#but she always asks for the longer version whether we are busy or slow

[raven-wraith]

My coworker told me she always asks for the long versions of stories because I she loves the i tell stories

[watchmegetobsessed]

Mine Again - Harry Styles

a/n: this is something i just thought about after my nap today lol, so enjoy this treat, a classic exlovers to lovers fic!

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

word count: 3.4k

masterlist

Seeing an ex is never easy. Whether it’s by your choice or not. Working together with an ex is even harder and now you brought a situation on yourself where this is your reality.

Arriving to the studio of The Late Late show you immediately get escorted to your designated dressing room where a hair and makeup artist are already waiting for you. Today you are here to promote your new movie, Don’t Worry Darling with your onscreen lover, Harry Styles, however, what no one else in the building knows is that once the two of you were real life lovers.

Your romance blossomed during filming, having spent so much time together on set, it didn’t take long for a relationship to form between you and him, the chemistry you shared was immense and undeniable, anyone could see that and you felt like you were burning in a bonfire of the most intense feelings you’ve felt for any man. It was passionate and intoxicating, it felt like something that could only happen in movies, but it was your reality.

However filming ended and you were forced to go your separate ways, you both tried hard to keep what you had and though your feelings never changed, distance brought the worst out of the both of you. Six months after you became an item, you mutually agreed to break it off.

You haven’t seen him since then, meaning that it’s been five torturous months without having any contact with him and now that promo has officially kicked in, you are forced to travel around and make appearances with the man you love, yes, still love more than anyone on this Earth. Not even five months and absolutely no contact could change your feelings for him, however he might already be over you at this point, having forgotten about feelings and memories you still hold close to your heart.

How has he been doing? What is he like now? Has he been thinking about you? Does he miss you? What is it going to be like to see him for the first time?

The questions flood your mind as you sit in the chair and let the professionals work their magic on you, covering up the dark circles under your eyes that formed due to the sleepless night you had the day before, nonstop thinking about Harry and what it’ll be like to see him for the first time again.

After careful elimination, you choose a dress for the appearance, it’s tight and short, the fabric is covered in glittering sequins down your body and the long sleeves as well and while the dress covers a lot up from the waist, it makes up in the lack of length on your legs as the end of it barely reaches the upper part of your thighs, ending it black feathers that tickle your freshly shaven legs. The nude heels add even more to them, making you appear like you could hit the runway any moment when in reality you are not high enough to be a model.

There’s still some time until the taping starts, James drops by to say hello and tell you how excited he is to have you and Harry on tonight and you chit-chat for a little before you go to take a quick business call outside. When you’re done with that, you head back to your dressing room to take a few quick photos to post later, but right as you near your destination, a door swings open down the hallway and Harry steps out, wearing a black suit, of course, head to toe Gucci. The crispy grey shirt’s first few buttons are left undone, allowing you a glimpse of his toned chest and his necklace with the tiny cross pendant on it.

He looks good. No, he looks absolutely stunning, just like he always does and just the sight of him takes your breath away, forcing you to stop in your tracks when you lay your eyes at him. He spots you as well, stopping to take a look at you before you see a small smile on his perfect pink lips.

“Y/N, hi! You look… gorgeous,” he speaks up lowly, his eyes raking your body up and down.

“I, uhh—Thanks!” you breathe out, feeling already flustered. How are you gonna survive the interview, sitting next to him, talking about what it was like to play a married couple?!

His hand moves a bit and there’s a moment of awkwardness, neither of you really knowing what to do, last time you saw each other you kissed as your hellos, but now it’s not an option, obviously. At last, he moves forward and goes for a hug.

He envelopes you in his arms as you wrap yours around his neck, the warmth of his body bringing you a sense of home and it hits you hard how much you’ve missed him in these five months.

You swear he holds you just a second longer than what would be appropriate before his arms fall from around your frame and you force yourself to let go of him, though every fiber in you is protesting against it.

“How—How have you been?” he asks, his beautiful green eyes finding yours.

“I’m good. I’m good,” you nod. “What about you?”

“Same. Just the… usual stuff.”

“Writing music?” you ask with a soft smile. You still vividly remember those nights you spent together after a long day of filming, crashing at either his or your place and you often found him strumming his guitar in a corner, scribbling words down into his notebook. Sometimes he sang you the songs he came up with, sometimes he kept them to himself.

“Yeah, I’ve been writing a lot lately,” he admits with a shy smile.

Someone calls his name down the hallway and his head snaps up before looking back at you.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, stepping aside so he can walk past.

“And you really look amazing, Y/N,” he calls after you one last time before jogging down the hallway.

You walk into your dressing room and shutting the door you lean your back against it, huffing heavily as you try to recollect yourself. Somehow, this encounter went really well, because the two of you were civil and respectful, but it was also a painful shock to see him in the flesh again. It was one thing to see pictures of him here and there, but actually meeting him, hugging him, talking to him… you need time to process it all.

Unfortunately, you don’t have much of that. Twenty minutes later you are walked to your spot behind the curtains from where you’ll walk out when James calls your name. Just as you arrive Harry appears as well, casually talking with one of the camera guys, having a laugh and just as he sees you, his eyes fall down your body again and you swear you see him gulp hard before turning his attention back to the man.

“Ready?” he asks upon walking up to you, a hand coming to rest on your lower back. Glancing over your shoulder you look down at his hand, lips parted at the feeling of his welcoming touch. He sees your glance and pulls his hand back quickly. “Sorry, it’s a habit, I guess,” he mumbles, blushing softly.

“It’s fine,” you smile. Of course it’s fine, for what you care, he could throw you over his shoulder like a cave man and run out of the building, you wouldn’t say a word. You want his touch on your body, you’ve been craving it since the moment you last saw him, but are you even allowed to admit it? You have no idea what he is thinking or feeling, you can’t just come right at him like that.

Harry fixes the lapels of his suit jacket, but what he doesn’t see is that the collar of his shirt is kind of stuck under the jacket.

“Your shirt is… let me fix it,” you breathe out and he turns to face you, letting your delicate hands fix his outfit, perfecting the look to the tiniest bit. “There, you look great,” you smile, your hands sliding down his chest before they fall to your sides again.

“Thank you,” he nods smiling back at you before offering an arm that you take gladly. He knows how much you hate high heels and that you are always scared of tripping and falling and being the gentleman that he is, he’ll be the support you need.

The taping soon starts and the two of you stand patiently behind the curtain as James introduces you.

“And now, please welcome the stars of the upcoming hit movie, Don’t Worry Darling! Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles!”

The crowd starts clapping and cheering as the curtain moves and the two of you walk in, arms linked and Harry makes sure to slow down when you walk down the few little stairs. James welcomes the both of you with two kisses before everyone takes their place, James behind his desk, you and Harry sitting on the couch.

“Thank you so much for dropping by tonight, guys!” James smiles at the two of you.

“Thank you for having us,” Harry nods with a soft smile.

“You both have been guests on the show separately, but tonight you are here as a pair, since your latest movie, Don’t Worry Darling is hitting the theaters this weekend. How are you feeling about that, excited to see the film finally?”

“Very excited,” you nod with a smile. “I can’t wait to see the final version, because obviously we only know the version we envisioned while filming, but the actual movie is going to be something else.”

“Y/N, your role in the movie was originally handed to Florence Pugh who had to step back because she broke her arm,” James points out and you nod.

“Yes, I stepped in her place just about a week before production started and if I’m being honest I was scared that people would prefer to see her in the role, but I had a talk with her actually and she said she helped Olivia, the director to pick out the person to take her place and she said she instantly knew I would be perfect for it, so I trust her.”

“That’s amazing to hear, that the two of you didn’t have any rivalry going on,” James enthuses.

“She actually visited set a few times,” Harry chimes in and you nod.

“Yeah, we had a great time together.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun, the three of you together,” James chuckles. “So, the two of you play a married couple in the film and if I’m not mistaken you didn’t know each other beforehand. Was it hard to get into the roles with not much background on each other?”

“We met up a few times before filming started to get to know each other more and I think we hit it off right away, so it wasn’t hard for me,” Harry speaks up and you nod along.

“It was obviously a little different situation than when you meet someone and become friends, because as we got to know each other more, we had to go through scenes that were meant for a couple that was already years into their relationship, but I think it strengthened our friendship,” you answer, hands laid flat on your bare thighs.

No lie has been told, everything you said was the truth. You just left out the part where you become real life lovers and started dating a month into production.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting for a while now, have quite a few roles under your belt, what did you think of Harry’s acting?”

“I think that he is a wonderful actor and I hope people will give him his much deserved credit for it. He is often still seen as just a silly singer from a former boy band and they don’t take him seriously when he really is a very talented man. You’ll see in the movie as well, his role was a tough one, needed a lot of work and a wide range of emotions, but I think he did an amazing job.”

You dare to glance at him at the end of your little speech and for a moment you forget about the audience, James and the cameras. He is looking at you with so much gratitude and thankfulness. You remember every talk you had where he opened up to you about wanting to be taken seriously in the acting business, that he is not trying to be just a joke and another failed attempt of a singer to try himself out in movies. He told you how scared he is of not being good enough when you saw him every day on set and you were blown by his eternal talent and special take on his role. He deserves to be praised, he deserves every bit of it.

“It was easy, I had a great partner to learn from,” he smiles softly and you feel the heat crawling up your neck.

“You two really have the chemistry we’ve heard so much about, I can’t wait to see it on the big screen!” James sighs. “Tell me a little about what it was like to film? You guys spent a lot of time together, must have made a lot of memories.”

You take a deep breath as all those memories mentioned flood your mind. You had the best time of your life not just with Harry, but with the whole crew. Leaving after production was wrapped really broke your heart.

“It didn’t even feel like working,” Harry starts. “We always joked around, had lunch or dinner together, we were like a big family. It was so nice to have so many amazing, talented and hard-working people around you all day.”

“The jokes never stopped,” you add chuckling.

“I wish I could have been on set!” James laughs wholeheartedly. “That didn’t happen, but we have a little something. The crew has put together a short BTS video of the filming, so let’s have a look at that,” he announces and the video starts playing on every screen in the studio.

It’s a short little montage, but it captures the vibes of filming just perfectly. Clips shown from set are not just of you and Harry, but all the other cast and crew members. Goofing around, having lots and lots of laughs, dancing on set, which happened quite often and just all of you having a great time. Some of the slips however pain your chest, the ones of you and Harry.

This was very early into your relationship, no one on set even knew you were together, but seeing yourself on the screen you can’t deny the sparkles in your eyes every time you were around him.

A clip shows the two of you between two takes, doing a goofy dance in the kitchen of the home that was used as the set of the house of your characters, you are both wearing your costumes, Harry looks great in his suit and your long retro dress is flowing around you with every movement you make. He grabs you by your waist and spins you before you end up in his arms laughing crazily, you were so happy, so carefree. You wish you could go back to that moment…

Another footage was taken in your trailer when Harry took the place of Clare, your makeup artist and tried to do your eyeliner but miserably failed. In the video, he is gently clasping your chin, angling your face for himself as his other hand is working on the line, but it’s wobbly and way too thick, so you both end up just laughing when you check yourself in the mirror.

And there are some small moments of the two of you, moving around on set, lying in bed between takes, sitting in your chairs while eating, just tiny memories you still cherish so much and wish to live through again, but it’s the past. And it wouldn’t hurt this much if you knew Harry from the video was still yours.

When the video ends you need to blink a few times as your eyes have watered a little. You catch Harry’s gaze and he looks worried, he clearly wants to ask if you’re okay, make sure it was just the sentimentality of the moment, but he doesn’t have the chance, the cameras are still rolling.

“That looked like so much fun! Next time make sure to invite me on set too!” James jokes and you force a laugh out of yourself.

A few questions are asked about future plans and just generally about your careers before the taping finally ends. You thank James for the invite again and a photo is taken of the three of you, you standing in the middle with the two men on your sides. When everything is settled, you head to your dressing room, using the chance to slip away silently while Harry is still chit-chatting on the set.

In the comfort and silence of the dressing room, you lean onto the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror, finding it ironic that on the outside, you look perfectly fine, healthy and pretty, but on the inside… you could scream. You miss Harry so much, you hoped that your feelings for him have toned down a little over these five months, but it was just the same if not even worse.

A faint knock is heard on the door and you quickly fix yourself before calling out to the person outside. The door opens and for your surprise, Harry steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, you disappeared so fast,” he softly says.

“Yeah, I’m just… a little tired,” you lie, though you know exactly he can see right through you.

“Y/N, I saw that look in your eyes after the video…”

“What look?” you ask with a huff. “What do you want me to say, Harry?”

“The truth,” he answers. “I’m not James, don’t bullshit me.”

“You want the truth? I’ll give it to you, but don’t blame me if it’s uncomfortable for you,” you chuckle bitterly, throwing your hands into the air. “I’ve been miserable, Harry. I miss you so fucking much, seeing you today was like Hell. I really thought it would be easier, but now I’m stuck with going from one interview to the other with red carpet events all around the world, seeing you every day when I terribly miss you and it fucking sucks, because you might not even feel the sa—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry crosses the distance between the two of you, his hands grab your face and pulls you into a hard and passionate kiss. His lips move perfectly against yours and it feels like he is trying to squeeze every missed moment from the past five months into the kiss, making you melt into his arms completely.

He is everywhere. He is all you can taste, you breathe him in, his hands are everywhere on your body and your chest is pressed tight against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, locking him into your embrace. Your tongues dance, teeth tugging and pulling on lips, it’s a whole mess, but it’s the most perfect mess you’ve ever been. He takes your breath away completely and you don’t even want it back if it means you can’t have him.

Harry pulls away first, both your chests heaving wildly from the heavy make-out session and he looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“If you think I haven’t missed you like crazy… you can’t be more wrong, baby. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I wanted to call you a thousand times and beg for you to come back to me, but I thought you already moved on.”

“Moving on?!” you huff with a tired smile. “Harry, I could never…”

“Alright, then I’m not letting you go again. No way you are walking out of this building without being mine again.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words as you pull him down for another kiss, needing to feel his lips on yours.

“I never stopped being yours,” you whisper against his lips and he moans weakly before crashing his lips against yours again. 

-

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[velvetcloxds]

WIZARDS IN BEACON HILLS| D.T.

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Fem! Reader,  Harry Potter x Teen Wolf

Word count: 2418 words

Warning: toxic family?

Summary: Dean, Seamus and Neville join the reader to visit her hometown of Beacon Hills for Christmas finding a slightly unconventional family setup.

“Put that away,” I say, sighing tiredly as Neville stumbles to do as I ordered, stuffing his wand into the inside of his jacket. Seamus and Dean share a subtle glance between the two of them, trying to avoid my eyes. “What?” I ask and Dean is the only one to look my way, he smiles slightly as he pushes his hands into his pants pockets.

“You’re nervous.” He notes carefully, stepping closer when passengers start crowding the platform. I scoff softly, rolling my eyes as he watches me carefully.

“I am perfectly calm,” I retort, proving myself wrong as my voice rises in tone, his smile grows and I simply shake my head to dismiss him. “I have no reason to worry.” I say and all three of the boys nod in agreement.

“Exactly.” Dean replies, smile faltering when his eyes linger on something behind me. I tilt my head back to see what he’s looking at, sighing almost instantly when the red-haired little weasel comes into view.

“Ignore her,” I say as I turn back to him, even though his attention remains solely latched on Ginny Weasley as she shamelessly grips onto the hand of Harry Potter. “Dean,” I call and he looks over at me when my hand softly grazes his shoulder. I pull away immediately, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth in my cheeks as our eyes meet. Smile from earlier replaced with the same depressed stare I’ve been stuck with for weeks. I sigh softly. “I mean it, Dean. She cheated on you; she doesn’t deserve another second of your attention.” I tell him surely and he shakes his head in reply.

“Easier said than done when they’re everywhere.” He replies, looking back at the pair again.

“It’s a good thing we’re leaving then,” Seamus notes, a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he turns to me. “Right, Y/n?” He asks me hopeful and I hover for a second before nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes,” I say loudly and put on a smile. “Far away in fact,” I tell him and grab my bag from the ground when the doors of the train open for people to go inside. “And crazy family aside, you’ll all love Beacon Hills.” Dean meets my gaze for a brief second before his smile returns.

“I’m sure we will,” He says, picking up his own bag before reaching over and taking mine, raising a brow when I try and stop him. “I got it.” Is all he says as he nods for me to head inside, looking back at Ginny briefly before following me, Seamus and Neville trailing behind him sheepishly.

“When will the trolley come by?” Neville asks, peaking around the train as people settle into their seats. I smile as he sits back down, flinching when Seamus slaps his hand away from the armrest.

“It’s not that type of train,” Dean tells him, skootching in beside me, smiling when our arms brush against each other. “At least not the type you’re used to,” He adds, pulling four packets of peanuts out of his pocket and throwing it towards the boys. “Complementary.” He says mockingly as Neville stares down at the nuts confused. I laugh softly, sinking into my seat as I move to look out of the window, ignoring the feeling of Dean’s arm that rest against mine on the arm rest.

“Tell me about your family?” Dean asks after a long moment, the train starting to move as Seamus and Neville argue softly about whether there should be raisins in the peanut packets. I turn back to Dean, smiling at the already intrigued expression on his face. I shrug.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” He replies quickly, eyes raking their way over my face slowly. “You never talk about them, is all and if we’re spending Christmas with them…” He trails off as I nod.

“Well, my mother is Talia, she’s the best of us, kind and good, never hovers to help someone who needs it. Laura is the oldest, she’s a pain, always trying to keep us in order, no room for mistakes. Derek is my older brother, he’s a sweetheart if he wants to be, but he’s also the most annoyingly protective person you’ll ever meet. And Cora is the youngest, she’s like the female version of Derek if I’m honest, but angrier.” I say, stopping myself when I realize how long I’ve been talking, turning to look at him, he smiles.

“They sound lovely.” He offers as a reply.

“They are,” I retort and sigh. “With the exception of my uncle Peter of course, who is quite frankly the worst of us. Always working some sort of angle, only looking out for himself. When he found out what I was, he demanded I be sent to Hogwarts, as far away from the family as possible,” I scoff. “He made me out to be some sort of disgrace.” I comment, tensing up when Dean’s hand softly folds over mine.

“You’re not,” He informs me and pulls his hand away as quickly as he extended it. “You could never be anything but perfectly brilliant,” He says and shoots a somewhat warning gaze towards Seamus when he looks over at me questioningly. Dean shakes his head, turning to be facing the boys instead of me. “I look forward to meeting them all,” He informs me and closes his eyes. “Wake me when we’re there.” He says and I can’t help but frown as I look at him, confused by the sudden mood shift that is not only completely bizarre, but not like him at all.

“Would you like one?” Neville asks, holding out a packet of peanuts towards me, smiling shyly when I shake my head.

“No thank you,” I say and lean forward to ruffle his hair when he blushes. “You boys should get some rest as well, it’s a long ride.” I inform them before turning back to look out of the window.

The ride seems to pass in a blur, my mind so busy that it felt like mere minutes before Dean was carrying my bag out of the Beacon Hills train station, Neville and Seamus having to be called every few minutes when they get distracted by muggles and their strange accents.

“Don’t you dare.” I whisper angrily when Seamus start trailing away from the set path that leads to the house. He steps away slowly, flinching back when he passes my pointed finger. Dean gives him a serious look as he falls into step next to Neville.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks me and I nod quickly, looking around for the markers I set up years ago to remind me of the way. He passes one bag to Neville before lightly placing a hand on my back as we walk. “Y/n…” He whispers, the sudden closeness of his voice making me shiver. “It’s okay if you’re nervous.” He tells me and I stop. Neville and Seamus stumbling behind me to do the same. I look up at the large Hale mansion that stands in all it’s glory just past the last couple of trees. I breathe out slowly.

“I haven’t been home in years,” I say and look to Dean carefully. “What if it’s horrible? What if everything has changed? What if they somehow hate me even more?” I ask him quietly, knowing that Neville and Seamus have very subtly stepped back to give me some space. Dean’s face softens as he looks at me.

“They couldn’t possibly hate you, Y/n Hale,” He tells me and shrugs. “Everything will be perfectly fine,” He adds and softly pushes me to start walking with him again. “If it helps, I won’t leave your side the entire time.” He promises with a sweet smile and I return the notion as we still at the front door where Derek and Laura are already waiting for us, the scene in the woods probably catching their attention.

Derek is the first to smile as he sees me, eyes catching everything, from the boys behind me to Dean’s hand on my back- where his gaze lingers a little longer before our eyes meet again.

“Little sister.” Laura comments as we stop next to them and Derek scoffs before skipping the stairs and pulling me into a hug, making sure to pull me away from Dean in the process.

“I’ve missed you,” He announces as he pulls away, purposefully ignoring the pure existence of the boys. “Laura has been acting like a drill sergeant since mom left.” I frown at the statement and look to Laura for answers. She shakes her head.

“Later,” Is all the offers before turning to the boys. “I didn’t know you were bringing more wizards here.” She notes, looking them over slowly, I scoff and so does Derek.

“She told us she was bringing friends from school, Laura. What did you think they would be?” He asks her dryly and then turns to Dean with and extended hand. “Derek.”

“Dean.” The two shake hands and Derek does the same with Neville and Seamus, my eyes remaining glued to Laura’s through the entire interaction, the clear disapproval in her eyes making my body ache.

Dean moves closer to me again, making sure not to touch me but hovering close, like he had promised he would.

“Derek will take you to your rooms.” Laura informs the boys, leaving no room for questions as Derek leads them inside, Dean catches my eye before disappearing.

“Is Cora here?” I ask and Laura shakes her head.

“She went with mom to the pack meeting out of town.” She says and knowing I’d ask more she lifts a hand to dismiss me. “No more questions, Y/n. The people who wanted to be here are here.”

“And you?”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice.” She replies coldly before turning and walking into the house. I take a slow, shaky breath before following her inside, the usually busy house silent and empty as she leads me through it.

I ignore the ache in my chest as I pass multiple empty rooms, knowing damn well that the only reason they’re empty is because I decided to return and no one wanted to be here when I did.

“I once tried to make it by using a spell, but it exploded everywhere.” Seamus says as we enter the kitchen, looking into a glass. Neville smiles at his side.

“You’re used to that though, aren’t you?” He questions and Seamus frowns, mumbling something under his breath as Dean and Neville laugh.

“Y/n, have you made any potions yet?” Derek asks when he notices me, pulling something out of the oven in the process, hiding the fact that he didn’t use an oven mitt. I nod with a slight smile.

“Many,” I answer, absentmindedly stilling next to Dean by the counter. “Although none of mine exploded.” I add and Seamus mocks a laugh.

“What type of potions do you make?” Derek asks as well and Neville excitedly starts naming all the different potions we’ve learned since first year, dumbing them down for Derek to understand.

Dean leans closer, turning to whisper in my ear. “You okay?” I look over at Laura who is still hovering at the door, hearing everything, including Dean’s whisper. I hold her gaze as I nod.

“Perfectly fine.” I answer, avoiding Dean’s gaze as the conversation continues, the boys managing to entertain Derek for hours with stories of creatures and spells, most of which not exactly supposed to be shared with muggles, but all of them too busy to remember. Dean watches me through the night, looking away when I notice and joining in on the conversation soon after. Laura went upstairs, not pleased with Derek’s curiosity about the wizard world, the party having moved to the sitting room.

Soon however, it became dark and the fatigue from the long train ride caught up with us, Neville and Seamus stumbling to their assigned rooms to get some sleep before Christmas morning, excited for whatever presents their owls might deliver to them from the other side of the world.

“You can go too, Derek.” I say, arms folded over my chest as he sits on the couch between Dean and I, looking over at us curiously.

“I’m not tired just yet,” He informs me, shuffling to get comfortable. “Besides, Dean hasn’t been very transparent with his intentions.” He announces and I almost swallow my tongue.

“Derek Hale,” I say, trying not to wake whoever might be asleep already. “Dean is my friend.” Derek smiles.

“Maybe. But friends don’t look at friends the way he looks at you,” He notes and Dean is the one to shift in his seat this time, avoiding both my gaze and Derek’s. “See, he’s not even denying it.”

“There’s nothing to deny, he was just trying to make sure I was okay,” I say and get up from the couch. “Which was very much appreciated, because clearly you haven’t gotten the memo just yet,” I announce and swallow as Derek’s playful protectiveness shifts to worry. I sigh, pushing down my emotions to muster up a semi-calm look. “It has been a long day, Derek and I’m tired. Could I please have a moment of peace before bed?” I ask and he hovers, clearly going through every outcome of his reply, looking at Dean who is looking at me and then looking at me with a sigh.

“Okay,” He decides and stands up, pausing to look down at Dean. “Just remember, you may have a wand, but I have claws and I don’t mind using them.” He informs the thoroughly confused boy before slowly leaving the room and threading up the stairs.

We walk out to the terrace, him taking a seat on the wall as I stand in front of him. There’s a long pause of silence as he stares up at me, taking in every movement I make and watching with intense focus as I stare back at him.

“I shouldn’t have come home,” I say suddenly and he tilts his head. “I’ve driven them all away, not even Peter showed up,,” I add and briefly feel the shaking of my hands. “Could I possibly be so damn awful to be around that not even my own mother wants to see me?”

“No,” He answers quickly and jumps up from his seat. “No.” He repeats more calmly and takes my hand in his own. “You’re not the problem, Y/n. Besides, it’s their loss. If they can’t look past something as ridiculous as your magic to see everything else about you then it is most certainly their loss,” He tells me and lifts our hands to be raised in between us. “I for one can’t think of a single thing that would keep me away from you.” He says, voice softer this time, likes he’s thinking out loud and he lifts his other hand to stroke a single finger over my cheek. I look down, cheeks reddening once again as his hand lingers on my face.

“He’s right about that stare.” I whisper, instinctively grabbing his jacket to center myself before closing my eyes.

“He is.” He answers and I shake my head.

“But Ginny…” I say, ignoring the objection of my mind and looking up at him once more. He shakes his head with a smile.

“She isn’t you. She’s never been you, which is why I broke up with her months ago,,” He smiles at my confusion. “She did cheat on me, but honestly I might as well have done the same because how very wrong of me to feel what I feel for you when I’m actually dating her,” He admits and he might as well have explained nothing because at least a hundred new questions pop into my head. He smiles, releasing my hand to grasp the other side of my face. “You’re my best friend.” He says and I nod.

“And you are mine.” I say, tightening my hold on his jacket.

“But I can’t keep denying that I am completely and utterly in love with you.” He says and leans closer, hovering above my lips.

“Thank Merlin.” I whisper, breathless with anticipation before his lips softly meet mine.

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubert. Mxx.

Masterlist

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

[thegreenwolf]

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

[theawkwardterrier]

and the last age should show your heart

Summary: In which a recovered Kate is ready to settle into normal married life; her husband makes things difficult; and challenging each other does not stop with the wedding.

Read on AO3

Although he could clearly see the progress of her recovery himself, Anthony insisted on having her examined several times over by the most reputable medical men in London in order to ascertain that she was truly through with her convalescence. Kate bore this first with amusement, then with impatience, and finally with distinct ill humor.

“I do it only out of concern for you,” he emphasized the afternoon he informed her that he had made another appointment (the fifth) for tomorrow. “It’s clear that your leg can bear weight well enough, but always best to be thorough. Were we to have an incomplete understanding of the healing process and thus allow further injury, I should never forgive myself.”

Once, some version of herself would have softened at such an expression of attentiveness from him. An even earlier one than that would have been astonished that anyone except Mary or Edwina would ever have so concerned themself with her at all. Those versions, however, had been allowed the freedom not only of all the floors of the house but of the glorious outdoors as well without an overly bothersome husband admonishing at every turn to take care.

This Kate, a veteran now after months of marriage - too much of that time spent indoors if not in bed - said testily, “Then it sounds as if your concern is truly for yourself, although it is I who has found herself most inconvenienced. In fact, as you have barely believed me able to leave this bed, it strikes me that these last few months have been startlingly advantageous when it comes to indulging your more wicked tendencies - and you have little anxiety over my injured state then.”

She did not gesture to the rumpled sheets among which she sat, but he took her meaning well enough, fingers stilling on the cravat he had been retying after their (not quite) brief midday interlude together. “That is unfair, Kate,” he said, ironclad voice masking what she suspected to be actual hurt, although she did not know whether it stemmed from the insinuation that he preferred her without independence, kept captive to his whims, or that he cared little for her comfort or enjoyment when in their bed.

Neither was true, so she allowed herself only another moment of stewing before she forced her eyes to his and said, “I know. I apologize.”

“Excellent.” He finished the knot and turned to check it in the glass, face smoothed cheerful once again. “Then Mr. Josephs and I shall see you tomorrow at half three.”

She cut her growl short, merely seething as he placed a kiss on her forehead and took his leave. (Even as she fumed, she could appreciate that he held back the urge to whistle as he did so. Just as she could appreciate that whichever tailor had cut his breeches was most certainly not paid handsomely enough for it.)

They had a perfectly civil meal together that evening, and a night which one would not precisely call civil but which was certainly enjoyable all the same, and when they laughed together over breakfast, Kate felt them thawing back to their particular normalcy. However, when Mr. Josephs failed to impress as he allowed himself to be forced to stay a mere hour before declaring Kate fully healed and Anthony tried to insist on a sixth visit, she put her foot down, literally and hard and atop his. He was quite lucky that she no longer had need of a walking stick or he would have had that to contend with as well.

“No!” The word came out nearly as a snarl. “I am sorry, but regardless of your misplaced concerns, regardless of your overprotective nature, regardless of whether I fall down a dozen times in the doing of it, tomorrow I am going to put on a dress and style my hair and take tea with your mother.”

“You could—”

“At her home,” she said, and this time, even spacing and perfectly bitten off enunciation and all, it was most definitely a snarl.

All of the Bridgertons had been excellent company during her recuperation - despite his considerable efforts, Anthony could not keep her confined entirely to bed, and she was able to venture downstairs to host various pairs and groups of them over the past months even when she was not receiving most callers. Their frequent visits provided significant entertainment and what Kate only half jestingly referred to as “dispatches from the outside world.” As such, she was comfortable in the drawing room at Bridgerton House even as tea with her mother-in-law expanded to include all three of her older sisters-in-law and Daphne’s infant daughter Amelia.

In fact, she was feeling more than comfortable, she was feeling rather splendid, having the chance to be out somewhere, stretching her limbs and speaking with people, even in such a small and familiar setting. While she was aware that one day this would be her home rather than Violet’s, an idea which still intimidated her, right now it was simply somewhere different from the house where she had been trapped for months and wonderful for it.

A good quarter hour had been spent admiring each facet of Amelia as she slept in her mother’s arms, and even that was wonderful. Kate could not keep her eyes from the baby’s fingers. How tiny they were! She could hardly understand how Daphne could sit so serenely when they looked delicate enough to break at a touch. It struck her that sometime soon she might have her own child with infinitely breakable fingers for whom she would have to care; even with her injury, she and Anthony had not been doing very much to prevent such an occurrence. One might say the opposite, in fact…

She drew her mind quickly from thoughts of her husband before a blush could overcome her face, and listened instead to Violet recounting the latest trials through which Hyacinth was putting her governess. The dowager viscountess sighed at the appropriate places and her tone was all motherly despair, but Kate detected a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. Kate herself was attempting to cover a laugh by holding her cup to her mouth, hoping that none of the others would notice that she had allegedly been sipping tea for nearly a full minute.

“Would you like some more, Kate? Or perhaps a biscuit to accompany? You seem to have quite the craving for tea today.” Eloise was unfortunately too astute for either her own good or Kate’s.

“Oh, I really—”

“I would quite enjoy tea and biscuits. Thank you for offering.”

Kate’s cup came down hard onto her saucer, mirth transformed into confused suspicion. “Anthony? I had thought you were spending the day on some business with Lord Ellsworth.”

“Ah yes,” he said, literally waving a hand through the air as he walked further into the room toward them all, his brother Benedict following behind. “We concluded earlier than expected, but he mentioned something which put me in mind of some papers which I realized are in the desk in my study here.”

“Where they remain even now, despite how imperative it was that we come find them at once,” Benedict murmured. Kate had noticed that while he did not quite have Anthony’s ready control of a room or Colin’s easy charm, he was still as witty as the rest of his family, simply a bit less loud about it, particularly in company. Although not, she thought, quiet enough, based on the glare his older brother cut his way; Benedict ignored it easily, placing both hands on his mother’s shoulders from behind and bending to kiss her cheek.

Anthony, meanwhile, gave up on his brother and moved onto pestering his sister. Well, not pestering, precisely. He merely hovered implacably over the place where Francesca sat beside Kate, and his patience was rewarded when she sighed and stood so he could take her seat.

“Don’t let him bully you so,” cried Eloise.

Francesca shrugged her slim shoulders as she moved to sit at the pianoforte instead. “I don’t mind. He wants to sit beside his wife. I think it’s quite sweet, actually. Very romantic.”

“See, I’m romantic,” Anthony said, leaning over to speak softly to Kate, although he barely needed to move to do so. By her measurement, if he intended to sit this close, Francesca could well have stayed put.

“Romantic is not precisely how I would put it.”

“How would you prefer to phrase it? Charming? Besotted? A steadfast and wonderful husband?”

