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pearl-pilots-in-chains · 4 years ago

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Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

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Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #fanfic #fanfiction #highschool au #asurei #asuka x rei #rei ayanami #asuka soryu langley

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m00nlitknight · 5 years ago

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librarian helper

fandom: IT (2017) pairing: henry bowers / goody-two-shoes reader word count: 1,635 warnings: none to really point out? henry being henry?? summary: Oh, how one tires of stagnant days. extra: my favorite part of this is when richie said 'mullet-boy bowers' im iconic. i also finished this at like 3am pls b gentle i hope i wrote henry ok! feedback is highly appreciated, thank you for reading!

archive of our own link.

Monday mornings in Derry weren’t ideal, regardless of the context. Teens awoken far too early for their own good, forced to come to grips with the reality that it was the first day back from the weekend. Trudging through the crowded student body and longing for the day to be over just as soon as it was to begin. A variety of feelings made the air heavy and thick with a concoction so truthful to the high school experience; frustration, exhaustion, and the underlying scent of yearning.

Few an individual found themselves bragging of the weekend’s extracurricular activities, cackling with an unusual vigor and energy unlike the rest of their near-ghoulish peers. Others were sitting on the ground, rushing through their assignments with adrenaline only just granted to them; oh yes, the heart-stopping experience of forgetting that there was homework.

Fortunately, you’d hadn’t found yourself in that predicament this morning, having thoroughly done your homework on Friday night. Best to do it then push it off and forget it; your own philosophy. Not to say you hadn’t found yourself in the same situation in times past, nor were you above those whose memory’s had failed them.

Quietly you step up to your locker, opening it and glancing down to your left, where Richie Tozier was currently scribbling nonsense down on what you assumed to be Government. You hummed, putting your things away quickly and retrieving what looked to be the same assignment - some stupid worksheet the teacher assigned, no doubt some kind of busywork. Your class truly had no grasp on the concept of being ‘quiet,’ which annoyed you to no end.

You squatted down to his level, with his pencil not even ceasing as you set the paper in his peripheral. No teachers were at their morning posts yet, either that or the ones who were supposed to be there simply didn’t care to be there.

“Oh - uh, shit, how much?” His eyes shifted from you to the paper quickly as he fumbled to reach for something - likely his wallet.

“Nothing,” Your voice leaves you laced with amusement as you push the paper into his grasp. “Just don’t get caught with it, please.”

“Aw, c’mon! You can’t just hand it the fuck over for free, man, that’ll mean I owe you a solid.”

“Just consider it on the house, Tozier. It’ll be fine, you don’t owe me.”

“Okay, okay, but don’t come hollerin’ when you suddenly need a favor from ol’ Richie, alright?”

You hum in affirmation, turning back to your locker and beginning to sort through the things that would be needed for the day to come. Around you, energy began to rise, individuals of the student body reanimating through social interaction. The morning sun may not have been enough to revitalize them, but it appeared that the promise of teenage-to-teenage interaction was.

Richie finished his work with your worksheet quickly, shoving it back in your direction with a toothy grin. “Thanks, dude, you’re a fuckin’ lifesaver, I swear.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing! Do you need help with anything else? You know I have a basically free second period in the library.”

“Nah, thanks for the offer,” He seemed to finalize, standing up to go through his own locker. “I’ll make sure to send my dumbfuck friends your way if they happen to need any tutoring, though.”

You release a laugh through your nose, head shaking as you did so. Richie looked to you with a momentary smile, only to have it fall when he looked passed to the people around you.

“Alright, don’t panic,” naturally, you felt a little alarmed as a grimace crept onto his features. “ but I think you have a momentary peepin’ Tom right now.”

“Uh ... what ... do you mean?” You couldn’t help the faint caution and apprehension crawling into your voice.

“Mullet-boy Bowers is staring at you like ... really intensely,” he turned to you once again, putting an not-so-reassuring hand on your shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the fuck outta dodge right now.”

With that, he stepped around you, maneuvering through the hallway - likely to class - and leaving you by your lonesome and, unfortunately, vulnerable. Quickly after his departure, the bell rang shrill overhead, signaling the beginning of class as students begrudgingly made their way to their first hour classes. You made yourself among their ranks, gathering your things to hopefully outrun ( or walk in this case ) any physical advancements the fellow student could’ve had on you.

The classroom’s door frame never felt more welcoming as you stepped foot into it, releasing a breath of comfort. Most of the class had yet to filter in, meaning there was more reign to choosing whatever seat you wanted. With a hum of appreciation, you step further in, choosing a seat not-too-close and not-too-far back for your liking, sitting down and preparing for class.

You keep your attention focused on your notebook for the beginning as classmates make their way in, sitting in various spots around the room and leaving you by yourself. Booted footfalls make their dreaded way over to you, finding themselves seated to your right. Sudden fear prickles your skin, suddenly making the room too warm and too cold at once while your shoulders tense. For the love of god, be anyone, anyone other than who you thought it was.

The seat creaks, likely with the weight of its occupant leaning into your vicinity. “Did’ja get the homework done, girlie?” You can almost hear the smirk in his whisper, as though he’s a wolf bearing his maw to a sheep. You tense further, shaking your head as you unconsciously lean further into the empty space you have right.

“S’funny...swear I saw you givin’ it to Trashmouth ‘fore class started,” The seats to your front and back were occupied by others, quite possibly remaining individuals who found an alliance with Henry. “Always thought’ch’re a good girl...be a shame if someone fucked that up for y’huh?”

Blackmail? That didn’t really seem like his style, then again it didn’t quite seem like you were being offered a choice of any kind - especially if he had the man power of his goons with him.

“So what’s it gonna be, huh? We ain’t got much time,” his voice transcribed his annoyance as your mulling was cut short, sliding the paper into his vision as he diligently scribbled the answers down. Across the room you caught the eye of Richie, quickly looking away in shame. You nearly miss the amused “s’what I thought,” murmured from Henry as he finishes the work quickly, shoving your desk with a bark of laughter.

The class continues on with its usually snail-like pace, much to your dismay as you keep your eyes locked on either the clock or your notebook. In front of you sat Belch Huggins, likely to his own humor since you were no longer able to see the board, and to your back sat Victor Criss who was able to sneak in an early nap. Through the paperballs being spat at or thrown at you from your right, you couldn’t help but feel that this was in some way better than having Patrick sit nearest to you - even if he was still creepily staring into your shoulder from behind Henry with what you could only guess was that irking grin. God forbid it was his expressionless face, that churned nervousness in your gut.

The bell rang once again overhead, signaling your freedom to the library as you scrambled to gather your things and rush passed before you had the chance to get cornered. Dumping what you had in your hands in your locker - you figured it would be for later you to organize - you did your best to scamper to the library unseen.

It seemed to have worked for the most part, aside from the bemused glances you garnered from teachers. Only momentary, they shrugged it off as you being a good kid in a hurry. As you entered the vicinity, you released another sigh of relief. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Henry Bowers wouldn’t be caught dead in a library. You didn’t really worry about his friends either, they were probably busy giving some unfortunate soul a swirlie, or whatever.

“Always on time, aren’t you?” The librarian, Ms. Andrews, rhetorical question was met with a beaming smile from you. “I’ve written things down for you to do, I’ll be in and out today helping the bookkeeper in the office.”

With a timid nod, you walked over to what she’d assigned you to do, looking through the short list with a thought of reaffirmation. Checking books back in, sorting back through them, and putting labels on new ones. You didn’t think you’d get through it all in the allotted time, though you were sure she’d been aware. Despite the world’s slow pace of going digital, Derry managed to lag behind - leaving you and your school with the unfortunate continuation of the paper system instead of being able to have the use of a computer.

“I’ll be back soon, dear, you know where where everything is,” she rounded the counter top before stepping out of the room, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum outside the carpeted room. A few moments later, the sound of boots made themselves apparent on the floor outside, going unnoticed by you as you began working on what had been assigned to you.

Looking up, your eyes met the smug gaze of Bowers himself - to which you tensed up once again. It stayed like what for an uncomfortable amount of time, the stuffy silence broken by the likes of you.

“Didn’t think you’d be a fan of the library,” you murmured, closing the book and setting it on the cart to be replaced.

“Wasn’t really, ‘till a lil’ birdy told me where my favorite bunny hangs out fer her second hour,” A sly smirk crawled onto his features as he watched you grimace over the use of the pet name.

He stepped forward, watching a physical flinch from you occur whilst he leaned his elbows onto the counter. It was stupid of him to get worked up over watching you squirm like that, but he had to admit there was definitely a feeling that came along with it. Leaning onto the counter, he gazed into your face. “What’ya say to us peelin’ outta here, goin’ and havin’ some actual fun?”

You fell silent at the question, blush darkening your features all the way to the ear. Unable to keep eye contact, you glanced to the pile of books that suddenly seemed way more interesting. “I’d say,” your voice came out so much more fragile then you’d meant it to as you looked back into his eyes. “Take me to dinner first.”

At your rebuttal, he found himself at a momentary loss for words, his own cheeks dusting with a faint pink. His smirk faltered, before returning at full force. “Can’t a man get a taste first, then?”

“ Uh, ” your mouth went dry, eyes suddenly widening. How could he be so forward?

“What’ll it be, doe-eyes?”

With a glance around the vacant library, you looked to him again. “Follow me.”

His smirk turned wolfish as you led him to the vague-privacy of the bookshelves. Once the doorway was out of sight, and the two of you were tucked away into a corner, you looked to him. “We’ll have to be quick...and quiet.”

He stepped to you, only partially caging you in with one hand. “I can do quick, but I can’t promise quiet, bunny.”

“W-we can’t do much,” you stammer, face flushing as he lowered himself to your neck. “I’m n-not that easy!” You squeak when you feel his lips press against your jugular, putting an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

“Thought we had to be quiet,” he chuckled.

You put your hands onto his face, dragging him backward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Quickly, he swatted your hands away, coming to rest his own on your waist as you replaced your hands onto his shoulders. The kiss escalated to eyes being closed, lip nipping, and heads turning for a better angle.

You gently pulled away, in turn his hands beginning to roam your mid-section with curiosity as you caught your breath. When he brushed a certain spot, you couldn’t suppress a giggle, much to his amusement as he began to brush it intentionally.

“Henry!” You giggle, putting your hands on his chest to push him away.

“Y’know, I like the sound of my name on your lips, doe-eyes,” He pressed a kiss to your lips once again before pulling away completely. “Maybe you’ll be sayin’ it with more gusto tonight, huh?”

Your face flushes, eyes widening again. “Oh - oh! Uh, maybe..?”

“Meet me durin’ lunch, we’ll talk then,” and with a wink, he set out of the library.

#henry bowers x reader #henry bowers imagine #henry bowers #it 2017 fanfiction #it 2017 #anyway #reader insert

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fraudulentzodiacs · 5 years ago

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if you ever wanna be in love (i’ll come around)

So, it’s @partsofthesamecosmicbeing‘s birthday today!!!! Ly, meeting you and becoming your friend has been one of the best things that’s happened to me this year and one of the greatest gifts the RNM fandom has given me. You are unbelievably talented, but also a wonderful friend who has always been there for me. I hope you have the BEST day because you deserve it more than anyone I know!

This kind of spiraled out of control (ask Amanda, this was supposed to be short and sweet lmao). But here’s my gift to you, 6k words of Alex and Michael being dramatic af.

Alex waits at the Airstream for three hours before he gives up. They hadn’t set a time, but Alex had expected Michael to return to his home by the morning. It was now close to midday, and the sun was high in the sky as Alex drove away. Whatever had kept him away had kept him from answering his phone too, and he was starting to get worried.

He drove straight to the Pony, the parking lot empty except for Maria’s truck. Things had been awkward between them since Michael and Maria’s romp in the desert, but Alex had been going to Maria with his problems for so long, he sought her out on instinct. Maria was behind the bar when he entered, stacking glasses as she prepared for the post-workday rush. She looked up as the door closed behind him, her eyes growing wide as she took him in.

“Alex…” She greeted, and Alex didn’t miss the nervousness in her eyes as she busied herself with the glasses once again. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you seen Guerin?”

“Why?”

“We were supposed to meet. I...I don’t know, I thought we were finally on the same page. He told me last night to come to his trailer today but he never showed up and now he’s not answering his phone.”

Maria froze, staring at him, and Alex knew that she knew something she didn’t want to tell him. Alex felt his stomach clench as Maria leaned against the bar, taking a deep breath before she returned her gaze to him.

“You saw Guerin last night?”

“You saw him today?” Alex ventures, Maria’s guilty gaze confirming his suspicions. “Is he okay?”

“He was...manic, almost. Something happened, I don’t know what. But his hand is healed, Alex. How does that just happen?”

“His hand is…”

“Yes, it’s like nothing ever happened to it.” Maria confirmed, shaking her head. “He stayed and played the guitar for a while, and then he ran out of here like a bat out of hell.”

“You haven’t heard from him since?”

“No. Alex, we need to talk.”

“If it’s about you and Guerin, we have nothing to talk about.” Alex snapped. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I know you have feelings for him, but-”

“I love him.” Alex interrupted, fighting the urge to kick a nearby chair in anger. “I love him, I have since I was seventeen. And he loves me too. He chose you because he thinks it’ll be easier, and maybe it will be. Maybe he needs that right now. But I love him too much to walk away again, so don’t expect me to back down without a fight.”

“Alex…”

“I’m not leaving him behind again. Ever.” Alex replied, his voice firm. He turned back toward the door, his mind already working to think up where else he could be. “Let me know if you hear from him.”

Alex finds him, two hours later, at what used to be Foster’s Ranch. The Air Force hasn’t started building whatever kind of facility they’re planning on yet, so it’s still a whole bunch of nothing as far as the eye can see. Michael’s truck is a tiny, faded green dot until Alex nears it, something loosening in his chest when he spots Michael sitting on the tailgate. He doesn’t react to Alex driving up, or when Alex steps out, or when Alex gently pulls the empty bottle of acetone from Michael’s fingers. He just stares out at the horizon, his eyes blank but rimmed red.

“What happened?” Alex finally asks, stepping into Michael’s line of sight. “Guerin, talk to me.”

“Rosa is alive.” Michael replies, and it’s the last thing that Alex expects to hear. His breath leaves him in one go, but the elation that starts to bubble out of him disappears as fresh tears fill Michael’s eyes.

“What happened?”

“We found her in this cave - Noah’s cave, I guess. He was the fourth alien, by the way.” The lack of emotion in Michael’s voice as he describes how they had captured Noah, interrogated him, then killed him scares Alex to no small degree, but he forces himself to not say anything until Michael is done, not even when Michael tells him that he went to Maria.

“All of a sudden I felt this pain, like...like a part of me was being ripped apart. I thought I was having a heart attack, but then it was just gone. And I could feel it, this empty space in my head where Max used to be.”

“Used to be?” Alex’s voice is a whisper, and this time he lets himself reach for Michael, cradling the other man’s face with his hands as Michael shudders beneath his touch.

“He’s dead. He died bringing Rosa back.”

“Oh, my god.” Alex’s thoughts briefly travel to Isobel, to Liz, but then he focuses on Michael, and he can feel the pain coming off of him in waves.

