contact.

“Hi,” she exclaimed, crossing the circle, and giving Harry a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” Harry said. “How was Munich?”

“Amazing, I’m moving there permanently after University, I’m sure.” Emilia stepped away from Harry and immediately, her eyes fell on Y/N. “And this must be the girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N’s eyes met, Harry raising his eyebrows in a quick “told you so”, which made Y/N smile some before turning back to Emilia.

“Yes, I guess I am. And you’re the ex.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he looked from Y/N to Emilia and back again. It was evident that the rest of the group, and quite a few others as well, were watching this interaction with keen interest. They were probably waiting for one of them to start a fight and the other one to feed into it, something Harry would step in to stop and take sides, which would ultimately just end badly. It was clearly something a lot of people thought would be great entertainment. But Y/N kept her cool, not wanting to sound passive aggressive or make Harry uncomfortable. Though she was not impressed with Emilia’s past actions, she wasn’t about to judge her solely on them. Y/N hoped she was right not to.

“I am, it’s been so long since I’ve seen Harry.” Emilia looked back at Harry, considerably smaller than him, looking up at him through her lashes. “That rain check you were talking about, you could make up for it by walking me over to get a cup?”

Y/N looked at Harry, about to open her mouth and ask what rain check Emilia was talking about, but she realised it was none of her business. And questioning Harry like this in front of everyone would just feed into everything everyone wanted. So, Y/N just crossed her arms over her chest.

“Actually, we’re about to leave,” Harry said, giving Emilia a small smile.

Emilia pouted. “Really? It’ll only take you a minute.”

Harry opened his mouth to inhale hugely, looking over at Y/N who hoped he could tell she didn’t like this. But Harry met Emilia’s eyes again, taking a step back and Emilia grinned as the two started walking towards the table in the middle of the beach with all the cups. Y/N watched them, how easily they fell into conversation and how eager Emilia was to talk to Harry again. While witnessing this, Y/N kept reminding herself of what Harry had said earlier, about her becoming one of his closest friends. She hoped repeating that moment to herself would prevent her from getting hurt and sad and angry, but it didn’t. When turning back toward the gang, she realised both Ellie and Dax were watching Harry and Emilia as well. And upon taking a look around, she realised Jo, Amir, and Fatima were as well. Y/N didn’t know for what purpose, but if Dax’s tense jaw was any indicator, it couldn’t have been for a particularly good reason.

Why would Harry do that? Though Y/N wasn’t in a relationship with him, it was still embarrassing for her to have to stand there and wait for him. She felt ridiculous when Fatima met her eyes again, giving her an apologetic smile, one Y/N – Harry’s fake girlfriend – didn’t deserve, but she appreciated it nevertheless. Because despite everything, this hurt. She dug her nails into her upper arms as she stood there, mad at Harry for the first time ever. Though it had been gormless of Emilia to ask in the first place, Harry hadn’t really needed much persuasion.

As Emilia and Harry’s voices got louder, the gang started up a light conversation that Y/N pretended to be part of. She only gave Harry a slight glance before looking back at Dax who was talking, the guy not giving the returning two any of his attention either. Y/N wondered if Dax thought the same way about Emilia’s behaviour as she did, but then again, it wasn’t like Y/N could take Dax aside and ask him that. If Y/N sought Dax out to talk about Harry’s ex, it wouldn’t look good.

“Ready to leave?” Y/N asked, reaching into her tote bag for her cardigan. Some of her passive aggressiveness was detectable in her voice, she hoped no other than Harry picked up on it. She was still tipsy so she blamed her incapability to hold back on that.

“Yeah,” Harry said, standing very still as he watched Y/N put her cardigan on. Once it was on, she smiled at everyone, and then looked at Harry as he directed a “See ya, yeah?” at everyone. Though Dax was visibly sad the two were leaving, he seemed to know why they were bailing because he didn’t ask them why or stop them. Y/N put her shoes back on and the two started on their way back up the hill that led to the car park.

It was unexpected when Harry reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers so slowly and so deliberately that she felt it in every single one of her cells. Though it was nice to feel him there, she had to bite her lip from saying anything as they walked up Burrow Road. The second they were out of sight and alone, Y/N let go of his hand. This wasn’t something Harry would’ve usually paid much attention had he not heard her passive aggression just a few moments earlier.

“Is it Emilia?” Harry asked.

It was stupid how the only time Harry managed to be blunt and upfront was when he knew he was in trouble or if someone was annoyed with him. At least Y/N thought so.

She straightened her back, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. “What about Emilia?”

“Is that why you’re all… mad? Dunno if mad is the best word.”

“Think it describes how I’m feeling perfectly,” Y/N said. “’Cause I’d say I’m mad with a dash of disappointed.”

Harry looked over at her, frowning again. “Why?”

“Why am I mad you walked over there with Emilia?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders exaggeratingly. “Call it intuition, call it paranoia, call it whatever you bloody want, but I think she wants you back now that you’re not broken up about your Dad anymore.”

Harry took a few seconds to say, “I’ll call that stupidity.”

The laugh that left Y/N was anything but friendly and warm. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“Why are you so mad about this anyway? It’s not like we’re…” Harry stopped himself, looking over at Y/N who refused to look at him. “It’s not like we’re a couple.”

“It’s still embarrassing. I was left standing there while my boyfriend walked off with his ex. You don’t even want to admit that what you did was stupid.”

“’Cause it’s not, we just walked down to that table so she could get herself a cup.”

Y/N sighed, running her hands over her face. “Yes, it’s an innocent act and I probably have no right to act like this, but I’m being a friend. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Being a friend, looking out for me?”

Y/N looked at him, seeing his set jaw and piercing eyes. “Why wouldn’t I look out for you?”

“Right now you just seem mad I hung out with my ex.”

She glanced away again, so frustrated with him that she felt like screaming. They reached Back Road, Y/N walking straight ahead to take the quickest way back to the Inn, Harry was turning right to Clodgy. “Interpret it any way you want, Harry. I’m being truthful when I tell you I just want what’s best for you.”

There was a pause as Harry watched Y/N cross the road. “You’re just gonna leave like that? You don’t wanna talk it out?”

“You don’t understand where I’m coming from, Harry!” Y/N exclaimed as she faced him, turning her back on the dark alleyway behind her. “What’s the point?!”

“Y/N, it’s not like I’m making out with Emilia in front of everyone!”

“I know, but that small act of just walking down there has a lot of meaning! She wants to make up for lost time!”

“You’re just reading too much into this!”

“And you think the best of people who hurt you!”

“She left for her own good, don’t blame her for that!”

“I’m not! I just think it’s odd to not check up on you in those two years following your breakup when you were clearly having a tough time when she left!”

“Oh, my days, Y/N.” Harry ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

“I know you want to see the best in everyone, but I’ve experienced people fucking me over ‘cause I gave them the benefit of the doubt. Multiple times. I’m not doing that again, I’m-I’m just not. And I don’t want to watch that same thing happen to you.”

Harry blinked when Y/N cursed, but quickly regained himself. “I can take care of myself!”

“I’m just being a friend and looking out for you, I’m sorry if-“

“-And what if I don’t want you to look out for me as a friend?!”

Y/N was about to answer, but she felt something brush against her back and then a figure moving out of the dark alleyway behind her. Her heart skipped a beat and the next thing she knew, she felt it in her throat. She jumped out of the way, stepping just in the crack between two cobblestones and stumbling away from the stranger. The man looked at Y/N as she regained her balance, about to reach his hand out to help her when Harry rushed across the road. Y/N managed herself, but she took another step away from the stranger who genuinely looked baffled as to what had just happened. Y/N put a hand over her heart, feeling it beating furiously. Calm down, calm down, calm down, she told herself, feeling safer the second Harry put a hand to her upper arm.

“You alright, miss?” the man asked, looking at Harry who was standing beside Y/N, making sure she was okay.

“Sorry,” Y/N said, doing her best to give him a smile. “I’m just a bit jumpy. And a tad drunk.”

He laughed joyously before continuing on his way, and the second he turned away, Y/N’s face fell. Harry noticed and turned her to face him, squeezing her shoulders so she’d look at him. She balled her hands into fists as she felt her heart beating hard, calming down from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“You’re okay,” he said, recognising her reaction from that first time she read to him in the grass beside the lighthouse.

Y/N nodded, meeting Harry’s eyes and telling herself it was all fine. She would be fine. Harry was here and nothing would happen to her while he was here. She continued to look at him till she was calmer, but the thought of walking down that dark alleyway now made her want to hurl. However, she didn’t have any other place to walk and she had to get back somehow. Maybe she could call Bessie and talk to her, or maybe she could find another and maybe longer route back. But then she’d be out in the open longer than she initially wanted to.

“Have you always been like that?” Harry asked, the question curious and without any hint of judgement.

“Like what?”

“Paranoid.”

Y/N smiled a little as if that would brighten the mood that had fallen considerably. Slowly, she nodded, averting her eyes from Harry’s. “I like being prepared for anything, for any possible outcome.”

Harry didn’t remove his hands from where they rested on her shoulders.

“So, I either make them up, or if something happens unexpectedly, my brain does this thing where it tells me that the worst possible thing is happening, and I need to escape.”

“What’s the worst possible thing that can happen?”

“In any scenario?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N watched as someone turned every light in their flat off, wishing she was in her bed right now. “That my Dad finds me.”

Harry stayed quiet.

“He terrifies me. Always has. I know he won’t hurt me, but… he’s a bad man, Harry. A very bad man.”

“He won’t come here, Y/N. You’re safe in St Ives.”

Some part of her laughed at that, but when she met his eyes, she knew he genuinely meant it. If Harry was there, he would not let anything happen to her. No matter what. Even if they had a disagreement the second before her Dad showed up. But her father knew where she was and if he wanted her back, he would do what he could to get her back. A lighthouse keeper wouldn’t stand in his way.

Y/N felt her bottom lip starting to wobble at the thought of it, and she put a hand in front of her mouth when the back of her eyes started to sting.

“Hey,” Harry said, squeezing her shoulders. “Let’s go back to mine, yeah? You won’t have to be alone.”

She met his eyes, blinking a few times as she processed his offer. “Yours?”

“Yeah, if you’re a bit shaken up, I thought you might… might not want to be alone.”

Without really registering what she was doing, Y/N was nodding her head to answer his question. “If you’re sure I won’t be a burden in any way-“

“-Flower, you’re never.”

She almost thought she heard him incorrectly. Flower. She had never gotten a nickname before. Her friends back home used to call her ‘babe’ and her mother would sometimes call her ‘sweetheart’ and Bessie referred to her as ‘dear’, but never this one. She suddenly felt a little lightheaded.

Harry wrapped an arm around her and held her to him as they walked through the city. He hummed to The Power of Love as they strolled, keeping the empty and quiet streets of St Ives alive as long as they were walking through them. Y/N looked about them, staring down alleyways and streets, sometimes being too afraid to even to study the shadows or look to make out silhouettes in the darkness. Harry’s humming kept her grounded and reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Once they were walking along the road up to Clodgy Point, Harry let go of her, letting her walk by herself. It was starting to get a bit chilly when the winds of the moors started up around them, so Y/N reached for Harry’s knitted jumper in her tote bag and gave it to him. He was a bit taken aback by that, seemingly having forgotten it was there, but he thanked her, the only two words being uttered at all on their 30-minute walk up to the lighthouse.

Harry unlocked the door and walked in first, turning the light on the coffee table on as Y/N locked the front door. He opened a window to let some air in, then took his jumper and shoes off. Y/N did the same, wrapping her arms around herself. She was aware it had been Harry’s idea for her to stay here, but she suddenly felt like she was intruding. This was his space and his bedtime routine. They had walked off most of their drunkenness, so when Y/N tripped over her own feet a bit, it was purely from exhaustion. Harry was almost about to reach out and catch her even though he was across the room, but his dedication to help her made her chuckle a little. Harry smiled at the sound of it.

Y/N put her tote bag on one of the chairs, putting her cardigan over the back of it as well.

“I…” Harry started, making Y/N look over at where he stood by his dresser. “I have a few shirts and stuff if you wanna freshen up some.”

Y/N chuckled. “What do you mean?”

Realising he probably didn’t make sense, Harry let a breath escape his lips as well. “I meant, if you wanna have a shower, I’ll lend you a tee shirt.”

The thought of showering in Harry’s space seemed almost a bit surreal, but for some reason, also completely normal. She spent so much time here and with him that in a way, it was weird that she hadn’t showered here before. She slowly nodded her head, and Harry opened a drawer, pulling out an old tee white shirt with a small Elton John logo on the chest.

“Towels,” Harry said, walking over to his tiny bathroom and turning the lights on for her. “They’re here, and I got everything you might need in the shower. There’s an unused toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink.”

“Thank you.”

Harry gave her a smile before closing the door. Taking a breather first, the next thing Y/N did was get undressed and take that shower. She washed away the argument with Harry and the reason why it was cut off so abruptly; tried to soak herself in everything else that happened tonight that made her entire body warm. When Harry kissed her cheek; the way his hot lips felt against her skin, how the thought of that moment alone made her feel some type of way. She knew Harry only did it so everyone would think they were a couple, but her cheek was tingling.

She got out of the shower, drying herself off, and putting Harry’s tee shirt on, her skirt under it. Yes, the two were starting to get comfortable around one another, but she wasn’t sure if they were just there yet. Last thing she wanted to do was walk out there in her knickers and one of his tee shirts, then make him uncomfortable in any way. Though she felt like a raisin since she was not doing her usual post-shower skin routine, nor any hair products for her hair, she told herself she’d do it tomorrow when she was back to the Inn.

She walked outside to see Harry laying in his bed, his small telly that was stood by his couch, turned around so he could watch a rerun of an old Would I Lie To You episode. When the bathroom door opened, he instantly looked in her direction, placing his hands on either side of his form as if he got ready to get up. Their eyes met and his eyes fell to her tee shirt, where the material hugged her waist firmly. He met her eyes again, swallowing thickly before he gestured beside him at two glasses of water.

“One by the window is yours.”

“I’m literally so thirsty, thank you.”

Harry smiled, walking past Y/N and into the bathroom, going to take his own shower. Y/N sat down in Harry’s bed, nuzzling under the covers and taking a hold of her glass. She brought it to her lips, sipping it till it was empty, watching the telly as she did. She got up for a refill, drank half, and then just continued to watch the telly for a bit. The light in the room was dim enough so she could easily fall asleep, and she almost did drift off against the headboard, but then Harry exited the bathroom and woke her up with a start.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

She smiled, sinking down into the pillow. “Almost went off to dreamland there.”

“Soz.”

“I’m a light sleeper, it’s not your fault.”

Harry nodded, walking over to turn the lights off, the only light in the entire little cottage now being the light from the telly. He strolled over to the fridge and took a cucumber out. Y/N watched him as he brought a knife out, cutting it up in half.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Just brushed my teeth.”

“So did I, but after I’ve been out, I usually eat half a cucumber before bed.”

Y/N stared at him.

“What?”

“Just… just a cucumber? Nothing else?”

“What else? Do you spice your cucumber? With what?” Harry looked at his little box of spices by his stove. “Onion granules?”

Y/N laughed, placing her hands on the duvet above her stomach.

“I actually had jalfrezi leftovers after we went to the pub a few weeks ago,” Harry said as he came over to the bed, giving Y/N half the cucumber. “So I dipped my cucumber in that and ate it.”

Y/N grimaced. “Were you still pissed?”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “I just like cucumber and Indian food.”

“Fair enough.”

Harry picked up one of his quilts and sat down in bed beside Y/N, draping it over himself so she could have the duvet for herself. He bit into his half of the cucumber, completely unfazed as his eyes fell on the telly. Y/N tried not to laugh, but he looked so incredibly cute, munching on his cucumber and smiling at something Rob Brydon said. He must’ve noticed her not eating, because he looked down at where she laid in bed, raising his eyebrows.

“You weren’t hungry?”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s honestly refreshing.” Harry took another bite. “I love it.”

That made her smile and she took a bite of her cucumber as well, Harry watching her as she chewed and then swallowed.

“Well…? Your verdict?”

“It’s just a cucumber.”

Harry rolled his eyes, making Y/N laugh again. “You’re humiliating.”

“Says the person who eats half a cucumber before bed!”

“I’m quirky!”

Laughing again, the two fell into comfortable silence as they watched the rest of the Would I Lie To You episode. Though the idea of eating half a cucumber hadn’t been very appealing to begin with, it did make her feel a bit better. She didn’t know she’d been hungry till now, the cucumber and the two glasses of water had done a well enough job to fill her stomach up before bed, so she didn’t bother asking Harry if she could make herself a toastie. Instead, Y/N found her eyes falling shut, her entire body relaxing completely. All the worry and the paranoia and the fight earlier all came together now, making her so tired she could barely stand to keep her eyes open. Her entire body ached with the effort it took to stay awake. She stayed as close to the wall as possible, where she could look out across the dimly lit lightkeeper house.

Y/N felt the move as Harry reached out to the windowsill. He sat back, screwing the lid open, revealing a balm of some sort. He rubbed his middle finger in it, slowly sliding it along the thick balm till his finger was wet with it. Y/N bit her bottom lip. For some reason, she thought he was going to smear it across his own lips, some sort of cream to help keep his lips moisturised. No, instead Harry dragged his finger under his eyes. Not directly under his eyes, but along his cheekbones, slowly and gently.

“What’s that?” Y/N asked through a yawn.

Harry looked away from the telly and at her. “Face cream.”

“You put it on before bed?”

“It helps me sleep, it’s made of lavender and apricot. Both are supposed to help you fall into a deep sleep.”

“Can I try?”

“Yeah.” Harry handed it over, leaning his head back against the headboard, watching Y/N as she smelled it.

“Lush.”

“It is.”

Y/N rubbed her finger in it, putting it along under her eye. She was aware Harry was keeping an eye on her, but she pretended to find the programme incredibly interesting right then. She heard a slight chuckle.

“Not directly under your eyes,” Harry said. “Not there.” He leaned over, taking a delicate grip of her wrist and moving her hand down. “Here.” His hand moved upward to cup hers, his little finger, ring finger, and middle finger hooking themselves tenderly between her thumb and index. His index rested on top of hers as he guided her hand slowly and gently, tipping his head to the side to rest against the headboard while he concentrated. She didn’t dare look away from the telly, too overwhelmed to do anything but let him help her.

“Then the other eye,” he mumbled, telling her what was going to happen next. Because without warning, he dipped his finger in the balm Y/N was holding, swirling his finger slowly around till it was moist. When he did that, she simply could not help herself, and her eyes fell to look at his hand, taken aback by what was happening. However, she didn’t move or tell him to stop when Harry brought his hand up, sliding it over her cheekbone. Soft, slow, graceful. A prickling hot sensation followed where he touched, slowly spreading through her entire body. She looked away from the balm and at Harry, the second she did, he glanced back at her. A slight breath left her lips, Harry’s eyes falling to them. She sat up, finding the lid and placing it back on the balm. She handed it back to Harry.

Harry took it, placing it back in the windowsill before he got up from bed. Y/N lay back down, quickly checking the pulse on her neck because she knew her heart was beating hard. If it beat hard enough, would it somehow make the bed creak? Was it possible her heartbeat made her entire body shake like that? Just in case, Y/N switched so she was laying on her side. She watched as Harry turned the telly off, the room falling into complete darkness. Y/N closed her eyes, realising for the first time in a minute or two how sleepy she actually was.

It took a second or two before she felt the bed move and creak as he sat down. He shuffled till he was comfortable laying on his side facing her. Only reason she knew that was because she heard his content sigh and felt his breath on her face. It had been quiet for a minute or so before Harry whispered her name.

“Hm?” she asked, opening her eyes slightly. She could not make out much, but she thought she might’ve seen him looking at her. That might also just be her imagination playing tricks on her.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, his voice a whisper.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I know you’re just looking out for me and I’m sorry if it was embarrassing for you when I did that.”

“I’m sorry I criticised her for leaving you when it was bad for her mental health, I just know that it can’t have been easy to have been in your shoes just then, so that break up can’t have been easy to deal with on top of everything else.”

Silence stretched on for a few seconds. “It wasn’t. But I don’t blame her for leaving if that was what was best for her.”

Y/N closed her eyes again. “Okay.”

She felt the bed move again as Harry found a new position that was more comfortable. The pillow she rested her head on moved a bit, she reckoned he slung his arm over the top of her head.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry said, voice slurring now as well.

“Night.”

“My alarm will go off at 3am, by the way.”

She smiled. “I know.”

She heard him let out a slight breath, sounding like a small chuckle, and the next thing she knew, she was having the slumber of her life.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 27 September, 9PM GMT!

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[shingia]

Hello!!! I love ur fics sm 😭💖 This is weirdly specific and been plaguing my mind for days,,, Can I req an angsty fic where Atsumu broke up with the reader because he wants to chase his dreams and ultimately leaves but with the reader saying "I'll wait" . A few months later he seeks for the reader again and finds out the reader has terminal illness and is dying. You can decide if there's major character death or a miracle,,,, please and thank u so much!!

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐨 - 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

aw thank youuuu <33 and also WOW this request is in-tense, i modified the ‘terminal illness’ part a little bit for plot convenience, but i rly hope you’re gonna like it ! i am : stressed. also, i’m a sucker for happy endings (just ignore my last bokuto fic) so i couldn’t go full angst on that one 😅

quick storytime : my great grandpa died from heartbreak and i always thought it was a beautiful (yet very sad) way to die, so i guess that’s where i got my inspiration from <3

⤷  atsumu x gn!reader | angst | word count : 1.7K

warnings : hospital environment, heart condition, mild description of ‘illness’ and mentions of death (a little)

your first kiss with miya atsumu had been sloppy, dizzy, with a strong scent of rum and smudged lip balm all over your lips. but there was no doubt that it had been the best kiss of your entire lives…

…just like your last had been the worst. 

two months later, atsumu still couldn’t forget the salty taste of your lips that begged him not to leave. if he focused hard enough, he could even remember the feeling of your hands desperately clinging to his jacket in a last attempt at making him stay by your side.

but he didn’t, and as much as he hated himself for putting an end - even temporary - to what had been the most beautiful chapter of his life, he had never regretted his decision ; and he knew exactly why. you had promised to wait for him, and in pure egoism, he knew and hoped that you would. because no matter the distance, he was still madly in love with you.

which is why he did not understand why osamu was so outraged when he told him that he was finally ready to come back to you. but the younger twin knew things that his brother didn’t - he had seen you let yourself waste away, like nothing else mattered without the one you loved.

but more than that, atsumu did not know about the secret his brother promised to keep. he did not know that, two weeks ago, osamu had found you unconscious in your living room with an alarmingly slow heartbeat. the poor boy had not understood everything the doctors had told him - but whatever a cardiogenic shock was, he knew that it would have carried you off if without his intervention.

however, you had been categorical : atsumu shouldn’t not know about this, under any pretext. you refused to be a burden to the pursuit of his dreams for which he had already sacrificed so much for. but now that atsumu was back, something about this promise didn’t sit right with his brother. and so he decided to tell him everything.

« …most doctors thought about a standard heart attack » he told him after explaining the situation, on the lookout for any impulsive reaction from his brother. « … but one of them talked about something else. you might want to sit down ».

but atsumu couldn’t care less about his brother’s advice. actually, he didn’t care about anything else than you right now. it was already taking a lot of effort for him to stand there listening to samu instead of being on his way to the hospital - but he stayed. for an obscure reason that he didn’t really understand, he stayed.

« did you know that people can die of heartbreak ? » osamu asked, more serious than he had ever been in his whole life. 

the blonde twin felt like the ground had suddenly swallowed him whole - although his brother was trying his best not to sound too accusating, it was more than obvious that whatever situation you were in was because of him. and only him.

« no they can’t » he tried to protest, not even believing in his own words. panic was beginning to win him over - and in a matter of seconds, he lost all his composure « WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT MOVING ? LET’S GO ! » he shouted, already opening the front door. at that moment, one question burned his lips, but he knew he would never have the guts to ask it out loud. 

‘did i kill them ?’

——

the steady beeps of all the machines around you were the only thing disrupting the deafening silence of your hospital room. you were sick of spending your days alone. but you had no right to complain, osamu had offered to come and see you after work every day, but you had politely refused. well, politely was a big word… your body was so exhausted that you had trouble articulating simple phrases, and therefore exclusively communicated through nods or hand gestures.

your phone had been confiscated and the doctors kept you away from the news - or at least from the negative news, because they knew that your heart might give out at the tiniest emotional distress.

which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door at about 3pm, outside of the nurses’ shift hours. knowing that you were too weak to talk, osamu let himself in, slowly closing the door behind him before coming closer to your bed.

« how are you doing ? » he asked, resting his hands on the other end of the bed. you shrugged, pointing at the IV and all the monitoring surrounding you. as long as these machines were there, it was hard to feel better than just ok. « listen, um… someone is here for you. the doctors said i could bring him in, but i wanted your authorization first… » he started before clearing his throat. « atsumu is back. do you- are you ready to see him ? ».

ready was probably not an appropriated word. but after two months spent pretending that he was still laying next to you in bed every night, still texting you good morning every day, still sending you the dumbest memes at the most random times, it would have been a huge mistake to refuse osamu’s proposition.

and so he let him in. obviously, atsumu had orders from the doctors and his brother : don’t run, don’t move too fast, don’t speak too soon, don’t touch them without warning. but nobody had asked him not to cry. and how could his eyes stay dry when you looked so fragile and so vulnerable ?

osamu quietly left the room, leaving the two of you together not without apprehension. but if there was one thing he could trust his brother on, it was taking care of you. two months could not have gotten the better of four years of relationship.

but as much as he cared about you, atsumu had always been - and still was - pretty bad with words. and the first ones that left his mouth were a great example. « are you going to die ? » he asked in a shaky voice, brows knitted.

you would have given him an answer if you had one, but you didn’t. the doctors said that you had gone through the most painful part, but the risks of aggravations were still too important to let you go home. you were not 100% safe yet.

« i told you i’d wait » you spoke in a hoarse voice, the beep of your heart monitor getting a little bit faster.

the steps atsumu took towards you were slow, like he had been told, but just one glance at his eyes was enough to know that deep down, he was dying to feel your skin against his.

« i know you probably hate me right now. and for good reasons » he started as he sat on the chair next to your bed, still painfully avoiding any contact. « but there’s something i need to tell you, in case… in case… well, if something were to happen ».

his eyes lingered on your fingertips, blue and cold, and his whole body tensed at once. the thought that everything you were going through had been caused by his own selfishness was driving him crazy. but he had one last thing to keep himself grounded, and that thing was exactly what he was about to tell you.

« i love you. but i caused you so much trouble that i think there’s only one way to prove it… » he said, taking a deep breath before finally resting a timid hand on your arm. « i want to marry you. right now. i don’t fucking care if it’s not considered official, i just want you to know that leaving you was probably the biggest mistake i ever did. and that i’m not leaving ever again. so fuck it, let’s get married ! you almost died, life’s too short to plan a stupid ceremony ».

he stopped for a few seconds, panting from his teary monologue and paying attention to any beep or other sound that might indicate that he had made things worse for you. but it seemed like you were doing ok. how could you not be ? the love of your life had just proposed to you - sure, it wasn’t how you had imagined it, but wasn’t it even more beautiful like that ?

the tears that started rolling down your cheeks were undoubtedly tears of happiness and relief to know that, finally, your life was back to normal. atsumu was your normality, and for the first time in two months, you finally felt like you had a purpose. you had no idea if soulmates existed, but what you had with atsumu seemed more than close enough.

if someone had entered the room at that moment, it’d probably have taken them several minutes to understand what was going on. two young adults, crying yet smiling, one of them laying on a hospital bed looking like they had been through hell and back, and the other tearing off two pieces of his t-shirt and looking genuinely proud of himself -  nothing about this made sense.