“Trying,” she offered through gritted teeth. “Difficult. Unnecessarily meddlesome.” She considered moving into the bit of empty space remaining on her other side, but she knew that he would only move closer, and besides, it was actually quite comfortable to feel him pressed warmly against her. Still, she gathered her irritation as she added, “I truly don’t know what you expected us to be doing in your mother’s drawing room in the middle of the afternoon which would necessitate you coming to inspect—Anthony, are you listening to me?”

“Are you certain you would not like a footstool?” he asked, ignoring her entirely in favor of frowning down at her leg, covered as it was by the fabric of her dress. “No one would object if you needed to prop your leg. It’s only family after all, and everyone wishes you to be comfortable.”

Despite it all she felt herself softening at that. “My leg is fine,” she said, tone easing like a kite when the wind slows. “But thank you for being so considerate.” And then, because she truly could not resist, she added, “In fact, it seems that all the recommendations regarding moderate activity and returning to a regular routine are doing me a world of good.”

And likely because he could not resist either, he responded, “What seems good today might turn regrettable tomorrow. Only remember then that there is no shame in admitting that you have overexerted yourself and will be more comfortable at home.” A look of nobility which undoubtedly hid a smirk came across his face. “I shall certainly not preen about it should I turn out to be right.”

She spluttered, then glared, forgetting that they were visiting, that they were surrounded by other people. Anthony had always been able to vex her into forgetting herself. “You will not be right, but for taking that tone, I am going to have Cook prepare tripe and boiled turnips every day for the next week.”

“She was my cook first,” Anthony protested, likely turned a bit childish by the thought of such fare. Kate didn’t disagree; she would need to have an alternative menu prepared for herself if she indeed made good on her threat.

“Yes, well, she likes me better.”

“She does n—”

“Your tea, Anthony.”

Violet’s pointed voice startled Kate back to awareness. Judging from the looks the rest of the Bridgertons were giving them, ranging from Benedict’s vague amusement to Eloise’s relish to Francesca’s sympathy, Kate guessed that it was not the first time her mother-in-law had attempted to draw her husband’s attention to the cup she was extending to him. Anthony, clearly better practiced at glossing over such moments, merely took his tea and sipped at it politely.

“Delicious as always, Mother,” he said, all correctness. “I’m so very glad we were both able to join you this afternoon.”

Kate narrowed her eyes, and she would have kicked him would it not have been too obvious. As it was, she simply said, “Oh, yes, it has been absolutely lovely,” and decided that she would take him further to task when they returned home.

“Well, marriage does seem to have some practicalities to recommend it if nothing else,” Penelope commented as she and Kate walked down the street to the subscription library of which they were both members. The weather had shifted from a damp gloom to an unseasonable brightness, and Kate took in the air, refreshingly cool but not chill, with relish. “Had we needed to wait for my mama or one of the maids, busy as they were assisting my sisters, we might have been forced to postpone our outing for another week at least.”

It did still surprise Kate that she was now considered a suitable chaperone - at this time last year, she would have expected herself quite a bit more likely to reach such a position simply due to age rather than via marriage. However, she knew well the desire to make one’s unwedded state a casual fact so as not to cause awkwardness for others, and she suspected that Penelope was attempting the same now.

Studiously not thinking of her argument and subsequent reconciliation with Anthony the previous night, Kate said lightly, “Yes, not needing to be accompanied everywhere is one aspect which I have found to be worthwhile,” but did not dwell further on the topic.

Nevertheless, it was clear that her marriage was on the minds of others. As Kate and Penelope entered the library, several of the other ladies inside glanced at them and then immediately began whispering to their companions. Kate was not conceited, but she had little hope that anything other than her arrival had caused the reaction: Penelope, already sliding away to examine the shelves, had managed to leave the house in a day dress of pretty pale blue muslin rather than one of her mother’s more noteworthy choices, and the tongues had scarcely ceased wagging over Kate’s hasty wedding to the very eligible Viscount Bridgerton before she had quite publicly broken her leg and all but disappeared for months.

She had some friends, and her family of course, but never having been among the fashionable set nor a particular standout in any way other than her plainness and relationship to Edwina, she was not exactly a known quantity among the ton. In a strange way, her unremarkableness had made her even more an object of fascination.

I am going to have to entertain sometime soon, she thought with dismay. Else I will never have anyone used to me.

But that would come sometime later. For now, she could simply browse the shelves in the hope of finding something new and diverting. She had already devoured Miss Austen’s latest, of course, and Mrs. Gorley’s work was not precisely to her tastes, but she did think she spied a copy of Walter Scott’s Waverley just there - it had been published months ago, but had been so popular that she hadn’t a chance to read it before now.

Elevating slightly up onto her toes, Kate reached for it, fingers grasping the spine and just beginning to pull the volume down when an altogether too familiar voice said, “Ah, I thought that was you, Kate. Here, allow me.”

Her husband’s hand, warm and broad, brushed beside hers and removed the book, bringing it down to a more comfortable height with a bow. She accepted the volume with a brief “Thank you,” glancing sharply around at everyone watching before she ground out in low tones, “You just happened to be passing, I assume?”

“Of course.” He was all innocence. “Quite the lucky coincidence, I would say.”

“Quite.” Her teeth were going to crumble in her mouth at this rate. She forced her jaw to relax and painted on a cheerful expression. “Well, thank you for the assistance. I shall see you this evening.”

“You are most welcome.” Tilting his head with the smile she was certain had charmed altogether too many women, he added, “But must I truly wait until this evening? Surely I could accompany you for the rest of your afternoon - I am already here after all, and have little else to occupy myself.”

Hitching up her own smile even as she knew that it would do nothing to deter the gossip she could fairly see floating around the two of them, she said, “I am afraid that I am already accompanied. See, Miss Featherington and I were so enjoying our time together.”

Penelope had been standing silently beside the adjoining bookshelf, clearly relying on the wisdom of animals and small children that if you stayed entirely still and quiet perhaps you would not be noticed. Her eyes widened fractionally as she realized that it had not worked and that she was in fact going to need to step over and be polite, but she did it anyway, curtsying to Anthony and greeting him. (Kate had noticed that for all of Penelope’s wallflower ways, that manner in which she, by preference or fate, tended to fade into the background, she had little trouble speaking with Anthony, intimidating as he was.)

“Wonderful to see you, Miss Featherington, as always,” he said, bowing in return. “How fortunate my wife is to have your company. I wonder if you would not mind allowing me to share in that pleasure as well?”

Had the situation been different, perhaps Kate would have sympathized with the way Penelope glanced hastily between the two of them, trying to conceal the vague panic on her face. She might have even found it amusing. As it was, she tried to communicate without words precisely how much she had been looking forward to some time without the presence of her intrusive husband.

“Well, this is meant to be the ladies’ library,” Penelope finally ventured and Kate fairly beamed.

Too soon, however. Anthony waved a hand. “Ah, do not concern yourself. I shall step out as you finish your browsing, and then we can all ride together in the park. After all, being in the barouche might offer a respite for my wife, given her injury. What a splendid idea, Miss Featherington.”

“Oh, but I—”

Penelope’s words seemed to dissolve in the air as Anthony gave another one of his charming smiles, bowed, and left, the door clicking quietly closed behind him.

“It is no matter,” Kate said before Penelope could add any sort of apology. “You did wonderfully - it is no fault of yours that he is so persistent.” She sighed. “The park will be lovely, I am sure. And I did manage to find a book before he arrived.” Turning her back on the onlookers still gawking at them, she added even more quietly, “Next time I shall simply neglect to share with him my plans for the day. He will not find me so easily then.”

Beginning to look just the slightest bit mischievous, Penelope asked, “Oh, but will he not simply begin to have you followed?”

Kate set her shoulders. “Then I shall at least lead him on a merry chase about London, and see how he enjoys that.”

“It was lovely of you to accompany me today, but may I say, Kate, how unkind you are to allow your sister to learn of your recent exploits only through Lady Whistledown.”

Edwina turned slowly on the spot to face Kate as the modiste pinned expertly at her hem. Her expression, once fully revealed, was far more playful than her disapproving tone had indicated. Kate wrinkled her nose at her, but her sister only laughed.

“The latest issue had much to say regarding the ongoing tension between yourself and your husband. The two of you are apparently engaged in ‘a battle of wits and wills.’”

“Wills and whims is perhaps more accurate.”

“Regardless, she seemed to find the affair most entertaining. Her description of the way you tried to ensure that he had an engagement for fencing with his brother while you paid calls, only to have him bring two brothers along to join you - the whole thing was quite amusing.” It truly was unfair how Edwina only looked lovelier when she put on that impish smile to tease Kate. “Considering how sharp her pen can be, it is remarkable how affectionate she remains toward the pair of you. I believe she is quite taken with you!”

“Yes, her devotion to the idea of our love match is quite remarkable.” Kate turned away to examine some ribbons, although she knew that it would not dissuade Edwina from continuing the conversation.

And indeed: “The idea of your love match?” She could practically hear the appearance of the frown. “Perhaps it was not immediate, but now...Kate, the two of you are quite mad for each other and I know you too well to be convinced otherwise.”

Kate thought of Anthony offering a dowry for Edwina, the comfort of his voice, his reliable presence during storms, the way he always made certain that his family and duties were entirely taken care of. She thought of him with his hair rumpled and boyish in the privacy of their home, how with a few words, a simple stroke of the hand, he could make her feel utterly beautiful, actually cherished in a way she never could have imagined for herself. She thought of all the times over the months of their marriage when they simply sat together, talking of events both large and inconsequential, how he listened to her opinions and how she liked to listen to his (even when they were quite clearly flawed), how she appreciated making him laugh such that the burden of his responsibilities weighed less if only for a short while. She pictured the glint in his eye as he tried to verbally best her and the one when he had decided that there had been enough words between them for the evening and he would prefer instead to rob her of the ability to speak.

She sighed. “You are not incorrect,” she said, twisting the end of a white satin ribbon so that it curled around the tip of her finger. “It is only that—I have found it surprisingly simple to be married to him, but there has been little chance for me to truly learn how to act in this new time of my life. I am a viscountess now, a wife, and I can scarcely settle into either role when I am constantly wondering when he will arrive to try to distract me from my tasks.”

“One might think that it would be easiest to learn how to be a wife when your husband is constantly beside you,” Edwina noted, although her voice was kind if not entirely filled with understanding. “However, of a more pressing nature: it seems that you need not wonder long today.”

Puzzled, Kate turned, the question of precisely what her sister was talking about already on her lips, but found that she did not need to give it voice. Through the large window in the front of the shop, it was easy to spot Anthony striding up the street, eyes fixed and grin wide.

“Allow me to guess,” Kate said as the door to the shop opened to admit him. She placed one hand on her hip, tapping her chin with the other in mock thought. “You bribed my maid into telling you where we had gone and then simply happened to be in the area?”

“Your mother told me where you were with no bribery involved,” he said cheerfully. “And it did in fact so happen that I too had business only on the next street. Now—” He glanced around at the modiste’s assistant, who had remained ducked into a curtsy at the sight of him. “Please fetch the viscountess a seat.”

“I have no need of a seat,” Kate protested.

“As we shall be going soon,” he nodded. “Very sensible of you. Once Edwina has finished, there is a new cake shop I am eager to try. I believe that they have a confection made with lemon syrup which will be much to your liking, Kate.”

His outward manner was one of simple, practiced courteousness. In reality, she knew that he was attempting once more to win his way, but she also saw the smile, which was honest and directed only at her.

“I suppose we may add such a venture to our plans,” she agreed with a sigh. If nothing else, she would at least get some cake from the arrangement.

“Not to credit myself exceedingly,” Colin said as he and Kate walked together from the drawing room at Bridgerton House. “But I daresay none of my siblings would have made quite so good a partner, so it really was a good showing on my part to introduce you to Anthony and facilitate your joining the family.” The two of them had been paired together during charades following supper, and it was no boast to say that they had absolutely trounced the others.

“Not to credit yourself exceedingly, of course,” Kate said dryly. “Particularly as that introduction was made more in the spirit of your own entertainment than it was in hopes of our future together.”

“Ah, Kate, what a blow.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

Her mouth twitched uncontrollably into a smile. “You do not deny it. I judge my aim to be true.”

“Well, I shall take the acclaim for your wedded bliss, regardless of my original intentions.”

“Yes,” she said. “Our bliss.” But her smile faded a bit and she knew that she saw.

“My brother continues to exasperate, I gather.”

“He would certainly say the same of you,” Kate said, trying to tease. It was true, but she also found that she did not particularly care for others speaking against her husband, even if they might be correct.

“Oh, he has called me much worse than exasperating. Indeed, I recall—”

“You recall what?”

Kate turned just in time to see Violet fall into step with them, smiling briefly at her daughter-in-law before she turned to her son and said keenly, “Well, what is it that you were speaking of?”

“Only the tendency of your eldest son to irritate those around him,” Colin replied smoothly. “Tell us, Mother, did his nature show while he was still in his swaddling clothes, or did it only reveal itself once he began speaking?”

“Oh, hush. He was perfect, as all my children were, you know that.” She swatted lightly at his arm, before dropping her voice and adding, “Although there are perhaps some stories I could tell…”

“I for one would enjoy hearing them,” Kate said.

“Of course you would.” Violet’s light tone shifted just the slightest bit as she added, “You know, I can certainly have a word with him if he truly is causing you trouble. A reminder of one of those stories might serve well as a warning.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder at where Anthony was coming down the hall behind them, listening intently to something that Gregory was saying even as Hyacinth bobbed at his elbow and tried to interrupt. He really would make a wonderful father someday; in certain ways, he had already been playing the part for years now. She sighed, her heart softening a bit once again, and turned back to her companions.

“Please, do not worry yourself. Truly, all is well between the two of us, and I can certainly manage the situation if need be.” She linked her arm through Violet’s, a devilish little smile touching at her lips. “However, knowing one or two of these famous stories of yours might not go amiss. They sound ever so fascinating, after all.”

“How kind of you to allow me the pleasure of a dance,” Anthony said as they waltzed together a week later at Lady Vincent’s. “I have noticed you are less than satisfied to see me of late.”

“I would be perfectly happy to see you if only you did not force me to do so quite as constantly,” Kate reminded him. “And if you continue chasing me down and making a nuisance of yourself, perhaps in future I shall dance with your brother instead. If he is not much more accomplished than you in that area, these days he at least strikes me as less vexatious.”

“Who, Benedict?” He snorted, looking to the edge of the floor where his brother was sipping extremely slowly from a glass of punch, likely to avoid his mother’s latest attempts at matchmaking. “You are misled.”

“A pity. Luckily, I was referring to Gregory.”

“I had not realized they allowed waltzing in the schoolroom.”

“Ah, well, I suppose I shall have to make do with you. Only pray remember even as I grant you that, it makes you not a jot less maddening.”

Her coiffeur for the evening involved cascading curls; they fluttered with his breath as he bent toward her and said very softly against her ear, “After this insufferable affair has come to its end and I have taken you home, I shall remind you precisely how I can madden you, and how very much you can enjoy it.”

The flush which crept from cheeks to throat to collarbone and down along her décolletage felt apparent even to her, and she could tell from the gleam in his eye that he well enjoyed watching it spread. That look of superiority could not stand, so she mastered herself, leaning in to give a whisper of her own. “Perhaps I shall deny you such an opportunity and madden you in my stead. Turnabout being fair play, after all.”

“I should like to see you try,” he said, voice still low. “It has not escaped my notice that I am not the only one in our marriage with...robust appetites.”

The music was coming to a close; there was only a moment more for them to speak this way. She had the chance for the last word, and she seized it.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton. You should have known better than to challenge me.”

Kate surveyed herself one final time with a surprising degree of satisfaction. Although Lady Bridgerton had insisted on expanding her wardrobe considerably before the wedding, there had been little opportunity to show off the modiste’s fine work; sitting in bed or around the house with her leg thrust awkwardly forward called more often for clothing in the category of old and comfortable rather than fashionable. Although Kate had never cared overmuch about how she dressed, wearing something new which suited her was a bit of a treat.

She was taking her enjoyment where she could these days. Anthony had become, if anything, more persistent in his intentions to find her wherever she went, leading her to make good on her threat not to allow him to pay her interest in a more private setting.

(Although she had obeyed only the letter rather than the spirit of his condition of faithfulness so long as she did not bar him from the bed, she had no worries on that score. He loved her, she knew that, and besides, between his usual responsibilities and his determination to chase her down at every opportunity during the day, and his attempts to seduce her all night, where would he find the time to stray?)

While her prohibition clearly seemed to have an effect on him, given the time he was investing in attempting to convince her to give over to him and the snappish manner he had taken on over the last several days when she had not, she was not finding the situation precisely easy either. As Anthony had pointed out, since their marriage, she had become accustomed to having certain needs met, and now that she was aware of those needs, it was most displeasing to have them remain unsatisfied.

“Excellent.” She jumped a bit at hearing Anthony’s voice in the doorway of their bedchamber, pretending to herself that it was merely because she had expected to have a bit more time to depart considering the appointments she knew he had scheduled today. It had nothing to do, of course, with the fact of him here in the flesh after she had been recalling that flesh so vividly to mind. “Are we going out, then?”

She ignored him, picking up the lead from the side table as she called Newton’s name sharply. Unfortunately, he simply continued to doze on the floor beside the bed. Holding back a sigh, she went over and attached him to it, which did manage to wake him. Instead of stretching and standing with any degree of dignity, however, he immediately leaped up, panting, and attempted to pull her from the room. It was only her preemptively planted feet which kept her from being towed gracelessly behind.

Although she had purposefully avoided eye contact with him, Anthony, still lounging in the doorway, said blithely, “I had been hoping to have an opportunity to take some air. A walk with the creature will be perfect.”

And that, for some reason, was it. Perhaps because it had been going on so long, or perhaps because she had spent the past several nights lying inches away but not touching him even as her fingers fairly itched to do so, or perhaps it was because Newton was behaving ridiculously, or because Anthony was insisting on joining them only to spite her (he did not even like her dog enough to use his name), or some combination of all of those factors and more, but her voice went quite deadly, coldly dignified, as she said, “My apologies, but you shall not be joining us, my lord. You shall stay here, and I will speak to you upon my return. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Luckily, his spine had gone straight with shock at hearing her tone, entirely devoid of teasing or requisite argument or begrudging capitulation; she did not think he would have moved over on his own enough for her to pass. As it was, even as she and Newton descended the stairs and departed the house, she nearly expected to be followed.

She did not expect the small pang which struck her when she realized she had not been. After all this time, she had managed to push him away and she was unsure what it might cost her.

Newton’s energy had flagged after less than an hour - the consequences of short legs, she supposed, and perhaps the interrupted nap - but she forced the two of them to stay out for a respectable interval. It had been hard-won, after all.

When she finally returned, she removed her bonnet, saw Newton settled and lapping noisily at a bowl of water, and spoke briefly to the butler and the housekeeper before she asked where her husband was and braced her feet toward his study.

She was somewhat surprised that he was still in the house, although it was entirely expected that he would withdraw from their bedroom rather than remaining there at her order like a caught child. The way he moved his pen across the page, all tightly wound fury, his choice not to look up although he surely heard her tread or her light knock - all just as she predicted. Even the way he spoke when he finally chose to wipe his pen, set his papers aside, and look at her, the ringing command of, “I will not be addressed in such a way, Kate,” was the voice of the viscount, precisely as she had known that it would be.

But she had not known she could respond similarly until she did. “Then do not require it of me, Anthony,” she said: the voice of the viscountess, although she had never before heard it from her own mouth.

He looked for a moment just as taken aback as she felt, the mask dropping briefly. It was enough to soften her, making her sigh and walk in toward him, closing the door behind herself. She leaned on the corner of his desk nearest him, hands clasped and resting against her skirts.

“Anthony,” she said, gazing down at him. “Anthony, this is becoming absurd. Will you please tell me what on earth you have been thinking of?”

He said nothing, mouth pressed mulishly inward, but he turned just the slightest bit toward her, angled his legs so that they were nearer hers, and she recognized the space he was opening. She reached down to take his hand, pressing it to her lips.

“Please.” Her words were becoming ever softer. “Please, I must know what is going through your mind. Will you tell me?”

Although she had heard him speak clearly mere moments before, when he finally began to talk, his voice was hoarse enough that he had to clear his throat once, twice, before he was finally able to be understood.

“It was your injury at first. Needing to stay close to you to reassure myself that you truly were well and would not be overcome, yes, but…” He inhaled slowly and deeply before he continued. “I am certain that no matter how long my life, I shall never forget the sight of you beneath that carriage, so still and silent.” His gaze met hers, and she saw the shine of tears there. “If such an accident could happen once, it could happen again, and I would—I could not have borne it had anything else occurred, but more than that, I could not take the chance that I might be away from you when it did. What if you needed me and I was off looking at accounts, or taking care of some foolish errand, or sitting about playing cards, or doing anything but all that I could to help you? So I made certain that I would be near you as often as I could.”

“Anthony—” she started, but now that he had begun speaking he could not seem to stop himself.

“I know the extreme unlikeliness of you breaking another limb while trying on gloves or sitting taking tea or what have you, but I could not take the chance. And beyond that...I know you have doubts regarding my foreshortened life. Nevertheless, your advice was to ensure that whenever my time comes, I would be without regret. And aside from neglecting the continued well-being of my family and tenants, the thing I would regret the most is not spending enough time with you.”

His hand, which lay so naturally in hers that she had nearly forgotten she was holding it, tightened as he faced her. “It took me too long to understand that I loved you, and longer still to realize that you have become my favorite person to spend time with. Having you at home for all of those months made it terribly easy for me to become accustomed to being around you for hours or days at a time, and even that might not have satisfied me. Truly, I am not certain that ninety years beside you would be enough.”

Emotion seemed, for a moment, to eclipse her ability to speak. She had the feeling that anyone might have reacted thus to such a declaration of love, but she was only just finding out what it was to be loved, that it was possible for her to be desired. She had spent her life up until the last months believing that if she did not remain a spinster altogether, her prospects were limited to those desperate for any sort of wife. Hearing these words from someone who loved her truly and especially was quite overwhelming.

Even knowing that it would not be truly comfortable for either of them, she could not help herself: she relinquished his hand and settled herself in his lap, pressing her forehead into the space between his jaw and throat as they both breathed together. He did not seem to mind the discomfort, holding her tightly.

When she had finally mastered herself, she said, still a bit shakily but making the best of it, “I must say that I don’t know that spending every moment of the next ninety years together is truly practical.”

She seemed to be able to nearly feel his answering smile. “Perhaps not, but one cannot make such a statement before making the attempt.” And then the smile was gone again from his voice, although she hoped not far. “I know that my mother wishes often that my father could be there to experience life beside her. For the larger moments, of course - when Hyacinth was born, and seeing my brothers off to school and to university, and for all the courtships and marriages and births to come - but for all the little in-betweens as well. I never—” He cleared his throat once again. “I do not want to reach the end of my life, whenever that may be, without knowing that I experienced you smiling at me, or handing me cups of tea just the way I like them, or telling me about whatever you have read lately absolutely as many times as I could.”

“What about hearing me play the flute as many times as you could?” she asked, holding back a sniffle. He really was quite sweet sometimes - as sweet as he was irritating, which meant abominably so.

Close as she was, she felt the wince even as he checked it a second later. “And hearing you play the flute, of course.”

“Then I shall be certain to play for you this very evening.” He did not respond but she resisted prodding him into agreement, choosing instead to say gently, “You know, I’m quite honored that you took my advice with such seriousness, but I wonder if you have forgotten the other part of it. Spending all this time worrying over regrets rather than settling into the wonder of each day...We are trying to build a life, and I want you to have a chance to revel in the array of it rather than attempting to hoard memories by volume."

“You think perhaps that I shall miss the forest for the trees? That in turning greedy for as many tiny moments as I can have, I shall forget to enjoy our life together as a whole?”

“Just so,” she said, relaxing further against him. "Not to mention the practicality of it all. Even if you were with me all day long from the time that you awoke - and I fear I would turn murderess in such a circumstance - but even so, there would be some second that your back was turned, some word or gesture that you missed. And besides, one day there might be more than us two in our family and I should hope that you would want to collect some fatherly experiences as well. Considering how much time you have spent only trying to follow me about…”

“How I should manage with a child or more I cannot think." Resting his cheek on the crown of her head, he sighed against her. "Must you be so impossibly sensible all the time?"

"Yes, I absolutely must," she said solemnly, although she was quite glad to hear his own good sense finally reasserting itself. "However, indulgent wife that I am, I shall make you a bargain: you might not be able to see me all the time, but we may arrange some—" She held up a finger for emphasis before he could get any ideas. "Some outings together during the day, and perhaps find some mutual activity to partake in. And we shall spend every evening that we are able together."

"I still will not have my fill of you."

"Perhaps. And perhaps I never would of you. But whether ten years or thirty or ninety together, we can make each day have been enough."

He groaned, leaning back as much as he was able. The chair at his desk truly was not intended to hold two fully grown adults. "Some healthy debate is one thing, but I dislike truly arguing with you: today was more than enough."

"Really?" She had begun tracing the buttons of his waistcoat, just lightly. "It is only afternoon. I can think of certain activities to occupy us for some time yet."

Before she truly registered the motion, she had been lifted into the air, his stride easy and purposeful as he carried her across the room.

"Have I told you lately how much I appreciate your mind? You really do have some marvelous ideas."

"And what if I had meant we should spend the rest of the day playing chess? Or visiting your mother?" she said, although she knew he could hear the joy in her voice.

"I could convince you otherwise," he said. "Believe me."

She did. Not that it would do to tell him, but she would not have taken very much convincing at all.

No one was overly surprised when Kate delivered a baby midway through the next year. In fact, if she heard Simon correctly as she passed his study at Hastings House before they announced her condition, there had been some playful questioning over whether Anthony understood the precise mechanics of things.

“Considering the amount of time you spend together, one would think the newest Bridgerton would have appeared already,” her brother-in-law had laughed.

If it had been one of his own brothers speaking, Kate suspected that the remark would have earned a swift smack upside the head, but as it was, her husband only replied, his voice like a hand on the hilt of a sword, “Remember that is my wife you are speaking of. And I’ll have you know that I could easily spend quite a bit more time with her, new Bridgerton or no.”

“Well.” Kate could not see past the cracked door into the room proper, but there was enough surprise in his voice to picture the Duke of Hastings with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Apparently that is your wife we are speaking of.”

And despite the foolish masculinity of their conversation, it had made her smile.

She smiled quite a lot these days. Not so much when Edmund was being born, painful as it was, but in the months afterward, even with the baby so very small and fretful, she could not help herself as they settled into being a family.

In the past, she had considered the idea of waking with a smile to be the stuff of daydreams and silly novels, but no longer, and as she typically greeted the day wrapped in her husband’s embrace, she felt that she could be forgiven for the sentimentality. They always managed to have at least a few moments speaking together in the mornings before Anthony had to be up for some appointment or Kate needed to be off to meet her mother or sister, or her mother- or sisters-in-law. (Sometimes it was more than a few moments filled not precisely with speaking, which Kate found to be a rather delightful way to start a day.)

Afternoons found them often apart, although not as often as most married couples: few wives had promises of the favor of their company for a midday walk solicited so frequently, and most husbands avoided tea with the ladies like the plague rather than arranging to be welcomed to it. Seeing him appear in the doorway was always cause for a smile - although she did admit that it turned devious on the occasions that he realized too late that she was entertaining certain members of the ton who he typically preferred to avoid. It always suited her to have an ally, and as he was the one insisting on being present, he would have to take the bad along with the good.

In the evenings, so long as they had no other engagements, they would sit together after eating and share tales of what they had seen and done while apart during the day. He was well known for a most impertinent and absolutely entertaining impersonation of Lord Liverpool, but refused to allow her to show off to his family her impressions of the ladies of society - apparently it would give Eloise and Hyacinth ideas.

As if those two could not come up with ideas perfectly well on their own, and would regardless of any influence, but she let him have his fantasies.

Eloise herself took a seat between Anthony and Kate one morning as some of the family sat together in the drawing room at Violet’s new home. Kate, although she was now capably assuming the role of viscountess in true, had been a bit relieved that when her mother-in-law left Bridgerton House, the center of the family had shifted with her; she did love them all, but she was fairly unaccustomed to people turning up and going in and out at all hours. Violet was not even currently at home - she had gone calling and left her children with the run of the place. Not, in Kate’s opinion, a completely sound decision, considering the particular children involved.

Eloise, for example, had not actually sat between her brother and sister-in-law, but had more accurately placed herself practically atop the two of them: had Anthony not begrudgingly shifted over, Kate might have had to balance a grown woman in her lap along with her baby son. Leaning over, Eloise cooed at Edmund, who only smacked his lips together and yawned before dozing off again.

“How lucky you are, Kate, that he is still so small and sweet.”

Kate recalled how three nights past he had kept the house up until the wee hours and nearly had the nurse in tears. “Oh, I believe he is on his company behavior for you.”

“There will come a time where he has no company behavior,” Eloise predicted, nodding sagely. “He will forget all of your good instruction and simply stomp about. Or perhaps mope. He might take after Benedict - he was a mopey sort.”

At the sound of his name, the brother in question looked over from where he had been gazing absently through the window and pulled a face at his sister, although he ended up grinning a bit when she gave one right back to him. Kate was glad to see it; he had been unusually quiet over the past month or two.

“Luckily,” Eloise continued, “he will be at school by then, for the most part, and scolding him will be someone else’s concern.” Turning toward Anthony, she asked, “I wonder, however, how you plan to keep yourself occupied for the foreseeable future.”

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony said, in that familiar ‘your mind is completely confounding, Eloise’ voice.

“Well, Kate will be spending the next years child-rearing, and running Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall, and playing hostess, and—” She waved a hand. “Viscountessing. So will you be taking up a hobby to occupy yourself until your children are grown? Fishing, perhaps, or gambling on horse races? Oh, I have it: you shall write poetry.”

Kate suppressed a snort while Anthony visibly gathered himself. “If you will recall,” he started with stiff patience, “I have my own responsibilities as well. And there is no reason for Kate to raise the children by herself - Mother and Father were partners in that as in everything, and we shall be as well.”

They had spoken of this before, but Kate could not help but bend her face toward the baby and pretend to adjust his cap. Each time she had heard him mention this, the delight of the thought nearly overwhelmed her.

When she looked up, Anthony was staring past Eloise and right at her. “And besides,” he said, barely for anyone but Kate. “I believe my time will be quite consumed otherwise, and well spent for it.”

“I would tend to concur,” she said, knowing that he was not referring to the music lessons he had recently begun, or even activities of a more personal sort. But before he could crow the victory for having gained her agreement, she smiled at him and waited, knowing that he would be unable to keep himself from smiling back.

[disastermages]

part 6 of the au where xiao xingchen raises wei wuxian

--

"You're planning on leaving us soon, aren't you?"

The question catches Xiao Xingchen off guard, nearly making him drop the firewood he'd been helping Wei Changze carry. He won't deny it now that he's been caught, though. "Am I that obvious?" His brother in law surprises him then, because he laughs and shakes his head.

"You and Cangse get the same look on your faces when you start to feel trapped somewhere." There's a note of impossible fondness in Wei Changze's voice that takes away the sting of guilt that had been growing inside Xiao Xingchen’s stomach, a smile own coming onto his face. "You should have seen the look she gave me when the doctor who delivered A-Ying told us we'd have to stay put for a few months."

"Shijie doesn't like to stay anywhere longer than a few weeks." Xiao Xingchen can imagine the way his sister had reacted to being tied down for the first time since she'd left the mountain, she must have jumped up the second the doctor had cleared her for travel.

They walk in silence for a few moments then, the both of them bending to pick up dry brain and pieces of kindling. "She can last a few months if she has someone uptight to play around with or a few rules to break." Wei Changze seems wrapped up in his own memory as he speaks now, not looking at Xiao Xingchen as he adjusts his grip on the firewood. "I think that's why she stayed in Gusu for the whole year. She could have left, but she had over two thousand rules and people like Lan Qiren and Yu Ziyuan to work through."

Xiao Xingchen nods as he listens, he'd heard his sister's versions of these stories. The way Cangse told them, she'd been trying to get her classmates to loosen up, convinced that she could make what she considered a stuffy place fun. He'd always wondered what those stories would sound like coming from other people.

Something Wei Changze had said caught him, though, and Xiao Xingchen frowns just a little. "Shijie told me she stayed because you were there."

"Oh." Is the only thing Wei Changze says when Xiao Xingchen looks back at him, color rising high on his cheeks as he snuck a glance back in the direction of their camp. Had he not known? Was Xiao Xingchen going to wake up and find Shuanghua glued shut because he'd told his sister's secret?

Cangse either wouldn't care about the slip up or Xiao Xingchen would pay dearly for it, only time would tell.

"I think we've got enough for tonight, don't you?" Wei Changze says suddenly, clearing his throat. "We should get back, it's my turn to put A-Ying to bed."

At the time, Wei Changze had already started walking back towards their camp, and Xiao Xingchen had had to jog just to keep up with him. They'd flirted all through dinner that night, Cangse grinning at him when he'd made the mistake of looking at them while Wei Changze had whispered in her ear.