“Michael, I’m so sorry.” Alex lets his thumb trace Michael’s jaw, watching helplessly as Michael hyperventilates, his body racked with sobs until Alex steps between Michael’s legs, wrapping his arms around him. Michael clings to him, his arms snaking around Alex’s waist as he pulls him closer. He lets Michael cry against him, running his fingers through his curls before resting his cheek on the top of his head. He’s not sure how long he stands there, letting the man he loves fall apart against him, but the sun is lowering in the sky by the time Michael finally pulls away.

“I’m sorry.” Michael mutters, but Alex tightens his hold on Michael before he can slip away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re allowed to grieve your brother.”

“But I told you about Maria…” Michael begins, but Alex shakes his head.

“And it hurts to know that you’re choosing her.” Alex feels his own heart break at his words, but he forces out a sharp breath before guiding Michael’s gaze back to him with his hands. “But I meant what I said. You’re my family, and I’ll always be here to put you back together if you need to fall apart.”

“Can we...stay out here? Just for a little while?”

“Of course.” Alex steps over to his SUV, pulling out the blankets he kept stored in the back while Michael spreads his own across the bed of the truck. It’s more difficult to climb into the back with his prosthetic than when he was a teen, but they manage until they’re both propped against the cab, and Alex can feel the warmth that Michael radiates across his thigh and leg where they’re touching. Alex watches the horizon until the sun disappears completely, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the stars appear.

“Do you remember when we used to come out here?” Michael asks, and Alex smiles and nods.

“I remember. I was so sure that I was reading the signs wrong, that you invited me out here because I was nice to you and let you stay in the toolshed.”

“I asked you out here because I wanted to kiss you, but I was too afraid to admit it.”

“Do you think things could have been different? If we hadn’t...been so afraid?”

“Maybe.” Michael admits, shrugging. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“If you do this, if you choose Maria…”

“Alex-”

“No, let me finish, please.” Alex looks to the stars, and waits until Michael finally whispers an “okay.”

“If you choose Maria, I’ll understand. But, I want you to know, I also meant what I said when I told you that I was tired of walking away. I’ve done it so many times it’s become my nature. Being with Maria is easier, and maybe you want easy now but I don’t. I want you, and I’m gonna be here when you discover that easy isn’t what you really want. You’re it for me, Guerin.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words at once.” Michael quips, and Alex shoves him with a wet laugh.

“You know that I love you.” Michael admits, refusing to meet Alex’s gaze. “I always wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to you. But, with your dad, and my mom, and now Max…” Michael pauses, takes a shuddering breath. “I can’t take the risk of us finally giving it a shot and then you leave again. This time, I don’t think I’d survive it. And Maria, she’s...well, she’s something new, something that’s not tainted by all the bullshit that’s infected our lives. I think I owe it to myself to try.”

“I get it.” Alex reaches for Michael’s healed hand, running his fingers over the smooth skin. “I don’t like it, but I get it. I can’t blame you. But I’m not walking away, I just want you to know that. Whether we’re together or not, you’re never going to be alone again. I promise.”

----

When Alex sees Michael with Maria the first time, his heart breaks in a way he’s not quite expecting. There’s an ache, a longing when he sees Michael’s hand on the small of her back. He leans down to talk in her ear over the noise of the crowd, and Alex feels like the breath is knocked out of him when she smiles and pushes him away with a flirty laugh. There’s happiness shining in Michael’s eyes when he looks at her, and suddenly Alex can’t remember if Michael ever looked at him like that - like he was the bright spot in Michael’s day. It hurts, but he had made a promise to Michael, and he intended to keep it.

“Hey.” he greeted, sliding into a stool near the edge of the bar where Michael was standing.

“Alex.” Maria replied, her eyes wide with shock. “It’s good to see you. Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Private.” Michael slides into the seat next to Alex, grabbing the whiskey that Maria sets in front of him when she hands Alex his beer.

“Cowboy.” Alex replies, a small smile on his face. The beer is cold and soothing, and something loosens in Alex’s chest as they fall into a comfortable silence, broken only when Liz and Isobel enter the bar. The two women have, much to Alex’s surprise, grown close in the weeks since Max’s death. He thinks it’s more out of necessity than anything else - both are convinced that Max can be resurrected in a way similar to how he brought back Rosa, and Alex knows that when Liz isn’t at work she’s in the lab underneath Michael’s Airstream, working on a solution to beat death.

If anyone can do it, Alex muses, it’s Liz Ortecho and Isobel Evans.

They wander to a large booth when Rosa arrives, still getting curious stares from the bar’s patrons despite the fact that the world now knows her as Elena Ortecho, Liz’s cousin from Santa Fe who looks remarkably like Liz’s dead sister and isn’t that a coincidence? Alex finds himself pressed in between Liz and Rosa, who talk over him animatedly about the wonder that Rosa has discovered that is Netflix. It’s crowded and loud and uncomfortable but for the first time in what seems like forever Alex doesn’t feel lonely. When he looks across the table at Michael, their eyes lock and Alex knows that Michael feels the same.

---

Alex is there when Isobel brings Max back, Kyle and Jenna by his side as she and Michael will their powers to heal Max until he’s gasping for breath, his eyes popping open and Liz rushing to him, a sob escaping her. Kyle claps a hand on Alex’s shoulder, and Alex returns the friendly gesture with a smile. They watch as Isobel and Liz cling to Max, who still looks confused and lost but he’s alive when he had been dead, so Alex counts it as a win. Michael stands up, shaky but he looks as if a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders as he stumbles to Alex, throwing himself into his arms. Alex responds instinctively, gathering Michael in his arms.

“He’s back.” Michael whispers into Alex’s shoulder, and Alex nods.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Max, what’s wrong?” Liz’s concerned voice carries through the cave, and Michael pulls away to stare at where Max has moved away from Liz and Isobel, pressing himself against the cave wall with a panicked look in his eyes.

“Who’s Max?”

Two hours later, Isobel and Liz have convinced Max to come with them to his house, hoping that the familiar surroundings will spark his memories. Kyle and Jenna leave with them, heading to the bunker to see if there’s anything in Project Shepherd’s files about the pods causing amnesia. Alex stays behind with Michael, who hadn’t stopped studying the pods since Max had looked at him and not known his own brother.

“Guerin…” Alex tries, standing behind Michael as he crouched in front of the pods. “How can I help?”

“It should have worked.” Michael mutters.

“It did work. Max is alive.”

“Yeah, but he’s not Max.”

“He is. This could just be temporary, we don’t know.”

“When we came out of the pods, we didn’t remember anything about our old lives. But Rosa remembered, so why doesn’t Max?”

“Maybe it’s because Rosa was human? Or the fact that she was in Noah’s broken pod? Noah knew who he was, after all.”

“I was just so sure…”

“Hey.” Alex stuck his hand under Michael’s arm, hauling him up until they were standing face to face. “You brought Max back from the dead, Michael. That’s not nothing. You didn’t fail him, you saved him. And we’ll figure this out together. We’ll get his memories back.”

“Yeah.” Michael replied after a long moment, staring at Alex as if he holds all the answers to the universe. Alex fights the urge to reach out and touch him, to hug him like he had just hours earlier, when Michael had seemed so happy that he was going to burst. Alex would do anything to keep Michael that happy forever.

The silence of the cave is broken by Michael’s cell phone, and Alex doesn’t miss Maria’s face on the display.

“I better take this.” He mumbles, and Alex nods as Michael steps toward the cave entrance.

“Hey babe.” He greets, and Alex turns to face the pods on the chance that Michael will turn around and see the tears in his eyes.

---

It’s been three weeks and Max still doesn’t have his memories back. Alex has poured through every file Project Shepherd has, but since none of the aliens they captured had been in pods, there was little to no research on them or how they worked. Max himself seemed to be adjusting to his circumstances, but Michael was spiraling again and Alex didn’t know what to do about it.

“You need to rest.” Jenna interrupted his thoughts, leaning against the desk as Alex leaned back, rubbing his hands on his face.

“There’s gotta be something in here that can help Max.”

“You need to accept that there might not be a way to fix this, Alex. The amnesia was permanent the first time they came out of the pods, it’s probably permanent this time. Max will adjust, Liz will adjust.”

“And Michael?”

“Honestly? That shouldn’t be your problem.” Jenna shrugged. “I know you two have a past, but he’s with DeLuca now. I get that you’re trying to be his friend or whatever, but you have to think about yourself too.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your feelings for another alien would it?” Alex asks, and Jenna scoffs as she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know how I convinced myself for more than five minutes that what I was feeling was romantic. Max was...easy, for a long time. But who wants easy forever?” Jenna pushed off of the desk, tugging Alex’s jacket until he stood up and followed her to the door. “Easy for one night, however, might do us both some good. You’re buying me a drink, Airman, and then we’re getting laid.”

“You do know that I’m gay, right?”

“I didn’t say we would be getting laid together, did I?”

Alex lets Jenna drag him to the Pony, claiming a pool table while she goes to grab the first round. He spots the guy at the nearby table staring at him almost immediately, but chooses to ignore it in favor of wiping the floor with Jenna in the first two rounds. When Kyle shows up, Alex lets him take over, sipping his beer as he watches them flirt via pool.

“Either you’re really good or she’s really bad.” A voice calls, and Alex looks up to find the man from earlier walking closer.

“Oh, she’s good.” Alex replies, holding the beer bottle close to his lips. “I’m just better.”

“I’m Jacob.” The man offers his hand, and Alex takes it, both of them perhaps lingering a bit too long.

“Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alex.”

They make their way to Jacob’s apartment, fumbling and awkward, but Jacob doesn’t flinch when he sees Alex’s prosthetic, simply waits quietly next to Alex on the bed to see if he’ll explain.

“I lost it in Iraq, a few years ago.”

“You’re a vet?” Jacob asks, and Alex nods.

“Air Force.”

“Marines.” Jacob supplies. “Two tours.”

“I’ll understand if you change your mind.” Alex offers, but Jacob only smiles and snakes his hand into Alex’s hair.

“I’ve seen you at the Pony before, you know. Took me three times to get up the courage to talk to you. Why would I walk away now?”

Alex leans in to kiss Jacob. It’s nothing like kissing Michael, but it’s nice and Jacob’s nice and he can hear Jenna’s voice telling him You deserve to be happy too and he leans into the kiss.

When Alex left that night with Jacob, he assumed it would be a one night stand. So, when Jacob texted him the next afternoon asking to see him again, Alex wasn’t sure what to feel. He was still in love with Michael, but Michael was with Maria. He liked Jacob, but wasn’t sure if it was fair to pursue something with him knowing that he still had feelings for Michael.

“You’ll probably always have feelings for Michael.” Isobel told him over lunch the next day, stealing a fry off of his plate and dipping it in her milkshake. “Just like he has feelings for you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find happiness somewhere else. You’re capable of having feelings for more than one person at a time.”

And so, before Alex can fully comprehend what’s happening, he has a boyfriend who’s not Michael Guerin.

---

The first time Alex brings Jacob around everyone else, he’s not quite sure what to expect. They’re all gathered at Isobel’s house for game night, and Alex probably should have thought it through more because, by the time they get to Uno, Isobel and Michael are so competitive that Liz has to kick Isobel under the table when it becomes clear that she’s two seconds away from mindwarping her brother so she can win.

“Your friends are a little...intense.” Jacob points out while they were out on Isobel’s patio, taking a break while Liz and Maria set up Twister.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, don’t be. I like them. Not sure they like me, though.”

“They’re just not used to new people. You have to understand, literally everyone in that room went to high school together. We’ve known each other practically our whole lives.”

“Well, I’m glad that I know you now.” Jacob pulled on Alex’s belt loop until he was closer, a flirty grin on his face before he leaned in to kiss him softly, chaste until Alex wound his arm around Jacob’s waist, changing the angle and deepening the kiss. They jump apart when the sound of glass shattering fills the air, turning to find Isobel staring at Michael, broken glasses between them where he had been helping his sister pour margaritas.

“God Michael, you’re such a klutz.” Isobel covered, glancing quickly at Alex before shuffling Michael inside.

“Yeah, sorry.” Michael muttered, pain in his eyes that Alex couldn’t miss that felt like a punch to the gut.

“How long did you and Michael date?” Jacob asks later, once they’re settling into bed at Jacob’s apartment.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s pretty clear you guys used to have a thing. I was just curious.”

“We didn’t...I guess, technically, we never dated. It’s complicated.” Alex turns onto his side and stares at Jacob, who turns his head to look back at him. “You don’t need to be worried.”

“I’m not.” Jacob confirms. “I like you Alex, a lot.”

“I like you too.” Alex scooted closer, pressing himself against Jacob’s side. “A lot.”

“Good.”

---

Alex knew it was a mistake to allow Flint and Hunter to see their dad, but he’d been in the coma for over six months and a world without Jesse Manes was becoming more and more comfortable. So, he chaperones them as they visit their comatose father, the great Jesse Manes reduced to a sad man in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for him.

Three days after the visit, Jesse disappears.

Alex is livid, and frantic, and he can’t explain his behavior to Jacob, just like he can’t explain where he goes to work every day, and why Max is an amnesiac, or why it’s such a Big Deal that his brothers have seemingly walked off with his insane, violent, monster of a father. Not without cluing him into everything alien, and that’s not his secret to tell.

His friends gather at the bunker, talking over one another as they discuss every way that Jesse Manes could destroy them, and Alex just sits the argument gets more and more heated until Michael’s voice booms over the crowd.

“Hey!” He yells, and everyone jumps but looks to him. “Alex, is there any way for you to track your brothers?”

“Maybe, but they’ll know how to stay under the radar. And if they’ve woken my father up…”

“We have to assume they have.” Kyle agrees. “Why else would they take him?”

“How long would it take for Jesse to recover?” Maria asks, finally in the know about the Big Alien Secret.

“He was in a coma for six months. A few weeks, at least, with all the muscle loss.”

“Okay, so, they had to take him to a place where he could heal.” Liz replies, and Alex shakes his head.

“That could be anywhere, honestly. We’ve been researching for months and we’ve only scratched the surface of how deep Project Shepherd goes.” Alex can hear the frustration in his voice, and pushes away from the group to pace in front of the computers. He can feel Michael join him almost immediately, and a hand on his elbow stops his pacing.

“We’re gonna figure this out.” Michael assures him. “We’ll do it together, like always.”

“Yeah.” Alex says, sighing and leaning into Michael’s space.

He sees Maria over Michael’s shoulder, thinks of Jacob, and pulls away.

There’s nothing for several weeks. No warnings, no demands, and no sign of the Manes men. Alex doesn’t relax, exactly, but being on constant alert is exhausting and he can only go for so long before he collapses in a heap on his bed. Jacob wakes him up a few hours later, a rough shake on his shoulder that has him sitting up immediately.

“Alex, you need to see this.” Jacob shoves Alex’s phone into his hands, where there’s a text message from an unknown number. “I know you’ve been worried about something, and I know you can’t tell me what, but I thought I should wake you when I heard your phone go off.”

Alex unlocks the phone, opens the text message, and nearly drops it at the picture attached. It’s Michael, tied to a chair, bruised and bloody and unconscious.

Come alone. The text reads. Short, to the point, and Alex knows that it’s his father.

“It’s Michael, isn’t it?”

“I have to go.” Alex launches himself from the bed, forgetting momentarily that he took his prosthetic off before falling asleep. Jacob is there to catch him, easing him back down onto the bed.

“Let me help you.” Jacob offers, reaching for the prosthetic and attaching it with practiced ease. Alex doesn’t have the capacity to recognize the intimacy of Jacob’s movements. The only other person who had ever helped him with his prosthetic had been Michael, and now he’s….