« my apologies, it was the easiest way to make us rings » atsumu chuckled, eyes still blurry as grabbed your hand in his with infinite tenderness. slowly, he tied the piece of cloth around your ring finger, loosely enough so that the doctors would not consider it dangerous for your blood circulation.

« i’m keeping that until you’re getting out of here. by my side. » he affirmed, pointing at his own makeshift ring before looking right into your eyes, as serious as ever. « and i’m also keeping you. forever. consider this my wedding vows »

as much as he hated to phrase it like that, you could both die in peace now.

i spent so much time on medical sites to be as accurate as i could, i felt like meredith mf grey for a few hours

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

[lemonietrinket]

summertime is for us ||| felix x reader

summary: it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend felix in person, and you can’t wait to finally see him again genre: fluff, a bit of angst wordcount: 1618 music: ambience; ambience an: i wrote this suddenly in a daze as a break from the longer rq ive been working on—my long-awaiting, ever-patient anon, i hope youre ready, your rq is going to be a monster...!

gender neutral reader

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

the breeze wove gently between the windchimes, ringing delicately across the hill where you lay in the grass. nestled in a bed of brilliant green, clusters of daisies gazing up at the sun by your arm, you kept your breath slow as you let the afternoon warm your face. you waited patiently, half in a daze, half on the edge of sleep, for the familiar footsteps to arrive. he was late again, and you would’ve rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh if you hadn’t been so lethargic.

your ears pricked up at a light, quiet thud in the twigs just beyond by the tree. you turned your body gradually towards it, casting a shadow from your shoulder across your face, and peaked through the waltzing dandelions, the silvery fairies taking off from their homes to dance higher and higher until they disappeared into the sky.  it was a small bird. skipping across the ground, its freckled brown tail feathers perked up inquisitively, as it picked between the twigs and grass blades taller than its own head. after a moment it jumped upon a branch, small and hidden amongst the untamed valley. it briefly sang a call—to a friend, a love, the world, you didn’t know—but a smile slipped onto your face nonetheless. it seemed so small in the world, so normal, and yet it sang and made everything seem just that little bit brighter. as what would a peaceful afternoon be without birdsong?

“yn!”

the deep singsong call of your friend came from the top of the hill, mixing with the windchimes and causing the bird to turn on its tail and return to the tree canopy. you sat up on your elbow, shielding your eyes and searched the crest of the hill for the one you were waiting for.  a few seconds later, he appeared and began shuffling down the slope to you, minding the flowers as he went. and then moments later he was steps away, slinging his bag off at the foot of the tree, smile brighter than the sun itself. 

“felix! you’re—oof!” 

giggling, he practically flung himself into your arms, leaving you to yelp as you fell onto your back, arms naturally wrapping round his waist and pulling him into you. “jesus, i missed you too!”

the semester alone had felt longer than any school year you’d been through, you’d ended up messaging him every moment you could, missing his presence every night when the nights got cold. you’d hadn’t needed a second blanket for two years, and the trek to go retrieve one from your drawer only made the room feel emptier. 

but he was here now, and the summer was all yours.

felix pressed a kiss into your neck, before levering himself up and straddling you to sit more comfortably. his dark eyes met yours, glistening with his smile and longing finally ended. “sorry i’m late.”  he didn’t seem that sorry at all, beaming at you, his nose scrunching before he gave in and planted a kiss on your forehead, but it was hardly like you minded.

“apology accepted,” you rushed, stroking his hair as the two of you looked at each other properly for the first time in months. he’d had a haircut, you knew that, and though you’d already seen it, now it had grown out more, leaving soft waves to frame the face that taken your breath away the first time you saw it. it caught the sun above and gifted him a halo,like you were sure he deserved. and how it felt different beneath your fingertips. you could spend an evening just thinking about that alone. same for how he had grown. so far apart, even photos and video calls couldn’t show the smallest of details, the things you cherished the most, leaving you surprisingly startled at the boy you once knew, now seeming even more of a man than he had done last winter. it looked good on him, as pretty much everything did—despite your shock that you got to look upon something so beautiful—but it was also tinged with a bittersweetness. all those days he had grown and you hadn’t been there to see them for yourself, even after knowing him for so long. all those minutes between the times when you were younger and you used to count his freckles like a child. the curse of the childhood sweetheart. it only made you long to see every day with him even more. 

felix meanwhile was also stuck in this wordless awe, thumb stroking your cheek as he stared, precious lips parted absently. lucky for you, you had come to your senses before him. with a coy grin you murmured, “is there something on my face?”

however, he answered too fast for your own heart’s good. “too much pretty, that’s what.” 

“oh ew, blegh, too much cheese, blegh—”

he rolled his eyes before he hushed you, dipping in to take your lips into his. you’d forgotten how soft his lips were, how powerful his touch was. you instantly melted into him, your hand slipping to his temple as his wove through your hair. “god, i missed you so much...” he whispered into your lips, immediately welcoming your lips once again. 

“me too... i don’t know how i’m going to do it again...”

he pulled away slowly, eyes saddening. “i know, but we’ve got to.”

feeling the energy dip, you were about to apologise for ruining the joy so soon—you had weeks before you needed to even worry about that at all—but felix continued before you could.

“and i’m going to be further away than i was before,” he said. 

searching his gaze for any sign of what he meant, you eventually asked, “what do you mean?”

he smiled then, small and conflicted. “i got in on the GLTA scheme.”

your eyes widened as you sat up suddenly. “you got in?!” as soon as he nodded excitedly, you gasped and threw your arms around his neck. “oh my god, baby, congrats! you did it, oh my god—!”

he mumbled a thank you into your shirt as you held him tightly, as if your subconscious knew what this meant. 

“where are you going to go?”

“south korea.”

you held him at arm’s length, a proud grin on your lips, but your hands still tense as you ran them across his arms. “you got into—?! i told you you’re a genius, felix, i told you! god i’m so proud of you!”

he chuckled, but his eyes were already begin to trail away from yours, even as you cupped his cheeks. your elation quickly cooled. “baby, what’s wrong?”

it took a few moments for him to work up the courage to speak, but after he’d settled next to you, you resting on your side to face him, he spoke, “aren’t you... i won’t be able to come back over the winter...”

you couldn’t hide the disappointment that began to gnaw at your stomach, a small sigh leaving you before you could stop it, but you shook your head. “felix, baby, i’ll miss you, so much, but...” you shifted closer resting your cheek on his shoulder, brushing a leaf off his shirt, “there’s no way you can’t take this opportunity, it’s something you’ve always wanted, and i wouldn’t stop you for anything.”

relaxing, he leant back into the grass with a sigh, pulling you into his side happily. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too,” you whispered, closing your eyes once again to listen to the sound of the birds and his heartbeat. “there’s always next summer.”

“there’s always next summer,” he agreed. the two of you dozed in the sun, felix’s slow, rhythmic trace of his fingertips against your shoulder lulling you into sleep.  when you awoke it was to the amber hues of sunset, painting the sky a masterpiece as the breeze picked up, flurrying goosebumps across your arms. the birds had quietened down, their song echoing from further down the hill, crickets taking their place. it wouldn’t be long before night finally fell.

you hauled yourself up and stretched, ignoring the ache in your leg which had been curled up at an odd angle for a bit too long. rubbing the sleep from your eyes you glanced down at felix to find he was still fast asleep. his brow furrowed for a split second ,before his hand twitched and he turned his head, relaxing once again. resisting the urge to coo, your eyes wandered over to his bag in the stretching shadow of the tree. and soon, your body followed, tiptoeing through the grass, to have a rummage through his over-packed rucksack. and, to your luck, there was his hoodie: enough warmth to stay out for just that little bit longer.

you returned to him as you pulled the baggy black over your head before joining him in the grass. you shimmied your hands up into the sleeves for added coziness while you rested your head in the grass besides his. with your sweater-paw carefully shifting his fringe out of his face, you allowed yourself to finally take in every little detail you had missed, both the old and the new, cast in the golden hues of the dying afternoon. 

“one...” you began in a whisper, smile shy and subdued. “two...”

in the embers of the sun, you found yourself counting his freckles, just like you had in your very first summer together. and as the sky turned violet and darkened, the sun lost behind the forest canopy, you finally found the exact same number as the last time you had counted. even with the world constantly spinning around you, he hadn’t changed at all.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

an: hope its not too bad. i wont read it for the next month so i wont know :))))

also my knitting needles turned up!!

masterlist

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 46

Title: Not Broken, Just Bent

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, profanity, angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty​

“I appreciate this,” Tyler says, as he and Desi work side by side in the front foyer; assisting the three littles with the zippers on their coats and the laces on their boots.

He’d called the neighbour on a whim; desperate for even the smallest bit of help. He’s never been one to just reach out to others; long drilled into him that only a pathetic and weak man needs a helping hand. But if the first nightmare in Dhaka had taught him anything, it’s that even the biggest and strongest need someone to lean on from time to time; his body and his spirit so broken that he’d required assistance with even the most basic and simplest of everyday living skills. Esme stepping up to the plate and never once complaining about the energy it depleted her of or the time it took out of her own schedule; never making him feel as if he were a burden. Accompanying -and chauffeuring, as both his physical limitations and pain medications made it impossible for him to function to that extent- him to doctors visits and physiotherapy sessions and counselling appointments with addiction specialists. Always wanting her right there with him even when the most difficult of subjects were broached or intense physical exercises caused excruciating pain. Her quiet presence and all of the patience and resilience inhabiting that tiny body both a source of strength and a tremendous comfort. Accompanied by the tender touch of her hands as they massaged his shoulders or rubbed his back or her fingertips cleared wayward strands of hair from his forehead and out of his eyes. Voice soft and soothing even during the moments where frustration and pain had him raging; a palm on the back of his neck and her nose pressed against his temple as she encouraged him to ‘just breathe’ and reminded him of how far he’d already come and how he was proving all of the doctors and the naysayers wrong.

Six years later she’d find herself back in that situation again; his babies growing and thriving inside her as she once more took on the role of his caretaker. Having to lend assistance with even the mundane things most people take for granted; helping him to the bathroom when the pain was too intense to make it even when the aid of crutches or a walker, keeping a well organized and attentively followed medication schedule, feeding him when the tremors in his hands -a side effect of the meds- made it impossible for him to even hold a fork or spoon. Giving him showers or sponge baths or washing his hair in the kitchen sink and trimming both his hair and his beard. And she’d willingly learned more intensive care as well; wound irrigation and cleaning and how to switch out the IV and medication bags when an infection in the lower back had forced him onto powerful antibiotics. She’d been overwhelmed and exhausted but had never shown it; never losing her patience or her temper with him and never reacting when his own -triggered by pain and frustration and vulnerability- kicked off.

Months of her constant presence, reassurance and steadfast care had opened his eyes to who his wife TRULY is; an incredibly strong and resilient woman that has been through hell and back -a number of times- but never lets the situation break her. Always positive and upbeat; gracing him with smiles or ruffles of his hair or kisses to his cheek and words of praise and encouragement. It had given him a new appreciation and respect for her; how easy she made it look while caring for him and keeping a home running and taking care of his children. Even now he remains in awe of her; the amount of determination and love that can exist in someone so small. And if it taught them both anything, it’s that they truly ARE a team; relying on one another in many different ways. What could have destroyed other couples only served to make them stronger. That foundation built upon a unique and powerful bond and formed through a complicated and dangerous situation never crumbling; holding them up with everything around them seemed to want to break them down. Everything became more solid; their marriage, their roles are parents, their friendship. And they’ve discovered they loved each other even more than they ever realized; a love so complete and whole and all consuming.

Now it’s his turn; shove all of his issues and his demons and monsters aside to take care of her. It’s the one thing he’s always been both good at, and consistent with; shelving all of his problems in order to focus on hers. It’s two fold. A chance to show her just how loved and appreciated and adored she actually is; a way of proving just how grateful he is for everything she’s done -for him AND their family- throughout the past twelve and a half years. And it keeps both his body and his mind busy; making her his number priority an effective way to battle back against his demons. But He realizes he can’t do it alone; the old adage of ‘it takes a village’ proving true. Seven kids in the house means a lot of noise and a lot of activity. Not the ideal setting and atmosphere for someone that is both mentally AND physically exhausted.

While Desi had been the obvious choice on who to seek out, it had taken Tyler nearly a half an hour to convince himself to make the call; feeling guilty for yet again turning to their neighbour to lend a hand. It’s primarily an ego issue; feeling like ‘less of a man’ for not only needing help, but outwardly admitting it and lowering his guard enough to ask for it. Esme would blame it on the toxic masculinity that still lingers deep inside; the ghost of his father telling him he should be dealing everything on his own and that not being able to is a sign of both cowardice and weakness. It remains a struggle at times; breaking away from that train of thought and reminding himself that everything his old man had taught him -or attempted to- had been unhealthy and toxic and nothing but complete bullshit. And Desi is like family; always stepping up when either of them have needed him. A loyal confidant and steadfast supporter, he’d easily and effortlessly blended with large broods; enjoying the time spent under their crazy and chaotic roof and giving the kids the kind of uncle they deserve. And while it normally takes Tyler months or even years to trust someone when it comes to his personal life and the safety and the well being of his family, with Desi it has come fairly easily. That laid back and enormously generous personality and the gentle and compassionate way he treats Esme and the kids had triggered Tyler’s instincts. Letting him know that the man was trustworthy and reliable and in no way a threat.

“Anytime,” Desi says, as he finishes with the laces on Takota’s boots and turns to help Brooklyn, allowing her to attempt the tying and only stepping in which she gets frustrated and gives up. “You know I’m here for you guys. Always.”

Tyler slips a purple and pink knitted beanie onto Addie’s head. “Seem to rely on you an awful lot.”

“It’s what friends do, right? Help each other out when they need it. They step up. Lend a hand. No one can go through life alone. No one.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to tell me that thirteen years ago. I was pretty sure that’s how I’d live out the rest of my life. And die.”

“Were you happy though? Living like that? All by your lonesome? Out there in the middle of nowhere?”

“I had company.”

“A dog and a chicken are NOT company,” Desi informs him. “Not by a long shot.”

“Dogs are man’s best friend, aren’t they? And it was a pretty smart chicken.”

“You can’t tell me you were happy like that. Living way out there, alone, no one to talk to. No one is happy living like that.”

“In all fairness, ninety percent of the time I was too out of it to be carrying on conversations.”

It feels like a lifetime ago; that rundown shack in the middle of the outback, surrounded by nothing but the sparse trees and dry earth and looming mountain ranges. It had seemed like the perfect place to let his wounds fester and his addictions take hold; no one trying to dictate what he could and couldn’t do, no attempts at trying to talk him into rehab or counselling, far enough out that not even Koen or Rata made it a habit of stopping by unannounced. Out there he’d been surrounded by nothing but emptiness; a perfect match for the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been. A punishment of sorts. Nothing but the mistakes of the past and his overwhelming grief and guilt to keep him warm at night. Out there he could let the demons run rampant; drinking himself into oblivion and abusing Oxy at an alarming rate. His last coherent thought before passing out would always be the same; that the substances he’d put in his body would be enough to ensure he didn’t wake up the next day. But he always did; usually coming to in the middle of the warped and dusty floor or sitting at the kitchen table. Surrounded by empty bottles of booze and tipped over vials of pills and crippled by a brutal hangover; the headache and nausea and the dizziness so intense he’d have to crawl to the bathroom.

When it became apparent that the mix of alcohol and painkillers weren’t enough to do the trick, he began taking the most risky and dangerous jobs possible. By that time, he was fully engrossed in his death wish; too chicken to pull the trigger himself so instead relying on someone else to do it for him. Every time he went out, he’d all but pleaded to a higher power that it would be his last. Resorting to begging and pleading with whatever -or whoever- was watching his ass to take break; take their eyes off him or shirk their duties long enough for him to catch a bullet to the head. Yet it never happened. No matter how many times he’d spun that barrel and taken the risk, he always lived to see another day. Which in turn had only made his desperation even more intense; feeding into that grief and the sorrow that threatened to drown him yet never took him right under. That day on the cliff when he’d plunged into the water below, there’d been nothing stopping him from giving up; the weight of his regret and self loathing enough to keep him below the surface and allow his air to slowly run out. He hadn’t been afraid. He’d been ready to die for a long time.

Yet something had told him to keep going. A little voice hanging onto a thread of hope; louder than those attempting to destroy him. And when he’d pulled himself out of the water, he’d found he suddenly felt lighter; as if some of the burdens and past mistakes had temporarily lifted and been replaced by the first shred of contentment he’d experienced in a hell of a long time. Less than forty minutes later, he’d be watching Esme as she climbed up onto his porch. Studying her as she crouched down and showered his dog with attention. Finding himself both curious and intrigued about the unknown, tattooed and pierced dark haired beauty that had suddenly shown up in his life.

“You gotta admit, that kind of existence IS lonely,” Desi says, as he opens the front door and motions for the three littles to step through. “All alone? Out in a place like THAT? I’ve been there, remember. I’ve seen what it’s like. It’s desolate and it’s isolating and…”

“And it’s what I wanted at the time.’

Desi cocks an eyebrow, then steps out onto the front porch. “What you wanted? Or what you thought you deserved?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Tyler’s mouth, and he stands on the threshold with a palm flat against the door, effectively holding it open. “What seemed right at the time.”

“Were you? Lonely?”

“Never gave it much thought, to be honest. But in all fairness, most of my days were spent drunk and high off my ass, so…”

“You never once wished that you had someone around? Someone to talk to? Spend time with? Get...you know...PERSONAL with.”

“If I wanted that, I could get it. Easily. There was no shortage of that, believe me.”

“You never wanted more than that? I mean, there’s more to life than THAT. What about bonding with someone? Yeah, sex is great, but what about everything else? Companionship. Friendship. Someone to come home to at the end of the day or however long you were gone for some times. Someone that’s just...THERE...you know?”

“I was a fucking mess. Way worse than you could even begin to imagine. Why would I bring someone into that? Why would I do that to someone? Ruin their life like that? They get with me, everything’s great for a while, then they discover just how messed up I am and take off. What would be the point? Bringing someone into that? That’s just wasting their time.”

“Was it about them or you? Not wanting to get involved with someone.”

Arching an eyebrow, Tyler leans against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seems like maybe you were using all that as excuses. To protect yourself. That maybe you were scared to get too attached. Just in case they DID decide it was too much and run off.”

A slow grin tugs at his lips. “ You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Esme. You’re getting into the psychoanalyzing business too, huh?”

“I’m just saying that maybe it ran deeper than worrying about other peoples’ feelings. Maybe you were worried about your own too.”

“I was dead inside, Des. I wasn’t feeling a damn thing.”

“Except for shame and guilt and regret. And a whole hell of a lot of self loathing.”

“You really ARE spending too much with my wife.”

“I just think it makes sense. You protecting yourself too. But not willing to admit it. At least not out loud. Wouldn’t it have been worth giving it a shot? Finding someone? Seeing if they could put up with everything?”

“I was an alcoholic mercenary with a drug addiction and a death wish. Who would put up with that?”

“Esme, for one.”

“Esme is an entirely different breed all her own. I highly doubt there’s many out there like her. That would willingly hook up with a fucking train wreck and put up with everything I’ve put her through. That I KEEP putting her through.”

“You know, you’re not as bad as you think you are. Do you have some issues? Yeah. But shit, we all do. We’re all a mess. In one way or another. You might be a little messier than most, but…”

“A little? That’s being awfully nice about it.”

“Look, she sticks around, doesn’t she? She’s still here. Twelve and half years later. You really think if things were THAT bad she wouldn’t have hauled ass a long time ago? Didn’t y’all split up for a while?”

“Six months,” Tyler confirms.

“And yet you got back together. She wanted things to work out. Not like she kicked your ass to the curb and hooked up with some other guy. You guys fixed your shit, made things better. She wouldn’t have taken you back if you were that bad. She wouldn’t have put herself or the kids through that.”

“Still a lot for one person to deal with. We’ve been through a lot shit. Way too much, actually.”

“Shit that would have broken weaker people,” Desi points out. “Both of you...separately... are strong as hell. But the two of you together? That’s a force to be reckoned with. And maybe she is a different breed of woman. Maybe it was the way she was raised that made her the way she is. Or the way she WASN’T raised. But let me tell you, she is a tough little thing. Feisty as all hell.”

“Totally a study in contradiction. You see that little body and that cute face and you think she’s all innocent and sweet and the next thing you know…”

“You’re married to her and seven kids?” Desi grins.

“I was going to say the next thing you know, she’s telling you where to go and how to get there and putting you in your place. Totally not what I expected, that’s for sure. Woman that size to be such a challenge. And so fucking bossy. If you heard half the shit that comes out of her mouth…”

“She keeps you on your toes. Challenges you. She’s definitely no push over. Which leads right back to my point. If you were as bad as you think you are, do you really think a woman like her would stick around? Hell no. She’d tell you off and pack her shit and take off. There’s no if’s, end’s, or butt’s about that. You brought that much shit and pain into her life? Things would have never gotten this far.”

“You know, you make a little TOO much sense.”

“I just tell ‘em like I see ‘em. You’re not the massive prick you think you are. Maybe a little bit of one…”

Tyler smirks.

“She showed up right when she was supposed to. That day at your place. Think of all the things in both your pasts that had to go wrong for you two to cross paths. If even just one of things went right, you probably never would have laid eyes on her. And that would have been a damn shame.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, considering his friend’s words. “It would have been.”

“The right woman came along at the right time. If your heart and your head didn’t think so, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You wouldn’t have the life you do. Hell, you probably wouldn’t have a life at all.”

“I’d be dead. If Esme hadn’t come along. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“Daddy!” Addie clomps up the front walk and climbs the porch stairs; abandoning the task of helping her siblings build a messy fort of wet snow. And she wraps both arms around one of his thighs and leans her slight, tiny body into him. “Do we REALLY have to go out?”

“It’s just for a few hours.” He scoops her up into his arms and settles her on his hip. “ Go get some lunch, go see a movie, stop at the candy store. Doesn’t that sound like fun? A day out with Des? You always love your days out with Des.”

“It does sound like fun and I DO love going out with Desi, but…” she curls both arms around his neck and nestles her face against the side of his throat. “...I want to stay with you and mummy. She was gone this morning. And it scared me. That she wasn’t here to do our thing.”

“Well tomorrow you can do your thing. Sometimes OTHER things come up. Can’t help that.”

“And I only got to spend a little bit of time with her because she’s been sleeping a LONG time!”

“She’s only been sleeping an hour. Didn’t you spend some time with her? Didn't you take a bath with her? In the big tub?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I need you to cooperate, okay? Mummy needs some rest. And she can’t really get that with all you guys in the house. Right now, she needs to sleep and when she wakes up, I need to be able to take care of her. And if I’ve got all you guys to take care of, I can’t really do that, can I?”

“Is she sick?”

“She’s a little under the weather.”

“Like a cough due to cold?”

“Nothing like that. She’s just feeling a little rundown. Nothing some quiet time won’t help. So you think you can do me a solid? Go out with a Desi for a bit?”

Addie sighs heavily. “I guess…”

“We’ll have a great time,” Desi promises. “We always do. Mommy and daddy need some time alone. It happens. They’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

Addie reaches for him; allowing herself to pass from one set of arms to another. “Like making a baby?”

“No one is making any babies,” Tyler informs. “Not in this house anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because our days of making babies are long gone. The shop is closed. All done. That’s it.”

“One more wouldn’t be so bad,” Addie reasons. “Another sister.”

“One more WOULD be bad. And a shock because neither mummy or I can have more babies. Now…” laying a hand on the back of her head, he leans in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “....be good. I don’t want any bad reports when Desi gets back.”

“Why you telling me? I’m always good.”

Tyler stares pointedly at his daughter.

“Well, ALMOST always.”

“Remember what I said. No taking off. You stay with Desi. Or with TJ. Got it?”

Addie gives a thumbs up. “Got it!”

“Have fun. And don’t worry about mummy. She’s fine, I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“You better,” the five year old warns. “‘Cause that’s my mummy and if anything happens to her…”

“Your mummy is in good hands,” Tyler promises. “Daddy knows what he's doing. I’m not some rookie, you know.”

“You be nice to mummy,” Addie orders. “No arguing and no making her cry and no making fun of how tiny she is.”

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s my go to. Making fun of her height.”

“Speaking as a short person, it’s NOT funny. At all.”

“I wonder how funny it will be when I DO pick you and your mum up and put you in my pockets.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Addie’s eyes narrow as she glares at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” He pecks her pouted lips. “You and your mumma both know everything I say, I say because I love you guys. Can I help it that you’re both so tiny and cute?”

“Can we help it that you’re so big and have humongous feet and ears?” Addie counters.

“Ouch,” Desi chuckles. “Savage.”

“She gets that from her mumma. Little, but so full of rage.” He digs his fingers into his daughter’s side, tickling her until the pout turns into a smile and she begins to giggle. “Do I need to remind you that you got my ears? And my feet? You all do.”

“Poor us,” Addie quips, and then squeals and giggles even louder when he brushes his beard against her cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, and presses a kiss to the freckled bridge of his daughter's nose. “Be good, okay? I’m counting on you here.”

“I got this!” She flashes two thumbs up over Desi’s shoulder as he carries her down the stairs. “See you later, alligator!”

“In a while crocodile,” Tyler responds.

“Blow a kiss, goldfish!”

“Bye-bye butterfly.”

“Toodle-loo kangaroo!”

Tyler shoots her a wink and then steps out onto the front porch. Hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie as he watches Desi herd the noisy and excited and noisy bunch out the front gate and then down the slush covered sidewalk. Waiting until they disappear around the corner before heading back into the house.

*****

The shower feels damn good. Hot enough to sting and to cause a new layer of perspiration to form on his skin; gathering at his temples and along his hairline and above his upper lip. The latter he swipes away with the tip of his tongue and then places his palms flat against the tile; chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed as the water beats down on his weary body. Physically speaking, he feels great; very little pain or tightness across the small of his back, a dull yet manageable ache in his repaired shoulder, the swelling of his right knee not as not as prominent as it usually is. The latter surprises him. He’d pushed himself extremely hard during his run that morning, greatly exceeding anything he’d ever put himself on the treadmill and far beyond the limits the specialists had put on him after his second surgery. And while he knows he shouldn’t ‘test the waters’ and there’s a legitimate risk of ligament tears and dislocations, he’s never been one to play by the rules. Refusing to let anyone confine him to what’s conventionally acceptable; always wanting to prove not only the naysayers wrong, but his own mind and body. An injury he can deal with; another operation and the recovery afterwards a lot easier to bear then the damage to the ego. His physicality has always been of major importance; strength, size, speed, stamina. And he’s had a hell of a time getting back to even seventy percent of where he’d been five years ago. When Nathan had managed to get the jump on him and achieved what no other foe had ever managed: breaking his body and mind.

He refuses to dwell on it. Nothing he can do will ever erase or lessen what happened; his body forever damaged and his entire lifestyle permanently altered. Physical injuries, mental health issues, the constant toeing of the line between addiction and sobriety. And he knows things could be a lot worse; dying that day on the bridge in Dhaka and never getting his second chance. He’d been given an incredible opportunity; an absolution for the mistakes of the past and a whole new life and a bright and content future. But it hasn’t been without its own share of pain and sacrifice and suffering; every blessing coming at an exceptional cost. Ones he’d happily paid and would do so again; willingly putting his own body and sanity on the line if it means keeping his family safe and sound.