Back then, Xiao Xingchen had reacted like a properly grossed out younger brother, but now, Xiao Xingchen smiles as he holds another one of Wei Ying’s letters in his hand.

Early on in his stay, Wei Ying had only been made to copy down all 3,500 Gusu Lan rules a few thousand times over, though, in his letters he swore it was going to make his hand fall off.

He and Song Lan had both flexed their hands in sympathy when Xiao Xingchen had read the letter aloud.

They had known that their nephew would spend his year either skirting the rules carefully or throw caution to the wind and do as he pleased, just like his mother had.

"From what I’ve heard about your sister, I'm surprised Grandmaster Lan didn't have a qi deviation on sight." Song Lan had said after they'd received Wei Ying’s first letter, the one where he'd openly and shamelessly admitted to breaking down the ward that protected the gates of Cloud Recesses.

A-Qing had looked up at the both of them curiously then, her head cocked to the side. They’d just started teaching her the basics of cultivation before Wei Ying had left for Gusu, they hadn’t even begun to tell her about the possibilities of qi deviations.

“Your A-Die is making a joke about whether or not Grandmaster Lan will be able to handle your brother.” Xiao Xingchen explained, having leaned forward to brush A-Qing’s hair out of her face, smiling back when she’d shown him an all too familiar pout.

“If Grandmaster Lan can’t handle Xian-gege, will he come back sooner? He’s already a good cultivator.” She’d been pulling at Song Lan’s sleeves as she asked, her pout dropping off into something sadder. It’s a dull pain in Xiao Xingchen’s heart. They all missed Wei Ying, but A-Qing had gotten quieter since he’d gone, clinging to either Song Lan or himself whenever she could, and writing her own letters to Wei Ying whenever she couldn’t.

“Your Xian-gege will be back soon enough, A-Qing.” Xiao Xingchen had pulled their daughter into his own lap then, rocking her slightly. He’d felt selfish for entertaining thoughts about Wei Ying coming back to them sooner rather than later, he’d even felt guilty enough to admit it to Song Lan late in their tent one night, the warm hand on his cheek offering him undeserved comfort.

Wanting his nephew back had felt easier after that, swallowing down the pangs of guilt that came as he wrote reply after reply had gotten easier too.

~

Wei Ying had been gone for all of five months when they’d been tracked down by a Jiang envoy, a sealed letter in his hand that he breathlessly held out to Xiao Xingchen.

“Apologies for the imposition, Daozhangs, but Sect Leader Jiang has requested Xiao Xingchen accompany him to Cloud Recesses for urgent business.”

Xiao Xingchen’s eyes widen and he barely keeps himself from snatching the letter away before he tears it open, his shoulders nearly up by his ears before they drop away again.

A snort escapes him before he can even begin to stop it.

“What is it?” Song Lan asks, his eyebrows knit together as he shifts A-Qing onto one hip and reaches for the letter with his other hand. Xiao Xingchen hands it over willingly, the smile still pulling at his lips as he watches the realization spread over his husband’s face while their daughter sounds out the words silently.

“Daozhang?” The Jiang disciple asks impatiently, bouncing on his heels in front of them as Xiao Xingchen tries, and fails at first, to pull himself together, his hand coming up in front of himself.

“We should depart immediately.” Xiao Xingchen clears his throat before he speaks, though a backwards glance at Song Lan nearly ruins the face he’d tried so hard to put back together, all because of a shared grin.

“A-Qing and I will meet you in Caiyi Town.” Song Lan says as Xiao Xingchen mounts Shuanghua, mischief still alight in his eyes and their fingers laced together for just a moment before Shuanghua lifts Xiao Xingchen into the air beside the Jiang disciple.

“What did Xian-gege do? Why did Baba have to leave?” A-Qing asks, holding the letter too close to her face as she tries to make out the hurried calligraphy.

“A-Xian played a very mean prank on some people, and Baba has to go help Sect Leader Jiang figure out what to do about it.” Song Lan says, turning and walking in the opposite direction that they’d been heading, a vague set of directions in his head. It would only take them a day and a half to reach Caiyi Town on foot.

By then, Song Lan will have thought of a way to explain how Wei Ying had caught and set almost two dozen frogs loose into the Jin disciples dormitories with the help of three other boys.

Jiang Fengmian had met Xiao Xingchen at the gates of Cloud Recesses with a smile meant to placate him the next morning, inclining his head respectfully as Xiao Xingchen did the same. The last time he’d heard from Jiang Fengmian had been right after Wei Ying and his friends had been punished without his permission for drinking. The only thing that had stopped Xiao Xingchen from taking his nephew back right then had been Wei Ying’s claims that he wasn’t even sore and that Xiao Xingchen didn’t need to worry.

He’d had to take Wei Ying’s word for it, even knowing about his nephew’s habit of downplaying his own injuries.

The two of them are led to Lan Qiren by one of the senior disciples, their pace slowing when Xiao Xingchen catches sight of his nephew kneeling in one of the gardens, though, once they’re close enough for Wei Ying to notice them, a smile is pulling at Xiao Xingchen’s lips. Ants were marching along the white rocks since Wei Ying had disturbed their nest.

“Uncle Xiao!” Wei Ying says, smiling widely and tossing the stick he’d been fidgeting with aside as he stands.

“Kneel.” Jiang Fengmian orders and Wei Ying flinches. The smile drops off of Xiao Xingchen’s face completely, his eyes narrowing as Shuanghua hums quietly in the back of his head.

“Do not speak to my nephew as if he is your disciple to punish.”

The words and his own tone catch Xiao Xingchen off guard, but he doesn’t take them back, his eyes firm as Jiang Fengmian blinks at him before deciding to give up the fight without even starting one.

“A-Ying, stay there and kneel for now, we’ll talk about this once I’m finished with Grandmaster Lan.” Compared to how he’d just spoken to Jiang Fengmian, Xiao Xingchen’s tone is immeasurably softer, a tighter version of the smile he’d had earlier coming to rest on his face as Wei Ying pouts, but does as he’s asked all the same.

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t look at Jiang Fengmian as he walks past him, following close behind the Lan disciple leading them.

“I must confess, Daozhang, I wasn’t aware Cangse Sanren had a younger brother, much less one with a reputation such as yours.” Lan Qiren says, smiling politely, but warily as Xiao Xingchen took his seat next to Jiang Fengmian.

“My sister was unaware that I would ever leave the mountain, Grandmaster Lan, I do not fault her for not telling others about me.” Xiao Xingchen had barely been 14 years old when Cangse left the mountain, he’d asked her not to go, but she’d smiled sadly and told him that she had to. She hadn’t been able to explain it and Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been able to understand it until he’d felt the same ache she’d described in his bones years after she’d gone.

Nodding stiffly, Lan Qiren clears his throat. “I understand that Sect Leader Jiang has informed you of Wei Wuxian’s actions.”

“Sect Leader Jiang informed me that my nephew, along with three others, pulled a prank.” Xiao Xingchen clarifies, because it’s true.

What Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin, Wen Qionglin, and Nie Huaisang had been harmless, Xiao Xingchen had had worse pranks played on him when he’d lived on the mountain. Xiao Xingchen had played worse pranks when he’d still lived on the mountain.

“Two dozen frogs released into my disciples’ dormitories in one night, Daozhang.” Sect Leader Jin says, the smile on his face making him look just as slimy as the rumors had said. Xiao Xingchen can barely keep his nose from scrunching up.

Inhaling deeply, Xiao Xingchen blinks and chooses his next few words carefully. “May I ask why? My nephew doesn’t often act without reason.” That part was less than true, there’d been many times he’d seen Wei Ying accidentally set fire to something because he had been trying to see what might happen if he took his tinkering to the next level.

Sect Leader Jin looks to Lan Qiren then, his fingers tapping against the table as Jiang Fengmian shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“The account given by Young Master Wei the following morning claims that Young Master Jin had insulted Lady Jiang and refused to apologize for it. I believe he said that the plan was something he and Young Master Jiang came up with, and the other two had only helped them catch the frogs.” Xiao Xingchen looks over as Lan Xichen speaks, the amusement badly hidden on his face as he reads off the scroll in front of him, glancing back at it for accuracy.

“Several of the guest disciples not included in the prank have confirmed Young Master Wei’s account, including my own brother.” Lan Xichen finishes, and Xiao Xingchen nearly sighs. That was very much like his nephew, jumping to someone else’s defense without a thought for the consequences.

Xiao Xingchen had raised him to look out for others, and he can’t bring himself to regret a second of it.

Lan Qiren speaks before anyone else to get the chance to, straightening his shoulders, “Young Master Jin has been directed to copy down Gusu Lan’s rules on the treatment of one’s partner two thousand times.”

Xiao Xingchen has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning at the way Jin Guangshan’s head snaps to look over at Lan Qiren. “Normally, Young Master Wei’s actions along with his prior punishments would call for immediate expulsion, but given his high cultivation level, the elders and myself have decided to allow him to remain on the condition that Daozhang can supply an adequate punishment.”

Nodding his head, Xiao Xingchen sits back with his hands on his knees. Wandering as they always had, Xiao Xingchen had had to be creative with the few punishments he’d been forced to give his nephew, most issues could be nipped at the heels with a lecture Wei Ying had to sit still for.

“Have the four of them clean all the dormitories from top to bottom, to Grandmaster Lan’s satisfaction.” Xiao Xingchen finally decides, watching Lan Qiren’s eyebrows lift just slightly, his hand reaching up to pull at his beard as he mulls it over.

After a few moments of silence, Lan Qiren nods his head. “An acceptable punishment given the circumstances.”

Xiao Xingchen feels himself relax and at the same time he feels a small part of himself mourn the chance he’d had to take his nephew back.

Jiang Fengmian speaks up then, asking Jin Guangshan’s permission to break the troth between their children, but tunes it out. It wasn’t his business, even if he thought Jiang Yanli was too kind for someone like the Jin heir. Wei Ying’s letters only called him a peacock when he was mentioned at all, Xiao Xingchen didn’t know the boy’s name.

He doesn’t notice that Lan Qiren has approached him until he’s almost right in front of him.

“Your nephew’s personality is much like his mother’s.” Lan Qiren says after Xiao Xingchen’s stood up to meet him. There’s something wistful in Lan Qiren’s eyes then, as if he was remembering something long gone by now.

Smiling fondly, Xiao Xingchen glances towards the door. “A-Ying has always been free spirited, I won’t deny him his nature.”

Lan Qiren seems to lose his train of thought then, a dry chuckle escaping him as the tension seeps out of his shoulders. “One would sooner divert a river. I’m still needed to mediate here, could I trouble Daozhang to deliver the news of punishment to Young Master Wei?”

Nodding his head once, Xiao Xingchen bows to Lan Qiren, blinking in surprise when it’s returned in kind. He says nothing as he closes the door behind him.

He can hear Wei Ying speaking with someone as he rounds the corner, his eyes landing on blindingly white robes when he looks up.

“You agreed with me Lan Zhan! The Peacock had it coming!”

“I agreed that Wei Ying was right to be angry.” The other boy, Lan Wangji, Xiao Xingchen figures, says plainly, standing on the deck and refusing to come down into the garden with Wei Ying. “I did not agree with Wei Ying’s decision to bring frogs into Cloud Recesses.”

Despite himself, Xiao Xingchen laughs, hiding his smile behind his sleeve. Lecturing his nephew and then telling him about his punishment would be easier if he weren’t laughing through it.

Both of their heads turn in his direction and Xiao Xingchen forces himself to straighten, bowing quickly to the boy in front of him.

“You must be Lan Wangji, my nephew speaks very highly of you.” Wei Ying spoke very highly of Lan Wangji now, after they’d been forced to spend so many hours together in the library, but Xiao Xingchen doesn’t feel the need to share that information.

Lan Wangji’s head turns towards Wei Ying then, a silent conversation happening between them and ending when Wei Ying shrugs his shoulders and grins. “Wei Ying did not tell me his uncle was Xiao Xingchen, the bright moon and gentle breeze.” Lan Wangji bows as he says it, throwing another glance over to Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying objects loudly, his voice bouncing off the walls as he steps up onto the deck and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve told you about both my uncles plenty of times!” Lan Wangji looks off to the side then, refusing to look at Wei Ying.

Xiao Xingchen can see the beginnings of another objection on his nephew’s face and he puts a hand on his shoulder to stop it, laughing when Wei Ying pouts at him. “If Second Young Master Lan could excuse us, my nephew and I have to discuss the conditions of his punishment.”

Something uncertain passes over Lan Wangji’s face then, but he doesn’t voice it, instead he bows quickly and walks away. His tightened grip on his sword doesn’t go unnoticed.

A beat of silence passes before the weight of it becomes too heavy for Wei Ying to bear, his face dropping as he asks, “I got expelled, didn’t I?”

“Almost.” Xiao Xingchen hums, brushing Wei Ying’s bangs out of his face. They were alone now, he could allow himself to fuss over his nephew just a little. “Grandmaster Lan and I were able to come to an agreement.”

“Like the agreements you and Uncle Song come up with?” There’s a grimace on his face then, and Xiao Xingchen almost snorts.

“Something much worse than those, dear nephew, but you’ll have your friends to help you.” When Wei Ying looks at him suspiciously, and this time Xiao Xingchen does laugh. “I’ll tell you while we walk to town, Uncle Song and A-Qing are waiting for us.”

~

A month after his uncle’s visit, Wei Ying had become maudlin, his eyes unfocused as he stared past Lan Qiren and through the window behind him. It had been weeks since he’d last disrupted class and days since he’d dared to argue or talk out of turn.

By any means, Lan Wangji should be overjoyed that Wei Ying was no longer bending over backwards for the sake of working his uncle up. He should be, but he isn’t.

He’d expected the behavior to last for a week at most, two, if Wei Ying had been personally scolded by the elders, but no such thing had happened. He’d been left with no choice but to ask.

“Is Wei Ying alright?” Lan Wangji’s voice is quiet and tight as he stands across from Jiang Yanli, his fingers twisted into his sleeves when she looks up at him and smiles.

“I think A-Xian only misses his home, Second Young Master Lan.” Jiang Yanli’s voice is gentle as she sets her book to the side, her hands folding into her lap politely.

“Wei Ying is a rogue cultivator,” Lan Wangji says, shaking his head and forcing himself to loosen his grip on Bichen, “he has no fixed address.”

Jiang Yanli smiles serenely at him then, “A-Xian’s home is with his uncles and his sister, when someone doesn’t have a fixed address, they carry home inside their hearts.” The words sound like something common to Jiang Yanli, but they make Lan Wangji’s eyes widen ever so slightly in understanding.

“Thank you, Lady Jiang.” Lan Wangji bows before he leaves, his eyes on the ground as he walks quickly.

He should have known that speaking to Jiang Yanli would be the better option, but he’d still sought Jiang Wanyin out first.

“Wei Wuxian always gets that look on his face whenever he thinks he’s been somewhere too long, he never stays in Lotus Pier for more than three weeks when he visits.” Jiang Wanyin had rolled his eyes as he spoke, as if he’d had the conversation a dozen times already.

They’d given Lan Wangji two different answers, but they’d both made sense, and that’s why Lan Wangji had jumped on the chance his brother had given him to go into town.

“Could I take one of the guest disciples with me?” He hadn’t looked at Lan Xichen has he’d asked, but Lan Wangji could still hear his brother chuckle at him.

“Of course you can, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji finds Wei Ying in his room, laying upside down on his bed with his head hanging over the edge.

“Have you come to scold me for sitting improperly, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, looking up at him without righting himself.

“Wei Ying is not sitting, he is laying.” Lan Wangji says, his eyes catching the way Wei Ying’s hair cascades downwards before spilling across the floor like ink. “There are no rules about laying improperly in one’s own bed.” None that Lan Wangji cared to remember at the moment anyway.

“My brother has asked me to go into Caiyi town for guqin strings, I came to ask if Wei Ying would like to come with me.” Lan Wangji says the words carefully, knowing very well that his brother could’ve and would’ve gone into town for the strings himself if Lan Wangji hadn’t needed something to hide his request underneath. Lan Xichen had done his brother a kindness by giving him an excuse.

For a moment, Wei Ying says nothing and only blinks at him, and Lan Wangji thinks he’s going to be turned down, but then Wei Ying rights himself on the bed and grins brilliantly at him as he stands, bathing Lan Wangji in all the warmth of the sun and beyond it.

After the last few weeks, seeing it again almost brings a smile of his own to Lan Wangji’s face.

Wei Ying chatters next to him constantly as they walk. Months ago, he’d accused Lan Wangji of ignoring him and he might’ve been right back then, but now Lan Wangji listens to every word, humming along quietly when it’s appropriate.

He’d thought of things to talk about while he’d walked to Wei Ying’s room, there’d been questions he’d planned to ask, but now those words are one overlarge tangle in his throat. There would be time to pick the knot apart, they still had a few miles to walk before they would reach the shop that carried the strings his brother preferred.

“Lan Zhan! You should try this!” Wei Ying’s voice drags Lan Wangji out of his thoughts as he turns his head, his eyes struggling to focus on the small cake Wei Ying had held up to his face. He should say no, he knows he should, but Wei Ying looks so excited that Lan Wangji can’t help but take a bite out of the cake he’d been offered.

If he’d been alone in his room with the memory, Lan Wangji might’ve waxed poetic abou Wei Ying feeding him from his hand, but instead, Lan Wangji chews thoughtfully. The cake is good, but the scent of it overpowers any other flavors it might’ve had.

“Lavender is very calming.” Lan Wangji says quietly, wishing he’d been able to say literally anything else.

“My Uncle Song’s cakes are better.” Wei Ying hums, taking a bite after Lan Wangji carefully. “If I knew you liked sweets, I would’ve saved you some.” The grin comes back to his face as he says it, and Lan Wangji feels his ears warm.

He didn’t like sweets, but he would eat them if Wei Ying brought them to him.

“Wei Ying is very fond of his uncles.” Lan Wangji hums, the taste of lavender still in his mouth as they start walking again.

Their shoulders brush and Lan Wangji allows himself to steal another look at Wei Ying, his eyes following Wei Ying’s finger as he brushes it over his nose three times. “My parents died when I was four, at first it was just me and Uncle Xiao, but then we met Uncle Song and they’ve both been like fathers to me.” Lan Wangji’s mouth falls open just slightly then, his grip on Bichen tightening as he takes in the faraway look on Wei Ying’s face.

“I did not mean to upset you.” Lan Wangji says thickly. His own mother was a touchy subject, he should have known better than to bring something like that up.

Whatever emotions Wei Ying had shown on his face part like clouds then, revealing a smile when he finally looks at Lan Wangji again, his hand wrapping tightly around Lan Wangji’s wrist and tugging insistently. “I’m not! Lan Zhan, I was only thinking about whether or not I should get a gift for A-Qing, will you help me look?”

It was a distraction if Lan Wangji had ever seen one, but he lets it pass, nodding his head rather than answering. Wei Ying’s smile had found his eyes easier and Lan Wangji could only feel his ears burn more in the face of it.

They return to Cloud Recesses an hour before curfew, Wei Ying was still talking beside him, but he was quieter now, their shoulders brushing every few steps as they came up the mountain.

As badly as he wants to walk with Wei Ying all the way to his room in the Jiang sect’s dormitories, he forces himself to say goodbye at the gate, making himself believe that he had to bring the guqin strings to Lan Xichen before he turned in for the night.

Wei Ying takes Lan Wangji’s wrist into his hand and squeezes it once before he nods and lets go, his fingertips trailing over the inside of Lan Wangji’s wrist, glancing up at Lan Wangji and smiling as he shuts the gate behind him.

Lan Wangji can still feel those fingers on his wrist when he finally turns and walks towards the Hanshi, his pace unhurried.

~

It was a rule that Xiao Xingchen didn’t read any letters from Wei Ying without Song Lan and A-Qing right next to him, but there had to be an exception for letters that came in the middle of the night.

Letters that came in the middle of the night weren’t good, letters that came in the middle of the night only spelled trouble.

“Uncle Xiao,” The letter started, and Xiao Xingchen drags his unbound hair out of his face, sitting up slowly so he didn’t wake his husband.

“Why would someone like another person? I mean “that” kind of like?”

[spookysmujer]

This I Promise You, O.Diaz

Prompt: The hardships of dating the leader of The Santos start to disappate. Oscar and Y/N reach the endgame.

warnings: tough love, fluff, happiness achieved 🥺

word count: 1.9k

A/N: I can’t say thank you enough for all the love shown to my few pieces of work I have posted. It’s truly so heartwarming to know you all are enjoying it. Here is my rendition of Spooky getting his happy ending! I guess you can sat this is boujee version of Nirvana! I love to read the post-Santos!Oscar so much ❤️ Stay tuned for PART 2 of His Girl, a Sad Eyes fic!

“Cesar, I’m going with you.”

His back to you and silence. And it’s eating away at you. Everything that has happened since Oscar’s alleged meeting with 19th street and Cuchillos has you walking on eggshells.

You weren’t suppose to know it about it though. Oscar had been very strict on keeping you at bay with anything gang related. There were some instances when you either figured it out or threatened it out of it Cesar and his friends. Just as you did this time. Cesar dropped the bomb on why you hadn’t seen Oscar in the last 3 days.

“You know I can’t let you. I-“ He says as he turns to look at you but the look on your face has so much emotion he can’t tell what he’s reading. Fear, pain, rage? Cesar looks away for a moment before stepping closer to you. “You need to stay here. I will handle it and find him. We can’t risk your life. On the chance I find my brother alive, I need you to be as well. Please.”

You finally let your guard drop. You strip any tough girl persona and let your shoulders slump and allow the flood of complete fear take over you. Oscar taught you to never let that happen, in front of friend or foe. Once someone can figure out how to get you there, they have control over you. Which is why you and Oscar rarely were sappy in love kind of people, you showed your emotions with each other subtlety. If you’re being honest that was the hardest part in the beginning of your relationship. You were a hopeless romantic who loved affection, the cliche dates and even PDA. But you learned that not everyone liked the same thing and found middle ground with the tough to love cholo.

After he and his friends figured out their next more, you sit in the motel room and daydream of a life outside of the Santos and away from Freeridge. What would would it be like? Where would you two go? What would a normal life of a person with two strikes be like? Could you two make it? But you stop thinking of all of possibilities when you remind yourself that Oscar might not even be alive. The door to the motel room opens and you stand quickly, your hand on the glock that rests the back of your waistband.

Sad Eyes steps in and closes the door behind him, a brown bag in hand, “Thought you should eat.”

You smile and push the glock back in, thanking him. He sits near you and hands you a burger. It’s silent for a moment before he speaks up.

“He’ll be alright. He always is.”

You can only nod in hope that he is right. There have been many runs that Oscar made that were dangerous but he never dealt with a high power like this before. Cuchillos has the power to snap her fingers and have heads rolling. She has an army and Oscar had planned to approach her own his own term. And here you are. Stuck and it sucks.

Sad eyes watches you as your emotions run wildly, he rubs your back in comfort and tells you to remain hopeful.

The day had gone by painstakingly slow as you wait to hear back from Cesar. You should have pushed harder to go with him, to ensure that HE would be okay as well. Who knows what he and his friends had stepped into. You quickly shake the thought from your head as you close in for the night. A chime from your phone gets your attention and you rush over to get it, it’s a text from Ruby’s abuelita. Strange. When you open it, your heart drops into your stomach.

He’s here, Mija. Banged up, but just fine.

All the built up worry physically leaves your body. And the tears begin to spill over. You didn’t suck it up because for the first time you feel like hope again. Oscar did it. He handled the business, he actually did it.

You head out to Ruby’s place, the house is dark but you figure it’s a ruse to avoid any prying eyes. Who knows what happens now with Cuchillos out. No democratic hold within the streets once the word gets out.

The night is eerily quiet as you trek to the back of the house. You enter slowly, Abuelita and Oscar look up to you. She pats his shoulder gently and leaves the room. You mouth a thank you to her approaching the mangled man.

You grab the nearby trash bin and start to clean the bloody gauzes that shroud the table. He sits in silence taking sips of the tequila bottle. It’s quiet for a while as you move around him to rid the house of the evidence he was here.

“Y/N,” Oscar says but you hold a finger up to him to silence him. Now that the worry has subsided, the anger has built up again. The rage of being uninformed, the fury of thinking he was dead with no real goodbye. “You know I couldn’t tell you.”

“No, you could have. You chose not to. You chose to leave me wondering if the next time I were to see you is drinking coffee at your place or in a grave. This time should have been a goddamn acceptance to your rule of keeping me out of it.”

His lips pressed in a thin line, his signature look with furrowed eyebrows, “And what? Have you involved and in the way?”

You step back and look at him, withholding yourself from yelling given the location. He takes another drink and holds back the discomfort in his face. “Cuchillos would have had you killed if you were in anyway involved with my shit. You know that.”

“You want to know what I know? This gang shit has been and will always be your undoing. Whether it’s bringing down enemies or making a drop for 10k. You think you can escape it with that mindset? You can’t protect everyone! And like your compas who have you back, like your brother and his friends who get involved? They risk their lives for you, just as I would. I would do it, no question. This time was different, this time you were stepping into a cage with a lioness and unarmed with no actual plan to take it down.”

“But I did.”

“And at what cost? The streets will be unhinged, the word gets out that the head of the Santos is out and you were the one that did it? It’s you with the step up or you get taken out for the spot.” You stand in front of him, for the first time he is looking up at you.

“I’m gonna make sure the streets are handled but I won’t be the one handling them. Once everything is settled, I’m out. I’m done. That was the point of this, of everything. No more control and order over me or anyone I care about.” He stands, wincing to himself to pull on his mangled tank.

You clench your fist for a moment before releasing it. He believes that things will work out and like most times you follow him, you allow the thought to ponder in your mind.

“I’ve lost people. Just like you. My dad, my brothers. Drive by, robbery,” You close your eyes for a brief moment,” and losing them to this lifestyle wrecked me for many years. It still does but the thought of it taking you? For some reason it hurts more. I was scared, Oscar. Me! Scared even after you taught me not to be. Because regardless of how fed up I get with your shit, I couldn’t stand the thought not waking up everyday to hear the compas run things by you or.. I’m locked in. You’ve got a damn hold on me and I don’t want out. Ever.”

Oscar lets his shoulders fall as he step to you and lets you wrap his arms around him. You carefully embrace and feel all the grooves of his body click with yours. His hand pulls your hair to fall down your back, he kisses the top of your head.

“We’ll get out. And I won’t need to hide anything from you anymore. We won’t have to look over our shoulders or even have raincheck on those stupid movie and dinner shit that you like. Okay? You and me. We’re getting out.” You look up to him and he kisses you passionately.

———two years later ———

“I asked you to not leave your pants laying on the floor! The hamper is right there.” You call out, using your foot to hike it up in the air catching it with your free hand. Laundry day, you would lie if you say that you totally hate it. But Oscar doesn’t help by leaving his clothes around.

You rest a basket of clothes on your hip and head out of the bathroom, “Did you hear me, mi amor?”

“3 works, thanks.” Oscar turns with a big smile on his face and mouths an apologize to you as he holds the house phone between his ear and shoulder.

“I’m sorry, the carne asada had me going. Let me,” He pulls the basket from you and leans forward for a kiss. You smile and press a lovingly kiss to his lips.

His curly, grown out hair looks wildly good on him. Even the grown out facial hair. He no longer sports the Spooky look, he is Oscar Diaz now. A proud homeowner in the outskirts of LA.

And you his fiancé, soon to be wife who could go to bed and expect him to be next you when you woke almost every morning. He tells you where is going all the time now and has relinquished his machismo. The actual Oscar has stepped in.

“Make sure it’s on extra rinse!” You call out as you huff and take a seat at the kitchen table. You can smell the meatloaf in the oven and boy does it smell heavenly. Well mostly anything he cooked had your knees weak.

It could also be the added fact that you are 7 months pregnant and have the urge to eat everything. Even things you didn’t like before getting knocked up. You rest your hand ontop of your bump and rub it contently.

Tears start to well up and you let them fall when Oscar rejoins you, he stops and looks to you. “¿Que? What’s the matter?”

You shake your head, “Nothing, nothings wrong. I’m happy. I’m just so happy.”

“I love you.I can’t wait to meet mi princesa. She’ll be beautiful like her mama. Smart like her papa. And won’t ever have to know life like we use to, this I promise you.” He rests his forehead to yours as he kneels in between your legs and hold you.

“And I love you.”

Every little missed opportunity in life has presented itself again. Neither of you let any of it slip away, not anymore. You express your love for one another every single day and soon that love will be here in the form a precious blessing.

[kjhmyg]

rough edges pt. 4 (m)

pairing: jungkook | (f) reader genre: college!au, badboy!jk warnings: mentions of drugs, implied sex word count: 11K

1 / 2 / 3 / Part 4 / 5

author’s note: no smut in this chapter folks, but i’m posting the next one real soon and you better hold on to your panties for that one. i wanted to show more of jungkook’s pov in this one. enjoy! 

Jungkook makes a bee line in the direction of the toilets. He turns the corner at the far end of the dance floor and enters a long corridor. He turns right in the direction of the men’s room, then stops halfway, leaning against the wall that separates the area from the dance floor. The music isn’t as loud here and he sighs, being able to hear his own thoughts for the first time tonight. A couple of other club goers walk past him. He waits for them to be out of sight before digging into the inner pocket of his jacket, taking out his phone. Swiping the screen, he finds multiple notifications of text messages from you. He’s smiling before he even opens them. 

They’re mostly pictures of you, back home, where you’re spending Christmas and New Year’s. You’ll only be back in two weeks and he’s counting down the days till then. When you mentioned going home for the holidays, he looked a little down. Not because he didn’t want you to be with family, but because he didn’t want to be without you. You had asked if he wanted to come home with you, but then you both decided it might be a little too early for that. Also, he’s deathly afraid of your dad after hearing how much of a perfectionist the man is. But not wanting him to feel lonely, you promised to send him photos whenever you can. 

“I’ll be fine.” He says, tightening the scarf wrapped around your neck. “Besides, Jimin and a few of the guys are gonna be around. I won’t be alone.”

“Alright.” You pout, asking for a kiss. “I’ll miss you.” 

The train horn sounds, signalling that it’s about to depart soon. Both of you look in the direction of the train where other commuters are hurrying aboard. “I’ll miss you too, baby. Take care and call me when you get there.”

“I will. I’ll send you lots of pics.” You nod, smiling. You were so excited to go back home but now, having to leave Jungkook behind has you questioning whether you really have to go. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

He chuckles, kissing your forehead. “I’ll try.”

"See you next year then." You say, lifting your bag over your shoulder. You're sad about having to leave him behind. "Merry Christmas. And happy new year." 

"Okay come on Santa, you're gonna miss your train if you don't get on now." 

You giggle as he directs you to the train car door. "One more thing." He tilts his head and grins when you stop yourself from getting on the train, and turn to face him instead. You're so stubborn.

"What is it?" 

"I love you." 

You're still so shy about saying it so openly. He grabs your face and kisses you deeply. "I love you too." 

The platform guard starts whistling and you hurry up the train. Jungkook bites his lip at how cute you are, then there’s a sinking feeling in his heart. He doesn’t like seeing you go, even if it’s just for a couple of weeks. But he’d rather not show it to you, because he knows you’d feel bad about it. You rush to your seat and wave to him from the window. He watches from the platform as your train departs, and until he can no longer see you. 

He scrolls through the photos you send, noting the family members and friends in some of them but honestly, his eyes only look for you. The scrolling stops when he lands on a photo of you in a dressing room, trying on a light blue dress. It hugs your figure nicely. Too nicely. You definitely know what you’re doing sending him that photo. Oh the things he would do to you if you were standing in front of him right now in that dress. 

He closes the chat and clicks on a private folder in his gallery. His tongue comes out to wet his lips and he gulps, suddenly feeling very thirsty as he looks through the photos and videos he has of you. Specifically, a video you sent last night, where you’re laying in bed in your nightgown. Only showing from the neck down at first, the camera then pans to where you’re lifting the fabric up to reveal your bare body underneath. Your hands trace your skin from the top of your chest all the way down, and your fingers find their way to your⎯

“Damn. Does she have a sister?”

Jungkook jolts from his position, pressing the phone to his chest. The other guy chuckles, crossing his arms and leans against the wall, facing Jungkook.

“What the fuck. “ Jungkook breathes, positive he’s just had a heart attack. He looks to the side where Suga stands all smug. “Are you trying to kill me? How long have you been standing here?”

“Long enough.” He winks and Jungkook groans. Jungkook locks his phone and shoves it safely back into the pocket it came from. Suga continues to observe Jungkook. How he gets all clammy when the topic of you comes up. Jungkook should know better than to try and keep secrets from him. “You know you shouldn’t have your personal phone on during work. Much less use it.”

“I know I just...nevermind.” 

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” He smiles his signature gummy smile. “Y/N?” 

Jungkook scoffs way too quickly, only confirming Suga’s theory. He raises a brow at Jungkook, who shakes his head and walks off, back towards the main area of the club. He rests against the bar and orders an iced tea without thinking much of it. When Suga joins him, he frowns. “What now?” Jungkook asks, noticing his expression.

“Iced tea?” Suga nods towards the drink and Jungkook blinks, looking at it. “Why are you drinking iced tea?” 