“Thank you.” Alex mumbles, taking Jacob’s hand as he stands up. “I’m sorry I can’t explain, but I have to go. Michael’s in trouble.”

“I know.” Jacob replies.

“I’ll be back.” Alex assures him, and Jacob shakes his head.

“I won’t be here.”

“What?”

“Michael is your person, Alex.” Jacob replies. “I know you’re not in a place to act on it, but it’s clear as day. I thought maybe you’d move on - move on with me. But you’re never going to, are you?”

“He’s my friend and he’s in trouble.” Alex points out.

“I know, but he’s also the love of your life.”

“I can’t...I can’t have this conversation right now.”

“There’s never going to be a good time to end this.” Jacob replies. “But I’m here for you, as a friend. Let me help you both.”

“Jacob, I’m sorry.” Alex sighs, squeezing the hand he’s still holding in his own. “I really am.”

“I know.” Jacob smiles, despite the sadness in his eyes, but then Alex watches as a steeliness takes over his face. A determination that gives Alex a glimpse of Jacob’s military past. “Now, how can I help?”

---

Despite Jesse’s warning to come alone, Alex isn’t stupid so the first thing he does is call Isobel and Liz, who bring everyone to Alex’s cabin. Everyone is frantic, and Alex realizes that Michael is the glue that holds them all together. He’s what makes them a family, and in that moment he knows he’ll do whatever it takes to get him back. He’s never doubted his love for Michael, not really, but he knows in this moment that Michael is a part of him, a piece of his soul that he could never get rid of. He loves him, will love him until the day he dies, and he’s going to save him from Jesse Manes now in a way that he couldn’t when he was seventeen.

They make a plan, and it all hinges on Alex’s ability to distract his father long enough for Maria, Max, Jacob, and Kyle to subdue Flint and Hunter, then get Isobel close enough to turn Jesse’s brain into mush. Liz and Rosa grumble about being the lookouts, but the arguments are short as everyone focuses on getting Michael back. It doesn’t take long for Alex to track the burner phone - something his father counted on, no doubt. They’re an hour or so outside of Roswell, in a warehouse that’s owned by a shell company that Alex is sure belongs to his father. Alex drives alone in his SUV, everyone else in separate vehicles and on different routes. Alex squeezes the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white, his mind racing through the number of possibilities and outcomes and the best way to get everyone out of this alive. Outwitting his father, staying two steps ahead of him, has always been difficult or impossible, but this is Michael, and Alex refuses to allow his father to harm him ever again. He’s going to kill him for this, if given the opportunity.

He’s going to make sure that Jesse Manes never harms Alex’s family ever again.

When he arrives, Flint is waiting at the entrance.

“You’re alone?”

“Yeah, Flint, I’m alone. Where is Michael?”

“Inside.”

“Is he okay?”

“It’s alive.” Flint replies, and Alex fought the urge to punch his brother.

“Michael’s not an it, he’s a person. A good person.”

“They’re all monsters Alex. How can you defend them?”

“You don’t know anything about them!”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Yes, I do actually.” Alex snaps.

“Oh that’s right.” Flint replies with a smirk. “Dad said you’d fallen in love with this one.”

“I know emotions are a foreign concept to you.”

“Feelings make you weak, make you vulnerable. That’s why you’re here now to beg for the life of some thing that has tricked you into caring about it.”

“Just take me to him, Flint.”

Flint pats him down for weapons, and then guides him into the warehouse where they’ve set up a makeshift base, now that Alex and his friends have co-opted the bunker. Michael is sitting in the middle of the room, chained to the same chair from the picture, but now Michael can see the yellow powder surrounding him in a circle, and he knows that their plan to have Isobel mindwarp his father won’t work. If they’ve got a circle around Michael, it’s a good bet that the pollen is surrounding the building. His father is never one to take chances.

“Michael…” Alex starts toward the other man, but Flint’s hand on his chest stops him.

“Welcome son.” Alex turns to see Jesse walking toward him, leaning heavily on a cane but decidedly more alive than he had been the last time Alex had seen him.

“I’m not your son.” Alex snaps, and his ire rises even more when Jesse chuckles. Alex’s voice, however, seems to rouse Michael, who looks up groggily, confusion evident as he looks to Alex.

“‘Lex?” He asks, and Alex nods.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Alex assures him, and Michael shakes his head.

“Shouldn’t have come.”

“I’ll always come for you.” Alex promises, tears burning in his eyes.

“Aw, how sweet.” Flint remarks, and Alex shoves him out of his space.

“What do you want?” Alex asks Jesse, who shrugs.

“I want what I’ve always wanted. To rid the planet of the alien menace threatening its very existence.”

“Michael and his family aren’t a menace.” Alex snarls. “You are!”

“He’s twisted your mind, don’t you see? Turned you against your own family.”

“He is my family, more than any of you have ever been.”

“No, you’re my son, and it’s time you take your rightful place in our family.”

“You never wanted me near any of this until I took Project Shepherd away from you!” Alex counters. “You didn’t even suspect Michael until you found us together!”

“Three amnesiac kids wandering the desert near the crash site? Of course I suspected them son. I’ve watched them for twenty years. They’re murderers, they killed Rosa Ortecho.”

“Noah Bracken killed Rosa Ortecho! You want your murderous fourth alien? There he is.”

“Bracken’s been missing for months. Where is he?”

“You figure it out.” Alex snaps, and Jesse chuckles.

“So who killed him? Guerin?”

“Does it matter? Seems like someone did you a favor.”

“It just proves that they’re all murderers.” Flint points out.

“They did it to protect this planet, their home.”

“This will never be their home.” Jesse replies, and Alex prays that he doesn’t notice him slowly moving toward Michael, trying to get between him and Jesse.

“It’s the only home they’ve ever known. All they want is to live in peace, and you want to imprison or kill all of them. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“What, exactly, do you think you’re going to do here, son?”

“What I should’ve done ten years ago. I’m going to protect the people I love from your hate.”

In that moment, the back entrance bursts open, Hunter in front with his hands in the air. Jacob is immediately behind him, gun pointed at Hunter’s head as Max and Kyle follow behind them.

“Let me guess, the gang’s all here?” Jesse muses. “You never did take orders well.”

“I take orders.” Alex replies. “Just not from you. Ever again.”

“Alex, the pollen…” Kyle points out, and Alex nods as Maria and Isobel come through the front door.

“If you were planning on having that thing warp my mind, you’re out of luck.”

“I could just shoot you.” Kyle replies. “You shot me, after all.”

“Should’ve gone for the head.” Jesse snaps. It’s minute, but Alex sees his father gesture to Flint, and Jacob must see it too because he drops his gun, pointing it at Flint as he slips another weapon to Hunter, who points the gun directly at Jesse.

“Hunter…?” Alex starts, and Hunter shoots him a small smile.

“This has gone too far, Alex.” Hunter replies. “I’m through killing for him.”

“You were always weak too.” Jesse snarls.

“Seems to me that you’re the only weak one here.” Isobel replies. “Hiding behind your sons, expecting them to do your dirty work. Killing innocent people because they’re different than you, maiming a boy because he dared to love your son. You’re pathetic, and I don’t need to turn your brain to soup for us to bring you down.”

“It’s over.” Alex tells him, and Jesse shakes his head.

“No, it’s over when every last one of them is dead. Starting with him.”

Alex watches as Jesse pulls the gun from Flint’s holster, pointing it directly at Michael. Alex doesn’t think, just acts as he puts himself in the line of fire between his father and Michael. Gets between them like he wished he had all those years ago, take the pain for Michael because he’s suffered enough.

If he has to die so Michael can live, he’s okay with that.

He’s been shot before, but this feels different. This one hits him square in the chest, and pain blossoms to every inch of his body. He doesn’t collapse, not immediately, so he’s upright and conscious enough to watch as Max and Hunter tackle Jesse to the ground. He sees Maria hit Flint on the back of the head with the baseball bat she keeps stashed under the bar at the Pony. He hears the sound of metal against metal and turns to see Jacob shooting the chains holding Michael until he comes free. Michael lunges for Alex, and it’s only then that he finally collapses into Michael, letting him guide him to the ground.

“Alex, come on, you’re okay.” Michael assures him, pressing his hand against the wound in his chest. “Stay with me, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Miserable liar.” Alex wheezes as his breathing gets more erratic.

“Max, you have to heal him!”

“I can’t, especially with the pollen!” Max argues, and Alex remembers that Max hasn’t been able to heal much more than a paper cut since he came out of the pod.

“It’s okay.” Alex assures him, because it is. They’re all safe, Michael’s safe, and that’s all that matters to Alex.

“No, it’s not!” Michael snaps, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Why did you do that, Alex? Why?”

“I don’t look away. I love you.”

“Don’t! Don’t tell me goodbye again, damn it.” Michael presses his forehead against Alex’s. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“We have to get him out of here.” Kyle argues, and Alex is just barely hanging onto consciousness as Michael fights to keep him in his arms. “Guerin, I might be able to help him if we can get out of here.”

“Okay, okay…” Michael mutters, and that’s when it all goes dark.

---

Alex wakes slowly, first for brief moments and then for longer stretches. Each time, however, Alex recognizes Michael’s presence. He’s holding his hand, or reading to him, or just talking as if Alex could respond. It’s familiar and comforting, and Alex rests better knowing that Michael is fine.

He’s slow to heal, but Michael is there every step of the way, along with the rest of their makeshift family. Isobel hovers, but makes sure that nobody asks too many questions about how, exactly, Alex got shot. Max and Jacob act like self-appointed bodyguards. Kyle runs every test known to man in an attempt to make sure Alex suffers zero complications (and Alex doesn’t miss the looks that pass between Jacob and Kyle when they think no one’s looking). Rosa and Liz make sure that everyone eats. And Maria...well, Maria is Alex’s best friend once again. She’s comforting when he needs it, and pushes him when necessary. After Michael, she’s around the most, but it’s only when they’re alone a few days after he’s finally allowed to go home that they really talk.

“You know Michael and I broke up, right?” Maria asks as she props some pillows behind him on the couch. “I wasn’t sure if anyone told you with everything going on.”

Alex shakes his head, and Maria groans.

“Stupid, self-sacrificing cowboy.” Maria mutters, shoving the pillow a little harder than necessary.

“Please don’t tell me you broke up because I…”

“We broke up because he doesn’t love me.” Maria tells him, sighing and sitting on the couch, dropping his legs across her lap. “I mean, he does. But he loves me because what we have is easy. And he loves you so much he’d burn the world down to keep you safe. And it’s the same for you. Hell, you took a literal bullet for him. And I want that kind of love, I deserve it, and I’ll never get that from easy.”

That night, Michael shows up with dinner like he does every night. They’ve settled into a routine since he’s come home, one of their family comes by during the day while Michael is at work, but Alex always ends the day with Michael. They eat dinner, watch a movie, and then Alex goes to bed while Michael sleeps on the couch.

Alex is determined that tonight’s going to go differently.

When Michael walks through the door, Alex is waiting in the nicest shirt and jeans that he has, his hair artfully tousled and the beard he had been growing is finally groomed. Michael stops and takes him in, a fond smile on his face that Alex isn’t sure how he missed.

“You look nice.” Michael greets, and Alex uses his crutch help himself off of the couch.

Michael rushes to set the groceries down to help him, his hand grasping Alex’s elbow as he moves closer. Alex uses the opportunity to reach up and cup Michael’s face with his free hand, pushing into his space and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Michael freezes and Alex pulls away, afraid that Maria was wrong and he’s misread the entire situation. That Michael truly is just trying to be a friend. But, he’s determined to be brave, so he doesn’t remove his hand from Michael’s face after he pulls away.

“I love you.” He tells him, refusing to look away from Michael. “I’m in love with you. I don’t know how to be anyone else but the man who loves you more than anything. I know we have all of the bullshit in our past, but I’m tired of letting my past dictate my future. I want to be with you, and I need you to know that, even if you don’t want me.”

“Alex.” Michael sighs, closing his eyes, and Alex feels his heart break at the fear that Michael is going to reject him. “I’ve wanted you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to not want you. That’s never been the problem, I’ll always want you. But you walked away so many times, I tried to build a wall around my heart to keep you out. I tried to fall in love with someone else, and I did, I really did. But the problem is, you can’t build a wall to keep out something that’s already inside, you know?” Alex gasps when he feels Michael’s hands rest on his neck, squeezing gently.

“I was always afraid that something was going to happen, that you were going to walk away again, but you’re not, are you?” Alex shakes his head, and he reaches up to wipe away the stray tear that falls down Michael’s cheek with his thumb. “You stayed, and you’ve been here, and I never would have made it through the last six months without you. You almost died for me, Alex. You took a bullet for me, when a few months ago I didn’t think that there was anyone on this planet who gave a shit about me. And I don’t want easy anymore. I want something real, and you mean everything to me. I love you. I only want to be with you.”

A wet laugh escapes Alex as he clings tighter to Michael, resting his forehead against the other man’s. He breathes him in, feeling like the last piece of his soul is finally set into place.

Pieces want to be together.

He remembers Michael telling him that in the bunker, and he smiles as he moves to kiss Michael again, simply because he can.

#malex fic #malex #roswell nm #let's all celebrate ly #it should be an official holiday in the rnm fandom #happy birthday ly!!!!!

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suits · 5 years ago

Text

closer to fine.

Can be read here on ao3

Words: 7.3k, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Relationship: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Fandom: IT 2017, IT 2019

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Temporary Amnesia, Post-Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday.

Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday. He can’t even say he’s surprised. Confused, maybe. Definitely dejected. But not surprised. He's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, so why should Eddie be any different? That doesn't make it hurt any less, though.

He wishes he could say it starts out like any other day, but something like dread makes a home somewhere deep in his chest when he's woken up at noon by two text messages from Eddie.

12:14 - Baby: We need to talk. 12:14 - Baby: Can I come over?

Nobody likes a "we need to talk" text, but cryptic undertones aside, since they started dating all those years ago, Eddie has never once asked for permission to come over.

He tries to brush it off. “It’s probably nothing.” Richie thinks to himself, laughing at his inane ability to jump to the worst possible conclusions, ever. “There’s plenty of shit he could want to talk to me about in person. Maybe he wants a dog, a little Pomeranian or something cute like him, or maybe he wants to move in together, or maybe he’s ready to take our relationship to the next level, or maybe...”

Richie sends back a quick “of course. see u soon” before he forgets, then busies himself with taking a quick shower and making a breakfast smoothie for the two of them.

It's 12:47 when Eddie knocks on his door. Eddie never knocks anymore. Richie gave him a key years ago so that he didn’t have to.

He opens the door warily, stepping back to let Eddie inside. His Eds was wearing a knit cap, and scarf to combat the harsh winds, and Richie was pretty sure that those were mittens on his hands, God his boyfriend was the cutest. “Eds,” Richie greets, going in for a hug and kiss, but Eddie shakes his head, grimacing a little. He steps back to put a little bit of space between himself and Richie.

“Let me start off by saying that I love you.” Eddie mumbles, staring at the carpet.

“Okay?” Richie prompts, confused. His eyes search Eddie’s face. “Eds, come on, my floor isn’t that interesting. Please look at me.”

Eddie does, and his eyes are wet with tears that haven't yet spilled over. ”And I know that you love me,” He continues.

“Yes,” Richie nods emphatically, “more than anything.”

Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath before soldiering on, “But this isn’t working out anymore. We’re,” He gestures between the two of them “not working out.” He doesn't say much more than that, doesn't try to explain himself. Richie wouldn't have wanted to hear it, anyway. “I’m sorry.”

It's one of the rare occasions that Richie Tozier has nothing to say. He nods slowly, mouth agape, like he wants to speak, but no words will come out.

They spend seconds or minutes, Richie has no idea, just looking at each other. Richie’s eyes were desperate and imploring, Eddie’s, glazed and distant. They're only standing a couple of feet apart but Richie's never felt further away.

Eventually, Richie breaks the silence, gesturing towards his kitchen. “Smoothie?” he offers weakly.

Eddie just looks at him some more. His eyes are sad, but his face is determined. He sighs once, and shakes his head ‘no’ before he turns on his heel and leaves. Richie can only stand there and watch, dumbfounded, as the love of his life walks out of his front door, and out of his life.

”But you love pineapple and spinach.” Richie whispers to the empty room.

He doesn't get a response.

Desolation and depression were old friends of Richie’s; in the sense that even if he could find a way to forget about them, ignore them, avoid them all together, all it took was one bad night and they were back in his life with an intensity like they missed him. They were good to him like that.

“ S' good to me. Than' you.” Richie slurs to his empty bedroom. “I missed you guys, too.”

He might’ve had too much to drink. It's been a while since he drank alcohol, and it's just really hard to keep track of how much you've drank when you’re not actually trying to keep track. The only thing Richie knows for sure right now is that he needs a lot more alcohol to make it through the night.

Richie checks his phone for the time, ignoring the unopened text alerts he’s been getting for the last two and a half weeks it’s been since Eddie dumped his ass out of the blue. It reads 1:17am, which means that he has about forty minutes until the dive bar closest to his place starts locking up.

It's a 15 minute walk, but he makes it there in 10.

“Richard.” His bartender (and sorta friend) Monty greets him when he stumbles through the door, limbs awkward and uncoordinated. “This is the fifth time I'm seeing you in as many days... and you look worse every single time I lay eyes on you. Anything you want to talk to me about? I can have this place cleared out in five minutes flat, just say the word.” A couple of people in the bar look up at that, but he pays them no mind.

Richie's touched. If he wasn't so fucking drunk already, he would've sat down and had a heart to heart with Monty about how the man he thought he’d marry someday just up and fucking walked out on him. But alas.

“Monty...Montague...Mont Everest... Mont-pel-er... You know like the capital of Virginia?”

“Vermont, but continue.” Monty corrects playfully, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You say potato. Anyway, as much as I'd love to wax poetic about the five foot six inch cutie that broke my heart, I'd much rather forget that the last two weeks of my life even happened. What’ve you got for that?”

“Prayers, Richie. Lots and lots of prayers. But in the meantime,” he slides two glasses filled with something brown and strong towards Richie.

Had Richie not been such a fuck up, he never would’ve went to the bar that night. Had Richie not been so goddamn stupid, he probably would’ve noticed the group of men lurking in the alleyway across the street early enough to avoid them.

Had the alcohol not effected his judgement and sense of self-preservation, he wouldn’t have felt so tough, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth, he wouldn’t have started that fight.

Had Richie Tozier not been Richie Tozier for once in his life, he wouldn’t be laying on his back in a barely lit alley at 2:30 in the morning with at least a couple of cracked ribs, a possible punctured lung, and a head injury that was bleeding steadily.

Richie doesn't bother calling for help, wouldn’t be able to get the words out anyway.

He can't help thinking that if this is it for him, then there are worse ways to go.

“Worse than bleeding out in alley surrounded by trash and piss and shit and God knows what else? Richie that's disgusting.” a familiar voice in his head reprimands.

“Chill... Edward...Cullen,” Richie rasps, wincing in pain. It’s the last thing he remembers before the darkness overtook him.

Eddie makes the biggest mistake of his life on a Thursday. He never should’ve picked up his phone and texted Richie that morning, stressed off his ass, and mad at the world. He shouldn’t have put on his stupid coat, or got in his stupid car, waited in stupid traffic, to show up at boyfriend’s apartment to break up with him. And for what? Because Eddie was feeling insecure about how Richie felt about him? Because Eddie was worried (for whatever fucking reason) that Richie would get tired of him? He feels so fucking stupid.

People always assumed that Richie was the impulsive one in their relationship, acting before reacting. But Eddie knew firsthand that Richie is, and always has been, more calculated and levelheaded than he could ever dream of being. It took a lot to get Richie riled up, especially since he’d stopped drinking, but Eddie was constantly on a short fuse.

“Such a little ball of fury, you are.” Richie would tell him, pinching his cheeks. “Not enough room in your body to hold all your anger, Eds. So cute.”

“I’m not a little ball of fury and I'm not fucking cute, Richie!” He would yell back. And Richie would just smile at him like Eddie had just proved his point.

Eddie misses him the second he walks out of the door.

He decides to call Bill when he gets to his car.

"Hey Eddie, what's up?" His best friend greets, and the words come pouring out before Eddie has a chance to stop them. He talks until he's out of breath, and then he talks some more. He would've kept talking, too, if—

“I’m sorry,” Bill interrupts, “I must’ve misheard. You did what?”

“I broke up with Richie.” Eddie repeats, irritated.

“That son of a bitch—did he hurt you? Do you need me to—” But Eddie nips that one in the bud real quick.

“No, Bill, he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bill’s voice sounds confused, “Then why?”

Because I’m a mess with chronic anxiety and self esteem issues and twenty-four years worth of emotional baggage and Richie deserves so much better than me? He thinks but doesn’t say.

“I don’t know, Billy. I really fucked up this time.”

Bill doesn't agree nor disagree with that statement. Instead he says, “It’s okay. You just need to figure yourself out, Eddie. Take some time to think about what you want, that's the most important thing. You have to be your first priority, or you'll never really be happy.”

“How’d you get so smart, huh, Big Bill?” Eddie asks, genuinely grateful that he has such a patient and protective best friend.

“Someone in this group has to be.” He chuckles, and Eddie curses him playfully.

They talk for a little while longer; about school, and work, and Bill’s upcoming date with Stan. After saying their goodbyes, Eddie's surprised to see that he feels a little bit better.

Bill's right; Eddie needs to figure himself out, get his head right. He knows it's gonna take a long time but he owes it to himself (and hopefully, someday again, to Richie) to be the best version of himself.

After a couple of days of moping and self-pity, things are starting to look up for Eddie. He isn’t necessarily enjoying “single life” but he's beginning to relish spending time on himself. He even takes a couple of days off from work to focus on his self care. He buys ginger tea and detoxifying face-masks and everything.

It's been two weeks and three days since their break up when a call wakes Eddie up out of a restless sleep.

“What?” he grouses at the unknown heathen who likes to call people at — he squints at his phone screen — 4:16 in the morning.

“Edward Kaspbrak?” A female voice intones.

“Speaking. Who is this?” He asks, immediately more alert.

“Marianne Nelson from Silver Lakes Hospital. There’s been an accident involving a Richard Tozier, and he has you listed as his emergency contact. How soon can you be here?”

Gays can’t drive, my ass Eddie thought as he pulls into a parking spot. He makes it to the hospital in record time and barely breaks any traffic laws to get there. No use to Richie if we both end up in the ER, he reminds himself.

Let it be known that Eddie Kaspbrak hates hospitals. Has ever since he was a kid. It's 100% due to the fact that his mother made him spend more time in emergency rooms and clinics than he did at school or with his friends.

That’s all behind him, though, at least for the moment, because the only thing on his mind right now is getting to Richie quick as possible. Marianne wouldn’t tell him anything over the phone, so he's completely in the dark, has no idea what kind of condition Richie is in.

“Edward Kaspbrak.” He announces when he reaches the receptionist's desk. “I’m here to see Richie Tozier. He’s my b—” Eddie cuts himself off. “I’m his emergency contact.” After his identification is verified, the receptionist politely gives him directions to Richie’s room.

Eddie doesn't exactly jog there, but it's a close thing.

He’s seen Richie sleeping in the past, countless times, but he's never looked so small before. And so pale. Richie's hooked up to all types of IVs and machines, he has cuts and bruises littering his face, and part of his head is shaved—but despite it all, he still looks very much like the boy that Eddie fell in love with so many years ago. He'd be reminiscing if he weren't so fucking scared.

“You can go in.” Calls a kind voice from behind him. Eddie nods without even looking to see who the voice belongs to, before he steps into the room and shuts the door softly behind him.

Eddie’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. Is that even possible? He thinks hysterically, then laughs a little, completely on edge. At least I’m in a hospital and they’ll be able to fix me right up. Good as new.

He makes himself as comfortable as possible, folding like a pretzel in the hospital chair. The room has magazines and a TV—for entertainment or distraction, he isn't sure—and there's coffee right outside the door if he needs it, but Eddie isn't planning on leaving any time soon. He stares at Richie’s sleeping face and hopes to God that he's resting well. “I’ll stay with you forever if you’ll let me." Eddie says, barely loud enough to be heard over the ventilators. “I'm so sorry, I won’t ever leave you again.”

He doesn’t get a response.

The first time Richie wakes up, he notices the lights. Too much, too bright, he thinks. They make his eyes sting and his head hurt, but he's out again before he can say anything about it.

The second time, Richie's more alert. He hears the steady beeping of machinery, smells the overpowering scent of clean, sterile. He can’t turn his head, though, can’t get his eyes to focus on anything, and before he knows it, they're fluttering shut again without his permission.

The third time Richie wakes up, there are big, brown eyes peering down at him. He recognizes those eyes before he can focus on the face they belong to. Eddie. Those heavenly brown eyes blink in surprise before they disappear from his line of sight. Richie vaguely hears yelling, but he can’t make out the words.

Next thing he knew, there're people all around him, nurses and various hospital personnel writing things down, and poking and prodding at him.

“Richard,” a voice that isn’t Eddie’s calls, “You won’t be able to talk just yet, but blink twice if you can hear me.”

Richie blinks twice, confused.

“Good to have you back with us, Richard. Do you know where you are? Blink once for no, twice for yes.”

Richie blinks once.

“You’re in the hospital. I’m Doctor Hasaan. You got pretty banged up the other night, but we’re going to take care of you. You’ve got some broken ribs, a subsequent punctured lung, and a pretty nasty concussion. Do you remember what happened?”

Richie blinks once.

“There was an accident, Richard. A pedestrian found you in an alleyway downtown, and called 911. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it, you hit your head pretty hard and your blood alcohol level was high when you were brought in." And that can't be right, Richie hasn't drank in years.

"Are you in any pain right now?” Dr. Hasaan questions.

It’s almost as if his question brings all of Richie’s sensory neurons back to life, and he's only just began to notice the aching pain in his head, throat, and chest.

Richie blinks twice.

“Alrighty.” The good doctor says, “We’ll give you something to help with that.” One of the nurses puts something in his IV. “Try to rest, Richard. We’ll have that tube out of your throat in no time, and you’ll feel much better once you can breathe properly on your own. Is there anything we can get for you right now? To make you more comfortable?”

Eddie, he thinks, bring him back in.

Richie tries to blink twice but his eyelids are so heavy, and then, in the blink of an eye, he's asleep again.

Richie wakes up with a start. His chest is tight and his throat is on fire and he can’t fucking breathe. He feels like he's drowning. Is he dying? Richie weakly struggles for a minute with the IV in his hand before a soft hand on his arm stops him.

“Richie, calm down.” Comes an angelic voice. He knows that voice. He loves that voice. “You’re panicking, it’s okay, baby.” The angel soothes.

Delicate hands hover around Richie’s face like they want to caress him, but are too afraid. God, what he wouldn’t give to have those hands on his face.

It takes him a second, but Richie is eventually able to come back to himself, focus his eyes on the man standing beside him, focus his ears on the steady beeping and mechanical breathing of the machines surrounding him.

He carefully reaches one trembling hand up to his mouth, onto the uncomfortable tube that was forced down his throat. Eddie gently slaps his hand away from his face.

“Don’t touch it, Richie. Relax, okay? Let me see if I can get your doctor in here.”

A couple of minutes pass before Eddie comes back into the room, smiling widely, while Dr. Hasaan follows a few paces behind him.

“Richard,” greets the doctor when he walks in, “Great news. We’re on pace to get you extubated today. I’m sure that thing must be bothering you, huh? The ventilator’s providing minimal support now, so most of that breathing is all you, kiddo."

Richie gives two shaky thumbs-ups, careful not to jostle the I.V. too much, lest he upset Eddie again.

It's got to be the most uncomfortable moment of Richie Tozier’s existence. The process doesn't take more than a minute or two, but there's a lot of choking, gagging, and saliva sucking—and not even in the fun way. Once the tube is out, though, Richie only feels relief. And a little sore.

“It’s all done, Richard, you did great.” The doctor praises, as he discards some tools onto the table beside him. “Hold still now, I’m going to insert an intranasal cannula, just to be safe...”

Richie lets the doctor do doctorly things while he lets his eyes roam around the room. They settle on Eddie, who’s been hovering anxiously on the other side of the bed. He's wearing a too big hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans. His hair is curly and unkempt, so unlike Eddie. His face looks relieved, but his eyes are so tired. So sweet staying here with me, Richie thinks.

“Alright. Why don’t you try and say a few words for me? It might be uncomfortable at first, but the more you work at it the easier it’ll get.” Dr. Hassan states reassuringly.

“Just like...the first time...I gave you... sloppy top...right, Eds?” Richie croaks, then he threw a wink in his boyfriend’s direction.

Eddie’s face twists in a strange combination of horrified amusement. He looks like he wants to laugh—or maybe cry—but instead he just purses his lips together and shakes his head. Richie grins back.

The doctor rolls his eyes and asks if Richie felt up to answering a few procedural questions.

"What's your full name?"

"Richard Tozier."

"What year is it?"

"2019."

"Who's the president of the United States?"

"I know...but don't make me say it."

“Excellent, Mr. Tozier," Dr. Hasaan chuckles, "you’re well on your way to health. Your lung and ribs should heal on their own in a couple of weeks, but there's no reason for us to hold you hostage here any longer. Your short term memory should come back to you gradually. You're set to be discharged no later than tomorrow afternoon. Because of the severity of your concussion, however, I'm going to ask that you have another adult at your home to monitor you for 48 hours."

"No problem, doc... I got my... Eddie Spaghetti to take care of me." Richie smiles as wide as he can without his lips cracking due to lack of hydration.

He doesn't notice the way Eddie's eyes shift guiltily to the floor.

Eddie might've been driving too cautiously.

"Eds...I know you're worried...but you might actually...be driving in reverse." Richie complains as another car speeds past them.

Eddie ignores him and grips the wheel tighter. I've hurt you enough already, I can't do that to you again Eddie thinks. What he says is, "Yeah, and if I speed up and hit a pothole and your stupid ribs slip and puncture your stupid lung again, then you'll be mad at me."

Richie laughs, but it's bitten off like it hurt him, and Eddie winces. "My Eds...always...so damn dramatic."

They spend the rest of the car ride in relative silence, save for the quiet humming of the radio, and Richie's occasional labored breathing.

"Oh, fuck." Richie voices miserably when they arrive at his complex.

"What?" Eddie asks, worried. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Eds." Richie reassures, "I just remembered...that I live on the third floor."