A half an hour passes; hot water tank nearly drained when he finally steps out of the shower. Body still damp when he heads into the bedroom; a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and another being used to vigorously dry his hair. Slivers of light manage to trickle through the gap in the room darkening curtains, and he uses it to his advantage; quietly navigating the spacious master suite. She’s been asleep for more than an hour now; on his side of the bed with the heavy comforter pulled up to her chin and her cheek nestled into his pillow. Normally she would have argued with him; pointing out the list of things that -in her always busy mind- needed to be done before her sister’s arrival. But her ‘meltdown’ earlier had left her emotionally exhausted and she hadn’t kicked up even the slightest bit of fuss when he suggested she take time for herself; a long soak in the tub, her favourite ‘comfort’ clothes, a well deserved nap.

It’s been twelve and a half years of sacrifice and compromise on her part; giving up her old life in favour of a new one with him, adjusting to life in a new country only to have it torn apart and be forced back home, reluctantly agreeing to his return to the job and the worry and the stress that came with it. Five pregnancies that resulted in seven amazing and beautiful children; her physical and mental health paying a steep price each time, yet never denying him the desire for a big family. And the times she’s seen him near death. Horrendous injuries inflicted upon him; those long days and nights by his side in various hospitals and eventually the arduous and painful roads to recovery. Yet she’s done it without complaint; throwing herself into caring for him and their family and consistently putting her own well being on the back burner.

Lowering himself cautiously onto the end of the bed, he once more scrubs at his hair and then tosses the towel in the direction of the laundry hamper; sighing when it misses its mark and falls heavily to the floor. While mentally weary, his body feels great; relieved to be relatively pain free and filled with an uncharacteristic optimism. The silver lining within a very dark and immense cloud. A welcome boost of confidence he hasn’t experienced in years; brave enough to consider that maybe...just maybe...the worst is now behind him. And as he studies his reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, for once he’s not finding all the faults. No anger or disgust when his fingers lightly travel over the myriad of scars that inhabit his face, no thoughts of how battered and worn down he appears. Instead he notices that his eyes seem brighter; not as haunted and empty as they’ve been since his return from Cambodia. His face has filled out; the slight weight gain making the lines that accompany aging -and a hard life lived on the edge- not seem as prominent. His chest and arms are bigger; the slightest of flexes stretching the tattoos that decorate the insides of both biceps and shoulders. The positivity is surprising; years spent living in a state of self loathing and speaking self deprecating words long ago taking their toll and reducing him to a man that didn’t give a shit about his personal appearance. As long as he maintained his strength and his quickness and his skills, that had been all that mattered; not giving a second thought to his choice of attire or the thickness of his beard or the unruliness of his hair.

He’s still not what would be considered high maintenance; the opposite of a Desi who spends more time getting ready than the average female and has closets full of insanely expensive high end clothing. Still the most comfortable in bare feet and board shorts; jeans and a simple t-shirt considered ‘dressing up’ in his world. It’s an effortless existence; relaxed and content and low key. And it’s one the entire family -aside from a very ‘girly’ Addie- has adopted. Happy and secure; tucked away at the end of that dead end street and surrounded by nature and the smells and the sounds of the ocean. Their own slice of paradise; hard work, resilience, and a hell of a lot of money turning what had once been a modest residence into their dream home. It will be their ‘happily after after’; the place where they’ll raise their children, spoil their grandkids, and grow old and grey together. And for once, he’s confident that will happen. That they’ll get those moments Esme often speaks wistfully about. When their home is empty and it’s just the two of them; quiet breakfasts on the back deck and dinners down by the water. When there’s more grey in their hair and wrinkles on their faces, yet they still walk along the beach hand in hand or with their arms wrapped around each other; indulging in their bantering and their teasing and stopping to steal kisses in the surf.

And still giving her piggy back rides back to the house.

He feels the mattress shift slightly, and he watches her reflection through the mirror as she adjusts her position in bed. Rolling over onto her back and stretching languorously; a long, content sigh escaping her lips and the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. When she props herself onto her elbows and looks at him, her hair is disheveled and her eyes are slightly narrowed; a pout of confusion and disorientation capturing her lips.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

The pout transforms into a frown. “In the afternoon?”

“No. Morning.”

“Smart ass,” she grumbles, and then flops down onto her back. A foot kicks off the heavy comforter in favour of coming in contact with his back; toes slowly brushing along the top edge of the towel. “What are you doing?”

“I was in the shower. Didn’t get a chance to do it when I got home from my run. With everything that happened and you leaving and having to take care of the kids....” his voice trails off. It’s the last thing he wants to revisit. His panic attack in the kitchen, the way his oldest son had sensed the urgency and the stress and stepped up to the plate to care for his little sister, the worry that his wife either wouldn’t return or would walk through the door and tell him that it was over. That he was just too much for her to bear; a heavy and troublesome burden weighing her down.

“Why’s it so quiet?” she asks, and he’s thankful for the change in conversation. “What happened? Did they get a little too feral? Get on your last nerve so you tranquilized all of them?”

“I sold them all. On the black market.”

“I hope you got a good price for them,” she chides, and trails the tip of her big toe along his spine. “I put a lot of work into those kids. Not to mention what my body went through. I think that’s worth a good penny, don’t you? Doesn’t it deserve compensation? My body going to absolute shit?”

“Your body is amazing. It was incredible when we met, and it’s even more incredible now.”

“You really are the most biased husband on earth. My ass is bigger. My hips are wider.”

“You’ve had babies. MY babies.”

“Yeah, I have,” she smiles, and once more props herself up on her elbows. “Only guy in the universe I’d ever give that many spawn too.”

He grins at her through the mirror. “I’m honoured.”

“You should be,” she playfully retorts. “You’re naked under that towel, aren’t you.”

“Well considering I just got out of the shower and I don’t wear board shorts or underwear when I’m in there…”

“Honey, as incredible as your body is and I could lie here all day admiring it, I’m going to need you to put some clothes on. It’s far too tempting to engage in X rated activity when you’re naked. Or next to naked.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. X rated activities. With me.”

“Normally it’s not. But I think I’m PMSing.” That dramatic, adorable pout again. “ I’ve got wicked cramps and I’m feeling bloated as fuck and you know my hesitancy on having sex when all of that is going on. I know it doesn’t faze you and as much as orgasms DO help, it’s just not my jam.”

“Say no more.” Sighing, he gets to his feet; grateful that the normally bone deep pain that resides in his right knee has settled into nothing more than a dull, manageable ache. And he grabs a pair of discarded jeans slung over the back of the chair by the balcony door; releasing the towel from around his waist and tossing it in the direction of the laundry hamper.

“Now that’s just evil,” Esme declares. “You are a bad, bad, BAD man.”

He smirks at her through the mirror. “Why’s that?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You know exactly what you’re doing. Just dropping the towel like that. That’s so, so, SO mean.”

“Gotta give you something to stare at, yeah?”

“I prefer to call it admiring. And I have done a lot of admiring over the last twelve and half years. You never disappoint, husband.”

“I aim to please.”

“And do you ever hit your mark. Each and every time.”

Grinning, he tugs the jeans up over his hips and ass and tends to the button and zipper; pushing a hand through his damp hair as he approaches the side of the bed. “Move.”

“I like this spot. It’s YOUR spot. It’s got all your grooves in it. It’s comfortable.”

“Yeah, but it’s MY spot. And you know how anal I am about my spot. So haul ass. Please.”

“Grump face,” she mutters, but wriggles her way backward across the bed; rolling onto her hip as he joins her; sliding under the comforter and laying on his side facing her.

“Come here…” Reaching out, he curls an arm around her petite frame and pulls her into him. Hand resting in the middle of her back as his other arm slips under her shoulder; thigh wedging between her legs.. “...I’ll make you feel better, baby. In a non X rated way.”

“You’re so selfless.” She presses her body against his; a hand pushing through his hair and her head tucking under his chin. Eyes closing and a long, content sigh escaping her as she breathes in his familiar scent. Clean and crisp; notes of sandalwood and citrus. “So generous. Where ARE the kids?”

“Desi took them out. Lunch and a movie. Candy bar afterwards.”

“He just offered or....?”

“I called him. Told him you were having a rough day. That I needed some time and some space and some quiet. To take care of my girl.”

A smile plays on her lips as she pulls back to look at him. “Your girl, huh?”

“That’s what you are, aren’t ya? Or would I rather I call you my old lady?”

“I would definitely NOT rather that. I like it; being called your girl. It’s cute. I like the sound of it.”

He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. Palm sliding up her back, across her shoulder and then gently cupping the side of her face ; thumb repeatedly brushing against the top of her cheek.

She likes these moments with him. Quiet and content; bodies pressed together in a pure and innocent form of intimacy. The way his gaze never wavers ; as if he's intently studying every inch of her features and committing them to memory. Love and adoration written as plain as day upon his face; the softness of his expression, the gentle touch of a callused palm and fingertips, the tender smile that plays on his lips. A beautiful man with a not so beautiful past. A childhood filled with torment and abuse and anguish and tremendous loss, followed by years of substance abuse and a life lived on the edge; hounded by immense grief and guilt and regret and anxious for death to claim him. It’s no surprise that he has the issues he does; no one can go through a lifetime of trauma and come out of it unscathed. But it’s a shock he isn’t worse than he is. Still filled with so much strength; resilient and brave and never backing down from even the biggest of challenges. Loving and compassionate and sensitive. A striking juxtaposition considering his choice of career. A hardened and highly skilled mercenary that kills as a means to an end, not because he enjoys it.

“So you actually CALLED Desi?” she inquires. “For help? That’s a little...out of character.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Your sister won’t be here until later and I wasn’t waiting that long. So I got a hold of him and asked him to do me a favour. If he could take the kids so I could concentrate on you. That’s kind of hard to do when there’s seven plus one under the same roof.”

“That’s HUGE for you. You didn’t just acknowledge and admit you needed help, you actually ACTED on it.”

“What’s so huge about that? I’ve asked for help before.”

“You’ve asked ME for help before. Never someone else. That’s not you, Tyler. You’d rather wear yourself thin or completely burn yourself out than rely on other people.”

“It’s one of my issues,” he admits. “For many reasons. But you know how I always say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”

Esme nods.

“That includes swallowing my pride and asking for help.”

“You doing THAT? THAT’S love right there. And probably some lust, too.”

“There’s a little bit of that in there too,” he teases, and then places a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. Their eyes closing when the tip of his nose comes to rest against her forehead; hand slipping from her cheek and finding the back of her neck, fingers gently and deftly massaging the tense muscles.

For several minutes neither of them speak; basking in the silence and the warmth that radiates from one another's bodies; his slow, even breaths ruffling her hair, hers tickling his bare neck. These moments are rare; the chaos of raising seven children and their respective work schedules and responsibilities. Both are looking forward to her being home more. The opportunity to actually be alone; walks on the beach or time in the water, hikes in the woods or strolls through town. And the road trips. Needing nothing more than gas in the tank and money in their pockets.

*****

“Feeling any better?” Tyler asks, and slips his hand up into her hair; fingertips gently kneading the scalp.

“A little. Have a headache though. Not sure if it’s PMS or my moods or my meltdown earlier. But it’s a bitch. A mean, old bitch.”

He pulls away. Hand moving to the top of her head and fingers pressing on her well known problem areas; along the tops of both brows, the inside corners of her eyes, the bridge of her nose. Attempting to alleviate at least some of the pain and pressure. “Good?” he asks, when she reaches up to push her fingers through his; drawing their joined hands down to her lips and pressing a kiss to the side of his wrist.

She nods, a smile curving her lips. “Good. You and your magic fingers. They certainly know their stuff. In many ways.”

“They have a talent all of their own.”

“They certainly do. MANY talents, actually. Are YOU feeling better?”

“Not bad. My body feels pretty good. Thought maybe I’d be in agony after my run, but…”

“You pushed yourself, didn’t you. HARD. Harder than you’re supposed to.”

“Come on now. Would I actually do something like that? Not listen to the doctor’s orders?”

“You most certainly would. And you definitely have. Be careful, Tyler. Don’t push the limits too much, okay? I realize you know your own body, but you don’t always listen to it. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Screwing something up and needing surgery. AGAIN.”

“I won’t go too hard,” he promises, and pecks her lips. “But right now? I’m taking care of YOU. Not the other way around. You’ve spent a lot of time looking after me. Worrying about me. Probably too much.”

“It’s not like it’s a job or something like that. You’re my husband. I love you. That’s why I do it.”

“And I love you. Which is why I need to step up and take care of you. Don’t be so stubborn, Me. Let me look after you. We’re a team, yeah? We’re supposed to be in this together? Let me pick up some of the slack.”

“It’s a bad habit of mine. Doing everything myself. I mean, in high school I was the one that got saddled with all the work during group projects. My classmates would fuck around and I’d be stuck having to do it all by my lonesome.”

“Well you don’t have to do this by your lonesome. It’s a two way street, right? You and me against the world?”

Nodding, she presses a kiss to his chin, then his lips. “You’re a good husband. I think I’ll keep you.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I kinda like it here.”

Smiling, she lays a hand on the side of his face. Her fingers press through his beard; nails lightly scraping along his jaw. “Do you think we could talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? You already said no naked time, so…”

“I mean a serious talk. Piggybacking off what happened this morning. More specifically, what happened with ME this morning. And WHY it happened.”

“I thought we already talked about it. When you got back. Didn’t realize there was anything more to say. You’re going through some shit. Depression. Probably PTSD. You got a lot of stress. And probably most of that can be blamed on me.”

“I’m not blaming anything on you. I never have. I never will. My brain was screwed up way before you ever came along.”

“I’m sure I made it worse. I’ve put you through a lot of crap. Twelve and a half years of it.”

“We are not doing this. YOU are not doing this. That’s all water under the bridge, Tyler. Things we went through and dealt with. It’s behind us. Can we leave it there? Can YOU? Because it’s not doing you any good; holding onto so much guilt and regret. I don’t want you doing that. That’s the last thing I want, actually.”

“It’s kind of hard NOT to do it. To think back on it all and not see how badly i’ve fucked up.”

“It was all beyond your control. Things went bad. That’s all there is to really say about it. Things went to shit and you reacted badly to them and you made some pretty crappy judgement calls. But we got past all of that. I don’t hold grudges against you. I don’t hate you. Or blame you for anything. It’s time you stop blaming yourself, okay?”

“You know me. I’m willing to try anything once. Except for maybe eating ass. That’s a little too far out of my comfort zone.”

“Well lucky for you, it’s WAY out of mine. But can we? Have a serious talk? Without it turning into a fight? I don’t want to fight with you. We’ve come a long way since those days; everything turning into a big blow out.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either. But if it’s something THAT serious…”

“I mean, it’s serious but not THAT serious. It’s not life or death or anything. It’s just...I don’t know…” her fingers nervously fidget with the chain around his neck. “...it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Is it about us? Are we having problems I’m not aware of? Is there someone else?”

“No! Oh my god, no. Nothing like that. Other than dealing with our own mental stuff, we are fine. We are MORE than fine. And there isn’t anyone else. There never has been. And there never will be. You’re it for me. For the rest of my life. There’s no one else I want. I could EVER want.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her lips.

“It’s to do with me. What’s going on in my head. What HAS been going on in there. And I need you to promise that you won’t freak out. That you won’t hear the worst of it and shut down and lose your temper and…”

He frowns. “Esme…”

“Tyler, I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And right now, I need you to promise me that you won’t lose it. That you’ll just listen and let everything sink in. Not just hear a bit and react. Can you do that? Promise me?”

He nods. “I won’t lose my shit. Promise. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you sick? Is there something wrong and you’ve been holding out on me?”

“I’m not sick,” she assures him. “Not physically anyway. It’s all to do with my brain. I’ve struggled for years. Long before I ever met you. And I’ve had some down moments; since we’ve been together. Especially after each of our babies. When postpartum was a real bitch to me. So it’s not like you don’t know what I deal with. In my head.”

“I’ve known for years. You told me pretty much right from the start. A couple days into Dhaka. About having depression. Being diagnosed after your dad died. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got PTSD too. After everything that went on in Bangladesh, ESPECIALLY on that bridge? You can’t say it would be a surprise. If you were diagnosed with it.”

“The furthest thing from a surprise. Now you promise? Not to freak out?”

“I already did. Can we get to it already? Because you stall any longer and my anxiety is going to go off the charts.”

Sighing, she curls a finger around his necklace and gently yanks him into a kiss. Lips lingering on his before finally pulling away. “I lied to you. About a year ago,”

“About…?”

“Do you remember when you were in Brazil? For a couple weeks? The whole drug cartel thing?”

He nods. “What about it?”

“Remember how when you came back, I mentioned a girls weekend. In Cairns. With Riley and Shaena. And how I was worried you’d be pissed because I wanted to go on it? Because you’d been gone for two weeks and me leaving meant we’d only have a couple days together?”

“Yeah, and I was fine with it. You needed a break. I didn’t have a problem with you going. What…?”

“There was never a girls weekend,” Esme admits, and his frown intensifies; deep furrows inhabiting his brow. “We made it up. So you wouldn’t know what was really going on.”

“Babe...what…?”

“I was in the hospital. For three days. And not just any hospital. A psychiatric one.”

“A psychiatric hospital? Why? What…?”

“When you were gone, I had a really bad time. I mean, I always do when you leave. I don’t sleep, I worry constantly, I stress over everything and even little stuff gets on my nerves and drags me down. But this was worse. WAY worse. And even though I knew you were okay and that you were coming home, I still had all that dread, you know? All that worry. Constantly wondering if maybe I’d never see you again. That maybe the last time you walked out the door really WAS the last time.”

“That was an easy job. I wasn’t even out in the field. I was strictly behind the scenes. I never even left the hotel. Not until I had to go get everyone out. I told you I’d stay behind and I did.”

“I know. But I still freaked out. I was still worried. I always worry about you, you know that. And one night it was really bad. I felt like I was losing it. I hadn’t heard from you that day and you didn’t return any of my voicemails or texts and…”

“We had problems with coms. I told you that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you. There were legit issues.”

“And I tried telling myself that. That there were issues. But it didn’t help. And I lost it. Badly. I’m pretty sure it was actually a mental breakdown. And I called Riley because I was freaking out and I couldn’t get control of myself. I thought I was going crazy. And I told her that I felt like I was going to hurt myself.”

He blinks at her confession. “What?”

“I don’t think I actually would have done it. I think I was just feeling desperate at that moment. I don’t think…”

“You wanted to kill yourself? You wanted to die?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I was looking for a way out. An escape. And my brain wasn’t exactly in a good place and that’s where it went. Like I said, I don’t think I would have actually done anything. But I called Riley and she came over and stayed with me and the kids. Just in case.”

“What if she hadn’t been around? What if she couldn’t have come over? What if she still lived in Colorado? Would you have done it? Hurt yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t THINK so? Esme…”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking right. I was in a really bad way, Tyler. REALLY bad. And I needed help. So I called her.”

“Why didn’t you call ME?”

“What would you have been able to do? You were in Brazil.”

“I would have come home. Right away. I would have dropped everything and had someone else be in charge. Do you really think I wouldn’t have? Come home? There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were so far away,” she attempts to reason. “And I needed help right away.”

“I would have talked you down. I would have gotten you through it. Why wouldn’t you get a hold of me? I’m your husband.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just thinking in the moment. And getting ahold of you in Brazil wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind. It wasn’t personal. You should know that. That you’re the one person that’s always been able to help me. But you were thousands of miles away and you were busy and I didn’t want to put something else on you. Burden you.”

“Burden me? You’re my wife. You could never burden me. What the fuck, Esme? Why didn’t you at least tell me I got home? Why lie to me? Why make up this whole fucking story about a girls trip? Why…?”

“I didn’t want to put that on you. Especially when you had to stay with the kids. They needed you to be focused and all about them. And you wouldn’t have been able to do that if I told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You didn’t want me to worry? You’re my WIFE.”

“I was trying to protect you. I’m always trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Tyler argues. “I’m not a fucking child, Esme. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need you coddling me and babying me and protecting me. I would have stepped up and took care of you. That should have been on me. Not your sister. Not Shaena. Not anyone else. Me.”

“I needed you to take care of the kids. You’d been gone for two weeks and they missed you and I didn’t want them to be without BOTH parents. It’s not personal. I didn’t make the decisions I did to hurt you. I made them to help you. To help our family.”

“How much help would it have been if I’d come home and you were dead on the floor? How much help would it have been if one of our kids had found you? Do you know how bad that would have fucked them up? Losing their mother like that? Do you know how bad it would have fucked ME up?”

“I wasn’t thinking of those things. I wasn’t thinking about anything. That’s the problem. All I wanted was an escape. That’s it.”

“An escape from what? Your shitty life with your shitty husband?”

“No!” She clasps his face in her hands. “I love my life. And my husband. You know what depression is like. It doesn’t care where you live or what you have or how many people love you. It’s all in your head. It’s a fucking monster you can’t escape from. You know EXACTLY what it’s like. I never meant…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...I never meant to hurt you. I would NEVER hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. And I know you say you don’t need me to. And maybe you don’t. But I do it because I love you. Because I want to make things easier on you. That’s all. It’s not to hurt you, Tyler.”

“You can’t try and convince me I’m not broken when you treat me like I am.”

She frantically grabs at the chain around his neck with one hand, his shoulder with the other. “That’s not what I was doing. You AREN’T broken. I don’t treat you like you are.”

“You are when you do shit like that. When you lie to me. Especially about something like this.”

“I’ve never lied to you. About anything. I’ve always been honest. About my childhood, about what Mark put me through, about…”

“What about the guy?”

“What guy? What…?”

“The one you went out with. When we were separated. Took you years to tell me about him.”

She frowns. “There was nothing to tell you. He was just some single dad I met at daycare pick up. That’s it. It was nothing important. Just some guy.”

“That you went out with. While we were still married.”

“Have you been just waiting to throw that in my face? Have you been holding onto that all this time? Just looking for the opportunity to hold that over my head? Why would you…?”

“I was faithful to you. Whether we were going to work shit or not. I wasn’t looking for someone else. I didn’t want another woman. And I could have had one. I could have had tons of them. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, believe me.”

“Then why didn’t you do it? If you had so many chances. Why didn’t you take any of them?”

“Because I wanted my wife. I didn’t want anyone else. You, Just you.”

“And I wanted you! But you were a fucking mess and I was hurt because you weren’t fighting for me. For your family. So yeah, I went out on a date. Because someone showed interest in me and made me feel special and beautiful and wanted. Because I was hurt and I wanted you to hurt just as much as I was. I was so pissed at you. For not getting your shit together and coming home and fighting for us. So I went out on a date. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the attention."

“Did you fuck him?”

“No. I told you what happened. I told you he tried and I turned him down. I told him that I couldn’t do it because I was still in love with my husband. That I was still hoping we could work things out. That’s the truth. And that’s how I got that black eye. Because he didn’t handle the rejection so well. That’s the truth. All of it. I never slept with him. I’ve ever been with anyone but you. For the last twelve and a half years. Just you.”

He nods slowly, letting her words sink in.

“Tyler…” her nails dig into the back of his neck. “...don’t do this...don’t shut me out. Please don’t do that. I don’t want you to do that.”

“What do you want me to say? What…?”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to lie to you. I…” tears flow freely down her face. “...I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Come here,” he gently orders, and pushing a hand through her hair, settles it on her back and pulls her into him. “It’s okay, Me. Everything’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you. Not about the guy and not about the girls weekend. I was just trying to protect you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you weren’t.” Pressing a kiss to her temple, he rolls over onto his back; both arms wrapping around her and pulling her with him. “And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have brought that shit up. I haven’t been holding onto it. Or waiting to use it again. I reacted. Badly. And when I do, nothing is off limits. I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to say that shit.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and curls her arms around his neck. “I know how you get. When you hear things you don’t like. But for the record? This is what I meant when I made you promise not to lose it.”

“I am so fucking sorry. I’m an asshole. A huge asshole.”

“No. You’re not. You just have no chill sometimes. I’m used to it. Or fairly used to it, anyway.”

“I never should have said what I did. About the guy you went out with. You had every right to. Go on a date. I wasn’t exactly stepping up. I just lost it. Hearing about you wanting to hurt herself and how you spent time in psychiatric hospital. Kinda kicked me in the nuts, ya know?”

“I was going to tell you,” she says, chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him. “When I got home. But I was feeling so much better and you and the kids were so happy to see me. I didn’t want to ruin that. And then we got on with life and there never seemed to be a good time. So I kept it to myself. It wasn’t to intentionally hurt you., I’d NEVER do that.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“And I don’t mean to treat you like you’re broken. Because you’re not. A little bent, maybe…”

He manages a laugh. “I’ve been put through the ringer a few times. Got a little too many miles on me. Quite the collection of dents and scars going on.”

“They’re beautiful. Every single one of them.” Wriggling further up the bed, she pushes a hand through his hair; tightly gripping the longer locks as she pecks the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That I lied to you. I had good intentions. I really did.”

“You always do.” He curls an arm around her neck and kisses her. Long and soft and sweet; tasting the salty tears that linger across her top lip. “It’s okay, Me. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He tangles his fingers in her hair, gently pushing her head back down onto his chest. “ Has it happened again? Feeling the way you did? Have you wanted to hurt yourself? Or worse?”

“No. I haven’t felt that way since. I’ve been depressed, but not like that.”

“And you’d tell me? If you did feel that way?”

She nods.

Sighing heavily, he places a forearm over his eyes. Lying in silence and feeling her body tremble against his; knuckles repeatedly ghosting along her spine as he attempts to get a grasp on the situation. Her mental health issues have never been a secret; she’s been on medication for years and has occasionally needed it to be tweaked. But to hear that she’d been THAT low? Considering hurting herself? Or even attempting something more permanent? It’s devastating. Feeding right into his worst fear. The thought of losing her to an event totally beyond his control. A wedge of emotion settles in his throat and tears prick his eyes; the realization of how close he’d come to losing. But he fights it off. Needing to stay strong for her. Always willing, ready, and able to put his own problems aside. Her rock and her protector.

“Tyler?” Her voice is impossibly tiny. Apprehensive. Scared.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you. So much. You’ll never know how much.”

Smiling, he slides his palm to the back of her neck and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you too.”

[mcmactictac]

Always Gold by Radical Face is a c! crime boys song please let me elaborate.

First of all, Welcome home son by radical face is a c! Tommy and c! Techno song. So as an sbi enthusiast I think it’s fun to give them songs by the same artist who have very similar vibes. Radical face has a wonderful job of calmly showing intense emotion. When you listen to the words in a lot of their songs it’s very emotional, but you can also tune out and just listen to the music. I’m working my way through their discography but they just radiate fanon sbi vibes. Same energy as a piece of fanart I saw a long time ago with Tommy sleeping on Wilburs lap as techno leans against them. Just that calm and relaxed sense of love and belonging.

Anyways analysis time woo let’s crank out some lyrics. Honestly the lyrics are so perfect throughout I’m basically going to include most of the song oops.