Jungkook can’t admit it’s because iced tea is your regular order when you eat out, and it kind of grew on him. He pushes the drink away. “It’s...refreshing?” 

Suga laughs, then motions for Jungkook to follow him. They walk past the crowd of people, towards the back exit where security guards the door; one on the inside and one outside. They exchange nods, stepping out into the back alley to find a quiet space, away from listening ears. They lean against a fence wall separating the club ground from a more sophisticated version next door; a gentlemen’s club which they’ve only been to once. It’s a huge contrast. Same type of business just different target audience. 

“I’m not stupid.” Suga takes a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up. “She’s more than a friend, isn’t she?” 

“Who?” 

“Drop the act.” He rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. 

Jungkook drops his head into his hands and groans. Amused by his younger brother, Suga chuckles, ruffling Jungkook’s hair. It’s been a while since he’s seen Jungkook this vulnerable and he’s enjoying it.

It’s been almost two months since the night Suga and you met. Although Jungkook tried his best to redirect the conversation every time a question was sent your way, at the very least, you had given Suga your name. Would’ve been impolite not to, anyway. Suga put two and two together. It became all the more apparent to him why he’s been seeing less and less of Jungkook at work, why he never stays longer than he needs to anymore, and why the car always smells like sex.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are. I’m disappointed.” 

Jungkook sighs, then looks at him as he takes a slow, long draw of the cigarette. "Sorry. I know I shouldn't get myself attached to a girl especiall⎯"

"No, not that." Suga smiles. He lowers his voice, "We work with drugs, among other things, so keeping secrets should be your forte. Yet, I find you in a corner, jacking off to a video of your girl." 

"I was not⎯" Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was just...relieving some tension."

“Right.” Suga throws his half-used cigarette on the ground and steps on it. He crosses his arms across his chest and expression turns serious. Jungkook knows that look. It means he’s thinking over something important. He waits patiently for the older guy to speak. “Listen. Don’t think the others haven’t noticed how distant you’ve been. They don’t know about Y/N yet. You’ve got to be more careful.

“I”ve been covering for you. I told Captain and Lieutenant that your university’s keeping a close eye on you. So you had to lay low. I’m just telling you this so our stories check out. The boss is here. Big boss. And he’s called for us to see him in a bit.”

“What, why? Shit, are we in trouble? This is all my fault.” Jungkook fidgets in his spot. The boss seldom makes an appearance. There’s usually an underboss who passes the necessary information to their captain or lieutenant, who then passes it to them. 

"Calm down." Suga frowns. "Since when do you get nervous? You better get yourself together. He's expecting us right about now. Come on, Ace." 

Jungkook straightens himself up. Suga walks ahead, back to the club and before Jungkook trails behind, he’s grabbing for his phone again. But this time to switch it off. He doesn’t usually have it on, but he misses you. And waiting till after every shift to be able to see you is torture. Now that it’s off, he can focus. He has to. Suga stops by the door, waiting for him to catch up and they head up to the second floor of the building, down narrow corridors before reaching a room guarded by two of their colleagues. They greet each other and one of the two opens the door for them. 

It leads them to a room with a gambling table in the middle. Everyone at the table is serious, silently observing their opponents. Inside, there are four other guards, one by the door, one by the table, and two standing in front of a second door to the back of the room where they’re headed. All of them armed. The two walk quietly across the room and wait as the guards make their presence known to the boss. It’s a makeshift office, where Mr. Kim waits for them. They enter once they hear him call out for them. 

“Sit down.” He says as soon as they step inside. The lieutenant, who was sitting on the other side of the table across from Kim, gets up and smiles at them as he takes his leave. At the very least they know it won’t be bad news if he’s not leaving the room looking sullen. They take their seats and wait for instructions. 

Contrary to what anyone would expect the boss to look like, he has a kind face. Like someone you’d see in the supermarket grocery shopping for his kids, which makes it easy to get comfortable. That is, until he gets angry. Neither of them have experienced it personally, yet. And they hope not to after all they’ve heard about him. He’s not the boss for nothing. 

He gets right down to business with the boys, sliding a tablet across the desk towards them. On the screen, there’s a picture of a vacated building. It looks similar to the one they’re in. 

“This is…?” Suga asks.

“A new location.” Kim replies, a smile on his face. “Abandoned a few years ago after it caught fire. Pretty damaged but we’ve got men working on it already. It’ll look good when it’s done in about a month.” 

Jungkook notices the address at the bottom of the photo. He thinks about it for a while before realising he knows where this is. “Wait. This is in our district.”

Kim smiles and nods. “It is.” 

Jungkook glances at Suga and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Suga sends him a look that tells him to keep cool. “Sir, is there a reason you’re setting up the new location in my area? I mean, based on my numbers, I think I’ve been pretty consistent in my dealings⎯”

“Calm down.” He chuckles, leaning back into his chair. “Always so serious. No wonder you’re so good at what you do. But no, we’re expanding because business is good. Especially in your district. Stressed college kids who need help winding down, looking for some fun. We’re just bringing the party to them. It’ll make things easier for you.” 

“But boss, the cops are gonna be all over the place.” Suga says. “We definitely can’t move as freely there, like we do here. One slip up and it’s over.” 

“So don’t slip up.” He says casually, then laughs. “But ah, you’re right. So maybe until we’re clear, we don’t move the drugs there. Let the cops see it’s just another nightclub. Till then, you can continue pushing the drugs as you normally do. Then once we’re clear, we open up business. I’m sure you can figure out the timing, I’ll leave that to you.”

The boys nod. Jungkook sees the appeal, it’ll definitely be easier to have a base in the district itself. It would save him and Suga a lot of time than having to come down all the way to this club to get supplies. 

“So who’s the lead on this? The Captain?” Suga asks.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Kim says. “I’m leaving it to you. Both of you will oversee the entire movement there.”

“Us?” Jungkook and Suga speak in unison. 

“Yup.” He nods, taking back the tablet. “I’ve been hearing good things about the two of you. If you’re as good as they say, then maybe...you don’t need to answer to anyone anymore.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” 

“You two will manage the place. And…” Kim smiles, taking out a black notebook from his drawer and starts to write. “At the same time, you’ll be training some new members. This is supposed to be the Lieutenant’s job but I want you two to have a go at it. The new soldiers will then take over your place in a few years because by then, after Ace is done with college or whatever, you won’t be pushers anymore. I’ll want you on the team. Maybe a captain. Or co-captains. We’ll see.” 

Suga and Jungkook look at each other, then back at Kim. There's an obvious glee on Suga’s part. In this business, the only way is up. They don’t take their instructions straight from Kim, there’s usually a captain giving them the orders. But now they’re getting a chance to be captains themselves. Jungkook remains poker-faced as he usually does. On the inside though, he’s a little conflicted. Suga’s happy, is he supposed to be happy too? He thinks about you. Would you be happy? 

The boss clears his throat, snapping Jungkook out of his thoughts. He reaches under the desk for a small black briefcase and places it nicely on the table. It unlocks with a click and inside, stacks of money which he’s grabbing by the bundle. He starts counting and places five grand in hundred dollar bills on the table, in front of each boy. The two of them remain seated, looking at the money in front of them. Jungkook looks to Suga quizzically.

“Sir, what’s this for?” Suga asks, attempting to sound casual. “We got our pay from the captain two weeks ago.”

"Just a little Christmas gift from me." He winks.

Again, Jungkook waits for Suga to move before he does, only reaches for the money when the older boy does. He folds the stack in half and keeps it safe in his jacket pocket. 

“One more thing.” Kim says just as they start to get up. “I need you to track someone down.” He slides the tablet back to them, this time there’s a photo of a man on the screen. “This is Jax. He owes me money and unfortunately, he’s been avoiding us and our men. There’s word he’s hiding out in your district. See if you can find him and bring him to me.”

They nod and excuse themselves. But before Jungkook steps out of the room, the old man calls out to him again. “I hear you’re having some trouble with your school. Did someone rat you out?”

“Oh.” Jungkook gulps. “No, nothing like that. Just word of mouth maybe. But don’t worry, I’ve been keeping a low profile.” 

“Good. If anyone gives you trouble, just take them out.” He says casually, not even looking at Jungkook anymore. “And if you need any backup, let your captain know. Tell him you’ve got orders from me.” 

“Right. I will.” Jungkook nods with a half-smile. “Thanks boss.” 

Jungkook speed walks out the room, past the gambling table and finds Suga by the door, making small talk with the guards. They walk back down and Jungkook checks the time; a little after three in the morning. The club closes in a few hours, staying open just a little longer during the holidays. The crowd is already starting to wind down, though the music keeps blasting. 

“What’s the matter? Bedtime already?” Suga chuckles, speaking over the music. 

“I’m tired.” Jungkook says. “Aren’t you going home?” 

“Home?” Suga scoffs. “Haven’t had that in a long time.” 

Jungkook looks away, sharing the same thought. He just hadn’t realised how he’s started calling the frat house and you, as home. He fist bumps the older boy, then takes his leave, riding home in the early morning on his bike.

𝄖

“Are you awake?” You ask over the phone. It’s early, but the only time you’re able to have a decent conversation with Jungkook, in the privacy of your room and away from the prying ears of your grandmother.

“Now I am.” He hums, still sleepy. He stirred from his sleep as his ringtone goes off from your call, about to switch it off, until he sees your name across the display. “It’s okay, I wanted to hear your voice anyway.” 

“I miss you.” You say.

“I miss you too.” He smiles, leaning against the wooden headboard. It presses against his back uncomfortably but it doesn’t bother him, not when he’s busy pressing the phone closer to his ear, listening to the sound of you giggling on the other end. “Feels weird when you’re not just a drive away.”

“Well, now you know how I feel when you disappear for days on end.”

“Hey,” he pouts, “I thought we’re way past that.” 

“I know,” you laugh, “I’m just messing with you.” 

Jungkook laughs along dryly. It brings him back to what happened at work and what Mr. Kim said. He wonders what you would say if he tells you he’s about to get a promotion. It’s weird; before you, he wouldn’t think twice about anything related to work. Probably would be ecstatic at the thought of moving up the ranks. But now, he wonders if that’s really what he wants.

As much as he hates to admit it, what Hoseok said before is probably true; you’re not going to want to deal with this forever. And you’re definitely not worth losing. You sense that something’s bothering him and after a long pause, you ask him, “Everything alright?” 

“Everything is...normal.” He nods, even though you can’t see him. You only hum in response, hoping he’ll tell you when he’s ready. “I’ll tell you when you’re back.” 

“Alright.” You say. “Hey, can we facetime?” 

“Sure.”

You click on the option and wait for the screen display. When he finally comes on screen, you almost throw your phone across the room. How does he manage to look that good when he just woke up? Ridiculous. But he’s thinking the same about you, the way you’re glowing, like an actual angel. “God I miss your face.” He breathes.

“Life is so unfair.” You pout and he’s confused. “You wake up looking like that? Come on.”

“Are you kidding me?” He scoffs. “Have you seen the way you wake up from a nap with drool on your face? I can’t beat that.”  

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, not wanting anyone to hear you. “That was one time! And I was really tired.”

You both start laughing and it slowly dies down to you just staring at each other. Jungkook runs a hand into his hair and leans his head against the wall, watching you like he’s trying to memorise everything. You heat up a little under his stare. How do the butterflies still not go away after so long? “Hey Jungkook, merry christmas.”

“Oh, right. Merry Christmas to you too.” Jungkook smiles fondly, trying to ignore the squeezing sensation in his chest. It’s sad, but he thinks this might be the first time someone’s wished him a merry christmas. He’s not usually around for the holidays, so it’s not anyone’s fault. And it’s not like they’re gonna start singing carols and having christmas dinners at the club. Then he clears his throat, interrupting his own thoughts. “So, you must be pretty busy there?” 

“Kind of.” You shrug. “Just decorating the house, getting ready for the Christmas dinner tonight. My dad’s pretty stressed about that. He likes everything to be perfect.”

“I can tell.” He agrees and you tilt your head asking how. “Cause you’re perfect.” 

You can’t help the smile that forces its way onto your face, looking down to avoid eye contact out of embarrassment. There’s nothing that Jungkook likes more than to watch you react so adorably to his words. He could watch you forever, but then you hear footsteps moving about outside and your expression changes. You haven’t told anyone about Jungkook yet, so you’d rather they not hear you. You lower your voice when you speak, “I think I have to go now.” 

“Oh, alright.” Jungkook nods, though he looks obviously disappointed from such a short time with you. “Call me when you can.” 

“I will. Bye Jungkook.” 

You hang up quickly after he says goodbye. It leaves him feeling empty, suddenly aware of how quiet it is. There’s less of the usual ruckus around the house with most of the boys having gone home. He then wonders about how different it would be to spend Christmas with you, and your family. A sudden longing overcomes him. 

To shake it off, he decides to get up, rolling off the bed and tossing his phone back on the mattress. He’s headed for the kitchen but before going down the steps, he realises the soft music coming from Jimin’s room. He walks over and finds Jimin on his bed, singing along to the songs. His knocks on the door, startling Jimin, who smiles wide when he sees Jungkook. It’s not always that the younger guy comes to him, it’s usually the other way around. “Hey stranger.” 

“Hey.” Jungkook steps inside slowly, hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Merry christmas.”

Jimin doesn’t hide the surprise on his face. Is this what they call a Christmas miracle? “Merry Christmas to you too, buddy.” From the look on his face, Jimin thinks Jungkook might have more to say, so he pats the area on the bed next to him, but Jungkook shakes his head instead.

“Um, do you want to maybe have lunch later? Or dinner? Only if you want to.” Jungkook clears his throat, trying to ignore the awkward atmosphere. 

Jimin grins up at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes and turns to leave. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll drive.”

𝄖

It’s not a fancy dinner, and Jimin is fine with burgers and a shake. Jungkook had actually asked Jimin out for help on picking out a gift for you. He wanted a second opinion, since he’s never done this before and Jimin was kind enough not to give him too much shit for it. Of course, it’s not Jimin if he doesn’t drive Jungkook crazy. They spent an hour bickering because Jimin insisted on dropping by planned parenthood to get himself tested. 

“Why do you need to do this today?!” Jungkook yells in the car. 

“Because we’re already out, Jungkook!” Jimin yells back and Jungkook groans. “I need to get myself tested ASAP!”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Then I wouldn’t have asked you out!” 

“Because then you wouldn’t have asked me out!” Jimin can’t help but to let out a chuckle. “And I needed a ride.” 

“You are the most annoying person⎯”

“Oh!!! You can get yourself tested too! We can go in together!” 

“That’s it, I’m crashing this car.”

For the sake of his own sanity, Jungkook went along with him. But it was only after Jungkook threatened to tell Taehyung that Jimin had a crush on him the first time they met, that Jimin finally shut up. Only to open his mouth ten minutes later to suggest Jungkook give his test results to you as a Christmas present.

“Oh yeah,” Jimin groans, mouth full, “this is definitely better than microwaved mac and cheese. Thanks for bringing me out of the house.”

Jungkook stays quiet, eating his own burger and downing sips of soda. It’s only after a while that he speaks. “I spoke to Y/N, about her and Hoseok.” 

“And she said they’re just friends, didn’t she?” Jimin asks, nonchalant. Jungkook nods, not meeting his eyes. “Told you there’s nothing to be worried about.” 

“I guess.” He shrugs. “Can I...ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” 

Jungkook sets his burger down and takes a long sip of his drink. Jimin eyes him curiously as he does. Everything about today has been strange. Jungkook almost never spends time with anyone outside of school, and even when he does, it wouldn’t be him that makes the first move. “How do I know if whatever choice I’m making is the right one?” Jungkook continues when Jimin doesn’t respond, “Like if you have to choose between two things, how do I know if I’m choosing the right one? Assuming you can’t have both.” 

“First of all, I can’t believe you’re coming to me for advice.” Jimin says cheerfully, then gets serious again. “But okay, that’s too vague Jungkook. It really depends on the context.”

Jungkook thinks hard. He doesn’t want to let Jimin know what this is really all about. “Okay so, if you’ve always liked dogs...but now you realise cats are cute too.”

“O-kay...and you can’t have both a cat and a dog?” 

“Um,” he thinks, getting confused himself, “maybe the cat’s allergic to the dog?”

“So you want the cat?” 

“Yes. But she- it’s allergic to dogs. And I have a dog.” 

Jimin blinks. “Yeah, I can’t work with this. Do you want my help or not?”

“Okay okay,” Jungkook whines and Jimin almost snorts at his tone if not for how serious he looks, “what if all you’ve known is one thing but now you don’t think you want that anymore. You want to move in a different direction. How do I know if I’m going in the right direction?”

“You’ll just have to take the risk. Won’t know if you don’t go for it.” 

“What if I regret it?” 

Jimin stares at him for a while. “You might have regrets either way. That’s life. If you choose that one thing, you might regret not going for the other. If you choose the other, you might regret it because you miss how it was before.” 

“So, there is no right choice?”

“That depends on you. Which option would your future self’s happiness outweigh the regret? That’s the choice you go for.”

“Happiness…” Jungkook mutters to himself. What makes him happy? He wonders. But all he sees is an image of you in his head. Jimin snaps his fingers to bring him back. 

“Okay? Just do what makes you happy.” 

Jungkook nods, silently reaching for his burger again. He continues eating as if nothing happened and so does Jimin. They sit in silence for a while, save for the sound of their chewing. Then Jungkook says ever so softly, “Thanks hyung.”

𝄖

“Are you sure he’s here?” Suga sighs, asking the kid walking ahead of him. He sends a disapproving look Jungkook’s way. “The last couple of places you’ve sent us were dead leads.” 

“I think so. I...I⎯I think he’s here.” He stutters and Jungkook has to hold Suga back before the new recruit pisses himself under his death stare. It’s dark and dirty, an old apartment building with floors that feel like it might collapse at any moment with every step they take. 

Christmas and the conversation with Jimin pushed to the back of his mind, Jungkook’s back at work, trudging through this place, looking for a wanted man. Next to him, Suga’s seething, “I swear if we don’t get this guy, you⎯” He stops when Jungkook grabs his sleeve, stopping them in their tracks. 

“Will you shut up?” Jungkook growls. “You’re scaring him.” 

Suga looks offended. “I’m scaring him? Gee, sorry mom, I won’t do it again. Why don’t you ground me while you’re at it!” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jungkook hisses. 

Suga sighs again, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. The other guy moves ahead when Jungkook nods for him to go on. He continues to search for the right apartment, one which he was told the guy Kim is looking for can be found at. “I’m really tired and this kid is getting on my nerves.” He says, gesturing towards the guy. 

“Give him a break. He’s new, it’s not his fault he got assigned to this.” Jungkook whispers. “We’re supposed to train him, remember?” 

“I don’t give a f⎯”

“Uh...guys…” The newbie calls out. They turn in his direction and walk towards him, standing in front of an apartment. Door ajar, and a mess on the inside. The window is open, probably from leaving in a rush. Another dead end.

“Fuck.” Suga grunts, storming off in the direction they came from.

Jungkook sighs and turns to the boy. “You can go. Call me when you have new information. But check your sources first.” 

He looks at Jungkook sheepishly and mutters a soft apology as Jungkook walks away, catching up to Suga who’s already standing by the car in the back alley. “He sucks.”

“Yeah well, he’s new. And young. Give him a break.” Jungkook stares Suga down. The car door clicks as Jungkook unlocks it and they slide in.

"Hey, we started young too." Suga mumbles, then smiles as he thinks about the past. "Remember? You had such innocent eyes, fooled everyone into giving us intel for Kim. Gave us everything we need. And look at where we are now." 

"Where is that?" 

"What d'you mean?" Suga cocks a brow at Jungkook, frowns when he doesn't reply. "Did something happen?" 

"No, nothing." Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. The car's engine revs up as he turns the key on the ignition. "Just really tired." 

"Hang in there." Suga says softly, looking out the window. "If we do well managing the new club, we'll move up the ranks as captains. We won't have to do stupid runs like this anymore. I mean it's fun but it'll be even more fun getting soldiers to do the dirty work for you. Am I right?" 

"What if I don't want all that?" Jungkook asks carefully and quietly, immediately regretting it after. They've known each other for a long time; they're practically brothers. Suga knows Jungkook like the back of his hand, or at least he thinks he did. Recently though, Jungkook's been hard to read and acting differently. Suga doesn't like that.

"What the hell are you saying?" His voice is low but Jungkook can sense the frustration in it. "You don't want to be captain? Dude, what is wrong with you, you're acting so weird. Seriously. The normal you would've beaten the crap out of that newbie for leading us to three dead ends! But no, you're all soft now. Talking about giving him a chance and shit…and now you don’t even want to be captain?" 

“I⎯” Jungkook opens his mouth but can’t find the right words. He backtracks instead. “Nevermind. Just forget I said anything.”

Jungkook starts driving, heading back to Suga’s apartment to drop him off. After a long silence, Suga speaks again. “I don’t know what’s going on but I hope you don’t make any stupid decisions. Take some time to think things through. Then tell me if you’re in or out.”

Jungkook nodded even though he stopped paying attention halfway. Once he’s dropped Suga off, Jungkook takes a long drive through the night with the windows down. But the cool night breeze does little to clear his mind, so he decides to head to the gym instead. 

While he managed to get through his usual workout routine, it didn’t help him forget about what happened earlier either. He didn’t even realise a guy at the reception was speaking to him until they called out his name a couple of times. They wished him a happy new year and Jungkook returned the greeting, collecting his belongings from them. 

It’s three days into the new year so things are slowly going back to normal; students returning from their hometown. He was bummed when he got called into work on new years’ eve and had to miss out on a facetime session with you that night like he had planned. He hasn’t been home since and he sighs, feeling exhausted. Thinking about you, he takes out his personal phone and tries to switch it on, but the screen remains black. The battery’s dead. Perfect. 

He heads back to the house, driving past other greek houses hosting parties. The house is dark when he walks through the front door, save for the light coming from the television in the living room. Reruns of bad movies are playing on the television and a few guys are on the couch with drinks in their hands. Jimin, amongst them, turns his head when he notices Jungkook, then smiles. He’s drunk. He raises a finger at Jungkook and opens his mouth, then his brows crease and mouth drops into a frown. “Have to tell you something...can’t remember…”

“Cool. Goodnight.” Jungkook heads for his room, leaving him confused.

Jungkook runs up the steps but stops just as he reaches the top. There’s light coming from under his door. Had he left his lamp on before leaving a few days ago? He doesn’t think so. He walks up to it slowly and presses his ear to the door. It’s quiet. Gently, he turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. 

Are his eyes playing tricks on him? He looks around the room and sees luggage placed by the bed. They’re yours. And then there’s you, sleeping peacefully in his bed. He closes the door gently and walks over to you, kneeling by the side of the bed. It’s the first time he’s seen you in weeks. Without realising, he cups the side of your face with his palm. Your stir at his touch and he almost regrets it, if not for the cute way you pout and eyes flutter open.

“Jungkook?” You mumble, placing your hand on his.

“Hey baby.” He smiles, moving in to kiss your forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I came back early.” You say softly. “Hana’s not home yet and I thought I’d come stay with you. I called you, but I couldn’t get through. So I came here.”

Jungkook curses himself for not charging his phone earlier. “And they just let you in?” He asks, keeping in mind the house rules in which non-members aren’t allowed in unless you’re with a member.

“I flirted with Jimin and he let me in.” 

“Sounds about right.” He chuckles. While he’d love to slide into bed with you right now, he figures he should clean up first. So he removes his hand from you and gets up, but you grab onto his arm to stop him. 

“Where are you going?” 

You’re so tired that you drift in and out of sleep. He finds it so endearing. He places your hand back gently and pulls up the covers. “I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll join you in a bit.” You hum in response. 

Jungkook’s shower is a quick one. The warm water from the shower doesn’t match up to having you snuggle up against him. He finishes quickly, dries his hair in the bathroom and practically runs back into the room, slipping under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you. You roll over when you feel him pulling you close, resting your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the sweet smell of his soap. 

Your legs tangle into each other’s and your arm wraps loosely around his waist as his hand rubs your back in gentle movements. For the first time in three weeks, he feels relaxed, falling asleep almost immediately.

𝄖

One day, Jungkook’s waking up in the dark of Suga’s apartment, where the paint is peeling off and it’s vacant save for the couch he sleeps on. The next, he finds himself waking up to something dreamlike; his room in a nice orange glow from the morning sun streaming in, his legs tangled into yours, and you softly tracing your finger over his skin.

A smile forms on his face and he groans sleepily. Even though he’s tired, he chooses to wake up. You feel his hand slide down your back, down to your butt where he rubs circles. You look up and see him smiling, eyes still closed. You scoot up and give him a peck on the lips and get an approving hum from him. Once you’re free from his hold, you roll off the bed to wash up. He watches under sleepy eyes as you undress, stealing glances at him when you slip out of your nightwear. 

“Missed you so much.” 

You turn, smiling. “I missed you too.” 

“Not you,” Jungkook replies, “her.”

You turn, looking around the room. He must be sleep-talking, you think. “What? Who?”

He grins, then throws the blanket off himself to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out for you. He pulls you in and turns you around so your back faces him. His hands up both sides of your butt. “Her.”

You erupt into a fit of giggles, playfully hitting him with a pillow and he holds his hands up to defend himself. “You’re so stupid.” You laugh, ending up on top of him when he grabs you. “Missed you.”

You stare at each other for some time and he traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You can’t help but to lean in for a kiss. It starts off as gentle pecks, until he places his hand on the back of your neck and slips his tongue into the kiss. You’ve both missed this. It seems silly when he thinks about it since it’s only been a few weeks. Makes him feel guilty too; all the time he’s gone off the grid and you’ve had to put up with it.

“Mmkay, I’m gonna wash up.” You pull away too quickly but he doesn’t stop you, and his eyes don’t leave you, or your butt, as you put his oversized shirt on and head for the bathroom with your clothes and toiletries.

It’s a short shower, since you figure the rest of the guys might wake up soon. Most of them are back by now, though probably not up yet. So when you hear a knock on the bathroom door, you think it may be Jungkook. Thankfully, you had enough sense not to open the door without getting dressed first.

“Hoseok. Hi.” You try not to sound awkward. By the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting you either. “Sorry if I was taking too long...shower..” You gesture vaguely and he nods. 

He must have just gotten home, still dressed nicely but with bags under his eyes. You grab your bag of toiletries and towel before slipping out the door and heading straight for Jungkook’s room. But a hand on your elbow stops you before you can get to safety. You jump a little, surprised at the contact. “Sorry,” he says, “um, so how was your break?”

You look in the direction of Jungkook’s closed door just a few steps away, then back at Hoseok. “Good. It was nice.” You nod and he nods, shoving his hands in the pocket of his jeans. You turn to the door again. And back at Hoseok. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with talking to Hoseok. Afterall, you’ve made it clear to Jungkook that it’s just a normal friendship. But you don’t want him catching on to what really happened between Hoseok and you that evening. 

“Can we talk? Maybe in my room, just in case he hears us.” Hoseok speaks softly and gestures to his room at the end of the hallway, in the opposite direction of Jungkook’s. 

“Okay but make it quick.” You say, following behind. 

You leave the door slightly ajar, so you can keep an eye on Jungkook’s door. “Look,” Hoseok starts, “I wanted to say sorry. I shouldn’t have told you about...everything.”

You cock a brow at him. “Why?”

“I know it got you all stressed out.” He sighs. “And I feel bad.”

“I’m fine now.” It’s not entirely true but it’s not a lie either. You’re still worried about the entire thing. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll figure out how to help Jungkook.”

Hoseok looks at you in surprise. “You will? So you’re going through with my plan?”

“Not really. I’m figuring things out as I go.” 

“Huh.” He blinks. “So you don’t have a plan.”

“I’m trying okay!” You hiss. “Give me some time. You can’t expect him to quit his job and turn into a missionary all in one day!”

He breaks into a tiny smile, “Your plan is to turn him into a missionary?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Your cheeks heat up when he holds back a laugh. Sounds from outside distract you and you look through the gap to see Jimin, entering Jungkook’s room. He makes a ruckus and you hear Jungkook telling him to get out. “Anyway, I’ll update you once I get any info. Anything from your friend?” 

“No.” Hoseok shakes his head, brows furrowed and looking worried. “He’s been really quiet as of late. Bit weird.” 

“Maybe he’s busy.” You shrug and Hoseok chews on his bottom lip. "Okay I should go." 

"Right right, you should." Hoseok rubs the side of his neck as he manages a small smile. He's acting weird. You quickly slip out of his room and head straight for Jungkook’s. Only to bump straight into Jimin who’s exiting the room in a hurry. 

“Y/N!” He breathes, hiding behind you. “Your boyfriend’s trying to kill me.”

“I’m sure he has a good reason for it.” You giggle, just as the door swings open and Jungkook sees you, then turns his attention to Jimin and lunges forward. Jimin screams but Jungkook’s only reaching for you to get you away from him. 

“Stay away, demon.” Jungkook hisses.

“What is going on….” You mutter to yourself while you hang the towel behind the door. 

They get into a scuffle as Jimin tries to enter the room again and Jungkook holds him back. It barely takes any effort on Jungkook’s part and all you hear is Jimin grunting. You sit on the bed, waiting for it to end. 

“I just⎯ need,” Jimin huffs, then kicks Jungkook in the nuts. Jungkook bends over and falls on his knees, groaning. “I’m sorry! I need to talk to Y/N!” Jimin says, taking the chance to jump over Jungkook and step inside, bending over to catch his breath.

“Oh my god,” You gasp, hands to your mouth. “Jungkook are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s immortal.” Jimin says, stopping you from going to Jungkook. He sits you down again and pulls out a piece of folded paper from his back pocket. “I need you to look at this.” He hands you the paper and stands in front of you with hands on his hips. 

“Um? An STD test?” You ask. It’s his and you’re confused as to why he’s handing you this.

“Now that you’ve seen this and know that I’m clean, would you say it increases the chances of you going out and or, having sex with me?”

Jungkook gets up just then and goes straight for Jimin, tackling him to the ground. “How dare you.” He grunts, pinning Jimin’s arm behind his back. “She’s my girlfriend!”

“You’re hurting me!” Jimin cries. “Let me go, I’m not interested in Y/N!” 

Jungkook releases his hold, reluctantly, when you tell him to. He stands with his arms folded, watching Jimin carefully. Jimin breathes hard, holding on to his right shoulder. He glares at Jungkook from the floor and punches his thigh, only to hurt his own hand doing so. He screams when Jungkook fakes a kick.

“What are you up to?” You ask Jimin, sighing.

“I’m not trying to sleep with you.” Jimin huffs. “I just wanted to know if it’s a yes or a no.”

“Well, I honestly don’t know. It depends.” 

Jimin gasps. “On what? I don’t usually get rejected…”

“Usually?” You eye him curiously and he avoids your stare. “Ah...I see what’s happening.”

Jimin furrows his brows at you. You only smile back knowingly. It’s amusing to think about how he’s older than you but behaves so childlike sometimes. 

“You asked a girl out and she rejected you.”

He remains stoic for a beat until he can’t take the silence. “Fine, yes! She mentioned something about me being a fuckboy. So rude.” 

“She’s not wrong.” Jungkook mutters, going to sit next to you. 

“So anyway, I took the test to show her that I’m safe.” Jimin says, pouting. “But she still won’t go out with me.” 

“Maybe it’s not about that?” You shrug. “She probably just doesn’t like you. No offence.”

“That’s crazy, I’m so lovable.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Jungkook comments.

“Look, just leave her alone.” You say. “If she likes you, you’ll know.”

“But I need to know why she doesn’t like me...” He whines and you chuckle. 

“Why does it matter if she likes you or not?” You ask, eyeing him again. He fidgets under your stare. “Unless...you like her?”

“I don’t!” Jimin jumps to his feet. “I just don't understand why she would not want to hang out with me.”

You watch him with a knowing look. Jungkook furrows his brows and puts a hand up to him, “Wait. Did you take this test and force me to get it done with you, then show it to Y/N so you can get some advice, all for this girl? Wow.”

“Shut up! I hate you guys!” Jimin yells, storming off. 

Jungkook smiles, “Yeah he’s definitely into her. I know from experience.” He leans in to capture your lips in a kiss, one which you smile into. Your hands move down his bare front, teasingly tracing his abs. “Any plans today?” He asks breathily when he pulls away.

“Hm...I have a lot to unpack. Let’s go back to my place.” You smile, noting the way he pouts. “You can help me.”

“I have a better idea.” He smirks, hand around your waist as he moves back and pulls you on top of him. “We can stay in bed.” 

“Sure I guess.” You shrug. “But you know Hana’s not around right? So we have the entire place to ourselves, to do whatever we want.” You whisper the last part against his lips and he knows you’re just trying to lure him in, but he’s so weak when you use that voice on him. 

“I’ll go get ready.”

𝄖

“Why are we here again?” 

You turn and stare quizzically at your boyfriend, whose sulky face leaves you in giggles. There’s nothing more fun than watching a grumpy guy pushing a cart through the supermarket. “To get groceries, duh.”

“Why?” He frowns. 

“What do you mean why? Cause we need food. You know, to survive.” You tilt your head. “Have you never gone grocery shopping?”

“No.” He shakes his head. 

“What? Then who gets the groceries at the house?”

“I don’t know.” He blinks. “Probably everyone else.” 