Oh, fuck.

"I'm not carrying you up three flights of stairs because your landlord is too cheap to get the elevator fixed." Eddie says, mostly serious.

"You couldn't...carry me up those stairs...to save both of our lives...Spaghetti head." Richie jokes, "Come on...little man...we've got some...climbing to do."

Eddie might not've had asthma when he was younger, but it sure as fuck felt like he did now.

Carrying their bags and about 30% of Richie's body weight feels like a workout, but he feels guilty almost instantaneously when he hears Richie struggling to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, baby." Eddie says, forgetting himself for a moment. He rubs his hands up and down Richie's back soothingly. "You okay?"

"Fine, Eds. Let's keep...going."

They make their way down the hall to Richie's door, where Eddie reaches under the "did you call first?" welcome mat to retrieve the spare key Richie keeps hidden there.

"Where's yours at...Eds? Need me to...get a new one made?" Richie asks, gesturing to the spare key in his hand, and Eddie blanches.

"No? No, I just left mine at my place. I'm an idiot." He lies, and Richie just looks at him kind of odd.

"That you are...Spaghetti Head."

Once they're inside, Eddie helps Richie settle comfortably onto the couch, before going to Richie's bedroom to drop off his bag.

"Bring me...my heating pad, please, Eds?" Richie calls with some difficulty.

"Yeah, sure, Rich!" Eddie calls back, but when he steps into Richie's bedroom, his heart hits the floor.

Now, Richie isn't the tidiest person alive, so Eddie's used to picking up after him a bit; sometimes folding his laundry, but it's never been like this before. There are empty bottles of alcohol littering his floor, half-empty food containers left open, clothes thrown haphazardly over almost every surface. This, Eddie knows, is what depression looks like for Richie. This is what it looks like when he's given up.

"I did this." He gasps quietly to himself, looking around the room in horror. "I did this."

"Eds?" Comes Richie's worried voice from his position on the couch. "You get lost?"

"Just gimme a minute, Richie!" He snaps, way harsher than he intends. Then much softer, "I'm sorry, babe, please just give me a minute, okay?"

Richie doesn't say anything else, and Eddie pulls himself together long enough to go to the supply closet and retrieve Richie's heating pad.

He hands it to Richie wordlessly, and Richie mutters a quiet "thanks". He looks at Eddie like he's a puzzle to be solved, and Eddie can't take it.

"What do you remember from before?' He asks, avoiding Richie's questioning eyes.

"From when?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Rich? Not... not in the hospital, but before that. What's the last memory you have of--of us together?"

There's a pause, and Eddie can see the gears working in Richie's head.

"Oh, I don't...I can't...um...I don't? The movies?" Richie tries. "We went to see that scary movie you wanted to see. The one...with the clowns." He looks so proud of himself, and Eddie's heart just shatters.

Richie's used to his boyfriend being weird; and usually he loves it, but there's something about the way Eddie's been acting since they left the hospital that has his hackles raised.

"Am I...missing something, Eds?" Other than the obvious, he doesn't add, "What's the matter?"

Eddie still looks crestfallen when he answers. "That was over three weeks ago, Rich."

"Yeah?" He asks, and Eddie nods miserably. "Holy fuck. I mean...we knew that there were...holes in my memory. Doc said...things'll come back on their own." He tries to sound reassuring, but Eddie's still frowning hard.

"Yeah, I know but...that's not...it's just that, um, I don't really, um, and—"

"Woah, dude, are you...having a stroke?" Richie interrupts, and Eddie puts his head in his hands and sighs.

"God, shut the fuck up, Richie, this is really hard."

Richie bites his tongue. "What's hard, baby? What's got you...so upset? Eds...whatever it is...it's okay. Talk to me."

"It's us, I mean, you and me, we're um," a pause, "we'renottogetheranymore." He finishes quickly.

That's a silly thing to say, Richie thinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Eddie starts, "that you and I aren't together anymore. We're broken up."

The sharp pain in Richie's chest has nothing to do with his broken ribs.

"I broke up with you?" He asks dejectedly, "Eds, I'm—" but Eddie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

"No, Richie, I broke up with you."

And there it is. Richie feels it like a punch to the solar plexus. Thats why Eddie's been acting so strange, keeping something like this from him.

"I don't...why?" He demands, chest aching to keep up with the heavy pounding of his heart.

"It doesn't matter, I should've never done it, I'm sorry—"

"It fucking matters!" Richie explodes. With great difficulty, he stands up off of the couch—wincing in pain during the process—so that he's looming over Eddie. "It matters." He tries again.

Eddie just stares up at him from his spot on the sofa. He shakes his head 'no', like he's resolved on keeping his mouth shut, and the anger is drained from Richie as quickly as it came.

"Why are you...here, Eddie?" He asks, exhaustedly. Just Eddie this time. Not Eds, not baby, just Eddie.

"Because you're hurt, and I need to make sure you're okay, and I—"

"Let me...guess. You feel...guilty?" Richie laughs mirthlessly. "Get out."

"No, Rich, c'mon, I'm here to help you."

"Just, go, Eddie. I'm going to go...take a very careful shower...and by the time...I get out...I want you...out of here."

"Rich—"

"Out, Eddie."

He walks carefully to the bathroom without waiting for a response.

Eddie doesn't leave. Fuck that, he thinks. Instead, he takes on the harrowing task of cleaning Richie's bedroom which he's labeled "The Depression Den" in his head. He starts with the clothes: grabbing piles and piles from the floor and Richie's bed and discarding them into their respective hampers. Once he's done with that, he takes care of the disposable trash; putting everything into bags that'll need to be tossed sooner rather than later. Lastly, he works on the beer cans, and liquor pints that are scattered all around the room. God, Richie must've really been on a bender. Eddie swallows his guilt for the time being and gets to working on separating glass from aluminum to recycle.

The shower's still running by the time Richie's room looks presentable. Eddie carefully, quietly places his ear up to the door. He can hear Richie humming softly and takes that as a sign that he's okay in there.

He makes his way to the kitchen to rummage through Richie's cabinets, trying to find something to cook for them, but Richie's cupboards and refrigerator are bare and depressing looking.

Take out doesn't sound so bad, Eddie thinks.

He's just getting off the phone with the Thai place when Richie comes into the living room

"You're still here." Richie croaks. His skin is still pink from his shower, and he's wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Spiderman boxers. He's still a head taller than Eddie, but he looks so small, so young.

"Yeah, Rich, I know you're upset, and I understand its a lot, and I'm s—"

"You're still here...you didn't leave." Richie's voice cracks. "You didn't leave me." He takes a hesitant step towards Eddie, expression vulnerable. And oh, fuck, if Richie starts crying its going to set Eddie off too.

"I promised you I wouldn't." At Richie's confused glance, he elaborates. "When I got the call that you were in the hospital, I was so scared. They wouldn't tell me anything and I-I thought the worst. I thought I'd lost you. But then I went to your room, and you were sleeping. You were cut up and bruised," He eyes the healing bruises across Richie's face, desperately wanting to reach out and touch him "but you were alive. And I thought to myself 'I walked away from the best thing in my life, because I was scared.' Truth is, I didn't know what scared was until I saw you lying there, so still...so pale, machines breathing for you. So that night, I promised myself and you that as long as you'll have me, I'll be here. I won't ever leave you again. As long as I'm welcome in your home, and...and in your life, I'll—"

"Stay."

"What?" Eddie asks, eyes wide.

"Please...even if it's just for tonight...just, stay."

So Eddie does.

Richie does a lot of healing over the next couple of weeks. None of it is easy, but that's to be expected. He gets short tempered, and emotional as his memory clears, which the doctor tells Eddie is a "completely normal response to being concussed," but Eddie thinks it's more than that. Richie slowly begins to ease himself back into daily activities like driving, and grocery shopping for himself, relying on Eddie less and less with each passing day.

Eddie tries not to let that worry him.

It's a fair question, and one that needed to be asked, but it still makes Eddie choke on his coffee when Richie asks "So, why did you break up with me?" one day when they're sitting on the couch, watching TV with the volume down low.

"Um, Richie, I-" Eddie starts, then stops.

"Yeah?" Richie raises his eyebrows expectantly, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Eddie sighs. He owes Richie an explanation, he owes him the truth. "I was scared." Okay...so...baby steps.

"Of...?" Richie prompts, impatient now.

"You leaving me? I know it's so stupid, now, but at the time I thought you would get sick of me, and you didn't l—" he cuts himself off but its too late.

He doesn't miss the way Richie inhales sharply, and flinches like Eddie just slapped him.

"You thought I didn't love you?" Richie sounds so lost.

"No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it. And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never- I'm so sorry."

"You're so fucking stupid." Is all Richie says, then louder, "God, you're so fucking stupid!"

That's fair, Eddie thinks.

Richie puts his hands on Eddie's shoulders, lowering his head until they're eye level. "I have never. Ever." He punctuates each word with a gentle shake to Eddie's shoulders, "Loved anyone the way that I love you. Not even close."

"Richie, I'm so-" Wait. "Love?"

"Yes!" Richie cries, exasperated. "Love, dummy. I love you! I never stopped loving you. Even when I was drowning myself in a bottle," It's Eddie's turn to feel like he just got slapped. "All I could think about was you. You, Eds. You're it for me, I think."

Eddie freezes, feels the tears well in his eyes before he can do anything about it. "You called me Eds." He cries, tearfully.

Richie grins in triumph. "I knew you fucking liked my nicknames!"

"God, I missed this." Richie moans in between kisses. He's got Eddie pinned down on his bed, breathless and panting beneath him.

"Richie, please." Eddie whimpers.

"Please what, baby?" He teases. "You want something from me, you ask for it."

Eddie squirms underneath him, dick already hard and leaking. "Please fuck me. Need it, need you." And Richie groans, grinding his hips down hard, eliciting a shaky moan from Eddie.

"Mmm, not yet, baby. Gonna take care of you. I'm gonna worship every inch of you."

Richie takes his time taking Eddie apart, finding all the spots that drive him crazy, and playing with them until Eddie's a writhing mess underneath him.

"Alright, Eds. Face down, ass up. C'mon chop, chop."

Eddie opens his mouth like he's about to retort—probably to tell Richie to stop ruining the mood or something—before he thinks better of it. He does as he's told, stripping down completely naked before laying face down on the mattress.

Richie hums in approval, kisses his way down Eddie's shoulders, along his spine, feels the tremors that are coursing through him.

"Please, Richie, I need more" Eddie whines, rocking his hips back.

"I know what you need, Eds. Let me give it to you, okay? Gonna make you come so hard. On my tongue and fingers, then on my dick, okay? You just gotta take it." He says it casually, like he's discussing the weather, and not taking Eddie apart piece by piece.

Eddie just whines again, and Richie smirks before he flattens his tongue, licking over Eddie in broad strokes before pressing his tongue inside. Eddie nearly shouts, hole fluttering around Richie's tongue.

There's nothing particularly romantic about the way Richie eats him out. It's wet, and sloppy, and Richie's got spit dripping down his chin as he licks into Eddie until Eddie's trembling at the intensity of it.

When Eddie's whines start getting high and needy, Richie takes pity on him, adding a finger in alongside his tongue, and Eddie groans appreciatively, fucking himself back onto Richie until he adds another.

When Richie crooks his fingers purposefully, searching out Eddie’s prostate, Eddie whimpers pitifully and tries to shift away. “Richie, please…” he begs, but Richie just pulls his mouth away and shushes him, keeping his fingers deep inside.

Richie knows Eddie simultaneously loves and hates getting his prostate fucked. Hates how vulnerable it makes him feel, how it leaves him shaking and non-verbal, even after he's come. Loves it for the exact same reasons.

“Relax, baby,” Richie soothes, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s hip. "I got you."

Eddie forces himself to relax, and soon enough, he’s whining and sobbing, fingers twisting the sheets, begging Richie for more.

"Good boy." Richie praises. He’s careful when he does this, not exactly gentle, but he doesn’t want to go too fast or hard and overwhelm Eddie, so he keeps his strokes long and purposeful, fingers brushing expertly over Eddie’s prostate. Eddie's hips keep shifting, like he’s not sure if he wants to get away from the sensation or get more of it, so Richie tightens his hand on Eddie's hip, effectively stilling him.

He keeps up his methodical torture for minutes, or hours, or days, before Eddie's granted any reprieve. Even if it weren’t for the almost hysterical whines Eddie’s emitting, the way that he’s clenching around Richie’s fingers, shaking like a leaf, would be enough to alert Richie that he’s close. He keeps Eddie hanging there on the verge of orgasm for a long time, drawing it out of him slowly, so slowly, with precise fingers pressing rhythmically against Eddie’s prostate. “Touch yourself, baby, you’re doing so good, make yourself come.” Richie urges, using his free hand to massage Eddie’s perineum when Eddie brings a shaking hand to his own leaking dick. It’s over pretty quickly after that.

Eddie’s uncharacteristically quiet when he comes, and Richie would be worried if not for the way Eddie’s muscles had locked up so tight before he started trembling something fierce.

Eddie had stayed like that for a few long moments, could do nothing but shake and gasp as his orgasm worked through him in a way that looked almost painful.

When it's over, Eddie drops like a stone onto the mattress, still trembling. Richie's quick to gather him in his arms, rearranging them as best he could so that Richie was against the headboard and Eddie’s head was resting on his chest. That's when he notices the tears tracks running down Eddie's cheeks as the man in question struggles to catch his breath. He runs soothing fingers through Eddie’s hair, waits for him to come back to himself.

"Oh my God," Eddie whispers, moments later, once his soul is back in his body.

"Okay, baby?" Richie asks, genuinely concerned, as he wipes at the tears staining his boyfriend's face.

"More than," Eddie gasps, "It's just a lot."

"Hmmm." Richie hums in agreement. He gives Eddie a couple more minutes to recover before he rearranges them again. This time, with Eddie on his back, legs spread wide around Richie's hips. "I'm not done with you yet."

Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide, and Richie grins. "Told you I was gonna make you come on my dick tonight. You want that, baby?"

Eddie nods enthusiastically, then gasps in shock when he feels Richie's open palm connect with his cheek.

"Use your words, Eddie. You want my dick, then beg me for it."

"Please, Richie, oh my God, please I want your dick, please give it to me, I need it." Eddie's shameless now, past the point of caring what comes out of his mouth.

"That's good, baby. I'll give it to you." Richie says, reaching into his nightstand for the box of condoms they never use anymore.

"Rich...what? Why?" Eddie asks, dubiously eyeing the box in his hand.

"Eds..I..if there was any-" But Eddie cuts him off, head clearer than it's been since they started.

"There was no one else, Rich, I swear, I didn't. You're it for me, too."

"Yeah?" Richie asks, tossing the box somewhere in the corner of his room, smiling down at Eddie.

"Yeah, stupid." Eddie promises, and Richie just has to kiss the grin off his lips.

Richie takes his time pushing in, making sure Eddie feels every inch of him until he bottoms out, hips flush against Eddie.

"Gonna make sure you feel how deep my love goes, baby. Never gonna have to worry again." Richie promises.

"Oh, my God." Eddie whimpers, eyes rolling back as Richie starts to fuck into him slowly.

It's so good, too good, and it's not long before Eddie's hard again. Richie takes notice and doubles his efforts, going from thrusting into Eddie to grinding their hips together, dick a constant pressure against Eddie's prostate. It's too much, too fast, and Eddie damn nears screams.