“We were tight knit boys, Brothers in more than name. You would kill for me And knew that I'd do the same”

Already off to a good start. I mean the tight knit part is obvious, like they’re both incredibly close with each other, especially at the beginning. Brothers in more than name?? Canonically Wilbur and Tommy aren’t siblings but they still SHARE that brotherly bond they still think of each other of family after everything. “You would kill for me and knew that I’d do the same” at the start? When they’re protecting their country together?? Yeah because they’re FAMILY they care about each other so much.

“And it cut me sharp, Hearing you'd gone away. But everything goes away, Yeah everything goes away”

Do I need to explain this one. I’m taking gone away as a reference to death here, like he’s up and left Tommy, and suddenly he’s just. Gone. Also the everything goes away is a great way to show the beginning of c! Tommys trauma, how he always feels like good things are going to be taken away from him. No matter what he has, his friends, his country, his discs, it’s all going to be gone eventually. Good things never seem to last for him.

“But I'm going to be here until I'm nothing but bones in the ground. And I was there, when you grew restless”

Wilbur talking about lmanberg as “here”. He knows he’s never going to leave it, the country he built. He lived there and that’s where he’ll die. The captain always goes down with his ship. The restless line reminds me of pogtopia, like Tommy watching as Wilbur started to lose it, started to grow more and more unstable. He was there for everything, the good and the bad even as he watched his brother descend into this downwards spiral and not being able to help him.

“Left in the dead of night. And I was there, when three months later. You were standing in the door all beat and tired and I stepped aside”

Now there’s two ways we could take this one. We could take a brief tour to sbi land and make this about Tommys exile, like he left exile at night after dream blew it all up, and he ended up at technos. And when Techno finally found him there it’s still that same kid he knew before who is just tired and needing someone, and so he lets him in. OR we could make this in reference to Wilburs revival. The three months later would be a reference to the time passed before Wilbur was revived. Now I could make this soft or I could make this angsty so I provide multiple options. 1. Tommy steps aside so Wilbur can see the sunrise, see the works that he’s missed and truly enjoy it again (not canon but shh) 2. I stepped aside but it’s Tommy moving away from Wilbur. Going no, you hurt me and I’m sorry that you’re suffering but I can’t be here for you anymore. 3. Or we got that nice metaphorical door of Tommys life and tommy seeing the brother he lost and choosing to let him “inside”, back into his life despite everything.

“We were opposites at birth I was steady as a hammer, No one worried cause they knew just where I'd be. And they said you were the crooked kind, And that you'd never have no worth But you were always gold to me”

Tommy is steady! Tommy wants the same things, he wants to protect his country, his friends and his discs. Everyone always knew what Tommy wanted and he was very open about what he cared about so everyone knew what was going on with him. Referring to Wilbur as the crooked one, the one who causes problems by creating a drug van, starting a war, blowing up his country. He had no worth because he thought so little of himself that he had to replace his personality with his actions. But tommy still sees him for who he is and up to Pogtopia that’s his big brother. That’s the man he would follow anywhere and trusts his whole world with. Wilbur was always special to tommy, even when he wasn’t to others.

“And back when we were kids, We swore we knew the future. And our words would take us half way 'round the world. But I never left this town and you never saw New York”

My main focus here is on the “but I never left this town” Wilbur always stayed in L’manberg, till the very end. He could never go anywhere else, and he didn’t. This also relates back to another song on my crimeboys list, two birds by Regina Spektor. Wilbur is never going to let go of L’manberg. It’s a part of who he is and he’s never going to be able to “leave” it. The you never saw New York line could be tommy because who knows Tommys plans before l’manberg. Then he got so wrapped up in this country he built that it became his everything, and he never got a chance to do anything else because of the effect it had on him. (I know this is stretching canon bear with me I like angst)

“And we ain't ever cross the sea. But I am fine with where I am now, This home is home, and all that I need. But for you, this place is shame. But you can blame me when there's no one left to blame. Oh I don't mind”

So many thoughts I don’t even know if I can make this coherent. For you this place is shame for Wilbur ESPECIALLY. It’s a reminder of the explosion he created, the hurt he caused the people who’s lives he ruined. He wants it to stand for all it was before, but he has to think about how it’s a source of hurt for so many people and how he sees that as his fault. I don’t think I can form coherent thoughts on the rest of this, enjoy

“All my life i’ve never known where you've been. There were holes in you, The kind that I could not mend. And I heard you say Right when you left that day, Does everything go away? Yeah, everything goes away. But I'm going to be here till forever, So just call when you're around.”

Final paragraph folks!! Ive never known where you’ve been! Tommy can never get a read on Wilbur and his emotions because he internalizes and hides them! He’s never going to be able to know and understand because Wilbur won’t let him! Holes in you the kind that I could not mend? YES. Wilbur is mentally ill and tommy cannot fix that, and he shouldn’t have to be the one responsible for helping Wilbur. Right when you left that day, the 16th, the day he left for the last time. Another reminder to tommy that everything leaves, nothing is guaranteed. L’manberg is gone and so is Wilbur. If we look at this pre revival, I’m gonna be here til forever could be Wilbur at L’manberg. He died there, and that’s where he’s always going to stay. He might be gone, and L’manberg might be gone but they’ll still always be there in spirit (get it spirit. Ghost. Ghostbur building L’manberg? Anyways...)

Mhm that was longer than I meant it to be I am working on multiple more dsmp playlists and I will share once I’m done and maybe do some more of these cause I find them fun. I also did not edit this at all so sorry if this is incoherent

[eleanore-delphinium]

Reciprocate II

PART 1: Reciprocate I: Raven

PART 2: Reciprocate II: Damian (you are here)

PART 3:  Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

Reciprocate II: Damian

 In a sterile white room devoid of any color and of any indication of ownership or personalization from the owner of the room, laid a single figure on top of a white medical bed, white sheets tucked over her sternum. It was bright, and lonely and rather very empty—except for the pale woman with purple hair that reached just below her breast, on the bed. An empty chair on her right side and bedside tables with nothing on top, on either side of her bed. Her hands laid on her sides and her eyes close. There was no indication of movement except for her quiet breathing.

The door opens, to reveal Damian Wayne in a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks and black dress shoes. Despite his neat outfit, his hair was a mess and his eyes were blood shot with eyebags underneath. He looked as though he had not slept well at all—which was likely the case.

Afterall, he had not slept well since the day Raven got stabbed. There were good days and bad. Now—today was a better day. He walks to the empty chair beside Raven’s right hand, his back facing the door. He sits on the chair and gaze longingly at the figure on the bed.

And he recalled what had transpired that night—the night that caused Raven’s current medical condition.

Raven had fallen and her eyes slowly fluttering close. He could tell that she was trying not to lose consciousness. Raven lifted a hand towards Damian and Garfield’s general direction. And Damian couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to reach out to him or Garfield.

‘It had to be Garfield.’, he thought because it would not make sense if Raven was trying to reach out to him. Damian couldn’t help but feel very bitter inside. She would never choose him.

At this moment the creature was distracted by Tim who was on the other side, seeing this—Damian took the opportunity to run to Raven. He took note of the footsteps that followed behind him. Garfield was right behind Damian as they ran toward Raven.

Her raised hand was faltering and Damian felt as though his heart was about to jump out of his throat, out of fear.

No. You cannot close your eyes. I will not allow it! Damian ran faster towards Raven and as her hand fell to the ground, he finally reached her side. But her eyes had also closed, and Damian held his breath as he-- so very gently, held her in his arms.

“Raven! Raven!” He calls to her frantically. “No. No. No. Don’t close your eyes, please come back, stay conscious!” His breathing was ragged, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Damian bit his lip and held his breath in a conscious manner, as he tried to calm himself, and think. He had to think.

“Raven! Oh god no.” Garfield stood hovering above Raven, and the next second he was reaching out to Raven. But Damian pulled her closer to him and gave Garfield the darkest and cruelest glare Garfield had ever seen. And Garfield froze, he took a deep breath and gulped down his fear.

“Gar…” Terra came running towards Garfield, and her eyes laid on Raven. “No, if-if she didn’t try to protect me—” Damian gave Terra the same glare Garfield received, making her unable to finish her thought. She froze in fear too.

“We have to stop her bleeding.” Damian absent-mindedly say, his voice cold, and as he scanned Raven’s wound, his eye twitched. Raven had a gaping hole on her chest, Damian did not want to think about it—but the situation was truly grim.

“How are you going to—” Garfield received another glare from Damian.

Damian was not asking or seeking their help to stop Raven’s bleeding, he had said what he had said to inform them only. He will deal with Raven’s injury.

Damian reaches for something in his utility belt, and he pulls out three silver balls. His facial expression seemingly frozen into a cold and uncaring expression as he places the one-inch sized ball strategically on her gaping wound. He placed one on top and two at the bottom, forming a triangle. It beeps and glows a faint blue and came out a purple like foam.

Damian’s right eye twitched, his lips pressed together so much that his lips became pale and his brows drawn so closely together, that he looked like he would punch the next person who would touch him.

He had no choice. This was the only way to ‘plug’ Raven’s gaping hole. She was losing too much blood because of it.

Damian clenched his teeth even more, if that was even possible. He rests Raven on his right arm as his hands clenched tightly. Underneath the gloves, one would have noticed how white his fist had become. His brows still tightly knit together, it looked painful to watch his brows like that.

And to Garfield and Terra, he looked like the scariest man on earth. They seemed to fear Damian more than the unbeatable monster that had stabbed Raven into this state.

Damian hated what he had to do. He hated that he had to plug Raven like this. He hated that he knew he had to put her down now. Now.

There was a moment of hesitance, but Damian bit his lip till it bled to keep his focus.

“We need to put Raven in a safe spot,” He says in a clipped manner as he picks Raven up in his arms in a princess carry, “distract that thing and keep him far away from her.” He continuous absent-mindedly as his eyes quickly analyze the best spot to hide her away.

And at the same time, he recalls her injury. There were no organs that were damage, that at least is a good thing. And he hoped and prayed-- at that same moment-- that Raven can survive this.

With Damian standing on his full length, Garfield snapped out from his frozen state and had begun to reach out for Raven once again.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Damian snarled in such an unsightly manner that Garfield remembered the initial fear Damian gave him. Terra did not feel the fear again because she was looking at Garfield with worry and realization. Terra missed to see Damian’s expression and his words did not register in her mind because she knew at that moment while looking at Garfield—that Raven and Garfield will always have history.

Of course, she knew of Raven and Garfield’s relationship and didn’t mind it. Raven was simply his past. Garfield told her that he loves her, and that he would never go back to Raven—if that was something Terra worried about. And he must have kept his word. But the years Raven and him shared was something that could never be erased. And emotions built up throughout those years was something that couldn’t be replaced so easily. To realize such a thing now of all places—

Damian had accidentally hit Terra as he started moving, cutting Terra’s thoughts. For a second her eyes laid on the boy wonder—and to her, she did not see a hero protecting or saving someone. She saw a man holding someone in a way, that showed he was too afraid to hold any tighter in fear of losing her. A man refusing to blink, too afraid that it would be his last sight of her and that she would turn into dust any moment now. He held her in such a cautious manner—that it hurt to see him so forlorn like that.

That was something she thought she would never see in Damian Wayne. His body—every cell seemed to radiate a want to not let go of the woman in his arms. A conflict of holding her so tightly so he can remember how it feels to hold her and yet—still, he was a man of responsibility. Despite his desire to just be with her—he knew where he stands—the monster was still there.

Terra quickly turned, refusing to see Garfield’s expression—it was something she did not want to see right now.

“I will cover for you, Damian.” She tells him.

Damian sighed loudly in the white room, his forehead resting on his hands that was propped up on the bed beside Raven’s right hand. When they finally got to neutralize the enemy, the first thing Damian did was run to where Raven was. He was so afraid that when he got there, she would be cold and blue.

But she held on.

She held on.

He sighed again, as he turned his head that was resting on his right hand towards Raven.

He begged his father to help him keep her alive, and the first few months—God those were awful. When they arrived to have her healed, nothing was working. Whatever that creature was and what he did, messed with her. He begged his father to do anything—anything. Somehow, they found a way to stabilize her and close the gaping hole in her chest—of course every step was a struggle.

Seeing her with so much tubes and monitor, some advance tech and some actual alien tech, hurt Damian in a way that a bullet shot could not compare. And he felt so helpless.

Damian Wayne—son of Batman, son of Bruce Wayne, a robin—a boy wonder—an assassin at some point, still a man seen as the heir of the Demon’s Head—felt so powerless despite all the titles and honor and glory those titles held. He still felt powerless.

He held the woman he had loved for years in his arms, and had to leave her in her injured state to defend the world of the very same creature that injured her. He left her all alone in a corner—not even knowing if she would be alive when he returned. He knew that having someone guard her would be a waste of man power. He had to think of the bigger picture—because it is his responsibility, he couldn’t put her over that. And a small part of him hates himself for it.

He had seen her struggle to survive day after day, and night after night since then. The rejection her body faced—and his selfishness, thinking—hoping that she would survive it.

And she did.

She survived everything. And most of the tubes and monitors were finally taken away. Of course, she still had an IV drip and a monitor checking her vitals, just in case. Still, it was fifteen less tubes and monitors—and doctors and scientists.

Damian reached out for Raven’s right hand with his left, his palm resting on the back of her hand. He had gotten so used to all the tubes and monitors, that the first week without them was so unfamiliar to him.

Every time he visited her, he expected the tubes and monitors to multiply and revert back to when they couldn’t seem to cure her. Up until just a few weeks ago, he expected that they would return because she would become unstable again. But it never happened. He was so thankful it never happened. He slips his right hand under hers.

“Raven, won’t you wake up already?” He mutters, he had gotten used to talking to himself whenever he visited her.

“I still planned to confess to you,” He chuckles emptily “Won’t you at least let me do that?” He brought her hand to his forehead. “Let me be selfish…”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door to Raven’s personal room opens, revealing Damian in his robin uniform, his mask off. He walks to her in a slightly slump manner. Takes her hand on his and sighs.

“I’m sorry Raven, it appears that I can’t visit you for the unforeseeable future. Something came up.” He looks at her sleeping face sadly.

“Don’t be angry, I try to visit you every day after all, even if it’s just for a couple of minutes, but I never missed a day since you got injured.” He pauses. “If you ask me, I’m pretty sure they were lenient on my lack of participation in missions recently because I looked as if I had lost a lover.” He laughs.

“It’s funny-- how I am reacting as if I had lost a lover—when we never really got to be together. It would be nice if you wake up—at least let me confess to you clearly. And you can put a rest to my pining.” He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had to rearrange her hair before he left and so he did.

“I will come back, I promise you.” He says as he reluctantly let go of her hand. He refused to look back as he left the room, and takes his mask from his utility belt and puts it on.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door opens gently again as Damian Wayne in an all-black outfit walks in. He was in his signature black turtle neck. He had on a thin black framed eyeglass perched on his nose. He held a book on his left hand. He had gotten used to opening the door slowly and gently, out of the fear that when he opens the door she wouldn’t be there anymore.

At first, he thought that it was an unreasonable fear, but clearly it was not. He was afraid, that the time he wasn’t with her, she would have long been gone. And when he comes to visit, he would be greeted with an empty bed. And he would not be able to even say his farewells.

He closes the door even more gently—because when the door closes this time was theirs—well his. Because she was still unconscious—still very unaware of his presence.

“Hey Raven, I brought the book I last read to you—I have enough time today to read to you just a few chapters.” He says as he walks to his position beside her. He takes a seat on the chair and held her right hand with his right hand. “It would be nice if you woke up soon.” He smiles grimly, the words have started becoming something he said out of habit.

Damian gave her a little recap of what he had read to her before as he held her hand. After that, he continued where he left off, holding her hand when he wasn’t flipping through pages. He read in a slow manner; his mind more aware of the fact that her hand felt so very right against his, instead of the words he was saying aloud.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Raven was still lying unconscious in the white room, on her white bed. Everything was quiet inside.

“Damian it’s been almost eight months!” Came a voice from outside the room.

“So, what Grayson!” Yelled back the voice of Damian Wayne. He was in an argument right outside of Raven’s room with Dick Grayson, his adopted brother—also known as Nightwing.

“Are you serious Dami?” A pause. “At least let others see her!”

“By others you mean Garfield, right?” A loud bang was heard from inside the room.

“Well—shit, yes! Why won’t you let Gar see her? He has been asking about her or where she is.”

“Don’t you dare bring Garfield to see her—don’t you dare!” A furious reply from Damian as shuffling footsteps were heard.

“Look man, I get it. I really do. But Damian, you can’t just hide her away from her teammates.”

“You see her too.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A louder bang entered Raven’s room.

“She planned to leave anyways.” Damian says defensively. There was silence for a few seconds and a frustrated humph could be heard from outside the room.

“I—I didn’t think anyone would be able to deal with seeing her in that way—I” Damian pauses. “I don’t think they’d want to see her in a coma—I thought it was for the best. I—I’m sorry Grayson, I will let them see her—but—just not Garfield, Grayson. That is all I am asking from you, just not him. He caused her enough pain.” And the door to Raven’s room opened. She still laid there asleep. Damian did not wait for Dick’s reply. He slowly closes the door behind him.

He was in a black button up polo shirt tucked into his black slacks, that was held into place by a silver belt and his black leather shoes. He looked tired and but there was no hint of anger.

“You must have heard our little argument, huh?” He says approaching the familiar chair he always sat on when visiting her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” He continues as he sat down on the chair and takes her hand in his again. “Of course, I didn’t disturb your sleep, after all your still unconscious.” A hollow chuckle soon follows.

Damian places the back of Raven’s hand against his forehead. “You can wake up now. Scold me for being so selfish. For not allowing Garfield to visit you. In fact, for not letting anyone else visit you aside from a select few. But—mostly Garfield. I will not allow him in here too— in this space-- so why don’t you wake up and just tell me how selfish I am.” He tilts his head to look at Raven while her hand is still pressed on temple of his head.

But as usual there was no response. He was so used to talking to himself now. At this point, Damian was very convinced that Raven had tried to reach out for Garfield, one last time, before she fainted. And the thought was something that caused him bitterness.

Even in her near-death, Garfield was the last in her mind.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Damian was sitting on the same chair holding Raven’s hand. Three months has passed since Damian and Dick’s heated argument outside of Raven’s bedroom. He wore a red hoodie with black pants and black shoes. This time around, for the first time, he looked less tired since this whole ordeal happened.

“It looks like you had a lot of visitors this month too.” He glances at the flowers on both bedside tables, pictures in frames of Raven with the team and other things. Now the room seemed to have a little bit of personality.

“I think it’s great that you have some visitors. Though I admit, I think that eventually they will come to visit less and less, so I think you should wake up soon. Everyone misses you a lot. I think the longer you stay asleep people would forget about you. Everyone you know is a hero Raven, and even though you stay asleep—we still have to defend the people. Everyone’s priorities will shift and they would have less time to see you. And because they have started settling with your absence, for sure the visits will lessen. But I promise, I will visit you every day until you wake up.” Damian placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and he froze.

His lips hovering over her hand. He wipes the spot he kissed her at, with this thumb.

“I’m sorry, I should be asking permission. I didn’t—” He stared at the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I don’t know since when I started doing that, but I’m sorry. I overstepped.” He gently places her hand back on the bed and stood up. “Let’s see what’s in the drawers, shall we?” He mutters to himself. And surveyed every nook and cranny and objects in her room, keeping a mental inventory.

“We will be starting a new book soon. I no longer keep track of the books we’ve read.” He says after finishing his inspection of the room and went to sit back on the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Well—I mean I keep track of the titles but no longer itemize them…” He adds quietly, he used to count them but stopped at around the fifth book because it seemed like the list would continue to grow. And seeing the number rise would just be another reminder of the fact, that the days waiting for Raven to wake was stretching to impossibility.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It was a little over a year since Raven has been in her comatose state. The room felt heavy and she stirred because of it. Her breathing a little louder—a little labored. Her eyes fluttered opened—her vision a blur. She saw two figures at the foot of her bed. The taller one looking at the shorter man. The shorter one was looking at her startled—he seemed to have an odd skin color. She could almost swear it was green. Raven’s eyes started to roll back to unconsciousness.

“Dick, she’s awake!” It was a familiar voice; Raven couldn’t help but think.

“What?” Dick turned to look at Raven her eyelids slowly closing, her labored breathing slowly quieting down.

“I saw her eyes open; I swear it!” She recognized the voice as Garfield, but knowing who it was did not give her any extra motivation to fight her sleepiness.

“What the fuck is going on here!” Another familiar voice furiously entered Raven’s faltering consciousness. She wanted to wake up—to fight the tiredness she was feeling. But it was simply too late now.

The door had banged open when Damian entered. Damian was still wearing his black outer coat, his shoes dirty as he had just arrived from outside. He had no time to freshen up to visit Raven because he found out what Dick was up to.

When his eyes laid on Garfield who was looking at Raven, he wanted to rip Garfield’s head off. Damian Wayne looked like he was going to pop a vein on his neck. He glared at Dick with such open hostility that Dick was taken aback, and Garfield beside him recalled the fear Damian instilled in him that night Raven got injured.

“Her eyes opened; I saw it!” Garfield says frantically, hoping that would ease Damian’s anger. Damian takes a glance at Raven—but she was at the same state he had last seen her in.

Comatose.

“I asked you one thing, Grayson!” He growls as he slowly stomped his way to Dick whose hands were up in a ‘I surrender’ way. Damian grabbed Dick’s coat collar and pulled him close. “One thing Grayson!” He shoved Dick and points at Garfield.

“Look—you can’t continue denying someone who wants to visit a friend.” Dick tries to calm his brother down as he straightens his coat.

“Friend?” Damian snorts in response.

“Look, Damian I begged Dick to bring me to her.” Garfield says and he received Damian’s angry glare.

“Get. Out.” Damian simply said, he looked as though he would kill either of them any second now. For some weird reason Garfield got a little more courage at that moment, he began to open his mouth. Dick seeing Garfield’s lips open—quickly intercepted by pulling Garfield by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

“I’m sorry little D, we will talk about it outside.” Dick says as he drags Garfield out, giving Garfield a stern look to ensure Garfield’s silence. Garfield wasn’t happy but he understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian stood where he was, glaring at Raven as he waits for the door to close behind Dick and Garfield. He was stiff in his spot and his fists clenched so tightly. He was still very much angry. He stood like that for five more minutes before he tried to calm himself down. His fist unclenched and his brows unfurrow.

“So—well stop pretending then—his gone now—so wake up.” He demanded in a low voice as he hovered beside Raven near the chair. She did not move. And Damian laughed brokenly as he fell on his knees. He reached out for her right hand absentmindedly and rested his nose on the back of her palm.

“So, it turns out you just needed him to visit you to wake up?” Damian whispers as tears fall on her hand. “So why aren’t you awake already?” He sobbed.

It was never him—she never chose him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It had been four months since Garfield have been regularly visiting Raven, and at times he would also bring Terra with him. Damian had conceded with Garfield’s wish to allow him visitation rights to see Raven. Damian could not stay angry at Dick for over two weeks, and the pair reconciled, despite Dick undermining Damian’s wishes. Damian understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian’s family was very much worried over him since Raven’s fall. He acted more detached and unapproachable. He wasn’t sleeping well and every second he could spare he was always hovering over Raven. In fact, he slept well hunched by Raven’s bedside with Raven’s hand against his hands and forehead. Damian was even unwilling to celebrate his twenty-second birthday with Raven still unconscious. And they could see the toll it was taking on Damian.

His family knew he needed a little push to try and let Raven’s state go and pushing Damian to allow Garfield entry was the way to do it. Damian needed to move on.

But here he was again, in the white room he specifically prepared for her. Her accommodations all arranged by him, and his visits always a constant. But the past four months were difficult, as he was also actively avoiding having to meet Garfield when Garfield was visiting Raven.

When Damian was able to take a step back from his anger at what Dick did—he knew that his family did it to distract Damian—to keep him away from lurking around Raven. He understood it was made of good intentions. Damian reaches out for Raven’s hand, a habit he has come to develop long ago.

He wore a plain white shirt with jeans. His hair not as neat as it usually was, and eyebags were under his eyes yet again.

“But I guess I am a man who will only love one person in their life.” He mutters placing Raven’s hand against his right cheek. “I’ve come to wonder sometimes if I am unfortunate to be such a man—or to fall for you—” he studies her face; he has memorized every detail about her. How could he not when he was here, beside her so frequently.

“I’ve come to learn that loving you is not something to be regretful about. In fact, I am rather thankful for it. But you really got me pining over you, Raven.” He sighs, his eyes not capturing even the smallest of movement from Raven. “I love you.” He whispers and brushed his lips against the skin on the back of her hand.

A week and a half after, Damian is pacing at the foot of Raven’s bed, very much frustrated. He paused and glared at Raven, running his hands through his head, a sign of his developing anger. He stomps towards his spot as he glared at Raven again.

His hair was a mess, his eyebags had gotten darker. His clothes that was a plain black shirt with jeans had creases, very uncharacteristic of him.

“I don’t get it!” He says containing most of his anger. “You obviously woke up the first time Garfield visited you! Tsk, as it turns out, all you need was for him to visit you-- for you to wake up. So why did you go back to sleep!” His tone louder now and he sighs to try and dispel a little of his anger. His hand at his side clenched into balls.

Damian was seething in anger, and he exhaled and inhaled in air as if he was palpitating. Finally, the anger he had dissipated. But it was replaced by raw hopelessness, anyone who would see him in such a state, would feel their hearts knot.

“You really—really got me pining over you.” Damian says as he knelt on the floor with a hunched back as he takes her right hand in between his palms. “It’s funny how you pined over someone else as I pined over you—it seems that your making me pine over you just as long as you pined over him.”

The chair he usually sat on was across the room, toppled down. A droplet of water falls in front of Damian’s right knee.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months passed just like that. Raven’s friends had long since stopped visiting her as frequently as they did the first three months. Asking them to take so much time off of their busy hero life, was too much to ask for. But Damian always made time for her, and at almost a year and a half the toll of doing so had fully manifested.

He looked so tired, his eye bags in the darkest shade it had been since the accident. He looked thinner, not scarily thin, but it was obvious he had lost some weight. His clothes were as neat as it could be. His white button up shirt crisp and so is his black slacks. His black leather shoes very shiny. He placed a lot of effort in his appearance because even he could tell that his health has waned, and he was compensating with his clothes.

When Raven was in ICU for the first three months, he was in such a bad state. When she finally got relatively cured but was on comatose, he looked better-- more relaxed. Then a little after, he had to continue with his responsibilities, particularly as a hero and somehow, he managed.

But now at almost a year and a half of juggling hero life, personal and family life. Being with Raven almost every day since the night she got hurt. To actively avoiding Garfield while Garfield was visiting and arranging his own visits to go around Garfield’s visitation, but also keeping to his schedule and preference of seeing Raven on a very regular basis. And Raven still not waking up—Damian was quite spent.

He was sitting on his chair facing Raven’s right hand. His head propped onto his hands which were propped up on his knees. He was looking at Raven’s face blankly, dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Raven’s state was always at the forefront of his mind. And when he was in a mission, he tried to put it as a lesser priority. But when he is near to death his first thought is: If I die who will look after Raven? And so, he fights with every screaming fiber he had, even when he was in such excruciating pain. After all, he still had to see her wake up.

One would think a year and a half wasn’t really a long time—but it did not feel like it has been just over a year for Damian—it felt like he has been waiting for her to wake up for five years.

He had just realized quite recently, just exactly how much stress he had gotten due to all this. And it was taking a major toll on him. He now completely understood why his family was worried about it—about him. Hindsight after all is 20/20. And he now clearly sees, exactly how concerning his state was.