“God, you are such a horrible housemate.” You mutter and he doesn’t react, suddenly wondering, who does get the groceries? 

You hear him grumble once he realises you’ve walked ahead, followed by the sound of the wheels of the cart against the floor, speeding up to catch up with you. You don’t actually need the cart, you just wanted to make him push one. It’s amusing, especially since he looks so cute doing it. 

You breeze through the supermarket, already knowing what to get since Hana and you follow a strict list of things to get. Only the necessities, to save cost. It’s only when you reach the jam and spreads aisle that you get stuck. “Hm...chunky or creamy?” You think to yourself. 

Jungkook waits patiently as you decide. He’s standing next to you with the cart in between. He stares as you tilt your head and pout a litte, then smiles at how adorable you look even when you’re just standing there. He pulls out his phone and snaps a shot of you. Just as he shoves the phone back in his pocket, you turn to him. “Chunky? Or Creamy?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs.

“Because we have a budget.” You shrug.

He sighs, then leaves his position from behind the cart to stand next to you. He looks at your two options. "Chunky."

"Hm," you pause, "I think I'll get creamy." 

Jungkook stares at you, puzzled as you reach for the jar and move around him to place it in the cart. You smile up at him innocently and get on your toes to give him a kiss. Maybe he'll forgive you this time. When you see a tiny smile forming, you skip away down the aisle and turn into the next one.  

It suddenly hits Jungkook. Would this be how it's like to have a normal life with you? Whatever normal is. He's still in the same spot thinking about how domestic this all seems, when he sees you return with a stack of tissue boxes, a grin on your face when you see him. 

"You alright?" You ask when he doesn't move or say anything. 

He manages a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking." 

"About what?" 

"You." He says almost immediately. 

A shy smile makes its way onto your face and you bury your face into his chest. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. When you pull away, you stare at him for a while, giving him a once-over. 

"I love your outfit today." 

"You chose my outfit today…" He rolls his eyes but there's still a smile on his face. 

You decided on a white sweater with blue jeans for him. He looks less intimidating and absolutely adorable when he's not decked in all black or his favourite leather jacket. It's not like you went out of your way, he already had these items sitting in his closet. 

"Come on," he says, pushing the cart and holding your hand at the same time, "let's finish up and go home." 

"Okay. Actually I think we're done." 

"No, we need one more thing." You look at the items in the cart and tally them against your list. Everything's there. Still, you follow behind as Jungkook speeds up and finally stops in front of⎯ "We need lube." He says way too loudly.

You shush and cover his mouth, looking around. "What are you so loud for?" You whisper. 

He chuckles and kisses the palm of your hand. Then he reaches for a bottle of lube, reading its description. "Look, this one has a warming effect." 

A man walks past just then and you hide your face in embarrassment. Jungkook tries to hide his smile but fails. He's obviously enjoying this. He grabs your waist and presses you against his side. "Should we get this?" He asks, winking. 

You snatch the bottle from his hand and return it to its place on the shelf, grabbing another instead. "I think," you bring your face closer to his and lick your lips, "I'd enjoy the cooling lube more. Should we try this?" You ask in a sultry voice. And he knows you're only doing this to get back at him but that voice is really getting him going. He gulps, then takes the bottle from you and places it in the cart. 

You walk ahead when he doesn't say anything else, thinking you've won. 

"Babe! They have flavoured lube!" He yells.

𝄖

"Why are your clothes so big?" He asks, unfolding a black sweater that looks oddly familiar and holds it up in front of him. When he lowers it, you're staring at him with an amused look on your face.

"That's yours, Kookie." You say. "I borrowed it."

"Oh." He scratches his head and tosses it into the pile of laundry before him, focusing on unpacking the other clothes. "Kookie?" 

You smile, separating the colours from the whites. "I like it. It's cute." 

"Just don't call me that in front of the guys, okay?" He stops unfolding. "Especially Suga."

"No promises." You shrug. "Speaking of Suga, how is he?"

Jungkook pauses for a while, then says, "He's good. Why?" 

"Just wondering." You still remember the way Jungkook held you that night you met Suga. As if he was afraid of you getting any closer to him. Even during the cab ride home, he intertwines your arms and interlaced your fingers as if you would slip away if he wasn’t holding on to you.

"I have to tell you something about Suga." He says seriously. You watch him carefully and gesture for him to go on. "It concerns you. But you have to promise you won't get mad." 

"You're making me nervous. What is it?" 

"You know that video you sent me?" He starts, eyes suddenly glazed over. "The one where you're in bed, looking like a whole meal, and you start touching yourself⎯" 

"Jungkook, focus" 

"Sorry. You're so hot. Anyway," he smiles sheepishly, "Suga may have caught me watching that video…and he may have seen everything."

"What?!" You shriek.

"You promised you wouldn't be mad!" 

"I did not!" You throw yourself at him, shoving him to the floor and placing your hands around his neck in a choke. If anything, he’s enjoying it. "You're dead to me." 

He grins, hands sliding up your thighs wrapped around his middle. "I didn't know you were into this." 

"Ugh!" You throw your hands up in the air. "That video was for your eyes only!" 

"I know!" Jungkook sighs. "But I didn't know Suga was behind me. I'm sorry baby. I didn't do it on purpose." 

You whine and let yourself drop onto him. "Were you at work? Why were you watching it at work?" 

"Because. I was at work when I saw those photos you sent me. And I missed you." 

His voice is soft and gentle. Your heart swells a little knowing he thought about you while you were away. Even at work. You lift your head up to kiss him, sighing into the kiss. "Don't do it again." You say, pointing a finger at him and he nods. You draw circles on his chest for a while, "What did Suga think about the video?" 

Jungkook looks at you, amused. "He thinks you're hot." A tiny satisfied smile forms on your lips and he chuckles. "And he's right. I've missed being with you." 

His hands roam your body, from your thighs to your chest. "Me too." You bite his bottom lip, sucking on it then press your mouth to his in a wet kiss. He moans into it, hands already digging into the flesh of your skin. Until you push yourself off him. "But as punishment, we’re not having sex tonight." 

"What, no!" He whines, shooting up from his position. You almost fall over if not for him supporting your back. "Baby…don’t do this." 

You giggle when he pouts, pinching both sides of his cheeks. He tucks a curl behind your ear and you flinch slightly when it tickles your neck. The silence that follows as you stare into each other’s eyes causes the beating of your heart to intensify. And you can feel, from your bodies pressed together, that his is the same. He’s smiling sweetly up at you, a look you wish to engrave into your mind forever. When you think about the past, you’d never imagine you’d find yourself sharing moments like this with Jungkook. He always seemed so distant and cold. Yes he was playful and still is, but you never thought you’d be able to have a relationship with him like one you have now. 

The kiss that follows is slow and gentle. His lips move so carefully against yours, as if they’re savouring every touch. There’s longing in his movements and his touch, hands holding you gently over your clothes, but you can tell he’s holding himself back.  

"I almost forgot, I have something for you." He says.

“You got me a gift?” You ask, eyes lighting up and he nods.

You move to sit on the bed as he leaves the room momentarily, fetching it from his bag outside. You're excited, legs shaking as you sit at the foot of the bed, until he's walking back into the room, hands behind his back. You let out a tiny squeal when he joins you. "What is it?" 

You can barely contain it any longer, chewing on your bottom lip and eyes trained on his hands. He chuckles when you stare at him and raise your eyebrows, gesturing him to reveal it. 

"I wanted to get you something nice." He says. Your eyes go wide when you see a box in his hands. There's no mistaking what it is, a jewellery box. "I don't know if this is your style but I hope you like it…" 

You're silent when he opens the box, revealing a lovely rose gold necklace with a sparkling red heart-shaped pendant. You're more surprised than anything. You hadn't expected him to get you such a fancy gift. Maybe it isn't a big deal to him, but it is to you. He watches you, waiting for a reaction and worries when you don't give him one. 

"Do you not like it? I can return it⎯"

"Jungkook," you say softly and gently run a finger over the necklace, "you got this for me? This is beautiful." 

"Really?" Jungkook says, relieved. "I couldn't decide on a design, so I made Jimin come along to help me." 

He removes the necklace from its box and unhooks the clasp. You turn, lifting your hair for him to put it around you. It settles nicely around your neck and you run to the mirror to have a look. It's so pretty. And probably expensive. "This must've been expensive." You look at him from the mirror. 

"Don't worry about it." He reaches for your hand when you walk back towards him. "I got a bonus at work. I was actually going to get you matching earrings. But Jimin said you would think it's too much, so I didn't. If you do want it though⎯" 

You shut him up with a kiss. "This is more than enough, Jungkook. I love it. Thank you." 

"I'm glad." He grins wide, his tiny dimple showing. 

"I actually have something for you too." You say, walking over to your luggage. You unzip a compartment and with your back to him, pull out his gift and slip it under your shirt. He watches you curiously when you walk back. 

"Great hiding place." He chuckles.

"Shut up. Listen." You sigh. "I should've gone first. My present looks really lame now compared to yours." 

"I love it already. What is it?" He grabs at your hands under the shirt and you resist, laughing. 

"Okay, okay!" You hesitate for a moment, then remove the present from underneath your shirt, holding it out in front of you. "Ta-da! I made you a sweater." 

"You made me this sweater?" He takes it from you, running his hand over the soft material. It's a blue knitted sweater that you spent hours on back home. 

"Yeah. I knitted it when I was home." You bite your lip as he looks at it in silence. "Do you like it? I'm sorry it's so lame. It's such a grandma present. As in literally my grandmother helped me with it. Maybe I should've gotten you a watch or something. It's not too late, I could run some errands and get you⎯" 

"Y/N," he says, voice low and gentle, "this is the best thing anyone has ever given me." You would think he's exaggerating except for the lack of mischief in his eyes. Only sincerity. And if you're not seeing things, maybe there's a gloss in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No one's ever made me anything before." He says softly, looking at the sweater again.

It drops to his lap when he swoops in to cup your face and kiss you. Starts off gently, but he picks up the pace. You return the kiss, trying to keep up with him. He gets up from his position to lift you up, moving further up the bed. 

He wastes no time in removing the bottom half of your clothes, throwing your pants and panties on the floor, then spreading your legs so he can take a good look. "I know you said no sex tonight. So it's okay if I don't get my orgasm but I'm about to make sure you get yours." He kisses your inner thighs, then moves dangerously close to your cunt. Before doing anything else, he moves back up to kiss you on the lips. "Do you want me to stop?" 

You shake your head and he smirks down at you before going back to his position, making himself comfortable on the bed. He shifts your thighs over his shoulder and you tremble with anticipation. "Ready for part two of your present, baby?" 

𝄖

Jungkook breathes out a sigh looking at the notifications on his phone. Missed calls and messages, mostly from Suga. He dials Suga's number and braces for the yelling he's about to receive. 

"Where the fuck are you?" Suga seethes on the other end as soon as the line clicks. Jungkook winces. His calls and messages had come in while he was in bed with you earlier and no way was he about to answer the calls while he was making you scream his name in bed. “Why didn’t you pick up my calls?”

“Relax.” Jungkook says calmly. “I was busy. What’s up?”

“Busy?” Suga scoffs. An uncomfortable silence follows before Suga speaks again. “Don’t tell me, you’re with that girl again, aren’t you?”

The lack of response on Jungkook’s part confirms it and Suga groans. He can’t understand it; the vast difference he sees in Jungkook in the last couple of months blows his mind. He’s known Jungkook since they were kids. But now, Suga feels like he doesn’t even know him, not since you came into the picture. 

“Does it matter?” Jungkook sighs. He knows it does. “What happened?”

“We got a lead and needed backup.” Suga says. 

“Did you get him?” 

“What do you think?” Suga yells over the phone. “He got away, you fucking idiot.” 

“I said I was busy, didn’t I?” Jungkook fumes, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t wake you.

“Dude, what is up with you?” Suga’s voice is calm now. It’s even more worrying when he’s not yelling. “Last night, you were talking about not wanting to be captain. Is this what it’s all about? Y/N? What exactly are you trying to do here? Get married to that bitch, have kids and live a normal life? Do you seriously think that’s gonna happen?”

“Don’t. Call her. A bitch.” Jungkook clenches his teeth, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. But he knows whatever Suga’s implying is true. Being part of the organisation they’re in makes things complicated. 

“You think you can just waltz out of this establishment without any harm coming your way? You know too much already. And you don’t think that if the guys find out about your girl, they’re gonna come after her? It’s just not realistic Jungkook.”

He steps to the door of your room, watch as you sleep soundly, blankets covering your form. 

“Look I seriously don’t give a fuck about you having a girlfriend.” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “But I’ve seen her. She’s not about this life, is she? If you think she can handle it, then hey by all means you can do whatever you want. But you can’t even pick up my calls when I need you, you’re missing work...this isn’t going to work out. You need to make a choice. Are you in, or out?” 

Jungkook steps away from the door and over to the small window in the living room, overlooking the street below. He thinks, silence on both ends of the call. 

You stir from your sleep just then, feeling warm. The heater must be up too high. You roll over to switch it off, then realise the empty spot where Jungkook's supposed to be. There's no light from under the toilet door, so you look for him outside. And you find him, standing by the window, a hand on the window pane with his forehead against it, and the other holding a phone to his ear. 

“I’ll do it.” You hear him say. You were about to go up to him, but curiosity gets the better of you and you wait for him to finish. “You can trust me.” 

It’s all he says before he exchanges greetings with the other person on the line and hangs up the phone. He sighs, dropping his arm to the side, forehead still leaning on the window pane. You go up to him before he turns and finds you standing there. He jolts in surprise when you walk up to him and wrap your warm arms around his waist. His skin feels cool, probably from standing at the window, which means he must have been there for a while. 

“What are you doing?” You mumble with your cheek pressing against his back.

“Baby, why are you up?” He asks softly, turning around to hold you. “I had to take a call. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh.” You say, looking up at him sleepily. “Do you have to go? Don’t go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere baby.” He slides the window down and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him. He carries you back into bed and crawls in right beside you. “I’m gonna stay right here. With you.”

"Good." You hum, settling nicely in his arms. 

"I love you." He whispers into the night and it's the last thing you hear before you're drifting away into a deep sleep where you dream of him. 

[salt-warrior]

Here’s another bonus chapter for The Time it Takes to Fall! This little snippet was in the original Epilogue. When I wrote this story I wrote the Prologue, then the outline, and then this scene! Of course it was different then, seeing how I changed the ending, but it’s the general gist of that scene that always stared at me from the bottom of my google doc. Anyhow, I couldn’t not publish it, so here it is! I hope you enjoy it...

Goodbye ”You’re leaving?” Thorne asked, squinting up at Cinder through whatever haze of alcohol hindered his vision. “But why? Where are you going?”

Cinder let out a sigh, slumping her body forward, resting her hands on Thorne’s desk so she was eye-level with him. She’d been dreading telling Thorne that she was leaving, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because she was the only person who actually worked in this garage, or because she was the one who most often covered for him when he was too drunk to function. Or maybe it was because he was the only actual friend she had ever had.

“I’m gonna travel the world,” she said, unable to stop the slight sight that tinted her voice with the words. She still couldn’t believe that it was true— that she was going to leave this town and see all the places she had only been to in past lives. It still felt almost like a dream; but no, Kai was real, and so was everything that he had ever told her.

“How?” Thorne scrunched his brow, looking truly puzzled.

Of course he would be confused, seeing how Cinder made hardly enough to stay afloat; but times had changed. Kai, though sometimes not the best in terms of his critical thinking skills, was practical. He’d invested in banks years before she, Cinder, was born, and through all those years his account had grown. There wasn’t a place in the world they couldn’t visit, and there were so many lands they wanted to see.

“I’m traveling with a friend,” Cinder said slowly.

“What friend?”

“Stars, Thorne,” Cinder huffed, pushing herself back from the desk. “Why do you even care? I’m leaving, and that’s all that matters. I’ll finish my two weeks but then I’m off.”

“Wait wait wait,” Thorne held up a hand. It quivered slightly. “Slow down, Cinder. Geez, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You know, last time we talked you told me that your boyfriend thought he was some long lost prince of China or something whacko like that. And you left early due to a family emergency. How did that go?”

“Fine,” Cinder grumbled, rubbing a hand across her face and surely dirtying it. “My mother died, and I’m planning on visiting my sister this weekend. And where Kai is concerned, that’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” Thorne shrieked, causing Cinder to jump. “What the hell do you mean it’s none of my business?”

“I mean,” Cinder growled, nostrils flaring, “that you are not involved in this— I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing with my life. We worked together, and now we don’t.”

“Oh, so it doesn’t matter that you wanted my advice last time. Little Cindy has everything figured out, and can’t be bothered to tell her friends why she’s leaving. Are you in trouble? Is something going on? I can help you, kid, if you’re in trouble-”

“No,” Cinder whispered, all her anger abandoning her in a second. “Everything’s fine. I’m not in trouble. Actually, I’m going with Kai, and–”

“What?” Thorne roared, standing up from his seat and stumbling a little, placing his hands on the desk to steady himself. “You’re telling me that you’re running away with crazy-pants? Do you want to be on the next episode of Dateline?”

“It’s not like that,” Cinder said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “It’s- it’s-”

“What’s it like?” Thorne asked, stepping around the desk and placing a hand on Cinder’s shoulder. “He hurt you? Because I’ll-” Thorne stumbled a little bit, throwing his other hand on Cinder’s other shoulder. “I’ll knock his face in.”

Cinder grabbed Thorne’s wrists and pushed him back until he sat upon the desk. It was rare that he was this drunk at work; it must have been a rough night. 

“It’s not like that at all, Thorne,” Cinder grumbled, shutting her eyes for a moment, then glaring at Thorne. “And besides, it’s none of your business.”

It was strange how gaining the memories of her past life had changed her. She wasn’t a different person, but rather a more detailed version of herself. She wasn’t scared, as she once had been, and no longer was she equipped to handle the dramatics of most mortals. In fact, it was hard to communicate with those she had once known in this life— they just didn’t understand her. She couldn’t fathom how Kai had made it through all those years without anyone for company other than that heinous fish deity.

“Cinder,” Thorne sighed, “I just want to make sure you’re okay— I worry about you, kid. I truly just don’t want you to get murdered.”

“Thanks,” Cinder huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I really appreciate it Thorne. Really. I just– I don’t know if you’d really understand the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Thorne asked, leaning forward.

“We’re getting married,” Cinder mumbled, voice low.

Not an instant later, Thorne was on his feet again, his eyes ablaze as he sputtered, “That bastard knocked you up, now didn’t he? Oh aces and spades, I’ll kill that little psycho for you. I will–”

“There will be no killing of my dearest love,” Cinder hissed, throwing her hand over Thorne’s mouth to stop him from shouting. “This is a consensual marriage; no one is– is knocked up, and no one is being coerced, and no one gets to have an opinion on whether or not it’s a good idea other than Kai and myself!”

Thorne stared at her, and Cinder knew that if her hand weren’t covering his face he would be slack-jawed. Never before had she been so firm with her points— so sure of herself— but times had changed. She was a new woman—er, old woman?—and no longer did she take crap from anyone, especially someone slandering Kai’s name.

“We talked, Thorne,” Cinder explained, checking over her shoulder to see if any of the other employees were listening in. As per usual, they were all engrossed in their tasks, not caring about Thorne’s drunken dramatics. “We figured things out, and we love each other. We’ve decided to get married and travel the world together. We’re happy— I’m happy.”

Thorne leaned away from Cinder, allowing for her hand to drop from his mouth and down to her side. “Well if you’re happy and okay, then I guess that’s all that matters, now isn’t it, kid?”

“Yeah,” Cinder smiled, a bit sheepish. “It is.”

“I’m happy for you,” Thorne said, unable to look at her. Cinder could see a mistiness in his eyes. “I will miss having you around though.”

Cinder patted his shoulder, trying not to laugh as she watched Thorne. It wasn’t that she found the situation funny, it was that she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with this. Of course she’d realized what Thorne’s friendship meant to her, but she had never known that her friendship meant anything to him in return.

“I’ll miss you too,” Cinder said, wrapping her arms around herself. “But hey— I’m still here for another two weeks, so it’s not like this is goodbye.”

Cinder glanced out to the front of the garage and saw a familiar face smiling at her. Cinder grinned in return, unable to help the flutter within her chest. The mere hours away from him had been too many— she couldn’t wait to be in his arms once more, and feel him against her and know that they were finally together after so many years apart.

She gave Thorne one last pat on the shoulder, hardly comprehending his verbal goodbye to her as she walked away. 

Kai held his hand out to her, and Cinder took it, standing up on her toes to kiss him before they walked out into the rain together, away from Thorne and the garage, and all the world that was not them.

[notapaladin]

you just gotta let it go (redux)

What makes a sickfic better? More snarky bitching about being sick, of course! Poor, poor Acatl.

Also on AO3.

Original version here

-

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself.

Or at least trying not to faint. Fatigue had dragged at every limb, threatening to pull him under entirely; he’d collapsed on the floor next to the basin Ichtaca had fetched for him, unable to rise even to his knees as bone-breaking chills had shuddered through him. He’d barely even had the strength to continue throwing up, though his stomach had left him little choice. Dull, twisting pain wormed its way through his guts, and each blink had lasted an eternity. He been so exhausted that he hadn’t wanted to open his eyes again. He might not have if fear hadn’t compelled him, if a cold spike of terror hadn’t whispered if you close your eyes you’ll never open them again, and then where will you be? Do you want so badly for Teomitl to weep for you when you leave him behind?

He’d thought of Teomitl’s smile, Teomitl’s warm words and steady hands, and forced himself to remain conscious. Ichtaca stayed by his side and that helped, but when the man had helped him wipe his mouth—and gods, how humiliating had that been—he’d been sick all over again at the question that hissed through his mind like an arrow. Am I going to die?

He served Mictlantecuhtli with all his heart, but he did not want to meet Him yet. Not with so much left unsaid. The thought that it might be entirely beyond his control had been terrifying; in a brief burst of energy he’d thought of asking Ichtaca to summon Teomitl, but fortunately he’d thrown up again before he could voice it, and that had erased such rank stupidity from his thoughts. It would only make things worse if he survived.

He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. At least he wasn’t afraid of sleeping anymore. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two more priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—”

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

There were times he truly took pride in being High Priest for the Dead at all hours, whether at a feast or standing by the side of a pyre. This was not one of them. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert. The angle of the sunlight shifted through his one window, and he watched it blankly.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest and he had to set the rest aside. His stomach had been emptier than this for longer. He’d be alright.

He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh...” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and once again it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped the healing priests had been right and it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious. Last night’s panic had faded, but it was far too easy to bring to mind just how very inevitable—how very immediate—his death had felt. Lord Death, he prayed, do not take me into Your arms yet.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open properly. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” Oh, no. Not you. He felt vaguely nauseous again, and not just from the effort of sitting up.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. There was a degree of bustling involved that made him dizzy to think about. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. Besides, he was a grown man. He didn’t need to be fussed over, especially not when it might make him start hoping. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t. It was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. He briefly had to struggle to remember how to speak; even the muscles in his tongue felt tired. A blink lasted longer than he liked. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked again, discreetly pinching himself to stay awake. Passing out in his soup bowl wouldn’t convince his family he was hale. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He had to admit she had a point; he felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with that nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. On a full stomach and with something approximating sleep under his belt, that fear felt ridiculous now. He glared back at her. “I’m not that sick. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but battle wounds were an acceptable form of weakness, one that struck down even the greatest warriors. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly; a man who thought limits were for the weak surely couldn’t still respect him when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he shot him a savage glare. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. Nothing would ever be as bad as the plague had been. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience, staring at the knotted pine grain of the table. It needed a wash. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state—that Teomitl looked at him and thought he shouldn’t even be left alone—stung bitterly. Even though he could be weak, came the treacherous thought. Even though Teomitl would let him. Would help him lay down, put his arms around him...no. He shook his head firmly, banishing those thoughts before they could make him remember what had come to him in the dead of last night’s pain. It was still hopeless, and he would not plead his way into Teomitl’s heart. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

The table clean, Teomitl sat down by him within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to the absurd urge to lean against him. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “And we’re all glad for that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you could use some company, if only for a distraction. I’m good at that.” A smile still tugged at the corners of his lips, warm eyes looking Acatl over. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d been right. Teomitl would let him be weak. And he’d thought his feelings would fade? That he’d be able to bury them forever? Gods, he was such a fool. It was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t...” He yawned, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “I’m sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was gazing at him with fond exasperation, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “You have a job. Your own duties...”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of dreamless sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; Teomitl had shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being viscerally reminded that they couldn’t be ignored forever. That the feelings which had sustained him through many long nights wouldn’t melt with the dawn. That not even what he’d thought with sharp terror would be his actual death could successfully smother them. Duality curse me.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. Do you need anything?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence. His stomach felt better, but his heart didn’t.

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush as he snapped, “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, because he cares about you, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, callused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I...uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to...”

Teomitl’s voice held nothing but certainty. He might as well have been making a royal proclamation. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop. And Lord Death had not seen fit to take him into His embrace last night, so a sudden and fatal relapse wouldn’t save him either.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I learned how sick you were?”

“I was not that sick—” he began.

Teomitl didn’t let him finish. “Yes. You were. Ichtaca was shaking when he told us you were finally keeping down liquids.”

He dropped his gaze to his lap. Mired as he’d been in his own terror, Ichtaca had felt like a rock beside him. He’d had no idea the man had been frightened too. “...Oh.”

“Oh,” Teomitl mimicked, a spark of nastiness in his voice that faded almost instantly to that tight, flat restraint. “You terrified us, Acatl. You terrified me.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. It was one thing to be pretty sure Teomitl cared about him, but another thing entirely to hear it confirmed. “I...” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But...”

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. There was a terrible tremor in his voice. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “I know how you feel.”

“..Do you?” The bite of skepticism couldn’t quite hide that moment of hopeful hesitation.

He inhaled. “...Last night...” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. But Teomitl wasn’t saying anything; he was giving him the space to find his words. That made the difference, in the end. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” He still wondered idly at the possibility, but it no longer filled him with heart-clenching fear. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you.”

Teomitl’s eyes were wide, his fingers trembling. Now Acatl knew the expression on his face, that stunned sort of hope that didn’t quite dare to step into the sunlight yet. “Me?”

He nodded. Yes, you. Always you. “I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you that I—” But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. Unfortunately, this didn’t let him off the hook. “That you what?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? Or else it wouldn’t have taken the fear of death to force the words out. “I love you,” he blurted out, and when Teomitl didn’t immediately react in rage or disgust he added, “I wanted to be sure you knew.” Even if you don’t love me back in the same way. Even if you’re about to break my heart, I’m giving it to you to break.

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss. Well, he was still ill. It might be.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. A wry little disbelieving smile tugged at his lips. “I was halfway to convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. His brain clearly wasn’t up to its full capacity yet, because Teomitl couldn’t have said what he thought he said. “You what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you...”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Passing glances, lingering touches, a hitched breath. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous at whatever she’d said, and ice gripped his heart again. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race. He wouldn’t do that to her.

Teomitl drew himself up, glaring at him. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does. Do you think I’d go behind her back, especially after the last time?” He didn’t have to elaborate. Things between him and Mihmatini had been so frosty for a few weeks that she’d practically spat when mentioning his name. Acatl wasn’t sure how they’d reconciled, but he was starting to get a few, somewhat embarrassing, ideas.

The ice was starting to thaw. He took one deep breath, and then another. If she knows, then... “Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier...”

“You know how she is. She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings a while ago.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. Teomitl quirked up a smile and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He found it much easier to breathe when he knew he wasn’t ruining his sister’s marriage. “After last night...I had to let you know. In case fate saw fit to separate us. I didn’t want to die without telling you how I feel.”

Teomitl’s gaze had softened like melted wax, and it was just about as hot. “Maybe you should tell me again.”

His heart kicked within his chest. Feeling suddenly bold—he’d come this far, after all—he shot back, “Why don’t I just show you?” Even raising the possibility of what such a demonstration might entail made him blush all over again, but...well. Teomitl deserved to know the full truth of his feelings, and honesty had already brought him great rewards. I took vows of chastity, of celibacy. I would break them all for you if you asked. Gods, I would break them all if I thought you might ask.

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Short Cuts

So the reviews for Rapunzel’s Return are taking longer then expected and due to real life complications I’ve now fallen behind in my intended schedule. So in order to catch up, I’ll be doing a series of rapid-fire mini reviews of all the official shorts that the series released in addition to the usual reviews. 

Summary: Ten shorts were released throughout the three seasons of the show detailing Rapunzel’s misadventures in Corona. 

 Check Mate

Pascal tries to get Max to play chess with him, but the horse is too busy with guard duty to play. Pascal’s antics wind up causing a fire and Max must save him. 

This short, plus the later Unicorn-y short, and the episode Pascal’s Story pretty much confirms that chess is pascal’s favorite game. Shame that’s the only idiosyncrasy that the series gives besides being the conscious of the group that sometimes gives the other characters guilty looks.  

I said it before and I’ll say again, the animal sidekicks in the franchise don’t have enough personality to carry whole episodes by themselves, but shorts like this are ok and where things like this should have stayed.   

Prison Bake

Attila recounts how he used his baking skills to break his fellow pub thugs out of prison back before they met Rapunzel. 

This just raises so many questions. Why were they arrested? What was their punishment besides jail? Why weren’t they just re-arrested later after escaping? If they were all wanted criminals before meeting Raps then why did they try to call the guards during the movie to collect the reward money on Eugene’s head? Do we really think “crack-down on crime” Frederic would pardon them before Rapunzel’s return? How do we know they weren’t just framed given how shitty Corona’s legal system is? 

Like I just need a tiny bit more context show. Two to three minutes isn’t really long enough to set up conflicts. These shorts should have been more like five or six minutes really. 

Also Ludwig the Castle Cook is also just wasted. They built a model for him and hired a VA and everything and all he does is appear in this one short and nothing else. Like I think he makes a non-speaking cameo in The Alchemist Returns or something, but that’s it. It’s a clear mismanagement of resources.  

Make Me Smile

Rapunzel tries unsuccessfully to make Old Lady Crowley smile, but it’s not until she holds an honest conversation with the woman does she find a solution. 

This is best short out of the bunch, and not just cause it stars the great Pat Carol either. 

This is how Rapunzel should have been handled in the main series proper. Which is why I screen-grabbed this whole convo. It’s perfect. 

Rapunzel spent 18 years lock in a tower. Of course she doesn’t understand different perspectives from her own cause her development has been stunted. She’s compassionate but lacks empathy. So she has a hard time connecting with others, but once she slows down an actually takes the time to listen to people she is capable of learning. 

We needed more of this; just on a larger scale. Have Raps make mistakes, have people be annoyed with her or right angry when she messes up, and then have her learn. 

Why the series thought it was a good idea to have everyone kiss her royal arse instead while she dug in her heels and consendinly took charge of everything even while still screwing up, I’ll never know. 

Hare Peace

Feldspar asks Rapunzel to take care of his “precious”. Rapunzel thinks he means a pet rabbit, and is run ragged trying to keep up with it, but it turns out he was talking about his prized cabbage instead. 

These shorts overall work a lot better than the main show. They know what they are and don’t try to be anything else. Therefore they deliver what is promised competently. They’re nothing amazing nor groundbreaking and in truth I wouldn’t want a whole series of them, but I get the feeling this is what the head executives at Disney were expecting when they signed off on the show and not whatever mess the main series turned out to be. 

Night Bite

Rapunzel, Eugene, and the animals are out camping for the night and Max gets irritated by all the bugs. 

What doesn’t work so well is the placement of some of the shorts. This particular short aired during season two and indeed that would make sense given that they are camping out here. Which why would they do that if they were still in Corona... 

Yet some of the later shorts, which also aired during season two, clearly do take place in Corona debunking that theory. Just some context would be nice show, that’s all. 

Also this short is meh.. not bad, not, good, just there.  

Hiccup Fever

Rapunzel gets the hiccups and everyone in Corona seems to have advice on how to get rid of them, but only Eugene has the solution. 

I’d argue that this is the funniest of the shorts. I legit laughed out loud at some points which is rare. 

However it does sadly prove on thing. 

Rapunzel was always a shit girlfriend, even before season three. 

Being a douche to your boyfriend isn’t funny show. 

Snowball

Rapunzel and Pascal plan to have some fun in the snow and things go awry.   

So where and when is this exactly?

Unlike the other shorts, the context and setting for this one is paramount to whether or not Rapunzel is a simply lazy or a an outright dick. 

For you see, Rapunzel had never been outside in the show before Queen for a Day. Ergo, this can only take place during the latter half of season one or during season two. 

Now season two makes a lot of sense. They’re at some cabin in the woods that was never mentioned are seen on screen before and this did air during season two anyways. If that is the case then Raps just avoiding her planned road trip like always. 

However, the last short and the next two also aired during season two and all of those do take place in Corona during season one and even the wiki states that they were all meant to take place during season one in original concept. 

Yet if that is the case then Rapunzel is ignoring Varian right now and playing around in the thing that almost killed him... 

Oh and that still doesn’t explain where this cabin is. Is it the mountain retreat that the King and Queen were going to spend their anniversary at? 