"Feel good, baby?"

Eddie doesn't respond. Just keeps making these little "ah, ah, ah" sounds like he's about to sneeze. "Oh, fuck, Richie, how are you doing this to me?"

He's crying for real now, taking big, sobbing breaths as his hands frantically grip the pillows, the bedsheets, the headboard, his own hair, anything he can to ground himself against the pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm him completely.

"Don't do that, baby, you'll rip your hair out." Richie chides, dropping to his elbows so that he can detangle Eddie's hands from his hair, and twine their fingers together.

He never once breaks stride, going back to fucking into Eddie deep and slow, each thrust bringing Eddie closer and closer to that point of no return.

And surely Eddie's going to explode. Surely, the human body isn't meant to withstand this kind of pleasure.

"You're so fucking good, Eds." Richie's pace is starting to get falter, tell-tale sign that he's close. "Gonna come for me again?"

Eddie nods senselessly, beyond words. He's pretty sure he's drooling.

"Then do it, Eds. C'mon." And Eddie's right there, so close to the edge, back arching completely off the bed as Richie takes him higher and higher and—

"That's it, baby, you're right there, God, I love you so much, Eddie."

"Say it again." Eddie gasps, fresh tears spilling over.

"I love you." Richie repeats.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again, again, again!" Eddie shouts as he starts to come, untouched, across his and Richie's bellies.

"I love you, I love you so much, baby." Richie groans, and tumbles over the edge right alongside of him.

Eddie's nervous as Richie drives them to the restaurant; some overpriced Italian place that Mike wants them to meet at. It's not like he and Richie were avoiding the Losers; they still talked on the phone a couple of times a week, but in the light of recent events they had, admittedly, been spending a lot more time with each other. It's been the best and happiest weeks of Eddie's life, and that makes his decision ten times easier.

Months ago, Bill told Eddie to take some time to think about what he wanted.

He picked out a ring that very same day.

What he wants is Richie, always and forever. He's known that for most of his life.

He just hopes that Richie feels the same way.

The ring is heavy in Richie's back pocket as he and Eddie walk into the restaurant that Mike picked out. The rest of the Losers are already there, talking animatedly amongst each other. The conversation stops when they get to the table.

"Well I'll be damned." Mike says, like he didn't expect them to actually show up, he's grinning though, and Richie smiles back.

"Richie Tozier, back from the dead!" Bev exclaims, jumping out of her seat to hug him. He squeezes her tight, lifting her off her feet as he twirls her around. She laughs brightly, and it hits Richie like a brick to the face how much he loves this group of people. How, since they were kids, their little group of outcasts has been his one constant. Something he could always run to.

Bill and Stan smile at him knowingly, and he winks back.

Richie's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, but as he looks around the table at all of his friends, at the man he hopes says yes tonight, Richie finds himself smiling at the realization that he's there's no way he could ever let this go.

#m writes #god I hope this read more link works for mobile users #back at again gays #writing tag #fic: reddie

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blancheludis · 5 years ago

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@ironhusbandsweek, @rhfenovemberbash Day 2: Surprise Party

Fandom: Marvel, MCU, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan Tags: post-Ultron, Family, Emotional H/C, Protective Rhodey, Love, Humor Words: 3.116

Summary: After Ultron, Tony expects to come home to an empty tower, another giant mess of his own making to fix. He is not alone, however. His family is waiting for him. They are not as fickle as the Avengers, who left at the first signs of trouble. They even brought cake.

---

After the Ultron debacle, Tony expects to come home to a wrecked tower. In a way, he is almost looking forward to it, because it gives him something tangible to fix instead of leaving him just with the mess inside him.

Everything went to hell so quickly. One moment, they were a team, working so well together as if they have done so for years. And then. Tony is not even sure what to blame it on, at what point things started to crack.

There was the witch who had certainly played her part. The question is whether she really put ideas in Tony’s head or whether she just amplified what was already there. Not much is needed, apparently, to get him to build a murder bot bent on destroying the very world Tony is claiming to protect.

That is over now, of course. He has handed in his resignation from the Avengers, has built them a new compound so they would not have to be so close to him, so he would not get in the way. That leaves him to deal with his guilt complex and his broken tower on his own. He can handle it, though. He always has.

Tony is surprised when he steps out of the elevator into a pristine foyer. No more glass shards, no more broken furniture, no more blood and robot parts. It looks like nothing ever happened.

A shiver runs down Tony’s back as he wonders whether his mind is truly his own again or whether there is still a remnant of Wanda’s magic at work. Perhaps Ultron was a dream. Perhaps defeating him was.

Before Tony can explore that thought further, he hears a noise coming from further ahead. His hand is shooting up without him making any conscious decision to do so. The watch turns into a repulsor and it powers up before he can even make out what made that noise.

This is how he finds himself pointing an Iron Man gauntlet at his only friends in the entire world.

Rhodey stands in the hallway to the living room, Pepper and Happy at his side. They do not look surprised at his reaction, but Tony knows Pepper’s face of disapproval too well to miss it, even though it is gone as quickly as it appeared.

Sheepishly, Tony lowers his hand. This could still be an illusion, but it does not matter whether this is real or not, he will not point a weapon at his family.

“Surprise,” Rhodey says, his tone at once dry and worried.

He wears that expression that means he would like nothing more than to tuck Tony in to bed and let whatever storm is brewing pass before he lets him out again. As if not all of Tony’s life is one storm or another.

“What?” Tony asks dumbly. His mind has not yet caught up with the fact that his tower appears whole again and that he is not alone.

“Come on, your favourite people are here,” Rhodey explains, almost too cheerful. Even more pointedly, he adds, “We’ve got cake, too. Don’t tell me you really need a banner with Surprise Party written on it to know what this is.”

Tony flinches at Rhodey’s use of banner and hates himself for it. Another thing he is not sure how to fix.

Instead of dwelling on that, on the fact that Bruce took the quinjet and disappeared, cutting off all communication, Tony walks towards his friends. Exhaustion is catching up with him, now that he has apparently been robbed of his next big task of tidying up his tower.

They should not be here. Pepper should be out saving Stark Industries from the expected stock crash that comes with Tony messing up again and almost ending the world. Happy is usually following her these days, but he too must have enough actual work. And Rhodey – Rhodey should be with the Avengers. Training with them, coordinating his future involvement with Steve. He should be taking over Tony’s job, with promises of doing it much better. That is mostly guaranteed even.

They should not bother with him, should not feel obliged to pick up another one of his messes. He has dragged them into too many of those already, and he should really make them stop piecing him back together.

“No, don’t do that,” Rhodey says. He sounds much closer now, and when Tony blinks back into reality, Rhodey is standing right in front of him. “Don’t withdraw into your head. We’re here.”

Tony’s head is not even a safe place, and yet he always gets lost in there.

“You shouldn’t be,” Tony replies tonelessly. He is not going to say how glad he is they are here. That would make it impossible for them to leave, which would be the sensible thing to do. For some reason, though, they care. About him and his well-being.

“Could we skip the part where you’re convinced you don’t deserve anything good in your life?” Rhodey asks. He is utterly serious. There is not even any exasperation to be found in his expression, although this is far from the first time Tony proves to be difficult.

“You don’t understand –” Tony tries to say, but lets himself be cut off easily.

“Tones.” His name in Rhodey’s voice is the softest thing Tony can imagine. It is a tone that promises everything will be well. After all these years, Tony still falls for that, no matter how often life proves them wrong. “I’ve been with you longer than anyone else,” Rhodey continues, “I understand. We all do.”

Tony is not convinced they do. A sickness sits inside him that he cannot get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. After Afghanistan, after becoming Iron Man, he was supposed to be better, less prone to always making things worse.

For some reason, Rhodey chooses to see Tony as someone who is good, who can do good. It has always been this way even back at MIT, no matter how many parties Tony crashed, how often he had to be carried home because he got blackout drunk, how often they argued over his stupid decisions.

“I –” Tony says but trails off. Rhodey is close enough now that Tony can pretend there is nothing in this world but the two of them. He feels immediately calmer like that.

“Come here,” Rhodey says and opens his arms.

While some part of Tony’s mind screams that he hardly deserves to be comforted, he moves immediately into the offered embrace. Rhodey’s warmth engulfs him, chasing away the lingering cold from Sokovia.

This is the one place in the world where he feels utterly safe. He has a talent for doubting everything, but Rhodey’s arms around him will always be right.

Distantly, Tony notices Pepper and Happy vanishing back down the hallway to give them some privacy, and he is glad for it. He uses the opportunity to bury himself further into Rhodey’s touch, hiding his face against Rhodey’s shoulder.

Positioned like this, he hears Rhodey’s heartbeat. Strong and calm. The most familiar sound in the world.

When Tony finally disentangles from Rhodey, his cheeks are damp but Rhodey does not mention it. Nobody here sees any shame in crying. They are all used to having to seem strong all the time. They are at home now, however, where they can just be themselves.

Without saying anything, Rhodey guides Tony towards the living room and pushes him down on the couch before following suit. Tony has not noticed how tired his legs were until he takes his weight off them. His entire body is on the brink of utter exhaustions. It feels like he has been running on just adrenaline and spite since Ultron interrupted their party.

He leans against Rhodey’s shoulder, unwilling to leave even an inch of distance between them, and sighs happily when Rhodey intertwines their fingers. Nothing grounds him as much as this.

As if on unspoken command, Pepper and Happy come back. They are talking quietly about nothing consequential, filling the room with enough harmless background noise to help Tony calm down further.

As promised, they have brought cake. Blueberry. Tony’s favourite.

That is a silly tradition from their college days. Comfort food, Rhodey had called it when he was trying to convince Tony that he needed to do something nice for himself whenever things go wrong, whether that was an argument with his father or a botched project. Tony had naturally argued it is easier to get drunk to put his mind on other things, but Rhodey insisted that it had to be something special. Self-Care Cake became a thing after that.

It is a nice touch, even though Tony hardly thinks he deserves cake after the stunt he pulled. Still, he does not stop Pepper when she cuts it and puts a piece on each of the four plates she brought.

Then, she puts one of the plates down in his lap before she takes a seat next to him, moving close until they are touching too. They fill each other’s space with an ease borne from decades spent together.

Happy takes an armchair, delicately holding his plate. Nobody says anything for a long moment.

“Eat something,” Pepper then prompts, as if food is actually going to make anything better.

The cake will not, Tony knows, but his people will. Rhodey, who should already be back with the military or at the compound, taking over as the Avenger’s aerial support, Iron Man’s successor. Pepper, who is so used to fixing Tony’s messes that she barely blinks anymore when he shows up with another one in tow. Happy, in a way the steadiest of Tony’s friends, who is always there to catch Tony.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tony repeats, although he sounds far less convinced this time. It is harder to reject other people’s kindness when he knows they do not have an ulterior motive. Well, other than to make him take care of himself.

“Give us one good reason why,” Pepper says, while Rhodey is still busy bristling at Tony’s other side. Happy looks decidedly unamused too.

Lowering his eyes, Tony focuses on his cake, counts the blueberries, and wonders whether it will be as good as the ones he used to make with Rhodey in their tiny dorm kitchen.

“I created Ultron,” he says, his tone flat.

They know that, of course, but they obviously need the reminder. For years, he has created weapons, destructive in their own right. This was a giant step up, farther than Tony thought he could go. Yet he did, and the Avengers and Sokovia, the entire world even, barely made it out alive.

“You tried to do something good and it misfired,” Rhodey says, squeezing Tony’s hand in what would be a show of comfort or a warning. It is probably both.

That makes it worse.

“Ultron came from my brain, from my servers,” Tony snaps. “He was supposed to protect the earth and yet the only way he thought he could do it was by destroying it.” Much quieter, he adds something he has barely dared to think up until now. “What does that say about me?”

Ultron is arguably as much Tony’s child as JARVIS or the bots, only he turned out far less willing to do his creator’s bidding than them. He grossly misinterpreted the purpose Tony gave him, at least.

“It says that you care,” Rhodey says, voice tight. “That you know there is danger coming and that we need to act. That you see your mistakes and immediately get to work to fix them.”

The ultimate goal would be to not make mistakes like this. He should know better, be better. Not just as a former Avenger, but as a self-proclaimed futurist.

“I created –”

“First off, stop with the I,” Rhodey cuts him off. He shifts just far enough to better look at Tony, his face stern. “If I recall correctly, Dr. Banner was part of the whole process. Then there was the sceptre, which messed with all of your heads once before. And that witch kid? What did she make you see?”

So much death. That army Loki brought to Earth. A reminder that Tony will never be enough. Tony has his experience with nightmares. This one felt more like a prophecy. Like something he could prevent if only he were a better person.

“What if I’m going to make a mistake I can’t fix?” Tony asks instead of answering.

He has spoken about the army coming for them before and people have put it down as tale gone wild due to the trauma he suffered. His family might listen, but how could they believe without having seen it?

“You’ve done so many miraculous things, boss,” Happy speaks up while Rhodey and Pepper share a look, silently debating whether they should pry further into the topic of Wanda Maximoff. “You wouldn’t have done even one of them if you were afraid of going wrong at some point.”

Studiously not looking at any of his friends, Tony says, “These days, my failures tend to have bigger consequences than just setting our dorm on fire.”

“They have bigger gains, too,” Happy answers without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Tony does not deserve them. Not Happy’s loyalty, not Pepper’s patience, not Rhodey’s friendship. He has never deserved them, and yet he always manages to drag them along, from one disaster into the next.

“I can’t –” Tony says but does not know how to end his sentence. There are so many things he cannot do, and more still that he should not.

“You don’t have to,” Rhodey answers nonetheless. His grip on Tony’s hand is hard enough to anchor him. “I mean it, Tones. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He pauses a minute to convey how serious he is, then his expression morphs into something softer. “Wait, that’s not true. You owe me a vacation. Caribbean if I remember correctly.”

Clenching his jaw, Tony shifts a little so he is not as pressed into Rhodey’s side anymore.

“You shouldn’t make fun of this,” he says, although part of him wants to pick up the familiar banter, to let go of the horror of the past days.

“I’m not,” Rhodey promises. “You just shouldn’t feel like the entire world rests on your shoulders.”

“Sometimes it feels like it does,” Tony says quietly.

In Sokovia it had. Literally, even, as he tried to keep the flying city from wiping out mankind. He feels like he is stuck in that moment, straining against the entirety of his bad decisions threatening to crush him.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Pepper says on his other side. “To help you carry it.”

Tony looks at them. At their determined faces, tinged with worry. At the way they are all slightly leaned towards him. At the readiness with which they are going to counter any and all arguments he can think of.

He truly does not deserve them, but he would give up anything for them. He has known that before. Every time they do not give up on him despite plenty of reasons to, he realizes that a bit more.

“Can we go right now?” Tony asks, the words tumbling out unbidden. “To the Caribbean?”

He sees the way Rhodey’s face softens, and Happy and Pepper lose some of their tension. They all know this is not over yet – Tony’s self-doubt is legendary after all – but it feels like the immediate crisis has been averted.

“You know the answer, Tones,” Rhodey says lightly. “If it were up to me, we’d have gone long ago and never come back.”

As far as fantasies go, this one has very little chance of ever becoming reality.

“You’d get bored within a week,” Tony cautions, mostly because boredom is a better alternative than Rhodey getting fed up with him and finally noticing that Tony is not worth all the work they have put into him over the years.