There was only one solution. His eyes flickered to Raven—he had not noticed that his gaze had drifted off of her and was surprised when his eyes laid on her again. He sighs and suddenly stands up, and picks up a lock of her hair.

“Raven, your hair has grown quite a bit—its already at waist level. I thought of having it cut—but I think that should be your decision.” He places it back down. “If you don’t wake up any time soon—I’m afraid I would have to let you go.” He mumbles to himself as he turned around to lean on the bed and gaze at the ceiling blankly.

Two weeks after, Damian was back in her room, looking even worst. This time he was just standing beside Raven with a very empty gaze. He had been standing there in his black slacks, black dress shoes and a green button up polo shirt for fifteen minutes already.

“I give up Rae.” He looks down on the ground. His words so soft because he was very much afraid of the implications himself. He knew he had to let her go.

“I—I don’t think I can visit you like this.” He fought the tears as he said his words a little louder. And there was nothing left to say, he just softly touched her hand for a second and pulled away and then looked at her blankly.

A month after Damian’s decision to let Raven go, he realized getting to the conclusion and acknowledging what had to be done and executing his decisions were two completely different things. He was still visiting her in the same consistency that he always had. And he knew he had to fight to break the habit that he had already formed. Seeing her was second nature to him, and he simply had to break it.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months after, Damian was finally able to decrease his visits. And had even met Garfield a few times and actually didn’t mind it. His visit reduction was not really significant but the fact he was able to decrease it at all, was a win for him.

He was in jeans and a red shirt, looking very casual and he looked more unbothered and not so tired. His hands in his pockets as he just stood. For the first time, he looked genuinely relaxed. His gaze at her was soft and the eyebags he had been sporting in different shades, for almost two years, were significantly less dark this time.

“I know I don’t visit often anymore—and you probably can’t tell—aside from the obvious,” A small twinkle in his eyes at the little joke. The fact that he could make a joke like that, spoke volumes of how far he had come. “You really made me pine over you for the duration you pined over Garfield. Nine years—you really made this whole thing come into full circle. You pined for him for nine years and decided to move on completely—but this happens.” He gestured at her generally.

“Now I have pined for you for the same duration, and I have decided to move on too.” He said grimly and the hint of playfulness he had prior was gone. “It really came full circle.”

He just stood to her right with a small smile. He tried his best not to stay so long to visit her nowadays. Damian found that standing was the best option in order for him not to stay longer than he intended.

Damian puts his hand atop Raven’s, he has also avoided holding her hand properly or else he’d find himself sitting on his spot and just holding her hand. He would then talk to her and the intended short visit would become like his regular visits from before.

“I have decided. I am moving on—I am letting you go.” And he pulled his hand away a little too quickly, afraid of the temptation that was the familiarity of her hand against his—or maybe it was his hand against hers. After all, it was always him holding onto her.

His head had looked away to look at the flowers on her bedside tables. He has been talking to her about visiting her less, and letting her go for a few months now. At first it was just a passing thought. But the last two months, it seemed Damian had to tell her every time he visited. He was unaware of how frequent he was telling her that. But in retrospect, he could tell now that he had been dropping hints.

It started from hints, to telling her absentmindedly, to repeatedly telling her every time he visits—until finally he was able to visit less. And because Damian turned his head, he missed the small twitched of Raven’s hand when he pulled his hand away, to look at her bedside.

There was silence, as he looked down and closed his eyes. He squeezes his eyes for a moment then sighs as he looks at Raven, a faint smile on his lips. He took a step back, feeling as though he was leaving his heart on this spot. He then turns feeling lonely yet strong and regretful at the same time.

When he was gone, Raven’s eyebrow twitched.

The next day when Damian decided to check on Raven’s condition, he was frozen in fear to see the scientist and doctors hovering over Raven who was attached to so many monitors and tubes.

It was like he had stepped into the time she was brought in to close up her wound. He was unfrozen when she saw her spasming. He ran towards her, as her chest lifted and she was choking, black almost slime like blood came out from her mouth and spilling from her oxygen mask.

“Sir—we need you out of the way.” A doctor pulled Damian away. “Who let this one in!” The doctor adds and a nurse took Damian away, trying to console him.

“This is odd—there seems to be no traces of the compound we found last time. But her body is rejecting something.” Damian hears the doctor say, at that moment Raven’s eyes opened and her line of sight fell on Damian’s instantly. Her hand lifted slowly to his direction; her eyes wet as her face slowly turned red from the lack of oxygen. A doctor had already punctured her lungs to assist her in breathing, but black blood was oozing out from it.

“Let me, the fuck go!” Damian yelled as he strongly shoved the nurse off of him. He was normally someone who didn’t do this, but seeing Raven’s face slowly contort to fear and resignation, he actually went against the nurse. He remembered when she was in ICU for the first few months he observed quietly from the distance, but he couldn’t now.

“Raven!” He called out as he knelt on the floor and held her right hand that she had stretched out. “I promise, I will not leave you. So, you have to fight this!”

She squeezes his hand in hers as best as she could as her eyes closed and a tear slipped from her eye.

“Sir—I’m sorry but you are being a distraction.” A bulky man approaches Damian, he lets go of Raven’s hand and put his hands up. And slowly left the room.

“She’s—I heard the subject has powers—”

“Patient.” A doctor cuts off the scientist.

Before Damian was shoved out of the room, he stole a glance of Raven, her hand was glowing a faint purple black hue. And it seemed that she could breathe.

“Sir—there seems to be something appearing—” And that was the last thing Damian heard before the door was shut close.

Two weeks later Raven was finally stable but still in a coma. They were fighting with her condition for those two weeks—cross referencing and analyzing data, finding and testing out new information. And everything has now calmed down. He was only allowed entry today after the stunt that he pulled.

Damian was sitting on his chair, holding her hand. He wore a white t-shirt with many creases. His hair a slightly better case compared to his shirt. And the outfit was complete with a plain pair of jeans and casual shoes. And to top it all off, his eyebags had become dark again.

”You really scared me. God, I forgot how afraid I was of losing you recently—you really know how to make someone remember, huh?” He mutters as he puts her hand against his forehead, he was shaking a bit, as he fought his tears. And he felt her hand twitch against his—and he choked as he looked at her face.

Her eyes were still close but for the first time, he actually felt her react. In two years, she finally moved. He smiled tightly and nodded his head. He brought her hand against his lips and softly kissed her hand.

“You reached out to me that night, didn’t you?” He put her hand against his cheek as he turns his head towards her again. “You have to wake up and clarify that to me.” And he hears her loudly inhale.

For the first time in months, he finally had hope that she would wake up. “I promise you; I will wait for you to wake up. This time, I will not break this promise.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door suddenly opens, with a panic stricken, Damian. He was unable to take off his outer coat and change into cleaner shoes because he heard a crash from generally where Raven’s room was located on the second floor.

“Raven!” He called out his fear practically at the base of his throat.

When he heard the loud crash, he feared for the worst. His eyes at first saw an empty bed, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. The vase on her right bedside table with flowers, had shattered on the floor. He quickly searched for Raven, and exhaled deeply when he spotted her at the foot of her bed. She was holding onto her bed with great difficulty. Her eyes observed Damian wearily.

He approached her, thinking that maybe this was a dream.

“Raven.” He whispered when he was two feet away, her violet eyes did not show any recognition at seeing Damian. He picks her up and carries her in a princess carry, and despite not recognizing him at first, she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Damian.” She whispers and he squeezes her back. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, as he carried her back to her bed. He sets her down gently as he pulls away, she grabs his right hand.

“It feels so perfect.” She gently tells him, and Damian was startled by her words. A smile slowly forms and he found himself chuckling.

“I’ve been here almost every day, holding your hand. Maybe your hand molded into mine—” He shakes his head. "Or maybe the other way around.”

“I—my memory is kind of fuzzy,” Raven says as she lays back in bed. “But I know you, I remember you. I heard you so often. It became scary when you weren’t there.” Her eyes start to flutter, she seemed a little bit too tired. But she continued to hold his hand until she fully fell into slumber, to which her grip loosened.

Damian took the opportunity to call the doctors and scientist to inform them of her condition.

When she awoke again the doctors, scientists and Damian were talking.

  ~.~.~.~.~

 A month after, Raven was already walking by herself inside her room. She started walking around the villa quite recently. But she has not been able to walk outside yet. She found that once the door to go outside the villa was opened, her knees would buckle. So, for the past month she was mostly roaming indoors.

She had found out that this was one of Bruce Wayne’s property, and Damian had asked for the property. Damian was someone who would never ask anything of anyone if he could do it himself, so it was surprising to everyone that Damian had asked something. And because of that Bruce granted Damian the property, if not for that, in the very least to give Damian some peace of mind.

She also found out that Damian did not spare any expense in her recuperation. And her situation was quite odd. The creature’s origin could not be quite narrowed down, thus its effects on her was up on the air. But that was where the doctors and scientists and all the tech was for, alien tech included. With the collective resources provided, they were able to make something to assist Raven’s condition.

“Raven, I think you should really try to get out.” Damian says as he walks in. He looked so happy seeing her, just standing by the window gazing out. She turned her head to smile at him.

He looked better—in fact the happiest and relaxed he had ever been for two years. His clothes were pressed well, it was a casual attire, and he had no hint of any kind of weariness. No more eyebags, and his eyes no longer looked so dead.

“If you go with me, I can try.” She responded, she had not seen him in two weeks due to his busy schedule, with the team and talking to her doctors and scientist. Him learning and relearning everything about her condition since she got attacked, and he also had family matters, he didn’t really have time to be with Raven recently. And she understood.

She kept herself busy by building her physical strength through walking within the walls of Damian’s villa. She also used the time to comb through her thoughts.

“Okay.” He agreed as he offered her his right hand and she accepts it with both her hands. Until now he couldn’t believe that she was awake.

“I really thought I was dreaming when you woke up a month ago.” He confesses again as he sighs and lead her to the door.

“I’m here. Everything is still a bit fuzzy. But I know you—I trust you. Your Damian.” Raven responds unhurriedly as she places a hand on his arm.

Fifteen minutes later, Damian came in with Raven in his arms weeping.

“I—I can’t… it—it…” And she wept.

“I’m sorry, we will take it step by step. I will be here if you ever want to try and go outside.” He comforts her as he places her on her bed. She nods as he wipes away her tears.

“I thought I was going to die—” She sobbed. “There was something I wanted to do… I don’t—” Another sob, “I don’t recall what.”

He holds her hands and then she suddenly froze on the spot. She looks at him in the eyes, and she blinks as the tears fall. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

And this time it was his time to freeze on the spot. Raven pulled her hands away from his, and she placed her fingertips on either side of his face.

“I was afraid that I didn’t have enough time with you. I wanted to know you more.” Her vision seems to go back to that night. “I wanted to be with you.” She absent-mindedly brushed her lips against his. And when the pressure registered in her brain, she pulled away, an apology at the tip of her tongue.

Raven was surprised to feel an even heavier pressure against her lips. And she kissed back and deepened the kiss. She noted how she was reacting very naturally over the situation, and how inexperience Damian was. And she pulled away.

“Is this your first kiss?” She asks him. And he looks away with a small blush on his face.

“It’s—I’m very inexperience with dating…” He admits, and she observes him as she wipes her tears.

“I’m assuming, I have dated before.”

“Yes, Garfield.” He responds blankly, and when the name came off Damian’s mouth, he saw her expression soften. His eye twitched as he looked away. He suddenly feels her hands against his, making him turn to look at her again.

“Gar… field…” She mutters, his hand clenching at the way she called his name. “Was he the only one I dated?” Damian nods in response.

“I see…” She said with furrowed brows. “My head is aching a bit. I think I should rest…” Raven lets go of Damian’s hands.

“Can we try going outside again tomorrow?” Damian was pulled out from his reverie with the inquiry, surprise in his eyes.

“Of course, I would love that.” She smiled at his response.

“Can you—” She looks at him hesitatingly. “Can you hold my hand when we do?”

He was even more shock to hear those words, and he smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek. “Of course, Raven.”

“I would like to date you, Damian.” Raven stares at Damian, who just pulled his hand away from her cheek and straightened his posture as he looks away.

“Your memory isn’t like what it was Raven, I think it’s too early to say that.” His response wasn’t something she enjoyed. But Raven pressed her lips together and did not push him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The sun was setting and the white room was filled with an orange hue from the setting sun outside. Raven and Damian had just arrived from walking outside. This time around she was able to stay outside longer without having flashbacks of the night she got stabbed. It was great progress. But she always held Damian as if he was the only remaining lifeboat in an open, turbulent ocean.

Damian and Raven was continuing a pleasant conversation they had outside, when suddenly the door opened.

“Raven!” Garfield came in with such a relieved look on his face, his eyes expectant as he searches for her. Damian and Raven’s happy conversation grew stale as they turned their head to the door.

“Raven!” He called out again when his eyes landed on her. Raven remained in place. “Of course, you wouldn’t tell me she is awake!” Garfield adds with a glare to Damian, whose head was casted down.

“Tsk, Greyson.” He mutters, Greyson right behind Garfield but was hidden from Damian’s line of sight. Despite Damian’s head casted down, he took note of Raven’s reaction.

She was still, just standing in place, but Damian could tell, she was so close to running to Garfield and hugging him. And all Damian could do was squeeze his eyes shut, as he inhales softly while clenching his fists.

Seeing Garfield, Raven felt like her soul from inside her was vibrating with excitement. And yet, at the same time it felt as though a thin layer of frost blanketed her entire body, and it was enough to render her frozen. Despite her deep desire to hug Garfield, her feet were so heavily planted on the floor, that she didn’t even move an inch. Her breathing was shallow and unhurriedly soft, and she just focused on that.

The days had passed so pleasantly after Raven woke up that Damian had thought that he had a place in her heart. But seeing her like this, he knew—Garfield still outweigh him.

“Get out.” Raven says, to which Damian snapped his head to Raven’s direction, who had simply turned her back and walked to the window. “All of you.”

Damian wanted to say something, his fists curling and uncurling by his sides, but he saw her stiff figure with crossed arms as she stubbornly looked outside. He was the last to leave.

He comes back a few hours later, to see Raven sitting by the windowsill looking outside.

“He hasn’t left has he?” She whispers hoarsely not looking at who entered. Damian shook his head as he replied, even though she would not see it.

“His downstairs, hoping you’d at least see him.” He got no response, but she tilts her head.

“I didn’t see him leave.” She mutters vacantly.

“I’m here to convince you to eat dinner.” And Raven turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

“Okay,” She sighs. “But you are eating with me.”

Damian was startled hearing this, a second passes before the words sunk in.

“Alright.” He blinks at her.

“Here.” She adds and he tells her he that he would be back, as he leaves for a moment to get them their dinner.

When he arrives with food, they sat on a pub table that was added a little after Raven woke up. It could only sit two people, and it was made of some nice honey brown wood. The cushions of the chair red and its frame made of the same wood as the table. It was rather small for two people, but they made do.

Raven was vacantly playing with her food while Damian observes her with a frown. He had not yet scolded her for not eating, as he was giving her just a little more time.

With a sigh she says, “It’s odd, when I saw him, it felt like I just realized the world was a puzzle with missing pieces, and his presence just made all the missing pieces appear on it’s designated place. He was familiar, he was someone I knew—love, maybe even… but something didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to approach him. And I didn’t want him to approach me.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It took Raven three days to be able to even meet Garfield. The sun was setting, and from Raven’s window, one could see Raven talking with Garfield. They were sitting on a bench facing the sunset, their backs facing the window in Raven’s room.

So, it was a given that the two did not see Damian observing them from the window. He did not look upset nor joyful with the scene he was seeing. But once Garfield placed a hand on Raven’s hand, and she tilted her head a bit towards Garfield, you could see Damian’s face slowly turn into unpleasantness.

When the minutes passed, and Garfield nor Raven had not pull away from one another, his face contorted to wanting to storm out from Raven’s room to staying still and just holding his breath—just hoping and wishing—that she had not chosen Garfield.

But the minutes continues to pass, and Garfield’s hand continued to rest on Raven’s hand. And Raven glances at him with a smile forming on her lips. And Damian couldn’t help but think, that despite Raven having a difficulty leaving the building with him, if it was Garfield with her—of course it would be easier for her to be outside with him.

And Raven started closing in on the space between her and Garfield, and Damian did not want to see that. So, he turned around quickly, and he stood with his back against them, as he flexes his fists, and sighed. He had hurried to see her; he had gone through the garage so he was unable to see them on the yard. Once he got into her room, and she wasn’t there, Damian absentmindedly walked to the window. That was when he saw her and Garfield together on a bench, looking like lovers.

He wondered how long he stood by the window looking at them. He closes his eyes and sighs again, by the end of the day it was never him. He walks to the door without looking back.

A few days later, Raven is pacing her room anxiously. She had not seen Damian in days, she worried he saw her and Garfield the other day and that was why he was nowhere to be seen. But she wanted to explain to him what he had seen wasn’t what he thought. She had to tell him.

And she could feel the panic go up onto her throat. She sat on her bed, facing the door. She had refused to step out of her room after she talked to Garfield—not without Damian. She could not find the strength to go out of her room after her chat with Garfield.

Raven buried her hands on her face as the tears started to stream from her eyes. All she could see under her close eyes, was the time—that night, when she reached out for Damian.

She recalled her desire to be with Damian, but right now she felt it so very intensely that she was afraid. She was so afraid that she has lost that chance. And the door opened, and she was up on her feet with wide eyes. Seeing that it was Damian, she sobbed as she ran towards Damian and tackled him with a hug.

He was startled and it took a moment for him to realize that she was hugging him so tightly. He gently returns her hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back. I was so scared.” She wept on the nook of his shoulder, her feet not even touching the floor.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He replied softly, and tightened his hold on her as he sets her down a bit so that she could touch the floor. They stood like that for a moment.

Raven eventually pulled away and tried to collect her bearings. She wipes her tears and looked at Damian in the eyes. On the other hand, he was wishing she hadn’t pulled away-- maybe that was the only time he could hold her like that. And she reaches for his hands. And it felt so right.

“When Gar came, and guided me outside, I couldn’t find the strength to step through the door. All I could think about was that I need you. I need you to hold my hand as I step outside. While that night kept flashing through my mind. But he held my hand—and it felt so familiar. And all my fears just vanished.” She looked down on their feet. “And I found myself outside—with him.” There was guilt in her face and on the tone of her voice. And Damian honestly did not want to hear what she had to say next. But she held his hands tighter, making him decide to just keep quiet. A small smile formed on her lips as tears fall and splatter on the floor.

“I forgot the time I was injured, till the time before he held my hands. It felt like I could breath again.” Damian’s eye twitched, he wondered what was her point. She suddenly flicked her head to look at him, and he was startled.

“He will always be someone that matters to me, we will always have history. I have loved him for nine years, we shared so many memories—so many firsts. But I do not want to be with him. I want to be with you. And I know I am asking a lot, but if all these doesn’t bother you—I would love it, if you would date me.” But she was greeted with silence. “I want you. I want to be with you.” She softly added, her confidence fading.

“I don’t mind.” He said so softly, but Raven didn’t hear it.

“If that is an issue for you, then I completely understand.” She continues on.

“I don’t mind.” He repeated.

“I know it’s been two years, but there must have been someone you became interested in. Or maybe you’ve even dated a bit. I know we don’t talk about it, but I get that—” She squeezes her eyes, her tone ready to cry.

“Raven, I want to be with you.” He cups her cheek and tilted her head towards him. She looks at him with the slightest hint of distrust. “I’ve always wanted to be with you—I waited for you.” He says, being able to say those words felt like such a relief to Damian. And the tears started falling from Raven’s eyes as the distrust was washed away.

“I almost gave up, I admit that.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore. She cups both of his cheeks.

“If I were in your place, even I would waver.” She tells him, trying to catch his dodging eyes. When she finally was able to lock her eyes with his, she adds. “Garfield will always have some meaning to me—his all I have known for nine years, even before sleeping for two years—my history with him is half of my life. I was afraid. I thought he was the only one who could possibly love someone like me—I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I want my next memories and moments-- with you. And slowly those memories I had, and my history with him, will just be a fraction of my life. I want you. I want every possible milestone with you, Damian.”

He slowly nodded, and when Raven’s eyes registered the nod, he couldn’t help but smile and chuckle.

“I never thought this day would happen.” He leans in to rest his forehead against hers, and a soft smile formed on her lips. And they shared the moment in silence. After a while, Damian talks.

“I was afraid to ask, or open up about this, especially since you were still recuperating—and your memories is fuzzy. But who would have thought you would catch me by surprise and open up the topic yourself?” Raven took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips, and he conservatively kissed back to which she deepened the kiss. And she pulled away recalling Damian’s inexperience last time.

“We will take it step by step. I might still remember more about Garfield, and I might get a little confused. But remind me, that I choose you since that night.” She leans her forehead against his, eyes locked with one another. Damian’s eyes flickered with surprise and the confirmation that she chose him that night, made his eyes soften with the acknowledgement. He caresses her face with his thumb.

“I finally caught up to you.” He whispers, a giggle bubbling up on the base of Raven’s throat.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 A few months later, the white almost vacant room was no longer white nor empty. Raven had flipped the room with Damian’s help and approval. Its walls were now a soft lilac color. The room’s furniture was either accented with white, glass or silver metals. And the ceiling was littered with little crystals, that once the lights were off, would illuminate like stars in different colors. Her sheets were navy blue and white.

“Raven, are you ready?” Damian’s voice came from outside her open door. She turned in her white fitted dress with the thinnest spaghetti straps. Her long hair that passed her waist was tied into a fishtail braid.

“Of course!” She replied happily, as she ran towards the door, and tackled Damian with a hug and giggled.

“Excited for our brunch?” He teases.

“Absolutely!” She replied without missing a second.

Later that night they were in her bedroom. Damian sitting on her bed and she was kneeling over his lap. Raven’s hair slowly unravelling from its braid. Their lips have been intertwined with one another for minutes now. He had one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, a bit too afraid to rest it on her bum. While her hands were on his neck and on his chest.

Raven broke off the kiss, and started kissing his neck.

“If we’re going too fast, you can tell me.” She mutters in between kisses. But when she did not hear any response, she pulled away to look at him.

“I know Garfield and I had a lot of firsts together, if that bothers you…” Damian broke away from his dazed state and looked at her questioningly.

“I admit, at first it did,” His eyes follow his hand as in travels from her thigh to her waist which he caresses. “Thinking of how he knows how to please you…” He looks back at her conflicted eyes. “But that just means I have to learn how to please you my way. You two were together for so long—it would be a given that I’m not your first. That is alright. But you are mine.” He admits a small blush on his face. And she smiles as she kisses his eye and trailed kisses to his jawline. He was being brought back to his dazed state.

“I feel honored.” She whispers in between her kisses. And she playfully bit his ear after. Damian was startled and grabbed her butt and she gasped.

“Then I will take the lead then.” She whispered alluringly by his ear, as her hands travelled under his shirt. Her braid completely undone.

 FIN.

(Or is it?)

 Bonus Scene:

Garfield and Raven were outside, they had been talking for hours that the sun had finally began to set.

“You know, when I woke up, I couldn’t find myself to walk out my room. Eventually, I was able to overcome it. But I found that it was so difficult to step outside the villa. All I could see was that night and being stabbed, and the last person I saw.” Raven confesses and Garfield placed a hand on hers for comfort.

“But Damian was there, he guided me and stayed with me as we walk outside.” A small smile on her lips. “I always held him like I was in open water and he was the lifeboat. I was afraid of losing him. I mean, I still am. I still hold him so tightly, because I’m afraid that it would be my last chance with him. I thought I was going to die that night, Gar.”

“But when you offered your hand and held me, after you said you knew of my condition—my fear outside.” She glances at the open area. “I forgot how afraid I was of going outside. It was like my fears these few months were nothing but a phantom. You were always associated with love and happy memories with me. But you and I both know, Gar, we were imperfect. We were destructive. We had become unhappy together for a very long time.” And she glances at him fully.

“I want to say goodbye.” She finally said, and Garfield looked at her gently as Raven extended her arms to hug him. “I want to start a new romance—with Damian.” She whispers as they embrace one another.

“I wish you two happiness.” Garfield says as he pulls away.

“Yes, thank you.” She looks back at Damian’s villa. “I was so afraid I would lose him, I still do now, its why I always hold him tightly whenever we go outside.” She looks back at the sunset that was facing them.

“I held on because of him—I’m sure it was him, I could feel his hand and hear him every now and then, until all I knew was his presence.”

 Alternate (timeline) Ending:

 Damian was asleep on the table, and had woken up with a jolt, all teary eyed.

“Damian, what’s wrong?” Raven says as she approaches the table.

“I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied. And he tells her what happened in his dream.

 Alternate’s Alternate Ending: (Reciprocate timeline)

 “I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied as Raven sat down beside him. She gently places a hand on his as she smiles softly.

“Damian, that did happen.”

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

[bizlawgal]

I got a prompt I would like to share 😊. Emma flirts with norman everyday. From the smallest ways to the most cheesy pick up lines. Then, why he doesn't understand? Most of the time he just blushes looks to other side and then changes the subject. She feels really stupid and embarrassed and now she has to explain it to norman. EXPLAIN SOMETHING TO NORMAN omg.

I’m bad at pick-up lines, so I hope I somehow had given justice to this prompt HAHA.

I.

It’s been a week since she last visited. 

But instead of the friendly blonde she’s come to know, her eyes immediately fall on someone’s silver hair from the counter.

He looks up from his desk, and she can already see in his eyes the wonder in the form of azure and carnation.

"Good morning, miss," he casually greets with that ever-endearing soft smile he serves his guests. "What can I do for you today?"

She comfortably presses her elbows on top of the counter, instantaneously taken by him. 

Just calling him handsome is an understatement.

"Oh, nothing. Just glad to see a friendly face in the morning."

He looks surprised with the comment, but hedges forward with what he's trained and paid to do. "This library certainly has a lot of friendly faces."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the others," she implies without a second thought, "I was talking about you. You must be new here."

"Y-yes," he stutters, something he's not proud of, especially when he's talking to a rather lovely guest that he's seen for the first time.

"Whenever I check out a book, it's always that pretty blonde who always assists me. Have you seen Anna?"

There's a joyous vibrato to how she says it like she's telling a story to a friend, heightening the glistening of her eyes.

He blushes at the sight of her, so he offers an explanation to her question to keep his expression neutral. "I'm sorry. Anna resigned a week ago, so I’ll be solely in charge of everyone’s accounts. Is there anything I can help you with now?"

"Oh, I see.” She nods her head in understanding. “Anyway, I'm Emma, and the only thing you can help me with now is telling me your name."

She's interesting, he thinks. "I'm Norman. Do you have any questions I can help you with?"

Satisfaction crosses her face and he instantly ponders as to why her smile feels like the sun radiating on him.

"Okay, Norman. I have one question," she says with her playful eyes that implies to be too endearing at the same time. "Do you believe in love at first sight or should I come again?"

II.

"You're early today, Emma," Norman says as soon as he catches wind of her from the corner of his eye.

She merely whistles a tune, faint sounds of footsteps making their way towards him. "I'm always right on time, you know."

"It has only been seven minutes since we opened up the library." He raises an eyebrow, skepticism covering his face. "Don't tell me you're here to lounge around? Did you always do this when Anna was around?"

"And if I did? I'm bored, Norman," she remarks in the tone of a whine. "Is there anything I could do while I wait for you to finish?"