What’s really mind boggling though is that they made this short in order to reuse the character models from Queen for a Day in order to save money, but then went and built this whole set that’s never seen outside of this short. 

Like seriously who was on charge of the budget decisions in the series? 

Hairdon't

Rapunzel offers to cut Eugene’s hair but then messes it up. She spends all day trying to stop Eugene from seeing his new do, but turns out the hairstyle becomes a hit with the Corona townspeople. 

Rapunzel seriously lucked out here and it borderlines on the main series style levels of BS. She asks Eugene not to get upset before he sees what she’s done and, guess what, he is rightly upset. 

Honestly the series needed to let Eugene get angry at Rapunzel for stuff. That’s what happens in relationships, you will make your partner mad at times and that’s ok. It’s all about how both of you handle that. 

We never get to see how Eugene and Rapunzel would handle a real ordinary conflict and not just magic/ex girlfriend shenanigans that don't end with them putting off talking about it. 

Even their best episodes in season two still are over conflicts that don’t have any immediate impact on their lives and are mostly hypotheticals to them, like kids or how other people should approach dating. And of course by season three Eugene is just reduced to a doormat. 

Unicorn-y

Rapunzel tries to help Vladimir find his missing prized unicorn figurine in this spoof of old detective movies. Turns out Max and Pascal had found it and were using it to play chess. 

Ok, first off, Eugene has the patience of a saint and deserves so much better than Raps and her bullcrap here. Same goes for Lance who is tied up as well during this scene. 

But also this is another short that needed to be more than three mins long. The “mystery” is over before it even starts and the film noir parody only barely has time register in the viewer’s mind and then it’s over with. 

Shorty’s Theme Song Takeover! 

The last of the shorts aired after the show had ended as part of the Disney Channel’s on going promotional gimmick “Theme Song Takeover!” 

Shorty finds Rapunzel’s journal and sings his own version of the show’s theme song, “Wind in my Beard”. 

It’s ok. 

All of Disney’s animated shows for the 2019/2020 line up has done one and some are funnier than than this and others not so. The Shorty one is pretty middle ground but what makes it work is that Rapunzel is completely oblivious to what’s going on and only Shorty, always the anomaly of the series, can perceive the fourth wall. Thus proving he was never really human. 

As for placement, we know it’s season three cause of Rapunzel’s dress and they’re mostly likely inside the Snuggly Duckling right now. So just slot it in wherever you see fit. 

Conclusion 

That’s it for the shorts. The rest of Rapunzel’s Return should be up later this week and then hopefully I’ll be all caught up in time to cover the next episode next week. 

[omgkalyppso]

for the fe3h asks, 32. Favourite teatime? and 40. Who would you like to see Judith or Nader have supports with?

Thank youuu!

32. My favorite tea time is Claude.

Love and a cough. cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

Idk. There’s something to be able to see the character accused of constantly lying blushing. Blushing isn’t love, but it’s on the list of things you can’t conceal. I like seeing him happy.

But shout out to Flayn. I loved how often I got to choose: Fish and the sea… AND so many of her Final Conversations would be good little ficlets and one shots:

"I desire to see the ocean again–it is difficult being so far away from it"

"Have you any idea how many types of fish there are? It is unthinkable–their different sizes, shapes, colors… I find it fascinating!"

"Whenever I look at you, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I wonder why that is."

"I have a fear of sleeping. I worry that I will awake, and everyone I know and love will have vanished."

40. OH! Fun. And uh. LONG. Forgive me. I could have just kept going. But I needed to stop myself at 3 because. Long.

Judith

Claude. She may not be his aunt as I’ve written in my fic, but I think a good C support would still be him asking after his family, trying to figure out what stories shared by his mother or read in histories are true or embellished. Leading to a B support of him asking why his uncle had no proper heir (during training. lets get a few taunts out of Judith here), and whether her own life was less lonely now that she had him to worry about. An A Support could address a little more of the Almyran v Fodlan conflict, and her rage at him involving Nader, to try and make her a little more sympathetic. An A+ Support could trigger just before Enbarr, with apologies and expressions of pride, declarations of allegiance, and confessions of worry.

Ingrid. C support, Judith walks in on Ingrid, head in her hand, reading a letter. “Uh-oh, I know that look.” Judith can presume heartbreak and Ingrid can confess the letter is from her father, and Judith can shrug sadly “Different kind of heartbreak then.” And ask if she wants to talk about it. Cue Ingrid’s usual spiel. Perhaps a reveal of why Galatea is in the Kingdom and not the Alliance, why they were granted this piece of unfertile land. Apologies from a powerless position of family drama. B support, Ingrid decides that she doesn’t forgive Judith, but that’s fine because she can fix things, whether by marriage or becoming a knight. Judith seems unoffended, and challenges Ingrid to a duel. A support can start with Judith observing that Ingrid’s done well with her strength and her prospects, she may have rejected those suitors long ago, but she’s seen how Ingrid lights up when certain members in their company are around. Ingrid can claim that marriage is the farthest thing from her mind while the war goes on, but then observes that Judith has never married, and Judith can assure her that she needn’t. That whether you were promised to someone, or whether you’ve chosen them, all relationships can end unexpectedly, and if who you have to rely on is yourself, and your friends, then there’s no shame in that. And that she hopes Ingrid can rely on her regardless of the path she chooses.

Manuela. C Support is also drinking but Judith thinks it’s a date until she arrives and Manuela thinks she can look more alluring than the soldier by her side while looking at the soldier boys. Judith and Manuela could totally pull off a version of the bandage me up while fondly calling me rash and foolhardy until we accidentally make eye contact for a little too long trope for a B support. A Support, Manuela can observe she didn’t think she’d ever see Judith again after the war began, Judith can agree, and can ask after how Manuela’s doing, as the only people who look more weary than healers during war are the dying. Manuela can insist she’s fine, and that maybe when everything is over, she’ll even find a reason to sing again, because she’s uncertain whether she could stay here any longer, in Garreg Mach, where the world fell and now the students she taught sought to kill each other. (Assuming Judith is only available in VW) “I was supposed to be something of a mentor to the Flame Emperor, you know? I don’t think it would be appropriate to try my hand at teaching again.” And Judith can offer her a place to start again. “That might be nice.”

Nader

Claude. For C Support, we start with Claude either making small concentration noises or humming (perhaps an Annette song). “What do you think you’re doing?!” Shattering glass and perhaps sizzling noises. Claude complains about Nader keeping it down, and speaks loud and awkward for anyone eavesdropping some excuse related to the organization of house Riegan. Saying more quietly afterwards that it’s a harmless poison. Nader is grim about the contradiction, and Claude is insistent that it wouldn’t kill anybody, just slow their heart for a day or so, for easy transportation, or for the sake of hiding. He knows how it is. Nader can grab Claude by his collar and insist that while he might think he’s smart with his number of contingencies, he’s being wasteful of his youth if he’s thinking of poisoning himself for the sake of hiding - and it’s time to train. B Support can take place after Flayn’s disappearance and can have a mini montage of Claude in the library, Nader in the background; Claude in a classroom, Nader in the background; Claude in a hall, Nader in the background. Until we get to the dining hall, where Claude sighs and asks that unless Nader has business with him, can he please sit somewhere else? Nader can pretend to ignore him and say some rude things about bland boiled vegetables, and follow up with something about how, while it was strange that the Death Knight focused upon young ladies, there was something to be said about blood and magic and Crests here in Fodlan, and he would be irresponsible to not watch over Claude more closely for the coming weeks. Claude can point out that no other student has to suffer this, and that he knows better than any of them how to outrun a threat. Nader would concede, and it would be terse. A comment that he’d have been Nardel up to this, and instead we could just have “Oh you remember Nardel” in his cutscene instead, and Nader is just . trying to remember what it felt like to go by another name. Their A Support, hm. I guess it would come after Merceus, and we just wouldn’t have Judith shooing him away. “You didn’t tell them?” Nader is surprised, concerned. “You saw how they reacted.” Claude is nonchalant, hurt but recalculating his expectations. “I saw how you organized a victory at Merceus, how your enemies had to bring down the sky to stop us. Your allies are neither weak nor cowardly, but I still hesitate to call them warriors. If they can neither feel the bond of battle nor in breaking bread, then they will never be friends of yours. You had me bring soldiers halfway around the world to die for these people-” “The troubles in Fodlan won’t be contained here if the-” “What makes you say that? They always have been, before.” “I am proof that they’re not, Nader. Me. Look at me. Their conflicts reached Almyra decades ago. You know I’m not the only victim.” “I would not call you a victim.” “Heh. Slip of the tongue.” “For better or worse then. There are people loyal to you, and I will always march ahead of them. May our victories bring peace.” “Thank you. I’ll bring us home. I’ve always intended to bring us home, it’s just that this war has...” “I know, kiddo. I know.”

Seteth. C Support, an interview in Seteth’s office. Seteth, “I’m surprised House Riegan speaks so highly of a retainer of Almyran-descent. But I can find no reason to fault you, or withhold you your duties. You will have as much reign of the Academy as the students, though you may find yourself more highly scrutinized by the guards.” Nader, nodding, “Prudent.” “You seem amused. Have I said something untoward?” Nader, chuckling, “Not at all. If anything you’re amazingly polite. I’d been half prepared to be turned around at the gates.” “I could still arrange for your removal, but there have been ... stranger admittances to the Academy as of late.” “Ah! You’re speaking of your latest professor-?” “I will not gossip.” “Of course. Too polite.” Forehead vein bulging Seteth, “The kindness of the Goddess is to be emulated. Gossip is rarely kind, whether it is polite is irrelevant.” B Support, in the stables Nader asks how old Seteth was when he learned to ride a wyvern. Seteth says he was a young man, that it feels like an age ago. Nader expresses the same, that it is a coming of age in Almyra. He asks the name of Seteth’s wyvern, who introduces a beast but is very clear that he does not own one, that they belong to the Church, which Nader finds rather sad. Seteth assures him that it is no bother, that the Church has meant much to him since his wife’s passing, and that if all the Church has given him and Flayn has a price, he will pay it a thousand times over. Nader will comment that watching over a child or sibling can make you feel grateful for water, when all are worthy to it, and that Seteth shouldn’t lose sight of this. That the students will face challenges beyond his control, Flayn included, and every helping hand is not a demand for recompense. Seteth will bristle a little, but agree. B+ Support, Nader gives Seteth a little wooden or jade wyvern, pick your poison (I like jade). “What’s this?” “A wyvern, for yourself. To have. To name. To sell, if you’d rather. It just felt ... appropriate, for you to have one.” When Seteth doesn’t respond for a long time, Nader can apologize, he wasn’t aware of there being a rule in the Church of Seiros about gifts, but if Seteth’s silence is because he can’t find the words to refuse, but Seteth will say no, it’s just unexpected. That it’s a lovely gift and that he’s honored Nader would have given him any thought. Nader says he is learning that trust can be earned off the battlefield as much as on it, and that he’s glad to have friends to think of. Seteth can comment that it was perhaps rude of him not to ask before, and ask for Nader’s wyvern’s name. It can be supplied and attributed to an Almyran constellation. Their A Support, after Merceus, in a field at night. They share a bottle of wine and Nader is pointing out the relevant constellation. Seteth agrees that he sees it. Nader says he’s surprised Seteth still came to sit with him, after everything. Seteth confesses that he was surprised to discover that Nader had been going by a fake name ... and that his victories should be a matter of personal conflict, but that he too has killed people in Fodlan, the Goddess’ chosen people, and the saints had yet to strike him down. He drinks, and giggles. “It will be good to meet you, Nader.” “There may be things I cannot tell you, but I should say you know me well enough.” “Well enough for what?” “To call me a friend?” “You know I ... I lost your wyvern. When we fled the monastery, all those years ago. I may not be the most trustworthy of friends.” “Time will tell,” Nader concedes, drinking. He continues, “But for now, I would have you at my back, come ruin and consequence.” “To the present,” Seteth toasts. “To the present.”

Cyril. C Support, Nader asks Cyril where he was taken from? Cyril asks him why it matters. Nader instead asks if there are other Almyrans working in the monastery? Cyril says it’s none of his business. Nader is surprised, and comments upon whatever laborous task they have Cyril performing, and Cyril will reply that he’s strong enough to do his work. Nader says he didn’t mean to suggest otherwise, he was just trying to - but Cyril will cut him off, saying he’s known men like him, he’s lived under men like him, that he might think he can show up and make demands of him just because he’s an Almyran, but that he works for Lady Rhea now, and his time is accounted for, he doesn’t owe Nader anything. Cue some version of Nader being left alone to observe that “that could’ve gone better.” B Support, starts in a black screen with the sound of breaking wood. Cyril is in the training grounds and his last three arrows missed their target. “Your left arm is too low,” Nader observes. Cyril jumps and scowls. “I have a teacher.” Nader raises his hands in surrender, “Then by all means.” The sound of a bow being pulled taut, and then being straightened. Cyril comments, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” “Is this part of your duties?” “I need to be as prepared to defend Lady Rhea.” A missed shot. “From what?” asks Nader. “From anything,” Cyril answers. “That’s a lot to ask of anyone,” Nader observes. He continues, “But alright. Strong enough to defend one person? That’s a simple goal. It’s not as though you need to be strong enough to defend all of Garreg Mach, all of Fodlan, all of Almyra.” Cyril is catching his breath, “There’s a lot of people in Almyra.” “There is. Do you think they’re all like me?” “No,” Cyril answers, and explains, “no I know ya’ a bit now. There are men worse than you.” Nader chuckles sadly, “That’s true. Why don’t you try again?” “Yeah, alright. And then I should get back to work.” “Back to work?” “I’m supposed to be - err - I still need to clean the fireplace in the back.” Nader steps forward with a sigh. Cyril objects, “Hey what are you-?” “Your arm,” Nader repeats, “it’s too low. I thought it was your posture-” “What else would it be?” “You’re exhausted.” “Am not! I could go for hours yet.” “I don’t think your teacher would appreciate you practicing under these conditions.” Cyril makes the shot. Stares down Nader, walks off muttering, “Shows what you know.” A Support HAS TO FEATURE an apology from Nader that they were unable to defend Lady Rhea. Cyril insists it’s fine, because they’re going to get her back. Nader does not fight him on this point. He compliments what a fine fighter he’s become, and Cyril concedes that Nader’s been honorable too. That it isn’t the will of the Goddess for him to be arguing all the time, and that he shouldn’t have been so quick to distrust him. Nader thanks him, but isn’t smiling about it. He asks Cyril what his goals are for after Lady Rhea returns, and Cyril says he’ll defend her, as he always intended to, so that nothing like this happens ever again. Nader suggests that he consider that, rather than showing his devotion at Garreg Mach, that he could always emulate those virtues he sees in Lady Rhea at the border, where there are people and children like he was, who will need help navigating both Fodlan and Almyra when the war is done, and that he would be glad to support him, if he should ever find himself out that way. Cyril says he’d have to think about it, but that ... he does appreciate what Nader’s trying to do.

[staylovehearts]

The Other

Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count ~3.3 k

Summary: “I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

Tags: fluff, light angst, discussion of feelings and insecurities, they are an idol group in this, established relationship, jisung is a jealous baby

Booming loud music is coming from the training room even though they are technically supposed to be soundproof. But standing in that almost weirdly clean hallway with the bright lights right in front of the door the music is clearly audible. And so are the other sounds coming from the inside. The synchronized stomping, jumping and squeaking of many different feet upon linoleum flooring. You've never actually been inside one of these practice rooms but you have seen them in videos countless times. But just the idea of actually setting foot inside feels wrong.

You feel awfully out of place here, like you are somehow invading a space that's not meant for you. Sure you have that little visitor badge hanging around your neck and you showed off your permit when you were asked for one at the reception. But you could kind of sense people staring at you as you made your way through the hallways, carefully observing every sign to not make a wrong turn somewhere and maybe accidentally end up in someone's dressing room. There are two crowds mingling in these hallways. On the one side, there's the staff, managers, coaches and all kinds of different people involved in producing and designing an album. Most of them dressed in business casual, they are always hurrying, their steps as quickly as they can without having to run. Faces glued to a cellphone, pager or clipboard they are holding. And then there are the idols and trainees. Gorgeous, all of them. Mostly dressed in sportswear as they make their way to and from training rooms, sweaty hair pushed back or put up in ponytails, hints of make-up that hasn't been sweat away yet and funky hair colours that are in various states of growing out or fading into pastel versions of what they used to be. You fit in with neither of them. And you are sure that the other people here notice that as well.

You've tried to keep your head down for the most part. To keep walking without standing around or looking at anyone or anything for too long. You don't want to be loitering here where you feel so much like you don't belong. And now you've finally made it here. The little plastic sign next to the door has the exact same number as the one you wrote down in your notes app. You've compared them at least ten times now. And yet you're hesitant to just step in. Unsure of whether to knock – would they even hear that over the music? – or to just hurry inside and be back out within a moment. Are you even allowed to go in just like that? Wouldn't you be disrupting them? What if they're filming something? You'd ruin the material.

Suddenly, the music stops. You can hear the faint sound of someone clapping and then a mixture of voices. But you can't make out any words. Yet, this is probably the best opportunity you will get. Better to make it quick than keep standing around in front of their training room like some weirdo. You knock on the door softly and when there is no clear response you take a deep breath and just push it open.

All eyes are on you once you've stepped inside. The air is heavy, almost humid, the mirror fogged up. There is a distinct smell of sweat and excessive amounts of body spray you can just barely fight back the urge to cover your mouth and nose. The boys are sitting or lying on the floor all across the room, either talking among themselves or gulping down an entire bottle of water. But as soon as they have all noticed you all conversation dies down.

"Uh, hi, I just wanted to drop something off, uhm, I'm-"

"Babe, what are you doing here?", a cheerful voice interrupts your mumbled explanation when one particular boy jumps up from the floor to hurry towards you. Jisung has a surprised smile on his face. As if he is both confused by you thrilling here and also excited to see you here. He has those excited puppy eyes that make him so adorable. But his cheerful greeting has also attracted attention from the others in the room. While at first their gazes towards you were only mildly surprised or confused they are now full of curiosity.

"You left this at my place last time, and I figured you might need it so I went to bring it over. Oh and I also got you some snacks, make sure to share." As you speak you almost shove the little plastic bag you have been carrying into Jisung's hand. He takes it with a soft smile.

"I should forget stuff at your place more often if that means that you'll come over to bring me snacks when I'm training", he says. Someone whistles and Jisung's head whips around to find the offender.

"Yo, Jisung, is that the one you won't shut up about?", one of the other guys – Changbin – asks almost provocatively.

"Yeah, you never told us you were dating such a beauty", Minho adds.

"Ugh, shut up", Jisung comments, but you can see a small blush creeping up onto his cheeks. Then again, it might just be that he is still overheated from dance practice. "Let's go outside for a moment, we're taking a short break either way", he mumbles at you. Even more whistles.

"Remember, no making out in company-owned buildings", Chan warns just before Jisung can push you out of the room and close the door behind you.

"I'm sorry, they don't know how to behave around someone so pretty", he says once you two are standing out in the hallway. You giggle at the compliment.

"They seem nice."

Jisung rolls his eyes at your comment but then he breaks out into a wide grin again. "Look at you having all these guys swooning over you. I should consider myself lucky that I get to be with you. After all, they're right about one thing, you're damn beautiful."

                                                               ~

"Ugh", Jisung groans he puts down his bag on the empty chair next to the one he just sat down on. The light inside the small soba noodle shop is dimmed down, it's almost completely empty. Which is reasonable considering it's basically the middle of the night. There are only a few other customers, most of them sitting alone, always making sure to leave a few empty tables between them and the other people. And you have made sure to pick the table in the most deserted corner of the entire establishment.

"Sorry for making you wait, practice ran a little longer than I thought it would", Jisung mumbles. He has a black bucket hat hiding his bleached hair and hanging down far enough to almost cover his eyes. A mask is covering most of his face, making his voice sound a little muffled. He glances around himself almost nervously before he pulls it down to free his mouth and give you a sheepish smile.

"It's fine, I also only really just got here a few minutes ago." That's a blatant lie. You've actually been waiting here for around half an hour now. The waiting staff must be pretty upset with you at this point, the same young waitress has come over to your table to ask for an order three times now. And you had to ask for a little more time every time. And every time her smile seemed a little more forced. At least you've ordered a drink the second time she came by and have been taking very slow sips of it ever since to stall for time. But you know that it can't be helped. It's not like Jisung made you wait on purpose. It's out of his control. And you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to date him.

"I still feel really bad for asking you to meet me here in the middle of the night. I wish I could take you on normal dates. You know, go out without having to do all this undercover bullshit and only meeting past midnight in some noodle place."

You can't deny that you would want that as well. And you also can't pretend that it bothers you sometimes. To be with someone who only rarely manages to make time for you and when he does you can never really go anywhere too public. You can't just call or text him whenever you feel lonely. Well, you could, but he'd probably take hours to get back to you. And then he'd feel bad about it. You know that Jisung genuinely feels bad that he can't be with you more. And that is the main reason why you won't allow yourself to be too upset about it. He's pouting. You counter with a smile.

"I already told you that it's fine, stop moping around. I'm thankful that you managed to make time for me at all, I know that your schedule is super tight right now. Let's rather enjoy the time we have than complain about the time together we don't get."

Jisung seems to cheer up at that.

"You're right! It seems like I haven't seen you in forever. When even was the last time we met up?"

"Not even that long ago. I came by to drop some of your stuff of while you guys were training just last week, remember? Then again, I guess that doesn't really count as meeting up..."

"Ugh, don't remind me, the guys won't stop teasing me about it", Jisung complains. He's once again sticking out his bottom lip in a small pout that looks a little childish but also adorable. Not that the two are mutually exclusive either way. "They also won't shut up about how they can't believe I'm with someone as gorgeous as you. I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

"Oh come on, I bet they're just doing it to tease you, they'll get bored of it."

"Probably, but it's so annoying, I don't like when other guys talk about you like that. I mean, I'm not going to argue with them, you are drop-dead gorgeous, even a blind person would be able to tell. But it kind of irks me to hear other dudes say that about you. I don't like them looking at you like that. Like you're some pretty thing they could just take away from me."

"You do know that you don't owe me either, right?", you comment. While Jisung's jealousy is somewhat cute and you don't mind him becoming a little bit possessive you want to make it clear that you are still your own person.

"Of course, that's not what I meant, it's just that... Ugh, I don't even know, probably I'm just being stupid."

You reach out a hand to gently poke his cheek until he's looking at you so you can smile at him from across the table.

"Forget about that for now. You should better be thinking about what you want to eat, I feel like the staff are going to kick us out if we don't order something soon."

                                                              ~

hey we all have some free time, most of the other guys are visiting their families but my parents are busy so I'll be almost alone at the dorm this weekend, wanna come over?

Jisung sent you this a few days ago. The message came as a bit of a surprise. Not just because you know how rare free time his in his business but also because it's the first time he's ever actually invited you to the dorm. You asked about visiting there once when you had just started dating and he gave you this whole rant about how it's probably not good because the risk of someone seeing you go in is just too high and all of that. A lot of beating around the bush until he finally admitted that mostly he just didn't want to take you there because the dorm tends to be kind of messy with so many mostly unsupervised young boys living there together. And you never really brought it up again after that. But now here you are, with an official invitation.

Even though Jisung has given you clear instructions on how to get inside and what the number code for the big front door is you still feel awkward stepping into the building where the dorm is. Is it even legal for him to give out that code? Of course, you don't intend on doing anything with it, but still, it seems like something that should not just be given out to random visitors.

To your surprise, the one opening the door to the actual dorm is Felix. He seems to be just as surprised to see you here but that surprise quickly turns into a grin.

"So I guess you're here to meet up with Jisung, lucky him. Come on in", he gestures for you to follow him inside and you do so a little hesitantly. The place really does look a little messy but from what Jisung described you had prepared for worse. Sure, there are some discarded clothes on the floor and several opened snack packages all over the place, but nothing that a little tidying up couldn't fix.

"Are you the only other one still here? Jisung told me that you're all visiting family and stuff like that." Felix responds to your awkward attempt at small talk with another smile.

"Ah, you see Chan and I can't really go back to our family if it's just for a weekend or so. But we wanted to do a little trip on our own, we're almost finished packing up, so we'll be out of your hair soon", he laughs. You can feel your face turning slightly red. Of course, you should have figured that they probably can't be making oversea trips to their family all that easily. You can't even imagine how hard it must be to not be able to just go back home for so long.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, I totally didn't want to get rid of you", you apologise quickly. Felix just laughs a little more.

"I know, I know, it's all good. You should probably not keep your boyfriend waiting though."

As if Jisung had only been waiting for his cue he bursts out of one of the many doors and stumbles into the big room that is half kitchen half living space. He sees you and Felix stand together and quickly looks back and forth between the two of you before approaching.

"I thought you'd text me when you get here?", he says, pouting.

"I texted you five minutes ago saying I'd be here soon." You go over to greet Jisung with a hug but he doesn't squeeze you back as tightly as he usually does. When you separate from him again you see him kind of looking to the side. Usually, he'd be smiling at you. Felix is still awkwardly standing in the room, looking at you two.

"Well, I better go check if Chan is done packing. Was nice talking to you", he mumbles. You just barely manage to get out a "Yeah, same", before he disappears into one of the rooms.

"You look upset", you notice as soon as Jisung has shut the door to his room. Aside from having barely greeted you properly he also hasn't really said anything to you after that. He pretty much just gestured for you to follow him without even really looking at you. He seems agitated. Completely on edge, pacing up and down the room while you can only stand there not sure of what to do. Jisung is running his fingers through his hair before he turns to give you an almost pleading look. Sad, desperate, exhausted.

"It's just... I don't even know how to say it, but it's getting to me. It's so annoying how they talk about you. It drives me crazy."

"Why are you even so jealous? Who cares what they say?" Okay, maybe that last sentence came out a little too forceful. You can see Jisung recoiling. Now he just looks defeated. He sits down on his bunk bed with a heavy sigh.

"You're so amazing. Of course, other guys notice that as well. But hearing all of them say it over and over again kind of makes me insecure. Like, why would you want to be with me when all these other amazing guys want you as well? I'm just... jealous I guess. Of their talent and how amazing they are. And hearing them say how amazing you are is frightening. Because there are so many guys better than me. Guys that would make time to see you and sweep you off your feet. What if one of the more amazing guys comes along and just takes you away from me?"

"Oh Jisung...", you sit down next to him, gently wrap and arm around him and place your head on his shoulder. "You're such a big idiot."

"I'm sorry", he whispers into your hair. You can hear him sniffle a little but you pretend to have overheard it. He'd probably be even more upset if you were to see him cry right now.

"I know that this probably won't do much to change your mind right away, but I swear that I only have eyes for you. I don't care about any other guys. When they call me pretty it's annoying. I only want to hear it from you. I wanted to be with you, even though I knew you would not have a lot of time for dates and that things would be hard on both of us. But I-", you stop for a moment. You haven't really said this before. Neither of you has. But maybe now is just the right moment. "I love you, Jisung."

You can feel how his body goes stiff beside you for a moment. His breathing comes to a staggering halt. Then he relaxes again, wraps an arm around you as well to pull you close.

"I love you too. And I'm sorry for being dumb. I guess I just need some time to get used to this whole relationship thing. It's not like I doubt you, I just doubt myself sometimes."

"I get that. But you know, if anything I should be the insecure one."

"Huh? Why? You're amazing."

"But so are you. And you have all these fans screaming your name and almost fainting when they see you. And you also have all these other pretty and successful people around you all the time. And then there's me. But you picked me regardless. And I'm so happy that I get to be with you. Why would I ever want anyone else?"

Maybe Jisung needs a moment to think about that, at least he doesn't respond right away. But then that moment continues and when the silence is finally starting to make you nervous you raise your head a little to look at his face. You've never seen him smile like this before. So soft and full of adoration. You lean in almost on instinct. Jisung gently cups your face with his hands and when your lips meet for a soft touch you can feel how his smile moulds your lips into the crescent same shape.

[emsartwork]

What are your winx couple headcanons?

Other questions about relationships also answered below

Like how they interact? I talked a little bit about the canon dynamics in an ask-dump here but I’ll write a little more and copy paste stuff here lol

BLOOM AND SKY:  so bloom and sky aren’t the most stable couple, and in my version it would take bloom a little longer to be ok with dating a prince. Bloom is fairly insecure in her relationships because of self worth issues, and tend to run away from problems instead of dealing with them. Sky on the other hand is confident but doesn’t really know how to handle people’s feelings and tends to push confrontation. Bloom is also prefers to move a little slower than Sky would maybe prefer, like he’s good with their relationship and tries not to push Bloom or make her upset but he’d probably like to be married already lol. Bloom and Sky have figured out that if they’re having conflict issues, one of the best things to do is for them to write out whats bothering them and send letters/texts/emails back and forth. This gives Bloom a safe space and time to process her emotions, and lets Sky express his opinion with out getting to intense and pushing for Bloom to talk to him. They’ve taken to doing this with non-conflict thingies too, like its not out of the norm for Sky to receive a wax sealed envelope with a beautifully calligraphied message on parchment that simply says Bloom saw a super fluffy dog that day lol

STELLA AND BRANDON:  They love each other so much its the best omg. Stella finds her worth in her appearance but she always seems to take Brandon’s complements in a less…. arrogant way? if that makes sense? like she truly appreciates them and wants his support. I wish we knew more about Brandon but he’s legit such a good boyfriend. I think they fight mostly when Stella is being a little selfish, or when Brandon is too busy to meet her emotional needs. I think Brandon and Stella are the kind of couple that could be married for years and still feel like they’re on their honeymoon, They would probably get married because of societal pressure but if Stella wasn’t a princess they wouldn’t bother with the ceremony since it wouldn’t change their devotion to each other. They flirt with other people pretty casually but neither would EVER cheat or go any further than idle compliments. Stella’s fear of being alone/disliked is still present, but Brandon will generally just pick up some chocolate, put on a movie and let Stella do his nails or hair or make-up whenever she’s feeling down. Stella was perfectly fine with Brandon not being a prince, she came to terms with the situation a lot faster than Bloom did. However, she does try to make sure Brandon knows she’s with him for him. One of Stella’s main love languages is gifts, and Brandon does appreciate it, but his main love language is actually acts of service, so sometimes he feels a little underappreciated (if Stella doesn’t pick up on this Sky will and let her know). In which case Stella will sneakily figure out what he needs and will take care of it (shopping for a new coat? done. its super flattering and makes his eyes pop. mess hall cleaning duty at Red Fountain? she’ll do it(with some magical assistance). he doesn’t have time to make himself lunch? she will try her best but it might be safer for her to order him some take out) Like Stella is silly, excitable, and can be self centered but she loves her people and wants to make sure they know that.

FLORA AND HELIA:  So Helia is more of a drama queen in the comics but we’ll ignore that for right now lol. Flora and Helia are probably the least problematic couple in the entire show. They met. Flirted a little. Confessed. and started dating with out any major problems. I think both Helia and Flora’s love language is quality time so they’re fairly low key and just like to be in the same space with each other. Unfortunately their issues stem from both of them being passive aggressive. Like Flora doesn’t want to cause problems or upset anyone, and Helia just doesn’t freaking talk. This can lead to slow simmering fights that build until one of them blows up. They learn to catch the signs of that starting earlier and earlier tho, so they’re both learning its better to bring up an issue earlier if its gonna be a problem later. Flora thinks Helia would be happier as a full time artist than as a warrior or mage, but knows he needs to come to his own conclusion.