“Time with you is never boring,” Rhodey argues, smiling when Happy is chuckling in agreement.

As far as virtues go, there might be worse, but Rhodey could still do so much better.

“Well, you’d get bored as soon as I accidentally burn down the entire island,” Tony amends. His limbs are growing heavier by the minute, slowly giving in to the exhaustion.

Rhodey shrugs, never disputing that Tony would actually manage to do that. “We’ll have to invent fire-proof palm trees then.”

With definite fondness, Tony looks up. “Do you have an answer to everything?”

Of course, Rhodey does. He has had years of practice after all.

“With you? Definitely,” Rhodey replies as if there is nothing to it, as if he would change nothing if he had the chance, “Since you tend to ask the same questions over and over again. The answers are simple.” He focuses completely on Tony now, making it clear he means everything he says. “You’re going to fix it. You’re going to make it better. I love you. That’s all I need to know.”

Warmth spreads through Tony like it always does when Rhodey looks at him like that, when he speaks of love with that same wonder he had decades ago. It is enough to make Tony believe that he is not a complete burden, not all the time.

“I love you too, honey bear,” Tony says and puts his head down against Rhodey’s shoulder, too tired to keep himself upright and trusting Rhodey to carry him.

“Good talk,” Rhodey says, his smile audible in his voice. He nudges Tony’s plate. “Now eat your cake or you might not get any.”

The tension in the air mellows into something far more palatable as they all pick up their forks to eat their cake. This is not all they are going to talk about the matter, but it is enough for now. Like this, Tony is almost certain he can sleep tonight and meet his own eyes in the mirror in the morning.

“Thanks for being here,” Tony says in between bites of cake. He takes care to look at all of them, both so they know he means all of them, and so he can memorize them here with him, ready to catch them when he falls.

“Where else would we be?” Rhodey asks, speaking for all of them.

That is the thing about a family that is hard won as theirs. Despite the misery still sitting in the depth of his chest, Tony believes them without hesitation. Things will be better again. Until then, he has them to hold him up.

#ironhusbandweek #tonyrhodey #RhodeyTonyNovemberBash #rhfe #ironhusbands #fanfiction #post-Ultron #family #protective rhodey #tony needs a hug #self-care cake #it's a thing #my writing #ao3

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missmeikakuna · 4 years ago

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Vocaloid fanfic- The Librarian and the Maybe-Bisexual Bookworm Ch. 2

This is a fanfic I wrote for Vocaloid Amino for a previous Pride Month and thought I’d post it here. Rated: T Fandom: Vocaloid Relationship: Yukari x IA Relationship Type: F/F Description: Yukari is a hardworking student who manages to balance her studies with her relationship with a boy. Things start to change when she meets her high school’s young, beautiful new librarian IA. Yukari asks her to help her find a lesbian-themed novel like one she’s read and all goes well until she realises she might be more like the characters in those novels than she thought.

Chapter Two: Coming out is like telling someone about a book you’ve been reading in secret because it doesn’t seem like ‘your kind’ of story.

Yukari took a deep breath before entering the library. Just her luck. There were several people inside. She started walking towards the librarian’s desk but swerved towards a bookshelf. She looked behind her and saw IA, who waved at her.

Oh god, she waved at her.

Yukari just started nodding with the exaggeration of a bobblehead. After almost half a minute of this, she turned her head and focused on the bookshelf.

She wasn’t looking for any book in particular, but she needed to do something to stop herself from staring at the librarian. The more she stared, the more the memory of the previous week’s fantasy would be able to crawl into her brain.

After a minute of staring into space, she realised she was in the mathematics section. She scrunched up her nose. If anyone were to say that being good at something makes you like it, she would throw these hefty books at them.

She looked down at the book in her hand and remembered the main character’s struggle to talk to the ghostlike woman.

She turned around and lurched towards IA, debating whether to walk like she usually did or in a casual, breezy way.

IA smirked at her. “Do you like maths?”

Yukari snorted like a horse. “Of course. I love me some numbers. Trig is seriously underrated. Yeah.”

IA chuckled. “Calm down.”

Yukari held her head. IA eyed the book in her hand and reached for it. Yukari bit back a gasp when cold fingers brushed against her hand.

“Did you like it?” IA asked. Yukari, still looking down, nodded. “Who was your favourite character?”

“Why make me choose?” Yukari replied. “Tsukino Shion is a really relatable main character, but Kanbara Sora is a lot like… hey, how did you know my name? My name’s a lot like Shion’s.”

“It is?”

Yukari stepped back. She squinted her eyes at IA, who had her head tilted like a dog again.

“I’m Yuzuki Yukari. You… didn’t know?”

IA stood up and bowed. “I’m sorry for not asking for your name earlier. I keep getting…distracted whenever we talk.”

I keep getting distracted whenever we talk.

I keep getting distracted.

Distracted.

Yukari felt like something exploded in her head, sending a blast of heat that reached from her neck up to her ears.

She coughed. “So, uh, books. Gotta love ‘em. And music… music’s pretty… dope. It’s like oxygen. Everyone needs it in their lives.”

She mentally kicked herself.

IA sat back down and typed into the computer. “Are there any good books here?” She covered her mouth. “Forget I said that,” she said with her hand still on her mouth. She took it off and sighed. “Yuka… Miss Yuzuki, do you like jazz music?”

“I haven’t really listened to it. Why?”

“Well, you mentioned music and I remembered this lesbian romance novel about a spoiled pop star who meets a struggling jazz musician. The descriptions of the songs are really good. It’s like you can actually hear them, even though they’re just words on paper. Would you be able to come to my place again to pick it up?”

IA’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh, is it okay to recommend you new books? You’re probably sick of reading lesbian romance novels since you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Yukari bit her lip. “What’s my boyfriend got to do with it?”

IA scratched the back of her ear and looked away, frowning. “Never mind.”

“I’m fine with reading that sort of stuff. Recommend away.”

IA beamed at Yukari, who, under her powerful gaze, started fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

Yukari asked, “Do you like jazz?”

“I didn’t care much about it at first, but after reading the book, I started getting really interested in it. Isn’t it amazing how books can do that? It’s like every book is a new interest or hobby waiting to be discovered.”

The sky turned indigo and IA locked up the library, once again taking Yukari to her car.

At the apartment, IA handed her a book with two women holding hands, one kissing the cheek of the other. In one woman’s remaining hand was a microphone and for the other woman it was a trumpet.

IA turned on a CD player in the room. The notes of a trombone and double bass filled the room.

“Do you have anywhere to be? Would you like to read here for a bit?”

“What are you going to do?”

IA picked a book from one of the piles called ‘Club Majesty’. “This will do for me.”

Yukari sat on the one couch in the apartment, taking off a pile of books that rested on it. IA slumped into the couch, opening her own book while existing in the grey area between sitting and lying down.

The language of the romance novel in Yukari’s hands was a bit more intricate than the previous novel IA gave Yukari but it wasn’t too difficult to read.

The jazz music in the background lulled Yukari into a trancelike state as she let the story envelop her. She felt like she was sleep-reading and yet she was able to take in the story as if she had the concentration of a lawyer looking for holes in a witness’ story.

She was eventually broken out of her trance when IA rolled onto her back and raised her legs up against the couch’s back. IA bit her lip and stared at the book like it was written all in the most difficult of kanji characters. Yukari had to force herself to breathe, something she forgot to do as she watched her. She blushed as she stared at her lips.

She chuckled as she looked at the page IA was on. “I thought a librarian would be able to read the furigana.” She almost pointed out that furigana was usually in books for kids but didn’t want to get kicked out of the apartment.

IA said nothing, turning the page. It took her only half a minute before she turned the page again.

Yukari took a closer look at the new page before IA once again turned it. It was a bizarre chase scene involving a car chasing a pig with a sack full of cash on its back. It was-

IA turned the page. “Hey, it was just getting good,” Yukari blurted out. She held her head down. “Um… sorry.”

IA turned her head and lightly poked Yukari’s forehead. “Silly girl. No need to apologise. Maybe you can borrow this one from me next time.”

Yukari smiled. She took a few moments to gain the courage to poke IA’s foot.

IA kicked the air, cackling like a middle-aged woman after one too many glasses of Syrah.

She dropped her book and pounced on Yukari, tickling the underarms. This developed into a bonafide tickle match.

Yukari laughed so hard she snorted, which caused both women to laugh even harder. After they stopped, they stared at each other silently. IA leaned in closer.

Yukari felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A mysterious shiver swam down her body and her cheeks were as hot as newly toasted bread. She breathed in and out slowly.

IA’s eyes grew before she shut them and backed away.

“Um, sorry, I… uh… you should go back to… whatshisname… your boyfriend.”

Yukari stood up and bowed. She grabbed her book and gave IA one last small smile before leaving the apartment.

She went straight home instead of Roro’s place. There was no way she was going to read a book with that kind of cover in front of him.

Her phone buzzed and she frowned when she saw the message.

How’re you doing, beautiful? Wanna hang out?- Roro row your boat

She didn’t reply. Her fingers tingled, yearning to tell him about everything, but she put her phone back in her pocket to prevent herself from oversharing. This was her battle to fight.

She read the book she was lended on her bed, hiding it under the covers whenever she heard her parent’s footsteps close in on her. Her parents never opened the door.

The book was a lot longer than the previous one so she stayed up until 3 A.M finishing it. When she finally finished it, she started pulling at the roots of her hair.

She hadn’t done any homework.

She managed to complete her homework after a few hours and went to school with bags under her eyes. Her hands shook whenever she used them and she jumped out of her skin when Roro put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Yukari nodded and looked away from him.

Life began to form a pattern. Go to school tired, avoid Roro’s queries, return IA’s book to her, go to her place to find a new one, read it until the early hours of the morning and for god’s sake don’t let your parents know, do homework, get two hours of sleep at best, repeat the cycle. This happened for a good three weeks.

Each time Roro kissed her during lunchtime, Yukari felt the magic a little less. She started reminiscing over the days when the two of them were friends.

Yukari began to notice a few things about IA. Her apartment had an unplugged microphone and a keyboard. Her fridge was covered with sketches of monsters with crowns on them, ranging from medusa to demons and all from the same artist. The magnets that held them up were souvenirs from Greece. She had a to-do list with the most basic of functions such as ‘brush your teeth, you dingus’ and ‘if you don’t eat breakfast, you will starve to death before you get to meet a cute girl’. In the latter one, a line went through the words ‘before you get to meet a cute girl’. Yukari felt as if she had been split in half, one side uplifted and the other brought down to the depths of wherever the demon in that drawing came from.

After those three weeks, Roro took her aside after class and brought her to the empty music room.

He coughed an ‘ahem’. “Now that I have your attention, I want to ask you something. What the hell is going on with you?”

Yukari looked at the door behind her and stepped backwards but Roro grabbed her arm. His grip was gentle.

“Please… whatever’s going on, please let me know. Did I do something wrong?” Yukari gulped, saying nothing. “Please, just talk to me.”

Yukari rubbed her eyes with her forearm. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Then is there anything I can do to help you? You’re not yourself anymore.” He said that last sentence with the face of a rabbit seeing a buzzard and his voice was hoarse, as if it was a struggle to say anything.

Yukari took her arm away from her face and allowed tears to just fall down freely.

“It’s something I have to figure out on my own.”

“But I can-”

“Not when the problem’s got to do with you!”

“But you just said it’s not my-”

“It’s my fault. If only I wasn’t so selfish.”

“What’s going on with y-”

“I like someone else!”

Roro let go of her and stepped backwards, his hands quivering. Yukari sat on the piano chair and held her head in her hands. Her body shook as she cried. Roro sat next to her, trying to ignore the discomfort of sitting on the corner. He held his hand in the air for a while before placing in on her head and stroking her hair.

“Who’s the lucky guy? Is he in our class?” His voice was slow and ponderous, as if he was trying to hold in his own tears.

“It’s… a girl. You know the new librarian?”

Roro took his hand off her hair, recoiling from shock.

“Wait, so did you… I don’t know… pretend to like me so you don’t have to admit you like girls or something?”

Yukari shook her head, still looking down. “I liked you. Liked. Past tense. I’m…” She took a deep breath. “...bisexual. I’m really sorry. I should still like you, but… this girl’s just taken over my emotions and… I feel like there’s no room in me for any romantic feelings for anyone else.” She kept repeating the word ‘sorry’ in between sobs.

Roro was silent for a while. He stood up and wiped his tears away, looking down at the ground and silently wishing the floor would collapse and take him with it.

“I… never pegged you for one of those girls. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing you’d be into.”

Yukari looked up and saw Roro silently leaving the room.

He didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day. When she returned another book to IA and they headed to her apartment, she burst into tears in her car.

She told her about the breakup but didn’t explain the reason for it. IA stopped the car in a parking lane and reached over to hug her, stroking her hair much like Roro did, though this time Yukari actually noticed it and felt her cheeks heat up.

The two stayed there for a few moments, the only sounds being their breaths. It was just her and the ghostlike librarian who seemed more real with each passing day.

#VOCALOID #fanfiction #yuzuki yukari #IA #fanfic #yukari x ia #ia x yukari #romance #bisexual #drama #lesbian #GL #yuri #story #The Librarian and the Maybe Bisexual Bookworm

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yuki-yozora · 5 years ago

Text

Variables - fanfic ( Underswap Papyrus x Reader ) (Chapter One)

: !!: Author's notes ◌ °: !!:

﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎

Hello darlings! ‧ ₊ ° “

If you don't want read the note, please, roll this part.

As I mentioned in the prologue, it's my first time doing an underswap fic, so I'd like your opinion. ˚ ˚ *

I'm doing it the way I think it would be Au if it was complete as well as the fangame, but that doesn't mean I'm 100% following its original forms. ‧ ₊ ° “

That said, I will do my best to stay faithful and make writing interesting and fun. *

The cover image was edited by me, I know it's not the best, but I tried. ° ⸼ ⊹

If I get the link or names of those who created the images I will make available. °

Remembering that I have profiles in tree communities of Undertale in pt br, if you see an Vivinare, something ( skeleton, boned or skelly) with the same post, it's me, don't be scared. ˚ ˚ *

· · ✦ · · · · · · · 1 Notices · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · ·

Fic will follow many of its original creator's ideas with some interpretations and theories of mine. Here's the link about the creator: Popcorn (His profile no longer exists, he made another and left Au, she belongs to fandom, basically)

CENSOR:

Not for fragile hearts.

CONTAINS

(in general): violence, bullying, subliminal jokes, slight depression.

GENRE:

Adventure, Drama, Comedy, Thriller & Romance

˚ ˚ * In this fanfic ⁺ ˚. *

1 Chara is a boy;

2 Has original characters.

˚ ˚ * This chapter presents ⁺ ˚. *

1 slight violence;

2 Citation to depression;

3 drama.

Attention:

Big chapter ahead.

﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍﹎﹍ A year has passed… No news ... No trail ... not even false leads. (That fill us with hope just to take care of us.)

We.

I haven't used those words in so many days when referring to my life. Just one in the back, my brother was kidnapped. Chara was taken from me and taken where no one can find him. Your friends' parents shout accusations, as if I could hurt a single hair on your head:

"- It was certainly the oldest. After all, it's not the first death of the family. -"

Heh. People can be cruel.