He draws an exhaustive sigh at the dilemma in front of him. She's been visiting for straight days over the last two weeks, and all she's ever checked out was a single book. Norman can't decipher what has gotten this young lady visiting the library so often.

But he won’t deny the exhilarating feeling of knowing that his company is something that she’s keen on having.

She may just be a lost soul looking for ways to entertain herself in the vastness of this city's library.

"If you have no plans to check out a book, at least take a seat in one of the available couches. I'll attend to you shortly."

Emma seems satisfied with the idea. She merrily makes her way to the nearest couch and comfortably settles herself with its backrest.

Not even a minute longer, Norman feels the piercing stare emanating from his back. His keen senses are to thank for, and clearly, it was sharp as a dagger since he instantly comes in contact with her eyes.

"You're staring," he simply reckons.

"No, I'm not." She doesn’t even deny it.

It's taking everything in him not to blush and be conscious of her gaze that is enough to question a man of his current stature.

"Yes, you are."

"Hmm, really?” She rubs out both of her eyes and blinks excessively at the ceiling. “I think there's just something wrong with my eyes."

Norman places the book he has on hand in its proper place and goes ahead to check on her condition. He moves closer to get a good view of her face when he asks, "What's wrong with your eyes?"

And when he's close enough that she moves her lips to his ear and whispers, "I just can’t take them off of you."

III.

It's been a month since Emma started invading his professional space of employment. He has no qualms about it, yet her presence has been, in more ways, confusing than comforting.

Aside from her lack of tact and overwhelming recklessness, he has nothing to complain about.

Except for her outrageous pick-up lines.

Some are cheesy. Others are funny, and most of the time, it ridiculously just takes his breath away.

"How much does a penalty cost when I fail to return a book after its deadline?" she asks him from the counter on a Saturday.

He shakes his head in amusement. "Are we talking about that engineering book that you've failed to return even after my countless reminders?"

"Maaaaaybeeee," she chimes back.

"It'll be a dollar if we're counting for nearly a month of its overdue fine."

"I see you’re good with Math," she ponders for a moment, the side of her lips twitching for a smile.

"I’m fairly good with numbers," he informs back while encoding the newly-released textbook on his laptop.

"I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers, too! " she points a finger at him, "Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it."

Norman nearly chokes on his own saliva.

IV.

He likes her.

He likes her enough to the point that his head immediately sways to the door the moment it opens; to the point that her laughter brings him an immeasurable amount of joy by just hearing it; and, to the point that he wishes time would stop so that he'd get to hear more of her little pick-up lines.

So when she steps foot inside the library for today, all his attention is remotely diverted to her.

"Good morning, Norman," she greets enthusiastically from the door, a bright mop of orange hair blossoming from her back and a grin to match the glee in her eyes.

Norman instantly sprints to meet her halfway, but loses his balance and falls flat on the wooden floors.

Emma quickens her pace to assist his sorry state. "Norman! Norman! Are you okay?"

"I-It's nothing," he groans the words out, "The floor must've been slippery."

Emma gives out a peal of low laughter before placing his right arm over her shoulders and supporting him to stand up. "You know, you should be careful where you fall."

Norman senses that it's going to be another one of her pick-up lines so he listens attentively, despite the searing pain on his chin. "And where do you suppose I should fall?"

"You may fall from the sky, you may fall from a tree, but the best way to fall… is in love with me," she ardently chants as they walk side by side to a vacant seat.

He bites the insides of his cheeks because this is the best one he's heard from her yet.

V.

It's closing time and Emma has taken it upon herself to help him return every borrowed book to its proper placement on the shelf. She’s been awfully quiet, Norman internally infers, with the way she shoves the books back with less delicacy than the previous ones. Her eyebrows are knitted into a frown and her lips are sullen into a pout. 

If she doesn’t appear to be vindictive about something, he thinks it’s an adorable expression out of her.

"Norman." Her voice is stern and less cheerful than the usual, and it makes him pause for a moment. "You look smart enough to me."

"So I've been told."

"But, why are you dumb?"

This statement makes him stop altogether. "I am... what?"

"I think you're dumb," she emphasizes without averting her gaze.

He doesn't even take offense since this is the first time she used such a tone against him. "How am I dumb?"

"Because!" she crosses her hands to her chest in an offensive stance, "I've been flirting with you for over a month, and you always seem to brush me off. My brother said that saying pick-up lines are a good way to go! Is it not working or are you just dumb not to notice?"

Emma is too free and direct — unbound to any chain from halting herself from freely speaking her mind. Her intentions are too pure for his sake and it's taken him more than a month to come up with a response.

"I'm not dumb, Emma," his voice is low and raspy against the stammering of his heart.

She appears taken aback. "So, do you know I'm flirting with you?"

So blunt, yet so efficient. "Yes, I know."

"Do you... not like me?" The will to look at him is gone, only replaced by uneasiness and dejection. “I can stop if you don’t —”

His grin won't falter back, so he allows it to creep into his lips. She's been making too many obvious attempts for him not to notice for over a month and it's high time he returns the favor.

"I like you. It’s just that... I’ve never liked a girl before. I’m sorry if it looked like I wasn’t interested. But — " he takes a step closer to reach for her braid, “I really like you, Emma. You and your silly pick-up lines.”

Her eyes blow wide open with hope. Her hands are balled into a fist with evident shaking from elation. "You do?! You really do?!"

“Do you want proof of it?” he asks coolly as he possibly can.

She nods like a little child that is about to be handed a candy.

He closes a bit of the gap between them, with one hand snaking for support at her back, and the other raising her chin to meet his lips.

If she’s good with swooning him with words, then he may as well do the same. "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back."

[thewildomega]

Second Chance ch.8

Running towards the hidden entrance to the town behind the waterfall he held y/n tightly to his chest. Looking to the homes he saw all the lights off and knew most were probably sleeping. Refusing to stop he ran as fast as he could to where his home was. Coming up on the hill he saw another smaller home built not too far from it. Using his haki he felt a bit of relief come over him at the familiar presence. "MARCO!" Getting to the door he saw it was small, about half his height, he was back to his old size. "MARCO!" he called again. Seeing a light turn on from inside the window he breathed heavily. As soon as the door opened he looked down to see his son rubbing his eye.

"What the hell is..." Marco asked in a sleepy voice, dropping his hand and looking out his door. Seeing nothing but legs he craned his neck to gaze up at the tall man. Knitting his brows and blinking a few times he snapped his eyes around. Long blond hair, same warm yellow eyes, huge as hell but younger? Way younger. "H..how... I...I don't.... Pops?" 

"I don't have time to explain now son. I need your help. I need you to help her." Seeing his son still frozen he grit his teeth. "Marco now!" he yelled and saw the man snap out of it. 

"Right. Okay." he said firmly more to himself than the man who resembled his late father. "Go take her to your home and I'll grab my things." 

"Marco honey? What is it?" a feminine voice said from behind him. 

Glancing behind his son he saw a woman standing there, wearing nothing but a nightgown. While he was intrigued about who this young woman was he didn't have time right now. Hurrying over to his home he was happy to find his door unlocked, the large wooden door slamming back against the wall as he pushed his way inside. Turning on the lights he moved to his own bedroom and placed her down on the dusty bed. Standing back up to look down at her he took in her size compared to the large bed and knit his brows. Hearing feet running towards them he saw Marco come up beside him and start looking y/n over. When he pulled back the coat and her ripped shirt he saw the bleeding gunshot wound on the right side of her chest, just over her breast and swallowed hard. 

"I need to get her shirt off so I can see if the bullet went the whole way through." Pulling out a knife he started cutting away the blood soaked shirt. 

Helping sit her up and pull off her coat and shirt he tossed them to the side to be taken care of later. Seeing no wound on her back he knew the bullet was still in her. Laying her back down gently he watched as Marco checked her pulse and heartbeat. 

"Her heartbeat is faint. She needs a blood transfusion or she'll be dead in minutes." the doctor said and saw as the large man moved to sit on the floor by the bed table, holding out his arm. "You don't know if ..." 

"I do. I am." 

Nodding he quickly grabbed the things he needed and stepped in front of his father. Finding a vein quickly he shoved the needle in. As soon as the red liquid of life started filling the bottle he stepped back over to the woman on the bed to get her hooked up as well. 

Sitting back against the wall he watched quietly as Marco worked on saving his lass's life. The woman from before had come over soon after he hooked Y/n up to an IV and she gave him a look before moving beside Marco and speaking to him. He heard her weak whimpers and cries as the doctor started digging for the bullet still lodged in her chest and it sent a sharp pain through his chest. The woman who he had overheard Marco call Zella helped in holding y/n down for the painful procedure. Once it was out he saw the bright blue flames come from his hand that pressed over Y/n's wound. 

Healing her as much as he could with his powers he grabbed his supplies to start stitching the wound close. Wrapping the wound in bandages he looked over her other injuries to start on them. 

After a good two hours he heard Marco let out a sigh and step away from the bed to turn to him. "She should be just fine." he told the younger version of his pops. Looking behind him he rose his chin. "Zel, go get some stuff an clean her up will ya?"

Seeing the woman nod and make her way out of the room he looked back to see Marco looking at him with lowered brows. 

"How? I don't understand how you are here. You died, Ace died, we buried you both..."

"It's complicated..."

"I don't care tell me. Tell me how you just show up here, alive and young after almost two damn years." 

"Two years?" he repeated, his face falling and his eyes going a bit wide. Seeing Marco's face serious he took a deep breath and tried to take it all in. He had only been in Y/n's world for almost two months but it had been near two years here? Looking back up to Marco he saw the woman return with her arms full of different things. Noticing the bathing supplies and such he stood and walked over to his dresser. Taking out one of his few shirts he held it out for the woman to take. "It'll be big on her but it will work for now." he said and saw her nod, a kind smile on her face. Glancing back to y/n one last time he swallowed hard and walked out, hearing Marco follow behind him. 

....................................

All the while Zella who he learned was his son's wife, cleaned y/n he had told Marco everything as Marco took care of the stab wound on his forearm that he had forgotten about. He told him how he had washed up on the shore of the lake and how y/n had found him. He told him how when he had woken up he was somehow young again. Telling him about y/n and her world Marco stayed quiet through it all, ever the clam and collected one. Refusing to hold anything back from him he also spoke to him about the strong connection the two had towards each other. Lastly he spoke to him about the events that had just occurred before the two of them had been sent back here. 

"She is your soulmate then?"

Humming he grinned. "Yes."

"Does she know that?" 

Taking a deep breath he let it out in a long sigh, "No. I don't believe they are a thing in her world." 

Nodding Marco looked to where Whitebeard's bedroom was, thinking about the woman who had all in all saved her father's life. "So what is she like, Y/n?" he asked and couldn't help but grin when he saw the way his father smiled. 

"Oh she is kind, so very kind and quiet. She's a hardworking woman but she never complains. She also has a temper as well though." he said with a chuckle at the end but then felt his smile fall away some. "But... she's been hurt before. I don't exactly know how, she hasn't opened up to me yet and I haven't pushed her on it." huffing a bit he looked to the blond and smiled, "You'll like her though, she's been making me take vitamins and eat more healthy." 

"She's a keeper." 

Laughing he smiled and leaned back into the chiar. "Now, tell me, what's happened since I died." 

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked into the large yellow eyes and started relaying the events from the last 19 months. He told him about how the crew and some others, along with Shanks buried both him and Ace. Then he told him about the payback war they had had with Blackbeard and his crew. Admitting the defeat he grit his teeth. and bounced his knee. "We all disbanded after that. With Teach and his crew, then the World Government after us I thought it would be best if we went our own ways.... I didn't want to do it but..."

Sighing he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "It's alright son, I understand. You did the right thing." 

"It get's worse." Seeing his father look back to him he blinked slowly, "Because of Teach beating us the World Government named him the new Emperor."

"What?" 

Nodding Marco saw the man's massive muscles flex. 

"What about Ace's brother, that strawhat runt?" 

"Luffy. I don't know, no one has heard anything from him since a about a week after the war. He showed up at Marineford again with both Jinbe and Rayleigh..."

"Rayleigh?"

"Yep. Luffy didn't attack anyone or start any trouble. All he did was go up and ring the OX bell before taking off his hat. There were many pictures taken of him, it was put on the front page. After that he left and no one has seen him or any of his crew since."

Humming he lowered his brow in thought. He didn't think the boy was giving up, not from all the stories Ace had told him. Before anything else could be said he heard the door open and looked towards his bedroom to see Zella walking out with a y/n's clothes in her arms. 

"I cleaned her up as best I could. There was a place on the back of her head that i don't think you saw but I cleaned it and bandaged it as well." Zella told her husband who nodded. 

"I'm going to go take a look at it real quick." 

Watching his son walk out of the room he looked to the young woman and saw her smile at him. "Well hello my dear. I hear you are my son's wife." 

Nodding Zella looked to the large man. "Yes. It's so nice to be able to meet you, Marco has told me all about you. I don't understand exactly how you are here but I am happy nonetheless. Marco and the rest of your children missed you dearly." 

Grinning he hummed. "I missed them as well. I do hope you are taking good care of my boy... not making it too easy for him though right?" he asked and heard her chuckle lightly. 

"Not at all."  she assured him. Remembering something she held out the items she had found in the woman's clothing. "Here you go, I found these in her clothes, I don't think they would do well in the wash." 

Taking the items Zella handed over he saw y/n's phone, notebook and a few other items.  

"Of course. I am going to wash her pants and other clothes but I am afraid her shirt is past the point of repair."

"Thank you dear." Seeing her nod as Marco walked back out he looked to him. 

"Yea that's a nice sized bump on her head, it's got a small gash as well but not enough for stitches. She may have a slight concussion and her head will probably ach for a few days once she wakes. Nothing some herbal tea won't help though. Still once she wakes she will need to take it easy, she did lose a lot of blood." 

Nodding he stood and saw Marco cover a yawn. "You both should get back to bed." 

"Sounds good. If you need me you know where to find me. I'll be back over to check on her in the morning." he told him and saw him nod. Looking up to his father he smiled "Goodnight pops." 

Grinning he kneeled down to hug his son, "Goodnight my son." Watching them both leave he set the items down on the table and moved towards his bedroom. The light was off but with the light from the living room he could still see fairly well. Walking over to the bed he looked down at her and saw wrapped up under the covers. She had bandages on her cheek and wrapped around her head, he could also make out the light bruise on her lip and jaw. Her skin was still flushed but not as much as it was. Dropping his eyes to her chest he could only see so much with the blankets pulled up to just under her shoulders but he knew she was wearing his shirt. The white fabric looked more like a sheet on her than anything with the first few buttons undone and some of the bandages peeking out. The slowly rise and fall of her chest told him she was sleeping soundly and he let out a sigh of relief. If Marco hadn't been here then there was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't have made it, the very thought making his heart clench. Threading his fingers through her hair he heard a small groan and noticed her lashes fluttering a bit, her brows knitting together in discomfort. Crouching down beside the bed he continued stroking her hair and then her unmarked cheek with his thumb. "Yer alright lass, go back to sleep darling." 

Hearing the deep, comforting voice you relaxed and did as it commanded. 

Seeing her drift back off he grinned. Standing back up he tugged the covers up over her a bit more before going back out to the living room. Looking towards the couch he gave a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. While there was plenty of room for both of them on his bed he didn't want to risk making her uncomfortable or worse hurting her. So couch it was. Turning off the light he walked over to the old sofa and layed down on it, his feet hanging off the side. 

.................................

Groaning giving a whimper when your whole body seemed to ache you slowly lifted your hand to your face to rub your eyes. Feeling a bandage and then another one you knit your brows and then started attempting to open your eyes. At first they instantly closed from the bright light but after a little bit you managed to get them open and take a glance around the room you were in. First thing you noticed was the ceiling, it was wooden with large beams running along it. Turning your head to the walls you saw them to be made of what looked like plaster, the trim and door made of the same wood as the beams along with the floor. The room itself was of nice size with a dresser, side table and the huge bed you were laying in. It had to be a California king with white sheets and deep blue bedding. Seeing a window on the far wall with white curtains you tilted your head a bit at the view outside. From where you laid you could see what looked like bright green grass and a large mountain in the far landscape, a clear blue sky above. Just where the hell were you?

Thinking back to the last thing you remembered you recalled the incident at the bar, those men, they had robbed the place and then you had taken off after the man. The two of you were fighting and then he... he tried to... he was going to rape you but he hadn't. Edward had shown up, he had saved you. Then him and the man had fought and the guy had pulled a gun. He was going to shoot Edward so you jumped in the way. Glancing down to your chest you pulled the large shirt... gown, whatever it was away some and saw bandages there. You had been shot. Your memory went a bit fuzzy after that. You could remember Edward yelling, the other man screaming and then the ground shook but then Ed was there. He was holding you and he was so warm, you could hear his heartbeat and then nothing. 

Letting out a long breath you laid your head back on the pillow and thought. Had you been taken to some hospital? You had never heard of any hospitals that looked like this. Blinking you decide to go find out what was going on. Trying to sit up you bit your lip to muffle your cry as every injury on your body seemed the throb. Sitting up on the bed you were overcome with a coughing fit and covered your mouth with one elbow while the other hand moved to clutch your chest. Whimpering when your head felt like it was going to split into you closed your eyes tight, your face scrunching up in pain. Once you had gotten a bit used to the pain you opened your eyes and looked around the room again. Dropping your eyes to your own body you knit your brows and lifted the large shirt hanging on your body. It was way too big but it didn't look like a gown and... sniffing it you leaned back some, you knew that scent. Was he here, was he okay? Going to stand up from the bed you heard one of the two doors open and froze. Looking up you saw a man come walking into the room but there was something off about him. Why was he so small? He had blond hair on the top of his head and when he looked up to you, you saw he had glasses on as well. Was he a dwarf? 

"Oh. We weren't expecting you to be up so soon." Marco said to the woman with a smile. Walking over to her he looked up to her, "Pops will be happy. I'm Marco by the way." 

Marco, Edward's son? How was he here? Had he somehow been teleported to your world too? Licking your dry lips you looked down to the man. "Hello. I'm y...y/n." you told him, your voice cracking a bit.

"Yes I know, the big man has been talking about you nonstop all day." he chuckled. 

"Edward is here?" 

"Yea, well not here, he went to grab a few things from town but he should be back soon. In the meantime though I'd like to check over your injuries." Stepping forward some he saw her a tad bit uncomfortable and grinned softly. "It's okay, I'm a doctor." 

Nodding you tried to relax some "I know Ed talks about you a lot as well." 

"Hopefully good things." he smiled. 

Sitting still as Marco did his exam you listened to him tell you the extent of all your injuries and that you would have to take it easy for the next week. Rubbing your face you sighed, "I have to call work and tell them..."

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked off to the side, "Ah yea well about that..." He didn't get to finish his sentence as he heard a door shut and then the footsteps coming towards the room. 

Seeing him look towards the door you followed his eyes as it opened, standing in the frame was him, "Edward?"

Looking over to the bed his face split into a large smile when he saw his lass awake and sitting up. "Y/n darling you're awake." 

"Yep, doing good too. She should be able to get up and move about a bit but nothing too exerting." Marco told them. 

"I'll make sure of it." Grinning and giving a nod he saw Marco look to the flowers in his hand and raise his brows. 

"Well I am going to head out. I'll get Zel to bring over your clothes." 

"Thank you." you told the small man and saw him nod as he turned to walk by Edward, only coming up to the man's knee. Hearing another door shut you looked back to Ed and saw him move towards you. 

Holding out the bouquet of white flowers he smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Here ya go lass." 

Looking down at the daffodils you felt a warmth in your chest that flowed up to your cheeks. Smiling softly you reached out to take them from him. "Thank you Ed." Observing the beautiful flowers you smiled, there was even a purple ribbon tied around them and already you could smell their pleasant scent. Raising your eyes back to him you saw him only looking down at you with a soft smile. 

Moving to sit on the bed beside her he took a deep breath, "You know you had me scared there for a moment darling. I didn't know if you were going to make it." he said, looking down and feeling his lip twitch. Looking up to meet her eyes he glanced to the bruises and cuts on her face. "You took a bullet for me and while I am grateful I don't ever want you to do something like that again." seeing her brows knit he shook his head when he saw her go to speak. "No. You are never to put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me y/n." 

Taking a deep breath you said nothing and saw his brows lower. 

"Y/n." he grunted.

"I can't make a promise that I don't know I will be able to keep." you said softly and saw his hand move up to rub his face and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"You have to be the most stubborn women I have ever met." he grumbled. 

Giggling a little you grinned and smelled at the flowers. "I'll take it as a compliment." seeing him give you a small glare, making you smile more he shook his head. Looking towards the window again you saw rolling green hills with a few other homes or buildings here and there. This didn't look like anywhere in Montant you had ever seen. Knitting your brows you took another look around the room that now you thought about it looked more like a bedroom. Seeing a white hat sitting on the dresser with yellow trim and what looked like a pirate symbol on the front you also noted the other personal items here and there throughout the room. Before you knew it you heart started beating a little faster. "Umm Ed.... where are we?"

[maxineswritingcenter]

Home - Dean x fem!reader part 5

After being kidnapped by demons, (y/n) is no where to be found by her partners Dean and Sam. Will they find her in time before it’s too late?

TW: there may some some added violence as requested but nothing more than what would be shown in the show, we’re keeping it PG - 13.

- 

“This is getting....diculus...useless....” (Y/N) heard Balaam’s voice going in and out. They had put her in a chair, arms tied to her sides, a mock crown placed on her head where screws punctured her skull. The demon next to her tutted. 

“Why don’t .... kill her? She’s not going to give us anything about where...home is.” 

“Home?”(Y/N) picked up her head a little a tried to look at the demons through her swollen, bruised eyes. 

Balaam moved to stand in front of her, an excited grin on her face, “Yes, home. Where is home? Tell us.” 

(Y/N) found the strength to smile weakly, thinking of the words that Dean had said those years before. 

“Home... the place where I can go. Take this off my shoulder...Someone take me home.” As she spoke, her head slowly went back to hanging down. 

“This is useless. Untie her, get the crown off.” Balaam growled. 

“Untie her?” The demon’s eyebrows knitted together. 

“She’s a bag of bones, she’ll die within the day.” As (Y/N) was untied, Balaam pushed her to the floor and she landed with a thud.

“Let’s go and figure out something else, this is big waste of our time.” And with that, they were gone and she was left in the dark.

“Someone take me home.” (Y/N) whispered, curling into a ball with Timothy besides her. 

- 

Dean sat at the table, staring at the small glass vial in his hand. In it was a piece of the wooden floor of the house (Y/N) was taken from. It was stained a rust colored from dried blood, the blood of the kidnapper. His attention was brought to Rowena’s heels as she walked into the room, Sam walked behind her with a black velvet chest in his hands. 

“What’s that?” Dean asked, watching Sam set the box down on the table besides him. Rowena lit a candle with a long match and opened the chest to reveal a necklace. 

“Just a few things I managed to borrowed. Nothing to worry about.” Rowena smiled before plunking the vial out of his hands. 

“It’s a revelation spell. The blood from the demon that took her should connect to the body it came from. And, with any luck, he’s still with (Y/N).” Sam said, giving Dean a soft smile. Almost like an apology. 

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope this works.” Dean leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, “Because if it doesn’t...”

“Dear, if this doesn’t work, I’m putting up my spells and cauldrons and never practice magic again.” Rowena smiled, rolling out a map. She inhaled deeply and were her eyes opened they were bright purple. She pointed a long finger at the the vial with the blood and it began to shake, just like everything else in the room. 

As she spoke, her voice echoed through the bunker with an other-worldly tone: “Reveal now, reveal!” A wind was rushing through the bunker, originating from Rowena. The candle flame flickered and faded from yellow to purple like the witch’s eyes. 

Suddenly, just as it began, it stopped. Rowena had blinked the purple from her eyes and a smile crept onto her face.

“I’ve found them.” 

- 

Balaam and the other demons sat at the table. Her head was in her hands, fists of her hair threaded through her fingers. 

“So what’s our next move?” The demon to her right asked. She was sure he had a name but she was too pissed off to care about such things. She wasted six months for nothing, six months of feeding and beating an empty lead. 

“Well we’re not kidnapping anyone anytime soon. That bitch was worth less than the nails we screwed into her head.” A demon... his name was Richard, which would explain things. 

“Look will everything just shut up and-” A distant bang from outside stopped her train of thought. Everyone’s heads spun towards the door. 

“What’s that?” They all stood from their seats, preparing to fight. But what they didn’t expect was the door to be blown off in an explosion. A demon was crushed by the door as it slammed into the far wall, the rest were blown to the ground. Balaam looked up from the floor, coughing out the cement dust from the explosion. 

As the smoke cleared, Dean Winchester appeared in the doorway. There was fire in his eyes and if looks would kill. 

“Candy gram.” He said. Sam and Rowena appeared behind him.  

“Who’s the leader?” Dean asked and was met by numerous fingers pointing to the woman by the door. 

He nodded, “Alright.” He leaned down and grabbed her roughly by the arm, dragging her to her feet. Sam and Dean led the woman out of the room as Rowena dropped a lit match into the bowl in her hands. The demon bomb inside blasted outward and all the demons left in the room were disintegrated. 

Dean shoved the woman against the wall while Sam held an angel blade to her throat, “Where is she?” He demanded. 

“She’s dead.” The demon sneered, “We tossed her into a meat grinder and ate her for dinner. She was so sweet. If you would have gotten here three months earlier then you could have had a bit-” Before she could finish, Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and forcefully shoved the blade into her throat. Sam pulled his wrist from Dean grip and glared at his brother. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted as the demon’s body hit the floor. 

“She’s lying. (Y/N)’s here.” He started making his way down the hallway, calling her name. 

-

(Y/N) woke up again to Timothy’s little paw touching her face softly. She sighed, trying to move her head but she was too sore and weak to really move. She opened her eyes slightly. Timothy’s bright blue eyes only stared down at her from his position on her chest and opened his mouth but the yowls that she was used to coming out were replaced by her name. She narrowed her eyes the best she could in confusion. 

“Wha...” The whisper escaped her lips. 

“(Y/N).” Timothy said, blinking down at her. 

“(Y/N)!” Her attention was brought towards the direction of the door. It sounded close, someone calling for her. But was it real, or just another hallucination? 

“(Y/N)!” The voice called again, a different voice followed it, calling to her. No, that was real. It had to be... was it?

“In here-” (Y/N) croaked. The voice was getting closer, she could hear footsteps getting closer. But then they started to fade again and get farther away. Timothy had hopped off her chest and was going towards the door, scratching at the wood. 

I have to move, she thought, I’ll die here if I don’t. And I’ll be damned if she gets the last laugh.

(Y/N) rolled onto her stomach, using what little strength she had in her arms to drag her body across the cement floor. Every movement caused her leg to scream at her and her arms felt like they would fall off. Each movement felt like it was taking a life time to make it anywhere close to the door. 

“I’m here.” She grunted, as she finally made it to the door. She shifted so she sat against the door. 

They’ll never hear me if I can’t get loud enough, she squinted and tried to find something, anything. It was just her luck that she found a chair leg, of of the many that littered the floor. She gripped the wood tightly in her hands, bracing herself. With a sharp movement, she jammed the jagged edge into her leg.

“I’M HERE!” She screamed, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain, “I’M HERE!” The footsteps were coming back and relief washed through her. Her fingers fell slack and her hand slid off her leg, leaving the wood lodged in her leg. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. 