TECNA AND TIMMY:  They’re super cute honestly. I think Timmy was probably the one to instigate the relationship and bonded with Tecna over technology since she wasn’t super emotionally available at first. They have issues when Tecna is unable to voice her emotions and Timmy needs to know what she’s feeling mostly, but after the first few times they’ve both learned to give the other space to figure their stuff out. Timmy will ask Tecna to use Emoji’s if she’s having a really difficult time figuring out what she’s feeling. He knows its not fair to Tecna but Timmy sometimes feels a little resentful because she’s had a fairly easy life, access to top rate tech, rich parents, stable environment, and barely had to study, while Timmy scrapped and saved and had to learn fast because of his environment.(his home isn’t exactly unsafe, but asteroid colonies are nomadic by nature which mean a certain level of instability is part of living in one)  

MUSA AND RIVEN:  Ok so, ignoring the several times Riven was LITERALLY MIND CONTROLLED his character is still difficult to deal with. I think Musa and Riven are both very intense people, and while that can be super fun and develop into a good relationship, it can also lead to LOTS of problems. For their relationship, I think they wouldn’t even start dating until like season 3 era at the earliest.(this is partially why season 4 is so rough for them, its a new relationship) a lot of their issues would stem from their attachment issues and how they respond to insecurity. Riven’s mom left him, just fucking dropped out of his life while he was a young kid, leaving him with an emotionally distant and dismissive father he could never please. So Riven responds by pushing people away before they can reject him, becoming controlling, or dismissing them in anger and pretending not to care about their opinion. Musa’s mother was taken away from her by illness.  I think it happened in Musa’s early teens, since it’s clearly still a tender subject in the first season. A parents death is painful no matter the circumstance, but a sickness that slowly steals the person you love away from you must be incredibly painful. As a result, Musa experience a lot of anxiety about the people she loves leaving her(whether by their choice or not), and becomes clingy, emotionally demanding, and sensitive. When Riven pushes her away to protect himself Musa tries to force her way back to him, when Musa wants Riven to act certain way or do something to ease her anxiety (even if its irrational and she is at fault) Riven dismisses her needs because it means he can keep himself safe from failure. They have similar problems but the way they respond to it ends up escalating every issue. They do eventually grow and become vulnerable with each other, Riven tries to express his affection more(even if it’s not through words) instead of hiding them in fear of rejection, and Musa tries to explain when her feelings are hurt more clearly instead of just assuming Riven knows what he did wrong. They also clash a bit over parentage, both only have their dads left, but Musa’s is involved and (now)supportive, while Riven’s is still distant. Musa has positive memories of her mother and misses her a lot, but Riven has very few memories and is terribly angry at his mother. I think that Riven still left at the end of season 6, but they didn’t exactly break up, they both recognized that Riven needed some time away from the specialists to work on his own shit and gain confidence in his own skills and self worth, so it turned into a low key long distance thing. (if he hadn’t come back in season 8  they would just decide to break it off but lol he’s back)

AISHA AND NABU:  ugh perfect couple. minus the kind of sketchy beginning lol. Aisha and Nabu generally don’t fight once they get used to each other. Nabu is a focal point that Aisha is kind of bungee corded to if that makes sense? like obviously not in a restricting way. Its just Aisha is hella active/independent and needs her own space to explore and grow, but Nabu is her solid ground that she relies on and always comes back to. Nabu and Aisha are both smart, but Nabu is a little more of a nerd than Aisha and has a lot of book knowledge. Nabu sometimes gets irritated at Aisha’s impulsiveness, he tries to let it go and jump with her sometimes but generally just lets her do her own thing, of course on the other hand, Aisha can get irritated at Nabu’s resistance to change, she knows pestering and pushing him won’t help tho so she tries to slow down and walk through it with him when she can. 

AISHA AND NEX:  So like I said Aisha is an active, independent woman, and if Nabu was a separate, stationary, focal point for her, I think Nex is related, moving, counter point. So like Nex can actually keep up with Aisha, and push her and challenge her. Which isn’t a bad thing in relationships so long as a mutual respect is there. Nex is aggressive and can be hot headed but I think he actually takes life at a slower pace than Aisha who is a master of multitasking. Aisha admires Nex’s drive but wishes he would be a little more directional with it. When they’re not being competitive, they have a very weird calming effect around each other. Aisha and Nex don’t seem to notice this, but the rest of the group picked up on it one day and could not for the life them figure out how two such intense people could have such a chill vibe. 

Daphne and Thoren actually met when they were kids, but didn’t spend much time together because it was at a formal event. Daphne is technically 20 years older than Thoren(only a few years older than Sky), but they’re the same physical age because Daphne spent so long as a spirit. I also like to think Thoren met her as a spirit(with out recognizing her) during his paladin training. They probably wouldn’t get married as quickly in my version, especially with Daphne’s trauma. Daphne was actually receiving physical and mental therapy on Ohm when Thoren visited the planet as part of his paladin duties. They didn’t hit it off right away, but didn’t dislike each other or anything. They actually bonded over scars, Thoren has scars from some paladin related incidents, but also has a scar from when he attempted suicide. Daphne asked him about his first, she eventually explained hers to him but since they were more recent it took a little longer for her to come to terms with what happened to her. Thoren finds her scars beautiful, partially because they’re a part of Daphne, but also because they mean she survived and that she’s healing. Daphne will have nightmares sometimes and Thoren has a whole routine for comforting her and helping her feel safe and grounded. Thoren gets anxious easily, and Daphne will use her magic to subtly change the environment so he feels more comfortable. They like to watch reality tv together and yell at stupid dramatic people. Daphne is terrified of losing her loved ones and can be over protective of Thoren even though he can take care of himself, and Thoren hesitates to ask her to do anything for him because he’s (irrationally)nervous about overwhelming her. In the future, Daphne is a little unsure about asking him to marry her, not because of their relationship, but because he would assume the role of King of Domino and that’s a lot of pressure but they discuss it and work through everything together. Neither of them are good at gardening, but they have a little section of the Domino castle gardens they like to try and grow things in. Thoren also does fine metal work with wires. 

Their families are very pleased with the relationship. Thoren’s mom and Daphne are pretty different but vibe together really well. Thoren and Oritel take up sparing together and Oritel has no problems with Daphne’s choice of partner. Thoren’s dad finds Daphne to be a very fine young lady, though he has concerns that his son is with some one who has so much recent trauma and he worries it’ll kick start Thoren’s depression again. Marion doesn’t think anybody is good enough for her girls but Thoren comes pretty close, Thoren has expressed interest in learning magic, and Marion is eager to teach him, though he may regret letting her once the lessons actually start lol. 

Oritel and Marion like Sky well enough, and they recognize he’s still young and is growing, but they privately think Bloom could do better. Erendor and Samara are concerned about Bloom’s civilian background (how will she handle ruling a kingdom when she has no political training?) and though the Dragon flame would be a huge asset to Eraklyon in power it could also draw unwanted attention and attacks so they’re also concerned about that. But besides those issues, Erendor actually really likes Bloom. Samara.... is very stiff and formal so its hard to tell if she likes Bloom or if she’s just being civil and tolerating her. 

Brandon’s parents LOVE Stella, they think she’s hilarious and cute and they dote on her whenever possible. If Stella and Brandon ever broke up they would probably still invite her to family events and stuff lol. Luna and Radius, when they’re not dealing with their own relationship issues, enjoy Brandon’s company. They kind of wish Stella had chosen a Solarian partner, but its customary to let Solarian children follow their heart and pick their own partner. 

Timmy’s mom hasn’t met Tecna in person, but Timmy talks about her all the time and Timmy’s mom thinks she sounds wonderful. Electronio and Magnethia were unsure of Timmy at first. They ran the numbers through the Zenithian Compatibility and Success in Relationship Indicator and Timmy + Tecna didn’t do so well on paper. However, Tecna was absolutely firm in her decision to be with Timmy even if it didn’t make sense to her parents, which was unusual for her. They like him a lot now, even if they don’t fully understand how he works lol. 

Helia’s dads think Flora is a total catch for Helia like “damn son how did you convince her to date you???” Helia just groans and rolls his eyes. Magic dad likes to talk nature magic with Flora and Warrior dad is always trying to teach her some new self defense tactic when she visits, much to the embarrassment of his son. Alyssa and Rhodos like Helia, even if they think he’s a little out there. Like Flora, they try to encourage his pursuit of art. Miele likes to mess with Helia and pull pranks on him, Helia pretends to be horribly offended but he actually thinks she’s hilarious.

Aisha was a dream match for Nabu’s parents, they cared more about her status as princess than her as a person at first. After Nabu’s death they blamed Aisha and rejected all of her attempts to contact them. In the process of healing, they’ve reached out to her and are trying to appreciate/get to know her as some one their son loved and not just a rung on the social ladder. Aisha’s parents liked Nabu, they didn’t really get to know him very well, but thought he was a smart, capable, and well mannered young man. They saw Aisha was happy with him and left it at that. 

Aisha’s parent’s were less sure of Nex, Andros is a fairly planet centric culture, and Nex, as a Mare Lynphean especially, didn’t quite fit into their Land/Sea dichotomy. Aisha of course, isn’t one to follow social norms if she doesn’t want to. Nex is a little worried about her parents approval, but Aisha insists that the only approval he needs is hers. Niobe and Teredor are currently leaving the relationship as is, knowing fighting Aisha will just make her dig her heels in more. Nex eventually wins them over with his bravery, charm, and devotion to Aisha. When Nex told his parents he was dating a princess, they were kind of surprised. They were also surprised when Aisha turned out to be an athletic, independent, and brash young woman instead of a delicate, dependent, and prissy princess. They absolutely approve and love spending time with her.

Musa hasn’t met Riven’s dad. Riven and his dad aren’t close, they talk maybe once a month and its usually a text from his dad with “update request; academics, physical health, extra curricular, and relationships statuses.” and Riven usually just responds with “update; fuck off.” Riven’s dad does know he’s dating some one but doesn’t have a lot of information. Musa’s dad DID NOT like Riven at first. He didn’t like his look, his reputation, or his attitude. however, Ho-Boe comes from a warrior background, though he prefer(ed)s musical pursuits, he came to respect Riven’s discipline in those areas, and eventually was able to relate to Riven’s rejection of his heritage.  

Bloom and Daphne are a little.... one sided, at least in the beginning. When Bloom first meets Daphne (that she remembers) Daphne isn’t even a real person, she’s a dream or at most a spirit. Even after Bloom learns her name Daphne is a mystery, and its not until like end of season three that they start talking regularly. On Daphne’s side, Bloom was a toddler, and then is suddenly grown up. Daphne still thinks of her like her baby sister, even tho the two of them are, physically, almost the same age now. Daphne also always knew she had a sister, while Bloom thought of herself as an only child for the majority of her life at this point. So while they love each other and get a long pretty well, they have misconceptions and don’t always view the other person as they actually are.

Sure! Stormy likes cream puffs, like A LOT. She owns only dark red lipsticks. She likes doing her makeup but has no patience for her hair, she usually chops a lot of it off every couple months and just lets it do whatever it wants. Stormy has a “worry stone” made of metal she keeps in her pocket. She’s got adhd and Darcy sometimes magically helps calm her brain down when she needs to focus. Stormy of course, loves thunder storms, she gets little electric shivers when they’re getting close. She collects static like nobodies business. Stormy is primarily Omegean and Androsian, tho a little Dominian, Zenithian, and Melodian blood runs through her veins as well. She likes cats. 

yaaaaaaas, ok so I actually gave his dads names finally Vaonaaj dad is Bi’ran (bee-ran) and Lynphean dad is Reed (last name is Deshene). When Helia was born Bi’ran used magic to like float him around and keep him out of trouble and stuff and it annoyed the hell out of Reed (like “for natures sake please don’t hex my son” “im not hexing him its just a floating spell!!”) Reed gave Helia a little sword really early and Bi’ran was appalled ( ”why would you give him a weapon he’s like FIVE” “good he can learn early”) When Helia started to express interest in art his dads were confused af because neither of them have an artistic bone in their bodies. They try to be supportive but honestly have no idea what Helia is doing lol. Helia really wants to please them both so he spent a year at Lynphea College in the basic magic course. When warrior dad(Reed) started to pressure him to learn to fight as well, Helia’s grandfather Saladin offered him a place at Red Fountain, partially because he could see Helia needed his own space to figure himself out and partially because it would appease Reed. Helia was only planning on staying at Red fountain for a year but his relationship with Flora and his friendships with the rest of the group extended his stay. Bi’ran and Reed know they need to let Helia make his own path, but they worry and just want the best for him so they tend to stick to what they know and are comfortable with when advising him(magic and fighting respectively). Bi’ran and Reed have a standing date night every week, and usually they get really out of hand as they try to outdo the other in excitement and romance (dinner and movie one week leads to a 5 course meal and an play the next which leads to a private chef, a one of a kind meal, and an entire theater rented out for a personal performance etc etc etc) until they both realize they’re being ridiculous and promise to keep it simple from then on and the cycle repeats itself. Bi’ran really likes to play with Reed’s hair. Helia always beats them both at card games.  

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 18 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 12k

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“—acting on your best behavior, turn your back on Mother Nature—“

Shawn is 20 minutes early to pick Maya up. 

“—wants to rule the world.” 

He’s parked a block away, humming to Tears For Fears as his fingers tap anxiously across his jean-clad thighs. 

He couldn’t sit still at home. He closed the shop early so he could comb through his closet that he’s suddenly worried is too poor-artist-chic (read: covered in paint) for the new Maya.

Not that he thinks she really cares about anything like that, but he’s seen her clothes. They’re way fancier now. He’s almost jealous.

He’s always had a thing for nice clothes and fashion. He’s just never had enough extra money to spend on those things. He always spent whatever profit he made on instruments to refurbish and materials for new models and other toys for his shop. 

He thinks, maybe, he needs more hobbies. And he needs to start traveling. 

He’s a bit intimidated as thinks of all the things Maya’s seen and done and the places she’s been. He’s lived a life shacked up in his workshop. He’s sheltered compared to her. 

They both used to be sheltered before. Now he feels miles behind her. 

Finally fed up with what he’d considered meager offerings from his own closet, Shawn decided to borrow a clean, plain black t-shirt from Geoff. Then he tugged on the new pair of deep blue skinnies Maya bought him the other week and tried not to feel weird about it. 

Now he sits in his Jeep and listens to music, his light denim jacket hugging his biceps the way she says she likes, and he’s hoping it’s enough to impress her while still looking, like, chill enough for go-karting. 

He’s probably overthinking it.

The alarm on his phone finally goes off. 

7:04 pm. Perfect. 

Shawn turns up Celebrity Skin by Hole and cranks the engine of his aging Jeep. He drives cautiously around the block, just to kill at least another few minutes, then finally parks in front of Maya’s cottage. He contemplated hooking into the alley to park in her garage like he had all summer, but tonight is different. 

She’s offering a fresh start for them, if he wants it. He’s not going to fuck it up before it even gets going. 

Maya fidgets, poking at an errant splotch of nail polish that made it out to her cuticle from when she painted them earlier. She’s been trying to distract herself all day from their date. Surfing, painting, drawing. She ate ravenously around 5:30, feeling like a grandma. But she wanted plenty of time to get ready.

How do you dress for a first date with the love of your life?

Go-karting is inherently casual, which is in a way harder to dress for. Casual summer feels skimpy to her and she doesn’t want to look like she’s expecting to get laid tonight. Because they’re Not Doing That. Slow and steady.

So she wants to show some skin but not so much that she’s irresistible just… distracting. After a long debate, she chooses a pair of cigarette-thin white capris and a turquoise tank that makes her tan glow. Even with that and the light makeup and hair, Maya is ready outrageously early. She curses herself for it because now she has more time to sit and stew.

What if go-karting is a bad idea? I mean, they’re trying to be grown ups. Maybe this is the wrong move? No, no it’s fine, it’s supposed to be low key and fun. What if they stumble over talking to each other all night? What if they don’t know how to be grown ups?

Maya rolls her eyes at herself and flops back on the bed just in time to hear his Jeep crackle over her gravel driveway. She flings herself upright, fixes her hair and scurries down the stairs, quieting her steps so he doesn’t hear how eager she sounds.

He climbs the stairs to her porch two at a time, trying to get the nervous energy out any way he can before he sees her. He hums. Rocks on his toes, then his heels. Checks his phone. 7:10. A little too on the nose. He takes a breath. 7:11. Good enough. 

He knocks. 

She opens the door with a glowing smile, deciding it’s not too much to look happy to see him. 

“Hey,” she says breathlessly, “You look… so great.”

She ducks her head a little, blushing like a teenager. 

He’s a little busy staring at her to reply immediately; he looks at her as if he doesn’t already know how beautiful she is. It feels like he doesn’t. Everything feels new, tonight, somehow. New, but also better. 

Shawn finally snaps to. 

“You look way out of my league,” he says with a laugh, puffing his chest slightly as he tries to pretend his cheeks aren’t turning red. 

Maya chooses to ignore his comment and decides to focus on the seeping blush in his cheeks because it looks so very good on him.

“Oh,” his brows raise, and then he shoves his hand into his pocket, fishing out the wine red and navy woven friendship bracelet he hid there earlier. He always meant to give it to her. He hadn’t finished it before she left. 

It feels a little silly now. A near 40-year-old man dangling something he made as a kid from his fingers like she’ll think it’s as special as he does. 

He wants her to have it, anyway. Even if she thinks it’s silly and throws it away. 

“I, uh, I found this. A few weeks ago, like, buried in an old college bag I was digging through. I didn’t-- I mean, it wasn’t finished so I finished it and I thought you might like it. But now I’m thinking that I probably should’ve gone with daisies.” 

She watches curiously as he digs through his pocket and produces a present. She recognizes the thread, remembers that he used to spend hours on the beach while she surfed tying bracelets together. It was good for his fidgety fingers when he didn’t have his guitar. 

Maya shrugs and feels a flush in her own cheeks that she knows she can’t fight. “Daisies die. This will last longer,” She holds her wrist out with a smile, “Would you tie it on for me, please?”

Shawn’s lips spread in a pleased smile. She wants to wear it. It seems like a stupid thing to be happy over but. He can’t help it. 

It feels special. Little victories, right?

“Oh, yeah, totally. C’mere,” he murmurs, corner of his mouth quirked. He cups the back of her hand to bring her wrist closer, then loops the thin bracelet around her, tying the frayed ends together tightly enough so it won’t fall off, but with enough room for her skin to breathe. 

Maya likes the bracelet very much. It’s like a portable version of her painting of them as kids at the Avila house -- a reminder of who they were and what they can become if they hold on.

Shawn smiles at her when he’s finished, stepping aside so she has room to close the door and lock up behind her. As she navigates her keys into her bag, Shawn tilts his head. “Still okay with go-karting?”

“Completely. And I thought maybe we’d get ice cream after.”

A little impulsively, because she thinks it’ll help take the edge off for both of them, she leans in and pecks his cheek quickly.

Shawn turns scarlet. Her lips on his cheek burn in the sweetest way. He grins at her, slow and coy, as she drops away from him. He catches her wrist as she goes, slipping his hand into hers, fingers intertwined. 

“I like ice cream,” he murmurs, then tugs her along, guiding her down the stairs and to his Jeep. He helps her inside and definitely does not let his gaze linger on the curve of her ass as she climbs onto her seat. 

Shawn closes the door once she’s settled then jogs around to the driver’s side. 

She didn’t have to worry for very long whether the cheek kiss was a good idea. The heat rushes to his face fast and furious. He takes her hand in his own gesture of closeness and helps her into his car like a gentleman.

He smiles at Maya as he slips into the car. He revs the Jeep to life, Courtney Love once again  rasping through the speakers. Hooking an arm around the neck of the passenger’s seat, Shawn backs down the driveway and into the street. Then they’re off, driving along the beach towards the go-kart track. 

“So,” Shawn starts, trying to sound far more casual than he feels, “How was your day?”

Maya smiles at his music choice and makes a mental note to ask him about it later. It’s a good, easy step into their deep pool of getting to know each other again.

She looks back at him from the singing white sand of the beach. She stifles a goofy grin at his question because it feels so very first date-y and she likes it. She likes the effort they’re both putting in tonight.

“Uhm… it was good. I got out to the beach early, the surf forecast looked great. I got my longboard out there for a couple hours. I stayed and swam around with a snorkel for awhile too, I found some cool fish that were kind of silver, I tried to google them to figure out what they were…”

Maya rambles. He likes it. He could listen to her ramble all day, about anything. He loves her voice, has always found it soothing. He smiles as he listens. 

She hears herself stalling. She cuts to the chase.

“And I spent all afternoon in my studio working on a new piece. It’s almost finished.”

“Oh yeah?” She hasn’t really mentioned her art to him all summer. He doesn’t feel like he knows Maya the artist at all anymore, save for the thimble on his back. He hopes she hasn’t changed her mind about letting him get it inked into his skin.

“Do-- I mean, can you tell me about it? You don’t have to, but, you know. I like knowing about your art.” 

Shawn glances at her, his lips pressed together as he watches her watch the beach. He gets his eyes back to the road before she can catch him. 

Maya feels the difference. This is the kind of question she would’ve dodged all summer. As close as he got, as close as she wanted him, she could never let him in this far. But after their showdown last week, it feels different now. It feels better.

“I started it last week after… uhm, after we fought. I had this image in my head that I couldn’t really get away from so I thought getting it out in paint would help. It’s… it’s a memory, I guess, of you and me and our last night in Avila. We’re on the daybed watching the sunset on the deck. To me, it’s a reminder. That we’re not kids anymore. That we can be more than that now if… we want.”

She looks over from her window to smile at him. “But I’m painting it to look like a photo so all the detail, y’know, it takes a while to get it perfect. I’ve been smelling like turpentine for days.”

“Oh,” he chokes, like an idiot. Shawn wasn’t expecting all of that. He’s not sure what he imagined her painting this summer, but he never let himself think it had anything to do with him. 

He feels the flush creep up the back of his neck again.

“That sounds really cool, Maya. I think, you know, I’d like to see it some time. When it’s finished or whenever.” He pulls up to a stoplight, leans his head back against his seat and looks over at her. He smiles. “But only if you’re okay with that.” 

He knows, almost better than anyone, that art can be personal. It’s why he doesn’t play his music anymore. It digs too deep and he doesn’t know how to share that with people, except for the occasional lyric or two with his therapist, or a song here and there with Geoff. 

It’s hard, baring your soul for people to critique. He doesn’t want to push a boundary by asking to see hers too soon.  

Maya is surprised by how much she wants him to see it once he offers his interest. All summer she’s painted. She’s illustrated loud, catastrophic shapes without definition or meaning and none of it has felt like her at all. She never painted that way before. Now that she’s creating her own way again, she finds she really does want to share it with him. She doesn’t want to hide.

“I’d love to show it to you. I only need a couple more hours with it I think before it’s officially time to leave it the hell alone.”

Maybe after they’ve spent some more time together, this slow, pressure-free, easy time, maybe he’ll let her draw or paint him again. She hasn’t sketched him since she came back to Avila. She looks over at him while he pulls into the parking lot and looks critically at the planes and angles of his face, imagining him in charcoal or fine graphite pencil. He’d be beautiful.

Shawn can feel Maya looking at him. He tries not to blush. He feels her gaze on him the way he used to back in college, when she would think about which angles of his she most wanted to draw. Which were dramatic, or soft, or romantic, or somber. 

She used to go on about it, but now, if she’s thinking it, she doesn’t share. Just watches him as he navigates the parking lot, then slides into a spot with enough room on either side for them to get out. 

He kills the engine. Turns to look at her with a careful smirk tugging his lips.

“Hi,” he starts. “Finished staring at me?” 

He calls her out with that smirk she loves. She beams at him. “I’ll let you know.”

She lets herself out of the Jeep and links her fingers with his again while they head toward the go-kart track. It’s outdoors, so they can hear the engines and smell the gas. It makes Maya chuckle.

“I haven’t done this in… god, I have no idea, actually. It’s definitely safe, right?”

She’s not too worried, it’s a family friendly joint and they have helmets and stuff. Maybe it’s her residual first date nerves that have her keyed up.

Shawn grins, turning on his heel to walk backwards as he squeezes her hand reassuringly. 

“C’mon Lemon. It’s obviously super safe. And I’m pretty sure they got brand new carts like 6 months ago.” 

He gives her a wink then turns back around, navigating his arm over her shoulders while keeping their fingers linked. 

He calls her ‘Lemon’ again and it makes her light up from the inside out. She wants to spin around in circles and squeal like a teenager who just got asked to prom. Instead she shivers at his wink and lets him cuddle up to her. He smells great, just like he always does. She puts her arm around his waist and enjoys the way a middle aged mom looks at them while she waits for her husband and sons to wrap around the track.

There are a few people in line at the little kiosk outside, so as they wait, Shawn pulls out his wallet and holds onto it. He doesn’t want her getting any funny ideas.

He’s been planning to splurge on the all-access wristbands that let them do as many laps as they want and play as many arcade games as they want. So, endless air hockey, if that’s what Maya wants. `  

His wallet dangles casually from his fingers, but in her line of sight. Just so she’ll get the hint. He squeezes her hand again. 

Shawn is up front with the wallet and she appreciates it. She would’ve of course offered to at least split it but he sends the signal loud and clear and it’s sweet and boyishly romantic. She squeezes his fingers right back.

He springs for the good wristbands and she cracks a joke about him basically paying to have his ass kicked repeatedly at air hockey. They get to pick helmets and she picks a pink one.

“So this isn’t like bumper cars, right? I don’t get to smash into people if they’re in my way?”

Shawn barks out a laugh. What he would give to watch Maya chase people down on the track. He shakes his head as they head for the cars. 

“I think you should try it and see what happens, eh?”

She giggles. “I don’t want to get us kicked out of this place before the date even really starts.”

But she knows as well as he that she gets carried away with her competitive drive sometimes. So who knows.

Shawn slips his lime green helmet on his head and clicks the strap beneath his chin. There’s another line to wait in, set up between metal bars that lead to a row of karts. Shawn flips around and leans against one bar, fingers curling around the metal as he smirks down at Maya. 

“Air hockey might be your game, but I’m about to kick your ass at mine.” Shawn reaches from the bar for her wrist, pulling her closer to him in line. 

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Maya follows suit and slips on her neon pink helmet. The strip digs in under her chin but he distracts her easily by tempting her with a challenge.

She closes her eyes and sighs as he pulls her in. She plants a hand next to where he leans against the rail and tilts toward him conspiratorially.

“You’re awful confident for a 35-year-old going go-karting.”

She smirks triumphantly.

Shawn shrugs, grinning and looking down at his old chucks. He glances up at her without lifting his head. 

“Maybe there’s an Avila go-kart league. You don’t know.” 

Maya snorts and pictures it, Shawn, and surely Geoff because where Shawn goes, Geoff goes, even to this day -- the two of them bouncing around a go-kart track, chasing each other around like children, having a blast, one-upping each other whenever possible.

He grins, then straightens up, sliding down the bar as the line moves along. They’re near the front, but the line stops again as all the karts are on the track. Shawn sighs and pushes himself off of the bar. 

He slips behind Maya and drapes his arms over her shoulders. He presses his chin to the top of her pink helmet. 

“Wake me up when it’s our turn, Lu.” 

Maya keeps her silly grin in check as he drapes himself comfortably over her. She feels dainty. It’s kinda nice. As the line moves, she shuffles forward, pulling him along. 

She places her hands over his wrists and rubs his forearms where she knows he gets sore from detailing instruments all day. She hums from the back of her throat curiously.

“Why are you so tired, hun?”

Shawn sighs, shuffling along behind her. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, flipping one hand over so he can catch her fingers in his.  He tugs at her gently. “Too nervous thinking about my date with this really incredible woman. I dunno if you know her.” 

She could tell he was nervous, too. Hearing him admit it is kinda sweet, though. She imagines him rolling over in his bed, rumpling the sheets, heaving a sigh because he can’t decide if he wants to wear a blue shirt or a white shirt. It makes her smile so big her face hurts. 

His fingers are thick and warm between hers. She massages them gently and lets herself bask in it a little. 

“Bet she was nervous too,” she murmurs. 

Eventually, Shawn has to untangle himself from around Maya as they’re ushered out of the bars and towards the line of now unoccupied go-karts. He keeps their fingers linked until the last moment, only dropping her to climb into his kart. 

He buckles in, looking over as he watches Maya crawl into her own kart. 

“What do I get when I win?” he calls to her, grinning wide. 

The karts are bigger than she pictured but still small enough that watching Shawn crawl into one makes her laugh. As the engines rev, he gets cocky. 

Maya drapes her fingers over her steering wheel and steps past the dozen or so dirty jokes she’d make right now if it were a week or two ago. She smiles falsely. 

“There are prizes in the gum ball machine out front, cowboy. Or were you thinking of something else?”

Shawn can’t stop grinning. Maya never misses an opportunity to tease him. He likes it. He likes that she keeps him on his toes. 

“I was thinking you could buy my ice cream. And let me get extra toppings.” 

He winks at her, can’t help it, can’t feel anything but excited, nervous jitters right now that have his cheeks hurting from all the smiling. 

Maya tips her head back and laughs, feeling the adrenaline start to surge. 

“Any topping you want,” she promises. When she gets like this, she’s hard to beat at anything. She’ll have fun watching him try.

Over the speaker, a man announces 30 seconds until the green light. Shawn shifts in his seat, settling a bit lower and curling his fingers around the steering wheel. He revs the engine, still blocked in behind the gates that have yet to drop. 

He wonders, for a moment, if letting Maya win is the polite thing to do. But Shawn knows she’ll give him so much shit if he does that. She only likes winning if it’s a fair game. He looks over to her, seated in her kart with her hands draped casually over the wheel. 

He smiles. The countdown continues. 

Shawn settles in and she thinks it’s completely ridiculous how sexy he looks revving up a go-kart. It sets off a flurry of excitement that she knows is only egged on by her need to win.

She tightens her fingers around the wheel when the countdown hits the five second mark. When it hits 0, “GO!” flashes big and bright on the screen over the track. Maya’s reflexes are better, probably honed by surfing, and she gets off the blocks first.

The kart is bulky and difficult to manage, probably to keep people from going too fast or getting too dangerous. She gets distracted trying to turn around the first corner. Shawn gets the inside edge.

Maya swears under her breath and careens around the turn behind him, swerving around a middle schooler who’s not strong enough to turn the wheel quickly. She stomps on the gas around the second turn and comes up on the outside, but he holds her off. 

The remaining thirty seconds of the race have Shawn holding steady in first place. He wins pretty handily. As they pull back into the start gate, Maya huffs.

“How do you turn this thing so easily? What are you, the hulk?!”

He knew he would win, if only because he and Geoff do this like, more often than they probably should as grown-ass adults. It’s a beach town thing, though. The go-karting league is totally real, too, and something he’s pretty good at. 

They’ve got unlimited access to the track with their wrist bands, so they get to sit and wait for the next round while others climb out of their karts and new drivers pile in. Shawn grins, leaning back in his seat and draping his arm over the steering wheel as he shrugs. 

“Not my fault you skimp on arm day, Lemon.” 

They watch as the new drivers get settled into their karts, and the announcer makes another 30 second warning. 

“C’mon baby,” he says, glancing over her as the countdown nears 5, “Don’t go so easy on me.” 

He winks, and the lights on the screen above the track flash from red to yellow to green, then ‘GO!’ and with that, they’re off. 

Maya makes it off the block before him again, but he’s got the first turn clinched. The steering wheel isn’t so much heavy as it is bulky and awkward, and he knows that’s what Maya struggles with as he zooms past her on the inside of the track.

Three laps later and he zooms past the finish line and pulls into the gate about 3 seconds before she does. He settles back into his kart with a smile. 

“I think that was better than last time,” he laughs. 

By the time they’re pulling back into the start gate, Maya’s ears are still ringing from him calling her “baby,” even just teasingly. It feels like a year since he’s called her that. She decides to quietly blame that for her bad second race. 

She pouts and slaps the steering wheel when they pull back into the gate. “You are way too good at this. We need to get you out more if this is how you and Geoff are spending your Friday nights.”

She smirks because she’s kidding but also because she wants to be the one he spends his Friday nights with. Hopefully not go-karting because she totally sucks at it.

Shawn laughs, clicking open the hook of his helmet strap. 

“No, no. Fridays are usually karaoke at the Sandtrap. Saturday is for go-karting. Plus, you just don’t like losing.” 

He grins, wide and crooked at her, then plucks his helmet from his head and unfurls himself from the kart. He meanders to her kart, tucking the helmet beneath his arm and holding out a hand for her. 

Maya sighs and lets her hands fall to her thighs. “Air hockey or ice cream next?”

“I guess I could let you kick my ass in air hockey. Make you feel better about sucking at go-karts.” 

Maya tilts her head back and sighs pathetically, putting on a playful show. She lifts her hand weakly into his and lets him help her out of the kart. With one hand in his, she maneuvers out of the helmet and starts pulling him toward the arcade with a spark in her eyes.

“Let me or don’t let me, I’ll kick your cute little ass anyway, Mendes,” she teases.

Shawn laughs, shaking his head and squeezing her hand gently. 

He waits until they’ve given back their helmets to taunt, “You think my ass is cute,” in a lilting, sing-song tone. 

Maya giggles. “Your ass is adorable and you know it.” 

She stops short of smacking it. But she thinks about it.

They head into the arcade and find that one of the two air hockey tables is free. Maya goes for the red paddle before he can argue. She squares up at one end of the table, patting her paddle on the table, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Any last words, babe?”

Shawn’s left with the blue paddle, but he knew he would be. They both love red, but Maya, the reigning champ, gets whatever she wants. He swipes his paddle and glides it in a large circle over the table. 

“Just get the puck and show me what I’ve been missing, Lemon,” he urges with a smirk. 

Maya hunches over the table and puts the puck in place, looking back at him with a mischievous grin when she flips the switch that turns on the air. The table whirs to life and the puck starts skimming around, sliding every which way the air blows it. Maya strikes first, shooting the puck across to him. He bounces it back, but Maya has it on the backstroke and slams it into his goal quickly.

“Your grip’s too tight,” she advises with a wizened nod, “Don’t choke down on the paddle.”

She’s good. Faster than he is getting to the puck. He thinks he’s too tall for this game, because he can’t hunch over the way she does to get nice and close to the table. 

“Hey,” he grouses, reaching down for the puck in the slot. He twirls it between his fingers. “I didn’t trash your go-kart technique.” 

He drops the puck on the table and clamps it down with his paddle. He glances up at her, then back down to his paddle. 

Deep breath in, and then. He raises his paddle, releases the puck, and sends it flying towards Maya. 

(He takes her tip about his paddle grip. It’s a pretty good one.)

His next shot sails into Maya’s goal before she can fling it back toward him. She smirks.

“Maybe the student’s becoming the master.”

She fishes the puck back out and repositions it. She and Shawn volley back and forth until he loses some focus and she swings another shot past him. She cracks her neck back and forth theatrically.

“Mmk, I’m all loosened up now. You’re not getting another shot past me.”