“We’re going home, Timothy.” But the little cat was gone, disappearing into thin air. 

The door behind her opened, she fell back into the hallway, into the light and as her head hit the ground she heard him. 

“(Y/N)...” He found her. He came for her. Just like she knew he would. 

- 

The next few days were more of a blur than anything. The ride to the hospital was mostly in darkness. Every one in a while she could hear Sam telling her to stay awake, keep breathing, they were almost there. 

“Come on! Don’t give up!” Was what really stuck with her. And maybe it was a mistake on his part, but she hadn’t given up. Had she wanted to? Absolutely. Those days that had faded into night, the days becoming weeks, the weeks to months she wanted nothing more than to die. The torture she had been through, both physically and emotionally were worse than any short of death she could think of. And when it wasn’t torture it was the visions of her family telling her to give up, no one was coming, to join them in death. It crossed (Y/N)’s mind often that is she just gave up that it would all be over. She did what she had too, she didn’t give up the bunker, she didn’t need to keep suffering. But if she gave up, she wouldn’t be able to prove the demons wrong. SO if anything her hope was based on spite. That they would come and they would save her. 

When she woke up, however many days later, it felt like her whole world was spinning. The brightness of the hospital lights against all the white furniture and equipment made her squint. She lifted on her arms, taking care to do so once she noticed the IV pumping fluids into her hand, and felt at her head. There was gauze wrapped around the crown of her head. The most shocking thing was the full cast on her leg. She could imagine how difficult it had been to fix that considering all the damage. 

“They had to rebreak it.” Dean’s voice made her turn to her left. He was sitting in a chair right besides her bed. To say he looked different would be an understatement. He had grown a beard and his hair was longer. He had dark circles under his eyes and his eyes, while they were their usual green, seemed darker and tired looking. 

“They had to rebreak it because your bones fused together wrong. I watched as your back arched and you screamed-” He paused, like the memory of it was hard for him to handle, “It just made me imagine all of the terrible things they did to you. All because I didn’t try harder to find you. All because I let my ego get in the way and left you alone.” (Y/N) knew Dean had carried the guilt of the deaths that followed him all of his life. 

“We were both being jerks.” She whispered, still not trusting her voice. Dean shook his head. 

“No, none of this is your fault. None of it. I was the one starting fights.” 

“Why were you starting fights?” It was a questioned she had wanted to ask for a long time, but never got around to it since she expected another fight. 

“I...” Dean began but the words just wouldn’t come. As if on cue, a nurse walked in, with Sam following behind her. 

“Hey, you’re awake.” Sam grinned, in his arms he held two bottles of water. 

“You gave us quite the scare, Ms. Nicks. Thought we were going to lose you for a minute. But you’ve got the fighting spirit.” The nurse said cheerfully. She then started the process of changing (Y/N)’s fluid bag. 

“How ya feeling?” Sam asked, clearly avoiding looking at the cast on (Y/N)’s leg. Or maybe it was the bandages on her head. Sam held onto guilt too, but his was a little easier to see than Dean. Sam had his heart on his sleeve with his puppy dog eyes. 

“I’m feeling better all things considered. What day is it?” She asked, almost dreading the answer. 

“It’s October seventeenth.” Sam sighed. October? Six months had gone by. She knew it had been a while but not six months. She hugged her arms herself, and squeezed her eyes shut. The nurse seemed to catch on to what was going on and excused herself. 

“(Y/N)... I can’t even describe how sorry I am.” Sam started explaining things, about all the spells and leads they had trying to find her. It made her feel better, that they really tried their hardest to find her. She was grateful, obviously. It was just so long. She opened her eyes to look at Dean but his chair was empty. 

-----

Oh you know there’s going to be some fluff next....chapter? Installment? Whatever, there’s gonna be fluff.

 Read part 6 here!

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[just-another-romantic]

Six Times: Part 6/6- The One Time He Did

Series Summary: Five times Bucky wanted to kiss you + the one time he did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: loads of depressive thoughts from both the reader and the soldier, fluff-so much fluff to make up for the angsty mood.

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Nikka Ursula.

Hands. The workers of our bodies. So many precious moments captured by them. Slender fingers dancing across the bridge of porcelain keys, the magic that sparks when two lovers intertwine their hands together. There’s a reason why old witches read palms, they had seen secrets in ways no one else could. Hands gathered crops, knitted clothing, stitched wounds together again. Hands give life.

Bucky had never liked his hands, for multiple reasons, really. He hated the way his veins popped out on his skin, how calloused they were from working in Brooklyn. He hated that he never had long enough fingers to play the piano or the guitar or no matter how many pretty girls held his hand, they never fit perfectly and there were never explosions of skin on skin.

After that long fall in Austria, he hated how he only had one. And after many cold, sleepless nights in a prison cell when Hydra had to keep him awake, Bucky hated how they were a weapon of war.

Now, sitting on the roof of Avengers tower, looking out on all of New York, Bucky looked down at his hands, blinking tears out of his eyes. He hated his hands more than ever because they had almost taken (Y/n)’s life. 

Obviously, Bucky had no recollection of it- memories of the Winter Soldier only came back in dreams, so vivid there was no denying that they were real. He woke up in his bed with a pounding ache in his right temple. Steve sat next to him, a face so grim it made Bucky’s heart drop.

“What did I do?” he asked, his voice raspy and dry.

Steve just whispered, “She’s in Med bay. We could’ve lost her.” The captain might as well have torn the sergeant in half.

That was a month ago. Bucky refused to see her, even when she got out of hospitalization. It was safer that way. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But (Y/n) was persistent. She knew it wasn’t him that blocked her airway, it was the ghost of what he had to become many many years ago. She didn’t even need to forgive him if there was no way her heart could be mad at him.

However, she still respected his space. She knew that he was ignoring her for a reason-fear. Fear of hurting. Fear of anger. fear of everything that was unknown to him. Instead, Bucky would find letters slipped under his door, the ink of (Y/n)’s loopy cursive bleeding through, still fresh. She built dreams in paragraphs, telling him how there was no possible way for her to be angry. She signed every letter with I love you. Bucky wished he could believe it.

There was no way she could’ve meant it. Bucky was awake at 3:30 in the morning only because he dreamt of it; he had remembered it. (Y/n)’s eyes red and popping, the way how she had tried so desperately to make reason with him, the way her hand delicately caressed his face before passing out, as if it was a romantic moment instead of deadly. 

Just as he was contemplating whether to stay or not, his ears picked up on the soft patter of bare feet against the concrete roof. “FRIDAY still tells me when you have a nightmare,” (Y/n) explained, “guess Tony still has that coded in whatever system.”

Despite himself, Bucky turned to look at her. The first time he laid eyes on her in a month. Her bright eyes were glossy and red rimmed, underlined with dark circles, her hair a mess from sleep and sweatpants and T-shirt wrinkled and lopsided. She was a specimen of true beauty. Her name spilled from Bucky’s lips the same time his did her own. She laughed, as smooth and sweet as honey. Oh, he wished he could smile, laugh along with her as if he wasn’t living his worst nightmare.

 “You should go back to bed,” he told her gruffly. 

“You say that as if I have been sleeping at all,” (Y/n) replied, standing her own like a force of nature. Wildfire, Bucky thought, she’s made of pure gold. “Buck, what you did, wasn’t you.” 

“It was still my hands.” 

“Being controlled by the demon those bastards made you into,” she said, voice raising in volume. Bucky’s voice caught in his throat. “Seventy years, Buck,” she continued, voice cracking in bits and pieces. “Seventy years of torment, brainwashing you to the brink of madness itself. Seventy years of doing the dirty work of high men who couldn’t afford to get their hands bloodied, so they hung the price and guilt over your head.” (Y/n) paused, choking down a sob, wiping the evidence off of her face with her sleeve. “You weren’t yourself all those years. You were thrown into the pit of hell and dragged yourself out of it. That was you, Bucky, not that weapon they made you think you were.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes,” she answered. “It wasn’t the Bucky that I know and love.”

He could barely comprehend the fact that (Y/n) (Y/L/n) just admitted that she loved him before she was scrambling forward, boosting herself on the edge of the building next to him. In her charcoal covered hands was a spiraled notebook. Gingerly, she held it out to him, in such a manner that seemed as if she was giving over her own heart. Bucky obliged, the leather of the notebook feeling heavy in his hands. “I don’t know if my words can convince you, Buck, but maybe these will.”

Bucky opened it. The first drawing he saw was a black and white oil pastel. The image so detailed it could be mistaken for a photograph. It was from her point of view, laying on a cold hospital bed (though one could barely consider it a bed), left forearm stretched out, fist clenched, almost painfully tight. The only color on the page was the bright blue liquid that dripped from her IV, flowing into her bloodstream. Hydra’s mixture. Deep breaths, Bucky...

The next page he flipped to was obviously a self portrait done by (Y/n). The image rattled Bucky to his core. It was of her, stuck in the corner of a room, knees to her chest. Zip ties held her hands and feet together, tears streamed out of fearful eyes. She was screaming, but the duck tape against her lips prevented any noise from coming out. But scrawled onto the tape in bright red pen were the words Ready To Comply. Bucky shuddered, a sudden chill washing over him.

He skipped the next few pages until his eyes landed on one that was unmistakably him. His body, tangled in white blankets, only his bare back exposed. His arms used as a pillow for his head, shaggy black hair a mess around him. A image of him during a nightmare, no doubt. Above him, numerous hands reached out to him ominously, blood trickling off of some of the fingers. It was watercolor, brush strokes capturing the beautifully terrifying moment.

There were dozens more. Of him, of her. The last one captured his attention the most. Yet again, its him - pale skin contrasted by long brownish-black locks of hair, limps parted in a whimper. Hands made of smoke cover his eyes and a good portion of his face, the seal of Hydra burnt into the skin in red. He’s trapped, blind, and so vulnerable. Above him, the same red spells out Hail Hydra. The sight made Bucky want to throw up.

A warm flesh hand grasped Bucky’s metal plated one. “That man that I drew, he is not you. You are James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Not the monster the media thinks you are, or the monster you think you are, or the monster Hydra tried to make you. I love you, regardless of what you think you are and what others have made you out to be.”

Throughout her entire speech, (Y/n) had been moving closer to him, snuggling herself into Bucky’s side for comfort, and when the man turned his head, there noses were nearly brushing. Her features were barley visible in the early morning light, but the warm glow of the lights by the door caught the mountains of her cheek bones, the slope of her nose, and the curves of her lips. Her lips - pink, full, and glossy. The pair’s heavy breathing mixed.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her hand grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. His flesh hand cupped her cheek, admiring the handiwork of God himself, and closed the gap.

Bucky’s mind fell into the abyss that was (Y/n). His mind went blank. She tasted like lavender and honey, with the faintest hint of mint. She smelled like vanilla Her embrace felt like home. It was over a second later, (Y/n) being the one to pull away, shaking like a willow. A tear slipped from her closed lids and Bucky was quick to kiss it away, the salt staining his tongue. “It’s happy tears,” she assured, (y/e/c) revealing themselves from under hoods, meeting steel gray. “I love you,” he admitted weakly, “ever since I saw you in that dress at Stark’s party.”

Her laugh echoed through the night, melodious. “About damn time, Barnes.” They chuckled together in harmony. 

“I have a question,” said he.

“I have an answer.”

“How long have you loved me?”

Sighing, (Y/n) leaned against the solid, unmoving man, her head pillowed in the slope of his shoulder. “I was so blind,” she said, barely audible, as if she was afraid to answer. “I didn’t realize I loved you until when you visited me in the hospital, how upset I got when you didn’t kiss me. That’s when I finally began to admit it. But my soul loved yours long before that, maybe even before we met.

“When I first met you,” she continued, “my heart lunged out of my chest. My soul knew yours, no doubt. I kept my distance though.”

“Because you were afraid of me,” Bucky concluded.

“No, because I was afraid to fall in love with you the first day.”

Bucky let go of his metallic grip on her hand, stretching it out. “So...this thing doesn’t bother you?”

She smiled, teeth flashing and light reaching her eyes. “Not in the slightest.” As gentle as a June breeze, she enveloped the hand in her own. “Do you know how it works?”

The childlike curiosity made him chuckle. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve got no clue.”

She playfully swatted him. “I feel like if it’s attached to you, you should know how it works!”

“All I know is that it’s somehow connected to my nervous system!”

The vibranium plates clicked and whirled underneath (Y/n)’s fingertips. “So, like, can you feel things with it?”

“In the hand, yes,” he explained. “In the arm I just feel pressure.”

(Y/n) lifted his hand to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, then to the pads of his fingers, the coolness enveloping warm lips like a balm. Goosebumps pricked up on Bucky’s flesh as (Y/n) began to leave a trail of kisses, trailing up his arm to his left cheek. The center of his forearm, the crook of his metal elbow, a single tender kiss were scared tissue met bolts and nails, and finally, a soft kiss to the slope of his cheekbone.

“I don’t know how many more times I’ll end up saying this tonight, or how much more in days to come, but oh my god, I love you,” she said with a breathy laugh. 

“You can say it as often as you like, only if you do me the honor of being my girl.”

She smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in for another. 

“(Y/n)…tell me this isn’t a dream.” His whisper was pained, frightened. “I don’t want to wake up from it.”

She offered him another kiss, and he quickly complied. Once pulled apart, she said, “I don’t think my heart would be beating this madly if it was.”

FINAL NOTE

Holy crap. It’s finished. I hope you all love this story as much as I do. Special thanks to @acf2510 for unending love and support on this series. Feel free to message me or comment if you would like to be on my EVERYTHING taglist. I love you all. Peace out, ima go cry now.

SIX TIMES TAGLIST

@acf2510 @sweetcarolinestudies @clarinette07 @amyy-moonlightt @mood-pancakes @buckybarnesprotectionsquads @iamquinn @liesllane @destinydameme @the-wayward-robot @booktease21 @wickedapollo @metoo-desu @authorpocketcow

[cozykhaos]

A New Sun Part 11

My internal alarm screamed me awake 6 am sharp, I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing peaceful thoughts into my head and willed myself back to sleep. It lasted just a few moments before Ash pressed his cold, wet nose to my cheek, making me bolt upright. I scowled down at the pup who was mid-stretch. Wiping the cold snot from my face I started my morning routine. Feed Asher, start coffee, let Ash out, stare at clothing.

That last part posing a problem today. Usually I’d just put on my work clothes, but today I was going back to Zuzu and clothes that were stained in hues of browns and greens from the farm wouldn’t fly.

I ended up having to go through unopened boxes to find something clean, a pair of black high wasted shorts, a loose fitting red tank top and black sneakers. I checked the time, the clock blinked 6:30. I frowned. I didn’t have to meet the others until nine. I looked around my little home frowning. There wasn’t a whole lot to do. I padded into the bathroom, I had unpacked all my toiletries a few weeks ago. I stared down at the unused jars of lotions, the untouched eye shadow palettes and make up brushes. It was hard to believe that just a month ago I was using this stuff every day.An idea hit me as I looked at the packs of unused face mask, grabbing one and stuffing my clothes into a bag and grabbing a to go cup of coffee I headed out the front door with Asher.

A short walk later I was at the hot springs, I quickly changed into my bathing suit and shoved my stuff inside a locker. Ash had found a spot under a bench, his eyes already heavy with sleep. I submerged myself in the steaming water. I sighed with relief as my muscles began to relax, my jaw unclenching, brows unfurrowing, shoulders dropping away from my ears. My eyes grew heavy from the warmth and humidity and I let out a long yawn. I reached for my coffee and took a long sip. I would need to start making this part of my routine, I needed to remember to care for my body especially after everything I’ve been putting it through.

After another long sip of coffee I smeared the face mask on. It was supposed to help remove built up dirt and help brighten the skin. Yoba knows I needed that. Everything I owned seemed to have a fine layer of dirt built up on it. I took the time cleaning every inch of myself, feeling layers of grime fall away. I had showered every day since coming to the Valley, I had to or my own stench would suffocate me in my sleep. But there was something magical about these waters, I soon felt like a brand new person.

With great hesitation I finally removed myself from the pool to go and get ready. First I peeled the face mask off which had melded to my face like concrete. I stared in disgust at the horrors it had pulled from my pores and tossed it in the nearest trash. Asher poked his head inside the trash can and I shooed him away. I changed and did minimal with my make up, there was no point in lathering it on when tomorrow they would go untouched once again. I checked the time, it was already 8:30. I hurriedly packed all my stuff up and headed back to the farm. Dropping my bag off at the house then taking Asher to Lewis’s. I bumped into Sam as I was starting back north.

“Look at you!’ he whistled and lowered his sun glasses. “All clean and stuff.”

“It took me a hot minute to find these,” I said with a chuckle. “I woke up at my usual time, so I thought I’d gussy myself up for you lot.”

“For us or for Sebastian?” Sam quirked an eyebrow up.

I ignored his comment and busied myself with trying to pull my mane of curls into a loose bun.

Abigail and Sebastian were already waiting for us at the bus stop, Sebastian’s long legs stretched out in front of him clad in faded black jeans with rips in the knees, cigarette hanging from his lips. Abigail had a paper cup in her slender fingers and she took two long gulps from it. Her purple hair hung over her shoulder in a braid. “Morning guys!” she beamed up at from her seat on the bench. Sam plopped down next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. That left the only seat open next to Sebastian, I stayed standing.

It wasn’t much longer before the train pulled into the station and we were off. It was only an hour ride into the city and I was back into the belly of the beast.

“What should we do first?” Abbie asked as we stepped out of the train station and into the noise of the city. I was silent as my senses adjusted to the sights and noises that raged over me. I had never noticed the thick layer of smog that hung over the city and tumbled into the streets, the sunlight still managed to be harsh somehow. The light turned green and traffic began to speed by, my heartbeat quickened and I took a step back, backing up into Sebastian. His eyebrows knitted together and he looked down at me. “You okay?” he asked.

Abbie turned and looked at us, Sam was already staring a frown on his face. I nodded and gulped down a bit of air. “Fine, just sensory over load, I guess,” I let out a nervous laugh.

“Well, is there anything you would like to do first?” Sam asked.

“We could go by the Joja building and flick it off.”

Behind me Sebastian snorted.

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Sam beamed.

“I’m down, then can we go by the mall?” Abbie asked.

“Yeah! I want to go by that new indoor skate park that they just built there!” Sam jumped in place.

“Bash?” I looked at him, he hadn’t spoken much this entire time. He shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Don’t let him fool you Kit, he’s having fun,” Abbie smiled.

“A blast,” Sebastian smirked.

“So, Joja?” Sam asked.

“This way,” I pointed and took point. Nothing had changed, the streets had all remained the same, life in the city had continued in my absence.

“So why is this on your to-do list?” Sam questioned.

“I forgot to do it when I quit,” I said matter-of-factually.

“You used to work for Joja?” Abbie had made her way next to me.

I nodded. “I was a manager for the warranty department. I actually lived in an apartment just a few blocks from here.” I paused, we were on the opposite side of the road from Joja building. With the tiny windowed slots in the gray concrete exterior, it looked just like a prison.

“Yeesh,” Sam shivered next to me. I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry it is much worse inside.”

“Why’d you leave?” Sebastian asked.

I cocked my head and scrunched my mouth up, I raised up my middle finger to the building then kept walking down the street. I wasn’t ready to get into that yet.

Don’t people work anymore? I thought to myself as we entered the packed mall. It was a Thursday morning and seemed like every soul in Zuzu had taken a detour to the shops first.

“Where should we go first?” Abbie wiggled next to me.

“Skate park.”

“Electronics.”

Both boys spoke at the same time.

“There is this awesome cafe in here that sells the best cinnamon rolls, I’m just saying,” I pipped up after.

“Ohh, that sounds yummy!” Abbie beamed.

“Do they have coffee?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, but at this point I think you should hook yourself up to an IV, just have coffee pumped into your blood veins,” I said.

“Is that a thing?” Sebastian questioned, his eye brows raising.

“If it is, I don’t think it is recommended,” I shrugged.

“I’d invest in that,” Sebastian sighed.

“We could find you one of those hats!” Sam said pointing to his head then pretended to grab two invisible cups on the side.

Abbie made a face. “Like the beer guzzler hat?”

“That!” Sam flapped his arms. “But instead of beer, we put coffee mugs in it!”

Sebastian stroked the stubble on his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I could be swayed into considering it.”

Finding the little hole in the wall cafe, we placed orders. I was declared to official Food Guide for the rest of the day by Sam. I accepted it with a sweeping bow and asked how everyone felt about Mexican food.

“This is the part I miss about the city,” I started. “I fucking love food. Don’t get me wrong, Gus is amazing, but damn I miss having so much cuisine at my finger tips.” I sighed and stuffed another bite of warm gooey cinnamon roll into my mouth.

“I’m going to miss these,” Sam sniffled and hugged his box to his chest.

“On Saturday morning and I was feeling really lazy, I’d just have Post Mates deliver them to my apartment,” I smiled at the memory. Wrapped in my favorite blanket, coffee brewing, a controller in my hand.

“Post Mates, what’s that?” Abbie asked.

“What?” I snapped out of my day dream.

“Post Mates, what is it?” Abbie repeated.

I blinked at her slowly then looked at both of the boys to see if it was a joke. Both of their faces remained in a blank stare. Holy shit. There is no Post Mates in the Valley. It made since, seeing as we were almost to the middle of no where. The hotel only had a few rooms and Gus lived in one of them!

“Post Mates is a delivery service,” I shrugged. “You place an order on the app and your Post Mate goes and gets it and brings it to you.”

The three exchanged looks, Sebastian dug his phone out of his pocket.

“You’re joking?” Sam asked.

I shook my head and took a drink of coffee.

Sebastian held up his phone, showing his friends the app.

“What the actual fuck?” Abbie snatched his phone and began scrolling. With a scowl and a huff Sebastian leaned back in his chair.

“I’m jealous and a bit confused,” Abbie admitted after several moments of silence.

“I’m just jealous!” Sam threw his arms up.

“Why wouldn’t you just go and get your own food?” Abbie asked.

“Lazy,” I shrugged then added. “Drunk.”

“That’s so awesome!” Sam’s forehead made contact with the table. Sebastian snatched his phone out of Abbie’s hand, she stuck her tongue out at him.

We finished our treats then continued about our day. We unleashed Sam upon the skate park. Stopped at a Hot Topic for Abbie, where she found purple finger less gloves that matched her hair.

The electronic shop took up both floors of the mall and we lost Sebastian for over an hour. We found him leaning against a table, talking to an employee, a short adorable girl with a pink pixie cut. I felt something in my chest squeeze and I ducked down an aisle, separating myself from the group.

I had spent so much of my life trying to escape this overwhelming city and when I’m finally able to, I come right back. Like a clingy girlfriend.

It’s just the day Kit.

What about the farm? Summer is just a few days away, there is still so much to do.

It will all be there tomorrow.

When did these shelves get so close together?

When did it become so loud in here?

Who turned the air off?

Sweat beaded on my forehead, I was gasping for air.

I started moving. I had traveled these walk ways a hundred times before and my feet carried me to the nearest exit and outside. I kept walking until I found an alcove and plopped myself down onto the ground. A car sped past, the engine roaring, another car this time speakers that were too loud. A slam of a door. People walked, unaware of my state, laughing, talking.

Breath.

It wasn’t enough and my hands started to shake, my fingers tingling.

Breath.

The numbness spread up my arms and into my lips.

Breath.

Sneakers pounding on pavement quickly approached me.

“Kit!” Abbie’s voice broke through the madness inside. Sam practically threw himself on the ground next to me, his arms wrapping around my torso. For the first time I noticed he smelled of sunshine and sand. Just like the beach, just like the Valley.

Sebastian knelt in front of me, his dark coffee eyes meeting my clover ones and rooting me back to the ground. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little sensory over load,” I sniffed, rubbing at my damp cheeks. When had I started crying? A frown tugged at his lips, Sam pulled me closer to him, crushing me to his side.

“Sam, I think you are killing her,” Abbie said.

“With my love!” Sam patted my head, it was more aggressive then comforting. Sebastian rolled his eyes and stood, reaching out his hand to me.

“Oh thanks bro,” Sam reached for it. Sebastian popped Sam’s hand away, I gave him my hand, but there was a long awkward moment where I was just holding his hand because Sam was still keeping me anchored to the ground.

“Dude, let go!” Abbie kicked Sam’s leg.

“Fine!” Sam let go and stood. Sebastian finally pulled me to my feet, he pulled me into a quick embrace before letting me go and giving me a once over.

Thunk-thunk.

Hush you.

I cleared my throat “Sorry for the scare, we may now all go back to whatever it was that we were doing.”

“I wasn’t done shopping,” Sebastian shoved his thumb back towards the electronics store.

“I don’t need anything from there. Want to go to the book store with me Kit?” Abbie asked.

Honestly, I didn’t.

I wanted to go look at the new builds. Look at getting new RAM for my pc and new RGB lighting. But I don’t think I could take seeing Sebastian and that girl together, so I agreed and followed Abbie. I found more than I thought I would. I found new models for Solorian Chronicles, the game Sam and Sebastian played every Saturday night. An adventure diary for Abbie. I found myself in front of the Lawn and Garden section, staring at a copy of ‘Farming for Dummies’. I frowned.

“Whatcha got there?” Abbie asked appearing from behind a shelf. I jumped and shook my head.

“Just stuff,” I shrugged. I looked at the stack of books in her arms. They were all adventure books, the main character female, I smiled to myself.

Abbie glanced at the shelf and frowned. “Don’t tell me you are getting that.”

I shrugged again.

“Kit, come on you are way better than that,” she scoffed.

“Abbie, I have no idea what I’m doing,” I sighed. “Thankfully Summer is coming up, which is the only season I know shit about, but damn.” For the first time I felt defeated. “Grandpa’s busiest season was summer and fall, but they were also his most profitable. That’s actually why I started going to Gaia Farm. Dad sent me there so I wouldn’t be a lazy ass all Summer and I could help grandpa out. Did I learn a lot, definitely. But I’m still flying blind here.”

Abbie’s face scrunched up, before taking one of her books and bopping me on the head with it.

“Ow!” I rubbed the spot she hit.

“Kit, I can honestly say I understand, I do,” she began. “Recently my dad has been giving me a lot more to do around the store. More responsibility, taking shifts by myself, showing me how to order. But if he were to die tomorrow I would have no idea what to do. I’d probably just burn the store down.” Her statement was very matter of fact. “I think you are just overwhelmed right now. Give it some time and Hurricane Kit will sweep through Gaia Farm and so much ass will have been kicked.” Abbie looked at the shelf and plucked a book off and added it to my pile ‘Farming for Beginners’.

“If our hands weren’t full, I’d hug you,” I sniffled.

“We will hug it out later.” Abbie laughed.

The guys were ecstatic about their gifts, it was a model castle, with a little village and a few characters that they were going to build and paint over the weekend. Abbie whispered “nerds” under her breath earning glares from both boys. We hung out at the mall for a little bit longer, then explored the town. I took them to my favorite Mexican restaurant, then showed them my old apartment. I pointed to the 3rd floor window that used to be mine. Sebastian stared at that window, a sense of longing in his eyes.

“I’m confused,” Abbie said from beside me.

“About?” I looked at her.

“Why is do you have fire escape if there are bars on the windows?” She asked with a laugh.

Sebastian frowned, his head cocked.

Behind us a large truck revved its engine, smoke poured from the exhaust and overwhelmed us. A horn honked. Tires squealed.

I waved my hand in front of my face to help clear away smoke. The others coughed loudly and tried to fan the smoke away. Once things settled I answered Abbie’s question. “So the bars on the window were installed after someone broke into a 5th story window and they installed the bars on for safety measures.”

My friends stared at me unblinking.

“What?”

“That dumb,” Sebastian blinked.

“I’m aware.”

The sun was setting and the street lights began blinking on, we headed back to the train station. The ride home was quite, both Abbie and Sam had fallen asleep the moment they sat down. Abbie’s head on his shoulder, his head resting atop hers.

“They are so cute when they aren’t talking,” I bumped my elbow against Sebastian’s.

“Yeah they are. I can almost tolerate them.”

I snickered. He began scrolling through his phone, his brows coming together.

“What’s up Bash?”

He hummed and kept scrolling. “I just got a new project to work on, so it’s going to be a late night.”

“Project?”

“Yeah for coding, it’s for a new medical software.”

I stared at him, one eye brow raised. “That’s impressive.”

Sebastian snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are the only one who thinks so.”

He turned away from me and stared out the window. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, guess that conversation is over.

We sat like this for awhile, in silence, listening to the heavy breathing of our two sleeping friends.

“Thanks for yesterday,” Sebastian finally said.

“For what?” I turned to him.

“Helping me through the anxiety attack,” his voice was low, just above a whisper.

“Of course,” I shrugged. “I...”

My voice caught in my throat. I what? Care about you? Like you? Want to kiss your stupid face?

“I’m glad I could be there for you.”

Sebastian faced me, eyes exploring my face for a moment before turning back to the window.

[papermoonloveslucy]

Lucille Ball Reaches Top After Battle For Stardom

 December 4, 1953

When you see Lucille Ball cavorting about the Ricardo apartment in the CBS Television "I Love Lucy" series, you can rest assured that he expert comedienne is giving her all to the role of Lucy Ricardo. 

It is doubtful, in fact, that there is another TV trouper who gives as much of her physical and mental energies as does Lucille to the preparation of a comedy show. She gears herself up for each performance, works like a demon, and has been known to faint dead away after the director called 'cut' for the final scene. 

Being "on the ball" is no novelty to Lucille. At the beginning of her theatrical career in the role of a Broadway model she almost lost her life in an automobile accident, and was told that she would never walk again. It took her eight months in bed and three years of persistent effort to reverse the doctor's gloomy prediction. And from then on, her luck changed and she skyrocketed to the show business goal on which he'd set her eye since childhood. 

Lucille and Desi Arnaz were married in 1940, and it was 10 years later, when they were touring the country with comedy act, that she got word of an impending visit from the stork. It was also at this time that they made the audition program for "I Love Lucy," which was promptly sold, and made its debut Oct. 15. 1951. 

The daughter, Lucie Desiree Arnaz. was born July 17, 1951. And it is well known that a second child was on its way in the fall of 1952 when Lucille was doing 'enceinte" scenes for the TV show. And the newspapers made much of the fact that Desiderio Alberto Arnaz IV arrived January 19, 1953 on a TV show day which presented the birth of the Ricardo's baby boy as the theme of script. 

Born in Jamestown, N.Y., August 6, the daughter of Fred and Desiree Ball, mining engineer and concert pianist respectively, Lucille was taken at the age of two to Wyandotte, Mich., and then to Jamestown, N.Y. Mrs. Ball started her daughter's music lessons at the age of five, then enrolled her in the Chautauqua Institute of Music for two seasons. 

At 15, Lucille entered the John Murray Anderson dramatic school in New York and was told at the end of the first year of study, that she'd be better off applying her energies in some ether field. Determined to show her teacher that she could make good in show-business. 

Miss Ball landed a chorus job in the third road company of Ziegfeld's "Rio Rita" and lost the job after five weeks of rehearsal. Three other chorus jobs followed, none of which lasted beyond the rehearsal period. Her "first real job on Broadway" was as a soda jerk in a drug store. 

A job as a $25-a-week model for a wholesale dress company led to a modelling job with Hattie Carnegie. Then came the tragic accident in Central Park, and three years and eight months of learning to walk again. 

Back to work as a model, Lucille was featured in magazine and billboard cigarette advertisements, and Hollywood scouts brought her to the film capital for a showgirl role in Eddie Cantor's "Roman Scandals." Columbia Pictures gave her a contract as a stock player, and Lucille, convinced that her luck finally had turned, sent for her mother, grandfather and sister to join her in California. But it turned out to be just another stumbling block. The morning after she'd wired her family, the studio decided to dissolve its stock company. 

When the family arrived, Lucille was working as an extra at Paramount. Bit parts and extra roles in a number of pictures kept Lucille busy but not prosperous, until she was cast in "Roberta." RKO officials, impressed by her work, gave her a contract. When not busy before the cameras, she was a mainstay of the studio's Little Theatre. 

Her performance in the second lead in "The Girl from Paris" drew Broadway's attention to Miss Ball, and she was offered a lead in the musical, "Hey Diddle, Diddle." After satisfying her yen to perform on the Great White Way, "Stage Door" and "Too Many Girls." In the latter picture, she was co-starred with Desi Arnaz. They were married Nov. 30, 1940, in Greenwich, Conn. 

Back from her honeymoon, Lucille walked into her first really big break, a role in "The Big Street," based on a story by Damon Runyon. Overnight, it made her a star. In it, she played a showgirl who was paralyzed from the hips down. Her own three-and-a-half years in a similar predicament enabled her to play the role so convincingly that she had every studio bidding for her services. 

She signed with MGM on her birthday in 1942. Her first assignment at MGM was the title role in the Technicolor production, "Du Barry Was A Lady." Stellar roles followed in "Best Foot Forward" and "Meet The People." 

After completing "East To Wed" with Van Johnson, she headed for New York to be with her husband, then out of the Army and on his way to success in the orchestra business.

Shortly after completing "Her Husband's Affairs," Miss Ball went on tour as star of Elmer Rice's play. "Dream Girl." Between pictures and stage appearances, Lucille and her husband live at Desilu, their five-acre ranch at Northridge, some 30 miles from Hollywood. 

Lucille, who is five feet, six inches tall and weighs 120 lbs. sleeps in a bed seven by seven feet. She likes spicy dishes and enjoys knocking around the house in dungarees. 

In her role as Lucy Ricardo in "I Love Lucy," she is starred as the feminine half of a closely-knit married couple. And that's the role she plays in real life. 

[vegetalass]

Dog House

GOD this fic has been the death of me!!!! i started writing it OVER a month ago after getting the idea at disneyland.... 

ive honestly put so much time into it that i cant read it anymore and it probably sucks since i cant tell if its good quality anymore...

but i hope its okay! i really am proud of it 

beside, i LOVE john wick so... it cant be too bad haha... *broken heart emoji*

i posted it on AO3 here if you want to read it with better formatting

Enjoy!!!!

Warning: contains light violence

John Wick/Reader - 5105 words. 

_________________________

i.

It is a beautiful day. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, and as the waves crash against each other in front of you, it seems as though the world is stuck in time with your breathing.

It is warm, and things are good, as you think about what you should name the tiny gray sand crabs that rest in the small green bucket by your feet. You watch someone in the distance lift their hands and wave at you, smiling from afar, the sunshine a blanket that blocks their eyes from meeting yours, and you push yourself to remember what color they are.

Though it is warm, and you are resting, suddenly, the world spins and you are no longer at the beach but on a cold floor, and the sky is not blue but deep red. Although they were just waving, you can hear the shots, taste the blood and then see as the light goes out behind the eyes of the only person whom you so desperately love.

The image of raised arms blur as they reach out to you in one final stretch, and though you can’t remember their last words, and you’re sure that you don’t want to, you know that they have asked you to take care of the only thing they have left besides you.

A dog.

A dog who is loved and warm and probably asleep, safe at home in wait of a person who is not you and never will be, as you are busy holding a dead body and screaming as you watch a man dressed in black walk away and never come back...

And you are... Oh, God.  

You are...

You...

You are at the dog park, and the sun is bright, and the sky is blue.

You open your eyes suddenly, hands clenched into fists, with your heart hammering wildly against the bones in your chest. Your pupils dilate and then burn, the sun seeming so bright against the backdrop of the green grass and dogs in your vision who bound about through the open park as though there is not a care to be had in the world.

Maybe there’s not, and God, you wish there wasn’t, but you’re not a dog and you don’t like the park. You have long since learned better than to live in some pretend world where you can spend weekends at the beach with all the people you love, because at this moment in time, they are all dead.

Except your dog, that is, and he’s not even really your dog. But you love him, so you save the complaining for in your head and just tell people that he was a gift rather than an inheritance after his original owner died.

You try not to focus on the past often, but it’s hard, especially now that you’re alone. It’s not like you crave love or anything like that, really, because you understand that all things come and go. It’s just that your idea of the future has always seemed to rest on the balance between finding peace and hope, and you have been ashamed to say that as of late, you are not someone who can be considered either peaceful or hopeful.

Not since you watched love die by the hands of a Heckler & Koch P30L.

Baba Yaga, you remember. The title always used to seem so silly.  

Whatever, you think, hands still clenched, eyes still aching, Those days are over now, and I’m at the park.

Even if you can remember every single shot and the moans that came from the dying body you held in your arms after a raid that you were barely lucky enough to escape from alive. You almost wish that you-

“Hello?”

Someone says and you jolt, the deep voice piercing the bubble of concentration you were lost in. You raise a hand to your heart in shock, as you gaze wide-eyed at a man who stands in front of you looking hesitant and apologetic for something that’s completely unbeknownst to you.

You didn’t even notice when he started standing next to you, his tall frame shading you from the sun as you try to look around him, confused.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to stop and say I’m sorry,” he voices immediately, sounding weirdly concerned about something you gather you’re supposed to know about but don’t.

So you freeze, almost completely sure that you look like an idiot as you stare at this stranger with your lips turned down in what’s probably an awkward frown.

“What are you talking about, sir?”

“I...” He blinks at you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, before his face softens and his dark eyes look down to avoid your worried gaze, “Sorry. Forget about it.”

You blink, still surprised that someone is initiating contact with you at all, before you nod at him slowly.

“Okay,” You hesitate, unsure of what to call him, and what he could’ve meant by his words. He doesn’t seem like anyone you could’ve met before, but you still can’t shake the odd feeling that you have when his eyes bore into yours, “You are...?”

“John.” He replies slowly, almost in a sad way, and you smile back at him absentmindedly, trying to forget the embarrassing miscommunication that just occured as he reaches out to shake your hand.

Again, there is that familiarity to him, an uncanny edge to his presence that makes you feel like deep down, you’re supposed to recognize who he is.

However, you don’t bother wasting any more time with fitting the key into the lock of figuring out who he is, because you find everyone to be slightly familiar now, most faces blurring once you decide whether or not it’s worth it to keep looking at them.

Deep inside, you know it will never be the same.

Nobody is the same.

Besides, by now your concentration has slipped again, as you are distracted by a dog in front of you who is wagging its tail, its little gray face smiling at you as though you are some kind of angel in heaven.  

Which you’re not, but the dog wouldn’t know that.

“Is he yours?” you ask, shielding your eyes from the sun as you reach out to pat his head, once, twice, and then over his ears. The dog’s eyes squint in a deeper smile, so focused and intense that you almost don’t notice the way that John is glancing at you.

“Yes,” he says, relieving some of the tension between your awkward silence, “Do you have one?”

You turn to him, gazing at his profile, before you point, eyes glazing over the crowd as though you can’t remember who you’re looking for.

“I’m watching him for a friend,” you say, distracted by the happy wag of your dog’s tail in distant sunshine as you glance back at John as he nods.

You think of the beach, the sand crabs, and then of the guns that robbed you of that day and all others that could've been like it, and how much a dog enjoys playing in water.

You go silent again.

“...Name?” Johns voice startles you once more, just like when he first spoke, still deep and powerful, and you have to stop yourself from flying off your chair for a second time.

“What?” you turn your head toward him, blinking like a stupid, sitting duck. You never used to get distracted by boys.

“I said, do they have a name?” he smiles, hesitantly, almost kindly, even though you can tell that he knows that there is something deeply wrong with you that you are never going to explain. Not to someone normal.

Not to him.

“Oh,” you laugh, feeling breathless and slightly embarrassed, trying to play off the fact that you’ve already lost yourself again in that far-off world where you’re still on the beach, and still with the people you love. Even if it feels like a different earth entirely now that it’s gone, the sunshine at the park keeps reminding you of that day.

You thought you knew better than to play pretend, and you’re unsure of what to say, realizing very quickly that you don’t have a name for the animal, at least, not a new one, and you blink, nose scrunching, before trying to reply in a way that won’t make you cry, “I actually, uh… don’t.”

It’s not funny, but you laugh nonetheless, and as he raises an eyebrow at you in confusion, you do your best to smile, at least so he doesn’t question why.  

“That’s strange,” he says, in the midst of your childlike giggle, sounding more confused than upset, “My dog doesn’t have one either.”

Though you fall into silence again, being stunned by his response, it’s only after you take another five, okay, maybe ten peeks at him at your side, do you find that you are no longer thinking of the beach, or of the blood that is stained on your hands, but on the fact that John seems to be glancing at you, too, and you don’t have to guess why.  

He seems nice...

Kind of.

ii. 

You dream of a man dressed in black, but you never see his face.

You are sad, and wake up with wet cheeks, but when you finally open your eyes, it seems as though the clouds did all the crying for you as it rains sheets outside your window.

You are going to die.

You are going to die, and the last thing you can think about is the man in your dreams, the dark suit he was wearing, and the gun in his hands, a Heckler & Koch.

You can’t say that you know what love is anymore, though part of you wants to say that one day, you could.

However, you’re still not really that hopeful for the future, and it’s been too long since your last… romantic adventure... that you don’t really think that dreaming of some kind of evil monster in a nice outfit really constitutes as being romantic, and hits the bullseye more for being creepy, instead, especially since you  are  about to die.

Besides, you’ve been thinking about John-From-the-Dog-Park (as you’ve taken to calling him) a lot more than you should’ve been lately, and it’s probably weird to be grouping the two of them together whenever you think about what it would be like to start dating again.

Deep down, you know that being in love would be too hard, as you’re busy taking care of a dog you did not want and still wake up screaming every night because of the way your last relationship ended. But there’s another factor that hangs heavy over your head, and it’s because you have since restarted the process of accepting dangerous jobs you know you’d might not complete again, all for some dumb gold coins.

And this is the part that’s not a dream, even though it all feels so similar.

Though you can’t say that you were expecting this outcome to be your end, it doesn’t really surprise you that you’re going to die distracted and lost on the floor of some restaurant bathroom you have never been to before.

You hadn’t wanted to start working again. In fact, even the thought of seeing that damn leaderboard one more time made you shake, but you couldn’t stop yourself from charging up your old phone and digging up your gun from under a pile of years old blankets after at some point deciding that there was no other way to move on from your past except than to die because of it.

And now, there’s nothing you can do to change your decision except to wait for the end and hope that your neighbors take care of your dog when they realize you didn’t make it back home.

They always said that life is fragile. That you had things to live for, goals to set. And in a way, they were right. You have a dog, and a long road to recovery, but if you were to make it, even if not very far, you had at least one more conversation with John-From-the-Dog-Park to make.

But you cannot ignore the gun in your hand, and the way your sweaty fingers burn with fever as you hold it against your chest. It’s almost as if the entire space around you is some kind of fever dream as you barely slid into the bathroom fast enough to hear the final shots being unloaded into your former coworker’s head just outside its door.

You are going to die, and it’s because John Wick is here, and everyone else who was hired with you to take him down is dead.

You swore to yourself that you’d stop taking jobs. You’d promised. But it’s hard to keep a promise when there’s no one to keep it for, and when you thought you’d gotten good enough at running away and then being presumed dead that you could always make it out of these situations alive. Not that Winston didn’t give you a monstrous earful when he heard your voice for the first time in years after you called to ask who is standing chairman, but… he believed you were dead, at least.

You had wanted to apologize for running away, but in the end, he was right. If John Wick can’t escape, then neither can you.

And that’s why you’re going to die: because John Wick is here, and you can hear his footsteps approaching the locked bathroom door from which you are hiding behind, and the only thing you can think to do is long for things that are just quite out of reach.

Peace, for one. Love, another.

In their absence, you forgot what it felt like to be scared. To be sad. To realize the fact that your dog would be alone once more in a world where you never get to see the beach again.

But beaches don’t usually have guns, and the one in your hands reminds you that it’s waiting to be used just as the bathroom door creaks open despite the prayer you made when hoping that it wouldn’t.

Even though you know that you should probably be praying, you can’t help but think of the man in your dreams instead; the ghost, his gun, and then the color of someone’s eyes. You can barely remember who they belong to before you’re finally able to squeeze the gun in front of your face as though closing your eyes might be a shield that saves you from dying.

From John Wick.

You think about John-From-the-Dog-Park, and it’s only when the footsteps stop and the room rings in silence as you look up and see him that your brave facade falters and you realize the truth.

“John!” You half sigh, half scream when you finally manage to pry open your eyes all the way to take in the sight of the familiar man dressed in black peering down at you as if he were some kind of half-wit assassin.

You can’t tell if he’s shocked to see you, as by the time he is opening his mouth to respond you have already climbed from your slippery spot underneath the sink and left your gun behind to dive straight into his arms and heave.

Bloodstained and sweaty, as your fingers wrap around his waist and you sob into his chest, it’s only when he rests his hands on your shoulders that you realize how you distraught you were at dying. Part of you wonders if maybe the reason you’re crying is because you’re relieved that now, you don’t have to.

“What are you doing here?” John asks, distressed, sounding like an angrier version of the person who always startles you at the park.

It would be scary, except that you do not care if he’s upset and ignore the question. Ignore the fact that John, your John (at least, the one from the dog park) is  the  John Wick and was this close to killing you.

You knew he looked familiar.

“I said-”

You shush him, finally allowing yourself to release him from your grasp, using your dirty hands to smear grime across your face as you try to clear your eyes and nose of snot, tears, and blood so that you can look him in the eyes. You don’t know where he put his gun.

“I thought you were just some random guy with a dog,” you laugh, the same way you do when you’re trying not to seem bothered, which is uncharacteristic for someone who was about an inch away from dying.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he responds, unmoving.

When you try to continue to smile, it falters instantly when John’s face doesn’t change to mirror yours and his lips do not crook upwards even the slightest bit. If you were happy to see him, he looks almost enraged at seeing you, and you can only whisper in return.  

“I’ve been meaning to quit,” you shrink backwards, your hands now at your sides, as you realize you hadn’t managed to think far enough ahead to wonder what you would do if you didn’t die.

Which you didn’t.

“I think… I should go home now,” you decide out loud, feeling as though the way he is staring at you in silence implies that there is still a chance he might kill you, but you continue to look in his eyes nonetheless, “But it was really nice to see you.”

You begin to hobble away, resting a hand on the cool wall next you while you stupidly turn your back on a man who you are well aware is not kind. A man who has lost more than most people could imagine. But you don’t worry, you don’t even have the energy to, and decide that if he kills you, it would probably be a good thing.

Besides, you’ve only really spoken a few times, and you know that you have both lost the same thing.

He’s just the one who did all the killing.

You stop walking.

“John?” You ask suddenly, not looking back, the empty air responding in the only way you need, “When you apologized to me, did you mean it?”

You can envision face, the way his lips are always in half a frown. You can see his hair, it being just that little bit too long. And you can remember his eyes, and how they look at you as though you are someone he thinks will never be normal, because they always look the same as when you were holding that damn dead body.

You didn’t even recognize him. It was a miscommunication. You were someone else.

But you know now. The dark suit, the Heckler & Koch, and the way he didn’t kill you.  Again.

You look at him, and you realize the reason why he was saying sorry was because he had killed somebody who you had loved, and that he had known the entire time.

The realization makes the world spin, and what little light is shining in the bathroom begins to make you feel sick. Your eyes blur as you begin to cry again, your hands now too limp to wipe your face of the tears and your body too tired to keep you standing upright while you process the new information.

“John,” you gasp, just as you begin to collapse, reaching out for him in the hopes that you don’t end up on the ground.

While you do realize that there’s a lot you should probably start being angry at him for, such as how he robbed you of the one thing you’ve been holding onto for years, the only thought you can seem to process is how warm his body is when he does manage to take your hands in his and pull you to his chest before it’s too late.

Nestled in arms, it doesn’t take much of an effort to close your eyes and pretend that he is someone else, and that this whole night never happened.

John’s voice is low, his lips close to your ear when he finally speaks, killing your fantasy almost instantly, “You didn’t recognize me, did you?”

You continue to weep, shaking your head no while you cling to his body. There are words you wish you could say to him; angry, nasty words. Yet, for some reason, nothing comes out when he finally takes your face in his hands to look into your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before you can manage to speak, one hand back to holding yours, the other pressed into your hair. You’d feel guilty about this, as though you were the one pressuring him into responding this way, holding you like this, but you can’t bring yourself to move, and are so angry that you hope it hurts him to touch you like this, too.

You remember the beach, and how easily the sky can change from blue to red, and you suddenly think of the man in your dreams, the one in the suit, and decide that he sort of looked like John. At first, it makes you feel worse, and part of you boils with rage while you try to come to terms with the understanding of what he’s done to you. But there’s another part of you, one that you’re not sure whether to be grateful for, that also reminds you of how in love you could’ve been with the man you met at the park; the one with the happy, gray dog, if you had just decided to move on.

But it's not that simple, and these versions of people in your head just ended up being the same person.

Your body aches, but you shudder in relief when you finally release John’s neck, trying to avoid looking into his eyes one more time by using your dirty fingers to smear grime across your face. While you can’t say that you’ve forgiven John-From-the-Dog-Park for being John Wick, you still try to focus on the positives: that you are not dead, and you can finally go home to feed your dog in peace.

You should know better, as John breaks the silence first. John Wick, that is.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks, reaching out for your hand. Though you want to say no, you can’t help but nod, still unable to look him in the eyes in fear of blushing at the man who killed the last person you loved.

iii.

Once again, it is a beautiful day. The sun is bright, and the sky is a beautiful blue. This time though, you are not at the beach, but at the dog park, and your dog is racing against the wind next to another dog you have seen before but do not know the name of.

You try to call out, voice swallowed by something you can’t place, but you don’t really mind, because it’s warm out and you feel sleepy. You watch as your dog runs towards another, a friendly looking gray one, and realize that John must be close by.

So you smile, feeling contented with this dream version of your favorite killer and his dog in a world where he is not a killer and you can be together...

But something doesn’t feel right, and you...

You...

You open your eyes to the sudden sound of knocking, before you realize it is too late to answer and the door to your house swings open in haste.

It is John, except this time he is not dressed in black and he is not covered in blood, and he looks so funny in contrast to the person you always think about, even if you’ve seen him in his pair of sweats before.

“Hi, John,” you smile, eyes closing again, chest stuttering slowly as you suck a breath through your teeth.

“Are you…” he pauses, seeming unsure about the sight that’s in front of him, “Have you been shot?”

“Yea,” You say, squeezing your eyes shut with your fingers pressed against your side. You know that you’re bleeding all over your ugly old couch, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to mend the wound and save the cushions, as by this point, it’s probably too late to try.

“How?”

“You know…” you wave your hand around, blood trailing down your fingers, and you know that John is most likely thinking of the night when he decided not to shoot you and then of the next time he decided not to shoot you and instead sobbed in his arms, “Work.”

“I thought you wanted to quit?” he asks, though it comes out more as an accusatory statement than anything else. You wish you had a better response, a better excuse, but the only thing you can do is grunt, eyes closed, while you focus on trying not to bleed out.

You can remember the leaderboard and the assigned mission, firing your gun, and then escaping, but your memory stops at the part where you managed to get caught and then torn open by someone else with a firing weapon.

It’s probably not important now, because John is still hurrying to your side, seeming concerned if not just polite, and then lets you reach out a hand for him in a way that seems a little bit familiar.

“Hey, John?” you ask, not waiting for a response before you continue, “Do you ever think about how things could be different?”

He stays quiet, as you have noticed by now that he doesn’t usually respond to your comments, but when you open your eyes to peek at his face, he looks pensive rather than like someone trying to ignore you. He catches you staring, and his face twists in a way you cannot read.

“Yes,” he says, at this point now kneeling by your side.

You nod, your fingers wiping your sweaty face, and he reaches out with a cloth to wipe for you, as you’re sure there’s more blood than tears in your eyes now by the way his handkerchief stains red.

You remember the beach, and how the slaughter that robbed everything from you also gave you a dog, which in turn gave you the dog park where you first met John.

Life is a cycle, you think, and this is the part that’s always shown as an arrow instead of a picture.

Dying.

If this were a different life, and you were not an arrow, maybe John would look at you differently. Maybe you’d both have different jobs and he wouldn’t have to watch you bleed out on your couch as you slowly forget how you even got home.

Maybe he wouldn't have taken up two spots in your mind.

But this is your life, and you are dying, and the last thing you can think about is him.

“I’m going to call a doctor now,” he says, standing up, but you reach for him, grabbing his wrist with your bloody hand, smearing red across his arm.

He blinks at you, puzzled, confused, and you’re sure that he’s wondering why you haven’t passed out yet.

“Wait,” you whisper, blinking up at his face as he hesitates, “Tell me again what they call you?”

John looks confused, but humors you anyway, even though it's not funny, “The Boogeyman?”

“No,” you whine, though it ends up sounding more like a groan, “The silly name.”

“Baba Yaga?”

You attempt to laugh, but heave instead when the gasp you let out causes your wound to burn and forces you to let go of John. As you press your hands against your side, he pulls himself away quickly and sighs when you still manage to pout at him.

Though you recognize his behavior as kind, you still can’t help but think of what you did to deserve this; bleeding out and then being forgotten all over again.

You can remember the first night he walked away, the night when you were screaming so loud you were sure the whole of New York City could hear you. The same night you watched love die, and you don't even know if John was married at the time.

In your stupor, you wonder what his wife must’ve been like, and if you are anything like her.

“You’ll be fine,” John whispers, but his voice still cuts your thoughts in half as you notice that he is staring at you, distracted by something of his own creation as his large hands move to pull an ugly pink blanket from underneath your feet to lay across your wounded body.

You’re not sure if he’s right, but you nod anyway, despite the fact that by now, you can hear his footsteps heading towards the door, feel the fading of his warmth, and when you do manage to open your eyes in one final burst of anxiety, see as he has already turned his back toward you to open your front door to leave. This time, when you reach out for him, you are reminded of the first time you lost someone who you loved.

“John,” you croak, and he stops to listen even though one of his feet is already out of the door, “We should go to the beach sometime.”

He nods, and you watch his lips to see if they twitch upward, even though in some ways, he looks as sad as when you first met him on that day when he tried to apologize.

“Thanks,” you whisper, watching as he finally leaves, hoping that if he saw your smile, you had managed to swallow all the blood in your mouth.

He hadn’t smiled back.

iv. 

You are at the beach again, except that this time, you know that you are dreaming.

Still, the sun is bright and the sky is blue, and the water looks extra beautiful with a happy gray dog that splashes in its waves next to one that looks like your own.

You do not have a bucket of sand crabs at your feet, or someone close to you in the water, but you know that there is a man dressed in black somewhere nearby and that if you were to look for him, that he would wave back at you.

Even at the distant sound of sirens that go off, which seem louder with every passing second, you smile, opening your eyes to look for him, hoping that this time, he doesn’t have a gun.