“Your confidence is truly inspiring, Lemon,” he answers with a smirk as he pulls the puck out from his slot. 

He takes another shot.

Maya wins. He knew she would. He keeps up, mostly, scoring on her after she scores on him, but she always manages to stay a few points ahead. When she scores the winning goal, Shawn huffs and slides his blue paddle away, into the middle of the table where it floats around on it’s own, the air carrying one way then the other. 

“Why do I even try?” he laments, pressing his palms into the edge of the table as he hangs his head. 

Shawn looks back up at her after a moment, smirking a little. He tilts his head. “Will you give me a chance to win my dignity back? I can play a round of skee ball and get you that stuffed lion.” 

She loves that she can still beat him in air hockey. The universe feels right and balanced. It’s cute the way he loses, though. He gets grumpy but not mean. 

Maya strolls over to his side of the table and fishes one of his hands away from it, slipping her fingers between his to comfort him. 

“By all means, please. I don’t think I have a lion from the safari you won me 15 years ago. My collection is sorely lacking,” she teases. 

“Well,” Shawn hums, smiling down at her as he slides his thumb across her knuckles, “No animal kingdom is complete without its Lion King.” 

She tugs him away from the table toward the row of skee ball setups, considering what she could beat him at next. Probably pinball. She’s always been so good at pinball. 

He follows her to skee ball, holds his wristband over the scanner on one of the games that then shoots out a shiny white ball. He picks up the ball, spins it in his fingers and drops Maya’s hand. 

“All right, honey,” he purrs, rolling the ball between his palms, “Get ready to be amazed. I’m even better at this than I am at go-karting.” 

It’s probably not the sexiest thing to admit, but he’s always been good at skee ball. Long arms and all. Plus he’s got pretty good aim. God, he feels like he’s in high school, trying to impress the girl he likes by winning her prizes. It’s mostly a joke, but Shawn’s sure there will always be a part of him that wants desperately to impress Maya. 

No matter how slow this relationship goes, that won’t change. 

Shawn tosses the ball in the air once, catches it, then glides it along the smooth slope of the skee ball machine, where it flies over the ledge and pops up towards the corner. He holds his breath, and then the flashing lights go off as the ball drops into the hole that reads ‘100!’ 

“See,” he says with a grin, reaching for the next white ball the machine spits out. “Lion’ll be your before you know it.” 

Maya stands back to watch as he starts racking up points. She crosses her arms over her chest and bites down on a stupid smile. He’s right, he’s excellent at this. And he’s a lot of fun to watch. His eyes are all focused until they light up just like the game in front of him.

“At this rate, you’re gonna win the whole jungle,” she laughs, shaking her head as she watches the point count on the board go higher and higher.

She props herself up against the wall. “Can I ask you something?” She decides not to wait to ask her question. “What made you come back to Avila after LA?”

He tosses the last ball just as she makes his heart stop with her inquiry. He wasn’t expecting it, like, at all. 

The ball pops into the 50 point hole, and then it’s game over. Tickets start streaming out of the little slot at the bottom of the machine. 

Shawn swallows and turns to face Maya, slipping his hands into his pockets. He rocks back on his heels and shrugs. 

“Do you think I could-- I dunno. Could we get ice cream first?” 

It sounds like a cop out, but he doesn’t think this is something he wants to talk about while waiting for the skee ball machine to finish spitting out their tickets. 

Maya seals her lips together. He goes a little tense at her question and almost misses his shot. She swallows, hoping this isn’t too much too soon. She just… she wants to get to know him again.

Maya nods sheepishly and helps him fish his enormous bundle of tickets off the floor. They stack them in Shawn’s fist and start heading toward the prize counter. 

Maya plays with her fingers as they walk in silence. It’s grating.

“I… sorry. I mean, you don’t have to talk about this. I don’t want to pressure you. I understand it might be hard to talk about.”

Shawn frowns. She doesn’t need to apologize. And he doesn’t not want to talk to her about it. When it was happening, she was the only person he wanted to talk to at all. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought to tell her about it sooner, other than that he was subconsciously trying to pretend like their time apart never happened. 

He can’t pretend anymore. He wants Maya to know everything about him, just like she used to. 

“Hey, no,” he says when they reach the counter. He presses the tickets into the glass as they wait for the clerk to finish helping a gaggle of teen girls. “I want to talk about it. Just. Not while juggling all of these tickets.” 

He gives her a crooked smile and reaches for her hand, now that his are free. 

Shawn does a very effective job of making her feel less awkward about the question. His voice is warm and soft and he takes her hand comfortingly.

She loves holding his hand. It’s such a simple pleasure, but she found herself missing it in their many years apart, when she let herself think about him. She wraps her other hand around his so it’s sandwiched between both of hers.

“I can be patient,” she murmurs meaningfully, smiling up at him.

The clerk takes their tickets and Shawn asks him for the egregiously large stuffed lion that sits atop the mountain of prizes. Maya laughs when he hands it over. She tucks it under her arm.

“I don’t know where I’m putting this guy. Maybe he can live in my art studio,” she muses.

Shawn laughs, reaching over to fluff up a matted section of the lion’s mane. 

“I think he’ll make a great companion for you there. Like a muse.” 

Maya pictures propping her new lion friend up in the corner as a reminder of him. She likes that idea. 

As they head toward the ice cream bar, Shawn lifts their linked fingers, bringing Maya’s knuckles to his lips. He brushes a kiss across her skin, another gesture of reassurance. 

“Okay, Lu,” he says once they fold into the line, “What’s your poison?” 

He looks up at the menu, considering which treat will go best with talking about his terrible time in LA. Probably anything with chocolate. 

His lips kiss over her knuckles but the goosebumps spread far and wide. She sidles up next to him, holding his hand and cupping her other hand around his arm as he scans the menu. 

“I’m going Classic. Chocolate dipped swirl with strawberry syrup and chocolate jimmies.”

She hasn’t gotten ice cream from a truck like this in so long. She smiles, turning in to press her lips to his shoulder while he decides. 

Shawn grins. He likes Maya’s order. She always knew how to indulge. He feels her nudge a kiss into his arm, so he leans over and brushed his lips against the top of her head. 

Maya thinks it’s funny how they’ve been kissing all night, just not on the mouth. They’ve never been shy about PDA. She doesn’t think they’re shy now either, but she does think they’re both taking the slow part of their new relationship seriously. And they’ve unspokenly decided too much kissing on the mouth is a bad idea.

She doesn’t mind, actually. Especially because the idea of getting one single, perfect goodnight kiss out of Shawn has her light on her feet.

“That sounds delicious, sugar,” he hums, then looks back to the men. “But I think I’ve gotta go with with Neapolitan swirl. Chocolate dip and rainbow jimmies.”

He wiggles his wallet out of his pocket as they step to the front of the line to order, feigns like he doesn’t remember giving her shit about buying him ice cream for winning at go-karts. 

He places both of their orders and pays, leaving a few too many ones in the tip jar. He’s always been a hefty tipper, though. He gets it. He lived off of tips for long enough. 

She decides not to fight him on paying, not after that absurd date she dragged him on a couple weeks ago. It’s not that she’s hurting for cash or anything, she just thinks that feeling on equal footing for as long as possible is good for them right now. She does kiss his cheek, though, a fat, wet plant of her lips with a giggle behind it and a “thank you” murmured in his ear.

Shawn’s lip twitch with a hint of smirk when Maya places a messy kiss on the apple of his cheek. He doesn’t get a chance to reciprocate, though, before they’re handed lavish ice cream cones that take a bit of extra effort not to drop.  

Shawn guides Maya to one of the small plastic tables set up in front of the truck. He drops her hand so he can pull her seat out for her, a plastic green chair that scrapes obnoxiously on the asphalt beneath it. 

She sits in the seat he offers and crosses her legs, taking a first few swipes at her cone to alleviate some dribbling. When they’re settled in, she smiles over at him chasing some jimmies down his hand. She decides to wait for him to launch into the LA thing because she doesn’t want to feel like she’s badgering him.

The lion sits on the table between them as Shawn settles into his cone. A few sprinkles fall from the ice cream and onto his fingers as he takes a bite from the top. “Mmph,” he mumbles as he sucks the colorful jimmies from his skin. 

Maya laughs with her ice cream cone next to her mouth as she watches Shawn strategically attack his. She does her best not to slurp at hers but it’s hot and melting quickly. 

He looks up at Maya from over the slope of the stuffed lion’s back and realizes she’s waiting for him to talk about LA. He licks a drop of ice cream from his lip and considers where to begin. He hasn’t spoken about this with anyone in like, four years. He’s only ever really discussed it with Leah and his therapist. Geoff was there, so they don’t have to talk about it. 

“So, LA, right? I think the problem with LA is that, unless you have a solid game plan and like, people you can really trust, the city will chew you up and spit you out. And I didn’t have those things. I figured, I dunno, I could skate by on talent and sheer passion alone.” 

Shawn shrugs, looking away from Maya to lick at the top of his ice cream. He crunches on sprinkles and licks chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth. 

“I never found a band that I really gelled with. Not musically, anyway. Either we disagreed about, like, our musical vision or whatever, or our personalities clashed or they were more obsessed with fame and drugs and hookers than actually like, being musicians.” 

She listens intently. He doesn’t sound too broken up about it, helped, she suspects, by many years between then and now. Still, she considers as she watches him affectionately, it was his dream and he let it go. 

She ducks her head in disappointment at his assessment of his former bandmates. “That must’ve been so hard. To feel so disconnected from them on something you’ve always wanted.”

She hopes he’s not too disappointed about his trajectory. He seems truly happy with his shop. She hopes he doesn’t have regrets. 

Maya sounds sad for him. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t feel sad about it. Not anymore anyway. 

He takes a bite of his ice cream, crunches the jimmies. 

“It’s okay. I mean, yeah, it sucked, but it also helped. It was formative, or whatever. And it made me realize that I didn’t really want that life, anyway. If I had really wanted it, I would’ve kept fighting for it. And I probably wouldn’t have done so much coke just to get through the nights.” 

He doesn’t know how else to bring it up. That he fucked over his body in a way they both always said they hated and would never do. 

It was easier to do it when he was alone and tired and disappointed with his life. He doesn’t ever miss it these days, though. 

Maya feels like her heart drops into her stomach to slosh around with some melted ice cream. The vision of him is cold, standing in dirty club bathrooms waiting to go on at 2am with bandmates he doesn’t like, snorting a line off his hand. She closes her eyes.

“God, sweetheart,” she rasps, clearing the tears out of her throat with a shake of her head. They sting as they threaten to fall. She nourishes her sore throat with another bite of cold ice cream before she speaks again.

“Maybe our experiences weren’t so different,” she admits, lowering her gaze as she remembers her late nights spent on the opposite coast buying Adderall from her bro-y coworkers so she could work until 3 or 4am on an all-too-consistent basis.

His heart breaks at the sound of her voice. He didn’t mean to upset her with any of this. But she asked and he doesn’t want to tell her half-truths anymore. 

“Lu,” he murmurs. He guesses he should’ve known, should’ve put it together, that being a hardworking business woman in Manhattan meant long days followed by longer nights only survived with the help of a stimulant or two. He hates that she got caught up in it too. 

But it’s life, he guesses, and it made them who they are now. 

She lifts her eyes to his, unafraid of his judgement, knowing he won’t put it on her. She smiles weakly. “I guess we can’t harp on this kind of stuff. We did what we felt we had to to survive. And we got ourselves out.”

Shawn scoots his chair around the table towards Maya, plastic legs scratching noisily across the asphalt. He turns it to face her, his knees digging into the arm of her chair. Reaching for her free hand with his, he pulls it into his lap and curls their fingers together. 

“Hey,” he says with a smile, bringing her fingertips to his cold lips, “I’m glad we’re here now. You know?” 

Maya watches with a nearly bursting heart as Shawn pulls himself over to sit closer to her. His lips are soft and cool. She thinks about leaning over to taste them but feels like the moment doesn’t quite call for it. Instead she thumbs at the dimple in his chin and smiles a little wider.

“You have no idea how glad I am that we’re here now,” she replies almost breathlessly. 

She thinks he probably does have some idea, especially given how rough his years apart from her are starting to sound. They’ve been through the wringer. They both deserve to relax and take it in a little. The fact that they get to do it together is something Maya never imagined could happen again. She could let herself get swept up in it but wants to keep things fun and maybe a little lighter on this date because first dates are supposed to be fun.

Maya swipes her tongue around her dripping cone and traces her finger against his jaw affectionately. “Would you let me draw you again soon?”

He’s got an overwhelming urge to kiss her, but he resists by licking at his dripping ice cream instead. He’s making himself wait. He wants to deserve it. He wants her to remember the moment crisply, with the same sort of clarity you remember something that truly affected you, a sharp contrast to everything else because of how it changed your life. 

Maybe he has romantically high hopes for this kiss.

Some habits die hard. 

Shawn’s eyes fall shut as she traces the angle of his jaw. He sucks in a soft breath. 

“You can draw me anytime you want, Lemon,” he murmurs, gazing at her from under hooded as his fingers curl around her wrist. 

“I always thought I was a pretty good model,” he bites into his cone, giving Maya a crooked smile as he chews. 

Maya goes pink. He reacts so well when she touches him, always. She leaves her warm fingers around the side of his neck, stroking gently at his curls. She loves the tiny ones that sit around his ears.

“You’ve always been my favorite model,” she promises, nodding firmly, “I have sketchpads full of proof of that.”

She smiles and bites into her own cone, looking off to reminisce. “I actually have all my old sketchbooks. If you go back far enough in my catalog, you can find the week we met. I think I started drawing you only a couple days after. I wasn’t very good then. I could never get your eyes right.”

He feels himself blushing. He misses the weight of her gaze on him as she sketched. He misses the way she would nudge his face with her fingertips to make sure his features caught the light just right. He misses how her cheeks would turn pink each time she finished a drawing with which she was particularly pleased.

He misses the privilege of admiring her many sketches, of him or otherwise, most of all. 

“I always liked the way you did my eyes,” he hums, crunching into more of his cone. 

“You made this one less droopy,” he says with a grin, pushing at the corner of his lazy eye. He laughs, “I really was so self-conscious about that back then.”

Maya finally lets him go with a swipe of her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. She takes another bite of ice cream and giggles with him, catching his fingers from his face to squeeze them in hers.

“I always loved it,” she tells him honestly after swallowing, “When you got tired, you looked like a puppy.”

She thinks of the nights they stayed up pretending to study in between long, languid kisses. They kissed like they had their entire lives to do it. They kissed arrogantly back then, like kids.

Maya takes the final bite, finishing off her cone. She clears her throat and looks over at him. “Don’t look much like a puppy now, though. All grown up.”

She can feel the heat in her face when she says it despite the frozen treat. She’s… hitting on him. It’s kinda funny.

Shawn is busy licking the remains of his ice cream from his fingers when he’s distracted by the raspy tone of her voice. He releases his thumb from his mouth with a wet pop and quirks a brow at her. 

“Are you saying I’m not cute anymore?” 

He pouts, but he can’t hold it for long and cracks a smile after a moment. 

She swallows roughly and shakes out a laugh, then bashfully looks away. He knows how cute he is. He also knows how absolutely heart-stoppingly gorgeous he is. He wears it well, warmly and modestly, but he knows it’s there. He wears the confidence better these days than he ever used to. 

After a moment, Shawn pushes his chair backward to give himself room to cross his ankle over his knee and fold his arms behind his head. He leans back and looks at Maya. 

Maya watches as he relaxes into his chair. She follows suit, crossing her long legs and leaning forward to look up at the stars. 

“Can I tell you something? I, uh, I felt weird saying anything before, but I want you to know. I want you to know everything now, so.” 

She blinks quickly, a little startled. She wets her lips and glances back at him. “You can tell me anything. Of course.”

She really believes that now. 

Shawn bites at his lip, cheek bulging with a slight smile before he continues. 

“So, you know that guitar I showed you? The first one I ever made?” His fingers scratch over his thigh, nails picking at his jeans. He takes a breath, wets his lips.

“I named it after you,” he finally says with a soft laugh, shaking his head a little. “Lulu. Guess I was still kinda lovesick.” 

Maya was preparing herself for something worse, something harsher. He pleasantly surprises her. A bubble of a giggle rises in her throat. She’s delighted and totally honored. She goes a warm pink color and settles further into her chair, slumping down as she beams at him.

“Really? Wow. I’ll take a guitar named after me over a ship any day of the week.”

She laughs again, blushing furiously, raking a hand through her hair, “Especially if you made it.” 

“Could name a whole series after you, sugar,” he murmurs, sitting forward and leaning his forearms on his knees. He tilts his head. “Would you let me do that?” 

He’s been thinking about it for a while, now. Starting a proper series with a name, instead of just fucking around with whatever he wants, or only refurbishing. The money’s better with refurb. But that’s why he saves, and that’s why he keeps strong relationships with his elite clients. Elite is classiest way to say famous, he’s pretty sure. 

Anyway, he thinks naming a series after Maya would be. Nice. Maybe a little cheesy, and sentimental. But he’s a little cheesy and a little sentimental. He can’t help it, not with her. 

Maya is flooded with pride. She aims her gaze down at her feet and takes a deep breath.

“I’d love that. When you decide I’ve earned it.”

She doesn’t want them getting ahead of themselves again. It’s so easy for them to do. But she wants stable, she wants a foundation, not building blocks just tall enough for them to keep climbing with nothing to hold onto. 

But someday? Yeah. She’d like that.

She’s right about earning it. Not that he doesn’t think she already deserves it, because she does. He’s the one who needs to earn it. And they need to earn it together, too. 

He stands up, tucks the lion under his arm and reaches for Maya’s hand when she stands, too. His thumb brushes her knuckles while he leads her toward the parking lot. 

“Do you wanna, I dunno, drive around and talk a little? I don’t think I’m too sick of you yet,” he asks with a wry grin, glancing down at her as he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze. 

She’s relieved when he mentions an alternative to taking her straight home. She doesn’t want this night over yet. Because he’s not coming home with her. 

“That sounds perfect,” she assures him, walking a tad closer to his side, “We should do Shore Drive and check out all those crazy massive mansions on the north end of the beach.”

Shawn grins. “You love Shore Drive. Why not get a fancy mansion yourself?” 

He’s teasing, really. He loves her cottage. It’s comfy and cozy and so perfect for Maya. He knows why she picked it. 

Maya grins and shrugs. “I do love Shore Drive but I just like to gawk at it, I wouldn’t actually live there. When I was dreaming of Avila I always pictured myself in one of the old historical cottages in my neighborhood.”

She also pictured herself with him if she’s being honest, but that kind of admission doesn’t go well with the “take it slow” plan they’ve devised.

Shawn leads her to the passenger’s side, opens the door and helps her inside with a gentle smile. She’s got her bare feet kicked up onto the dashboard by the time he’s tucked the lion away and slid into the driver’s seat. 

Maya makes herself comfortable in her seat. He looks happy to see her there. She watches him carefully stow the lion in the backseat and start the engine. The radio turns on like it always does in his car to a station playing some mellow John Mayer. She smiles and turns it down just slightly so they can talk over it.

“So I’m taking the long way, right?” he asks, looking at her as he slows to a stop at the red light leading out of the parking lot. 

Maya smiles again, softer this time. She burrows down into her seat that smells like him. “Yes please. I like taking the long way with you.”

The fastest way to Shore Drive is to the right, so when the light turns green, Shawn hooks left. He flicks the button above the rear view mirror and the sunroof glides back. He rolls down the windows and hangs an arm outside as they whip down the beachside highway. 

Maya purrs with the wind in her hair. Usually she gets sleepy sitting in the car but she’s strangely energized tonight. She watches moonlight bounce off the ocean with a sparkle in her eye. She takes a deep sea-salted breath and releases it slowly through her nose.

“So,” Shawn starts after a moment of driving in silence. “I wanna know. You said— before-- you said I don’t know you anymore. And I want to. So let’s, I dunno, let’s play twenty questions or something.” 

He glances over at her, feeling his cheeks twinge. He smiles, then looks back out to the road. 

“I mean, if you want.” 

Maya nods at his idea, considering. She has so many questions floating around in varying degrees of heaviness, she’s not sure where to go first. She bobs her head back and forth, considering.

“Hmm… ok… how about… other than blow, what are your chosen vices of the last 12 years?”

She says it with a smile so he knows he’s safe with her.

“Oooh,” he purrs, smirking slight as he glances at her. “Only on question one and already getting gritty?” 

He chuckles, then sinks his teeth into his lower lip while he thinks. He racks his brain for a good, not-boring answer as he chews at his lip, then soothes it with his tongue. 

“Hm,” he murmurs, shrugging a little. “Besides weed and Wednesday night s’mores? I guess those M&M cookies from Panera. Good snack when I’m at the shop late.” 

He glances at Maya, corner of his mouth tugged into a frown. “That’s super fucking boring. I’m really boring compared to like, Manhattan people.” 

Maya tosses her head back, laughing. “M&M cookies! Those are the best. The chocolate chip ones have nothing on the M&M cookies.”

She wonders if she could pull off baking him a batch herself. Probably not. She might try anyway. He’d probably like that. 

“So what about you?”

Maya smiles conspiratorially. “I used to have an online shopping problem. I would order so much stupid shit in the middle of the night. Once I ordered a tangerine orange Kitchenaid mixer.”

Shawn thinks if he were as well off as Maya, he’d have an online shopping problem too. He laughs, shaking his head. Pressing his palm into the steering wheel, he carefully banks the Jeep around a twisting curve in the road. 

“Can you even bake? Is that a secret skill you learned?” 

Maya exhales so her lips flap comically. She shakes her head and looks down at their twining fingers. She smiles.

“I definitely can’t bake. I can sometimes make chocolate chip cookies without burning them. Like, sometimes.”

She chuckles at herself. She thinks of all the Amazon returns she made in the cold light of day with a blush in her cheeks for even ordering it in the first place.

“Ok. Your turn.” She turns her head to look out at the water. 

Shawn switches hands on the wheel so he can reach across the console for her. He glides his palm over the back of her hand, slotting their fingers together so the tips of his brush her wrist. 

“Mm. New question for you. What’s your go to comfort movie? You—“ he clears his throat, “You said I don’t know your favorite movies, but I used to. So—“ his lips twitch, “—I wanna know again.” 

Maya’s very sure Shawn could still reel off an impressive list of all her favorite movies, even now, even after all this time. She vaguely recalls crying at him the other day about having go-to movies she’d put to calm her down and help her fall asleep when she was in the thick of the stress at work.

“I mean, I still love all the movies I did. I adopted a couple that used to be what I’d put on to fall asleep. They’re weird choices, actually. One was “The Other Woman” with Leslie Mann and Cameron Diaz. I really liked all their outfits and their houses. The other one was Casablanca.”

She tilts her head back at him with a shy smile. Casablanca was her favorite fantasy, apart from the ending.

Of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world. Shawn said something like that to her recently, before their blow up. She hasn’t forgotten.

Shawn frowns, foot easing off the gas as they pull onto Shore Drive, slowing down a bit so Maya can admire the mansions. 

“I have a love-hate relationship with Casablanca. I don’t like a sad ending, I guess.” 

Maya nods in understanding. It is a heartbreaking ending. She was usually asleep before it ended, though, mercifully. She thinks she wouldn’t like it as much if she watched the ending regularly. It would hit too close to home.

Maya doesn’t think she’s as interested in the mansions as she expected to be, not with him sitting here, captivating her like he does. She glances over his shoulder at one of her favorite Shore Drive houses and back at him.

The Jeep rolls to a stop when they come to the stop sign at the end of the second block. There’s no one around at the moment, so Shawn looks from the road to Maya, only to find she’s already looking at him. He smiles. 

“Tell me a secret,” he says, dragging his calloused thumb across her knuckles, “Something you haven’t told anyone ever. Even if it’s silly or stupid. Or embarrassing.” 

He grins, quirking a brow. 

Her nose twitches. She strokes her free hand through her hair. What secret could she possibly have to share with him that he doesn’t already know? He used to know everything. What’s left?

Her brows pull together, then apart. She smirks. “This isn’t exactly a secret but I haven’t told anyone I did this, only people in my office know. When I quit my job, I didn’t give notice or anything, I just walked out one day during lunch in my $2000 Gucci suit and took the subway to Central Park. I ate a hot dog. And then I ate another. And then I got a third one and ate it on my way into my boss’s office. I told him I quit, I crumpled up the wax paper and tossed it on his desk. I packed up my office and never went back.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s one of the proudest moments of my life, I think.”

“Holy shit, Lu.” 

He says it before he can stop himself, doesn’t mean to sound as bewildered as he does. He’s not so much surprised by the story as he is impressed. Proud. Thankful she stood up for herself when she needed to. 

He grins, reaches from the steering wheel to cup his other hand around hers, so he’s got her completely encompassed by his broad palms. 

“That’s really fucking awesome. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do that,” he shakes his head, squeezing her hand gently. 

Maya preens at his reaction. She lets him take her hand and gush at her a little. Bubbling under his gaze, she reaches up with her free hand and draws a blunted fingernail against his jaw, admiring the perfect line of it. Her fingers twitch in his for her pencils.

“But, ah, I think you’ve always been braver than me,” his smile softens, and he carefully brings her hand to his mouth, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. He presses a soft kiss to her knuckles, thumb pushing into the middle of her palm. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” she murmurs.

Shawn was brave even when she wasn’t. He got himself to LA even without her as a parachute. When it didn’t go to his plan, he was brave enough to get himself out and start fresh and new where no one knew him. He’s been brave his whole life -- she feels she’s only been brave in the last few months.

His lips are a compliment all their own. She accepts it with an extra pulse of her heart. 

Shawn blushes. The flush starts in the tips of his ears and spreads to his cheeks. No one gets him this bashful anymore. It used to be easy, but the years have hardened him. Now, it’s only Maya. 

He pulls a hand from hers and takes the steering wheel. He starts driving again so he doesn’t kiss her. His Jeep is a dangerous place to kiss. They used to fuck all the time in the Jeep he had in college. This newer model has even more room for them to mess around. 

He doesn’t need the temptation. Go slow. 

Maya inhales as her chest falls back with the gentle lurch of the car. It’s good they’re moving. Moving means not stopping, not crawling into the backseat, not getting carnal at the corner of Shore and Shell. Moving is good. 

“If it’s my turn to ask a question again,” she starts, voice soft and quiet over the lapping of the waves on shore, “What’s the last song you wrote?”

Maya’s question almost makes him choke. The only songs he ever writes anymore are about her. The songwriter part of him feels like a remnant from before, from when he was so in love with her he couldn’t contain it to their relationship, so it poured out of him as music and lyrics. 

It’s a way to cope now.

“I uh,” he laughs, “I wrote a few stanzas on the harp the other day.” 

Safe answer. Neutral. 

But then— 

“I guess that’s not, like, a real song though. The, ah, the last real song I wrote was a few weeks ago? It just kind of came to me at the piano. The music anyway. I’ve been jotting down lyrics all summer.” 

She clears her throat and continues admiring the houses as they pass slowly on the deserted street. She’s glad to hear he’s been writing music even if he gets a little cagey about what kind. She nods like she’s not dying of curiosity. 

“Oh, that’s great! What… um, what’s it called?”

A thinly veiled version of “is it about me?” if Maya’s ever heard one. 

He doesn’t feel like hiding from her anymore. The parts of himself he shared in the beginning of the summer were the easy ones. The ones she already knew. The songs he used to write about her were simple. Juvenile. Important, but he’s outgrown them. 

The ones he writes now cut a little more deeply, in ways he didn’t want her to know about when he was busy acting like they were the same people they’d been in college. 

“Oh, eh, I don’t really have a title yet. That’s always the hardest part for me. But I think, well, it’s definitely about us. About you.” 

He wants to say if that’s okay, but his adult brain reminds him he doesn’t need her permission to write music about things that are important to him. 

Shawn doesn’t hesitate to tell her he’s written about her. She can’t say she’s completely surprised. It’s nice to hear, though. The confirmation from him feels good. He cares enough to write. 

Maya nods. She glances past him at an old Victorian that’s stood the test of time. It’s weatherbeaten and stately and it’s not going anywhere. 

“I think it’s good for us both,” she assures him, “That we’re both re-exploring what we love to do. That we’re working on ourselves that way. And that we’re honest about it.”

She talks about them like they’re a team. That’s really all he’s ever wanted. His heart flutters in his chest. He thinks it’s good, too. 

“It’s not a happy song,” he says, because he can’t stop the honesty now. He wrote it when he still thought she was going back to New York. At the time, he thought it was evidence that he could cope with her leaving. 

Now he thinks it works with the new relationship they’re embarking upon. He can fiddle with a couple of the lyrics, anyway. 

Maya casts her eyes out at the water. She hums. 

“They can’t all be happy songs, I guess.”

She thinks all they can do is hope the rest of their songs will be happy. They deserve that. They both do. 

He glances at her as he turns off of Shore, down a small beach road that will spit them back onto Main Street, eventually. 

“But I could play it for you sometime. If you want.” 

She feels his eyes again. She looks back with a quiet smile. “I’d love to hear it when you’re ready for me.”

Coming back to Main Street means the end of the night. Maya sighs and hopes it doesn’t come off too dramatic. But the truth is, this was a hell of a first date. She feels better with him now than she has all summer. Cards are on the table. 

As he pulls into her driveway to drop her off, she grins. 

“You still owe me about 16 more questions,” she laughs, “Rain check?”

Shawn feels like he is the embodiment of the sigh she releases. He doesn’t want the night to be over either. He goes as slowly as he can on the way back to her house, squeezing her hand every now and then. 

He throws the Jeep in park and lets his head fall back against the seat. He smiles. 

“What if you ask me one more while I walk you to your door?” 

He lifts his brows, then gets out of the car and jogs to the passenger’s side so he can open the door for Maya. 

Maya fights the embarrassed chuckling that threatens when he scampers around the side of the car to help her out. She takes his hand and steps out, her sandals hooked in her fingers. She keeps hold of his hand and walks slowly up the cobblestone path to her front door. She glances over at her porch swing and thinks maybe she’ll come out here after she gets ready for bed with her sketchpad, something to take the edge off before she sleeps.

In the warm lamplight, Shawn glows. She takes his other hand and steps a little closer to him. She swallows any nerves left and fixes her eyes on his.

“Ok, last question. How do you feel about how tonight went?”

Shawn drops one of her hands in favor of cupping her neck, thumb stroking across her jaw. He smiles, hanging his head a bit closer to her. 

“I feel like it was the best first date I’ve ever been on.” It sounds like a line, but he says it as earnestly as he can and hopes she’ll know he means it. 

His gaze drops to her lips, but only briefly. He looks up, wetting his own lips and pressing them together. 

His voice is raspy when next he speaks. 

“I also feel like I’d really like to kiss you now,” he clears his throat. Then, gently, “Please.” 

Maya’s eyes flutter. His thumb is hot and rough on her skin. When he’s standing this close, she can smell his cologne, shampoo, body wash, him. She fights a pathetic whimper rising in her throat.

It’s just a kiss. It’s just a kiss.

He looks down at her lips and she nearly lunges for him. Apparently it’s a kiss she’s fucking starving for. 

She exhales slowly trying not to pant at him.

“Yeah. Yes. Mhmm. Please. Kiss me.”

Kissing Maya is so easy and so hard at the same time. Easy, because they’ve done it so much, hard, because they’ve never done it like this. He’s never had to walk away from her after. 

He presses his thumb to the apple of her cheek as he brings his lips to hers, his chest deflating with a soft murmur as he releases a breath he’s been holding all night. He sighs into her mouth, stepping closer to her until their bodies are flush together. 

It’s a dangerous game, sipping at her lips and holding her close while not letting it go any further. He’s delicate with her, doesn’t try to coax her mouth open with his tongue, even though the instinct is there, twitching in his fingers. 

He resists. It’ll be worth it, in the long run. 

The kiss is somewhat chaste but it doesn’t feel unsatisfying, exactly. Just cautious. It’s warm and soft and so tender. 

She wants to suck on his lower lip or tangle her fingers in his hair. She wants to let them in so they can stumble up the stairs, shedding clothes as they go. She doesn’t. She just kisses him back, inhaling as he sighs. 

They separate gently. She licks her lips, like she just wants to taste him again. 

She’s panting, not because the kiss was so hot, but from the strength it takes to control herself. 

“So uhm,” she murmurs, “Do you want to… I dunno, hang out again tomorrow?”

Is that too soon? What does taking it slow feel like?

Shawn has to take two full steps away from her to make sure he doesn’t stumble inside after her, like he’s done so many times this summer. 

Go slow. 

She sounds unsure of her offer, but he wants it. He grins. 

“Yes-- Yeah. Yeah, totally. I do want that. I fuckin’--” he laughs, shaking his head and scrubbing a hand through his hair as he looks at his feet, “I miss you already.”

Maya chuckles back and it sounds a little raspy. 

“Yeah,” she replies, “I know what you mean.”

She doesn’t know exactly if he’s referring to missing her even though she’s still standing with her hand on the doorknob or missing her because if it were a few weeks ago, he’d probably be inside her at this time of the night. 

Either way, she feels it too. 

With one last slightly shaky but still hopeful smile, she lets herself inside to dig out a sketchbook. 

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