We were four. He, the only boy and middle brother, only ten years old. The other oldest, Bianca, and the youngest, Daisy, were murdered by someone we trusted. Bianca's boyfriend, Elric, was on the Wizards Order. And to be accepted, the fire had to be fed with a precious commodity. He spent years fooling us into doing this… so that I could do that to him… That was two years ago. I tried to overcome my sadness, Elric was already under arrest, there was a Chara to be comforted. Gradually, our somewhat lonely new routine took shape. He made good friends who didn't judge him as many citizens: relatives of the children killed by the weirdo. Affectionate surname. We finally started to straighten up ... Until one day a couple broke into the house, terrified Doug, Chara's best friend, while frantically attacking me and the other taking my brother out of me in the blink of an eye. Despite my success in containing who attacked us, the other simply disappeared without a trace ...

It was like magic.

The search began in a human pursuit. All in vain. Police dropped the case in the fourth month, new ones were emerging. And there's no way to blame them for that (in a small, old town near the mountains, Ebottown had its high dose of violence.) The neighborhood avoided me as if infected with the plague and made a point of emphasizing how much I was despised. Escape, death. I thought of all this. But the spark of hope that he could come back kept me from leaving. And for that, I tolerate. All the antagonistic attitude of the neighborhood took me from my daily work. It just wasn't working, and my colleagues got angry every time my presence disturbed their eyes. To ensure basic survival, I accepted the night job offered by Luka, (The intimidating woman, the neighbor of the front house. Tall and powerful, with flawless black skin. Wearing her full hair or brightly colored turban, but there was always a vibrant purple, almost neon. His style of clothing was almost Gothic, spiders reminded me, for a strange reason.). The job was in a very elegant night bar serving colorful drinks and a space for parties or 'dances'. All the darkness and the bright alcohol made it difficult for people to recognize me, and anyone who dared to bother me was quickly arrested by the other bartenders or Luka, who was responsible for security. Strange to say that I felt more comfortable there than in my own home… loneliness ails me. Like now, a rainy day, with strong winds. Typical of the city. Interestingly on my day off. No strolling around, (Y/N).

* The rain outside is cold as your feelings and you know you don't deserve it.

A sigh and a roll of his eyes. I was annoyed myself. This whole situation, as if childhood turbulence was no longer enough, made the most frequent episodes of self-deprecation. Now it wasn't just my huge thighs or scars until I said enough. Or having tires in place of a perfect waist, or my abdomen getting easily swollen. No ... That's what I said, how I said it, how I breathed ... I probably needed help:

* But no one will come ...

I got. Luka was a good person, but I couldn't pour that much on her… I'm not worth it. With a flick of my tongue, I got up from the flowered carpet, centered in a bedroom entrance. I just went in there to clean, other than that, I watched the empty beds by the entrance, in silence. I closed the door carefully, looking back out of habit before going to the bathroom. A few gray floors peeled off the wall (cheap workmanship), the sink still full, but there were leaks in the pipe, the toilet was so bad it clogged up with the urine flush, the boxing was tiny, as if someone was trapping you in the closet while bathing you in cold water. Yes, the shower burned. At least I still have cute cabinets and a mirror….

Ah…

I looked into the mirror.

* After all, it's still you.

Long, curly hair, very messy and (h/c), with all the broken hair floating around (better known as fritz and he was too thin to be soft), reddish brown eyes (which weren't as red as Chara's) were probably the only things I liked about myself. Then we have my skin (s/c) very pale due to lack of sun exposure, random acne spreading, not in excess but bothering, deep dark circles, decorated with today's tear marks. A humorless laugh escaped my lips, his hand moving almost on its own, turning on the tap, rubbing the water over his face carefully. This is kind of dangerous, being alone with my sad thoughts.

" Finally. " I sighed, wiping my face on the nearest towel, hands then, as a painful smile crossed my face. " I have that." I tapped my side pocket of shorts where a deck of cards accompanied me everywhere.

It was like an extra part of me since Luka gave it to me, along with three other never-missing items: the black lipstick that Bianca wore when she came out with us, always in a pocket, the yellow ribbon of Daisy's hair on my head. her hair may look like a rattlesnake's nest, but she was always there.) and the weird book of basic flirtations that featured Chara as a pun and that he liked more than necessary (though small, no longer fit into pockets, so the his usual place next to my hip, between underwear and skin.)

I took advantage and wet my hair a little, as if he wasn't coming back to it later. Finishing up and getting some of the apparent melancholy from my face, I managed a hesitant smile at my reflection, but it returned to the cold look when something seemed to burst in the distance and the light went out. A blackout… when all I have to eat is frozen spaghetti and I'm out of gas.

So ... so ... perfect.

Worthy of a rainy day, which seemed to get stronger by the moment. Making a loud, unfamiliar sound, I emerged from the bathroom downstairs, using instincts to move without breaking anything. A kind of mind map danced in my mind, the matches in the cutlery and candles in the open closet seemed to light up like object-hunting games. I lit three candles that had already been used, then looked at the plate of food waiting to be warmed. Shaking my head gently, I put it in the fridge, even though it had no light to keep it intact, and pulled a jar of yogurt in place. This will be my dinner. Sitting at the round table with a prepared spoon, I began setting up the cards to play solitaire when I heard another noise. Much closer than the last. Slowly I took the cards from the table and stuffed them in my pocket, frowning.

A bang ... Coming from the room. Walking carefully, I approached, looking slowly out the door. My coffee table was split in half, the iron baseball bat stuck in the wood seemed to be the murder weapon. That stick was from Luka ...

More noise came from upstairs, my door still seemed to be closed. A kind of cold rose in my veins. This was strangely familiar. I looked around the room before going to the club and pulling it carefully.

* The Metal gave you a shiver of premonition.

I climbed the stairs, knowing exactly where to step so as not to make noise, but when I reached the top floor, I relaxed. The noise ceased. All doors remained closed, my room being the only exception. I peered through the door and, as I thought, he fled, as he had a year ago. The room was ruined, as if it had been a break-in party. The bed broke, the mattress was torn, as were my papers and the wardrobe on the floor, some scattered clothes, a strange substance staining the rug and writing on the wall: - You know where to find me. - My camping backpack, which I used during the research, and a book on the history of the city were in the center of the room. The open book, an image of Mount Ebott circulated there.

"... All right, all right. "

I grabbed the backpack and the book, going down and putting on my neon blue wellies before leaving. I looked at Luka's house and the staff in hand, then ran, just pushing open the door. I didn't have to walk much, she was in the middle of the room, which had several broken things. Concerned, I knelt beside her, almost panicked, but relieved when I saw her breathing. I used your phone to call the police, but decided not to wait. Finally, I have a clue. A chance to catch him. I needed to do this. I laid her on the couch and left a small note, leaving before I changed my mind.

* You are full of justice.

It was night when I started to cross the forest. The rain persisted above, making the cold run down my back. Sharp branches and thorns scraped my skin and ripped my clothes, but now I barely cared. I needed to continue. It wasn't long before I reached the clearing in front of the mountain, the place that started it all. Immaculate gray dust lay where the eternal fire lay. Not washed by rain, not carried by wind. Right there, waiting. I wiped something hot from my face and turned, the cock getting colder against my skin.

* You need to move on.

Gradually, I felt scratches burning, but I made sure they wouldn't be long enough to stop bleeding. As expected, climbing was not an easy task. The soaked, sloping ground was almost a waterfall of mud that made me slip and lose my balance as I stepped on the loose rocks. My hair, my legs, my clothes had mud on everything. I dropped to my knees as I reached one of the peaks, breathing hard as I looked into the dark cavern not far away. Lightning roused me from the trance I entered, so I started to get up, feeling someone watching me.

- It is not bad. -

With one hard blow, I tried to hit him behind me, a whistling noise was all I could get. My muscles tensed automatically with the evil laugh. " Not bad. " He sneered behind me again, his dark red cloak flapping violently in the wind, mocking his hands saluting me.

" What you want? " I growled. He started to laugh, part of his mouth visible, a large scar on the left side of his face, lips and chin. " Foolish child. You have no idea what you did when you attacked that wizard, do you? Knights are so ignorant. " He shook his head, like I was a lost cause. A gold stick with a ruby top appeared in his left hand. " So we agreed that you should be eradicated, like monsters. But you multiply like rabbits." His voice was thoughtful. " Anyway, it's trivial in our day ... But, how you attacked us ... A massacre is inevitable! " Another laugh followed.

* You have no idea what he is talking about, but decide to face him anyway.

" Does not matter. " I took a deep breath, making a decision. "I don't want to know your motives now." I watched the ruby light up with its magic. " Still ... You must be punished. "

With a speed I didn't know, I advanced and hit the club in his ribs, pushing it aside and giving him a breathlessness. A sigh of pain was all I heard before something moved away from him and fell to the muddy ground. I felt discomfort in my chest and arm, but got up without difficulty. Once again, I set off to attack, but dodging a red sphere he threw. It surprised me and the rodeo was not so successful, it scraped my arm and burned my skin. Others came and it was hard to get rid of them, the mud at my feet making me slip all the time. Adrenaline took over my body and I felt even faster, confident, almost enjoying fighting, the steady pace: side, side, spin, jump, run, roll, attack, lose. It wasn't long before I hit his face, an uncomfortable, muffled sound sounded around us, something that looked like a tooth flew away from him. He withdrew closer to the cave, making me follow him cautiously. That smile sent mixed emotions in my core. Suddenly, many spheres formed and advanced against me at high speed, barely leaving room for evasion. One of them hit me in the belly and the pain I felt was masked by the lack of mobility. No matter how much I moved, I couldn't leave the place.

" Finally. " He hardly seemed to have such a hoarse voice that he seemed. " You slippery trash. " He approached, holding his stomach, sweat mixed with rain, some blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. " Now. " He gripped my face tightly, the team being torn from me and thrown into some dark corner. " Come . " My body began to float, following it to the cave. " Com'on, not look at me like that. I'll tell you a secret. " He laughed. It wasn't too deep, there were flowers scattered all over the floor, all golden flowers, I think, a smaller hole in the ceiling where the rain fell and a larger, very dark hole in the floor. On the walls, several inlaid crystals gave the lighting a mystical feel. Suddenly I was hurled, slipping on the floor and ruining some flowers, stopping right at the edge of the hole. Barely able to move, I lifted my face to face him. I was completely defenseless. There was a macabre smile on his face, his now visible eyes glowing with blood red. "Your brother is just waiting." He whispered. " Go get him. -" And a kick threw me in my death. Soon, only darkness painted my world.

*It's the end.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · End notes

My english is very beginner, so i'm using the help of google translator. If anyone with available time can help me review, I appreciate it. (Y/N) - your name (h/c) - hair color (s/c) - skin color More legends will be added in the future! Word Count: About 2,880 If i use any images similar to the game can be found on the Gamejolt website. They do not belong to me.

#undertale #underswap #undertale au #reader #fanfic #neutral route #chara dreemurr #mages #magic #underswap x reader #swap papyrus x reader #swap papyrus

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smoochews · 6 years ago

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what are your favorite writers and your top favorite works from them?? like a top ten

I saw this ask in the middle of work and I wanted to scream aksldfjalks I’m gonna tell you rn that I got really overwhelmed with the amount of authors that have earned a spot in my top favs that I actually cut this to just the authors that I have most recently visited (this counts as returning multiple times to reread a certain fic… which happens… a lot)

@arckook Ria is one of the first authors I ever read from for k-pop fanfiction. Until Ria, I was just highkey on that Haikyuu volleyball gays/imagines and I’d like to believe that she was one of the main reasons why I began to invest myself heavily into the kpop fandom. I’m always amazed with each piece she releases. Her style is so unique and hypnotizing. There’s a big section in my heart reserved just for Ria that I don’t have enough words to convey. plz support. plz love. she’s the best

- To The Stars (Jungkook, BTS): Zombie Apocalypse AU, Enemies to Lovers AU, series, violence, angst, drama

This read is not for the light hearted. You have been warned. You will sob hysterically. You will feel rage seep into your bones. You will punch a hole in your screen. MC is an entire badass, but so broken and vulnerable; somehow she manages to keep herself together and carry on. Even when she hates Jungkook with every cell in her body, she makes sure to keep him alive, watch his six, just as he does for her. There’s only a handful of works that have kept me as heavily invested and on my toes every step of the way. And that list begins with To The Stars

@brokeandjetlagged I cannot tell you how many times I’ve made a fool out of myself in public while reading Bailey’s work…. like lord help me I can’t stay in my chair…

- We Take A Shot (Baekhyun, EXO): Office AU, boss!Baekhyun, one-shot, fluff

Even after re-reading it 2-3 times, I cannot help the obnoxious laughter escaping my mouth….sounding something along the lines of a screeching seagull. Dorky Baekhyun trying to be Mr. Businessman really killed me. LIKE PLZ THE HOVER BOARD asdfjsj I’m laughing just thinking about it

- Hurt Me, Heal Me (Yixing, EXO): Hospital AU, nurse!Yixing, one-shot, fluff

Honestly, I would pay to be Baekhyun in that moment. Someone kick me in the face if that meant I could spend some time with nurse Yixing. He’s so adorable and I highly relate to MC being a mess when he thinks that she’s Baek’s girlfriend. Overall, this fic makes my heart go kyuu~

- Bromance .2 (Minseok, EXO) : College AU, frat!Minseok, enemies to lovers AU, series (ish), fluff, smut, drama

enemies to lovers…. honestly I’m not entirely sure of what to say other than that you should read it

@sehun-smut ngl. one of the reasons, besides me passing out, that this rec list took so long to make is bc I stopped to re-read both of these fics…. no ragrats… I don’t think you’ll understand until you read all of their work… so like… you know what to do…

- Business in the Front (Baekhyun,EXO): Restaurant AU (ish), one-shot, smut

Older Baekhyun is a kink okay. I’ve never wanted to call someone daddy more in my life than while reading this fic… and like to begin with it’s hard for me to imagine Baek being zaddy, so that should say A LOT.

- Deceitful (Chanyeol, EXO) - Mafia AU, series, smut, violence

I think this is the first honeytrapper fic I’ve ever read in my life. I mean I was aware of the job description but not the actual title. I must say I’m thoroughly aroused and equally terrified.

@exhoe-imagines I really adore Ruby and Jewels. Like, they’re so funny and interactive with their followers; and their content is always breath taking. highkey power couple energy

- Can’t Hold Back (Jongdae, EXO): Enemies to Lovers AU, one-shot, smut, drama, slight angst

You already know Jongdae is fucked the minute he sees MC’s bathing suit on the ground while she’s in the pool. You already know that when he went home that evening, his meat was begging for mercy by the end of the night. jfladskjf okay I’m gross, I know, but carrying on– the growth between Jongdae’s and MCs relationship is really heartwarming. Could not have asked for more from this fic

- Lucky (Baekhyun + Chanyeol, EXO): College AU, one-shot, smut

So…. let’s talk about the elephant in the room… or should we say two? bc there is definitely more than one trunk for MC to handle… so…. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GET WREKT MC

@yehet-me-up I will never not be in love with Sarah. Her Exodus Mall series really takes me back home. Often times when I’m feeling down and sick, I return to Sarah’s page and re-read that series. To say the least, I find home in Sarah’s writing.

- The Problem With Wanting (Kyungsoo, EXO): Mall AU, series, fluff, slight angst, smut

listen to this song and just take it in…. I think this was the first fic I read from the Exodus series and it will always hold a special place in my heart. This fic in particular is what I find myself coming back to again and again, time after time, and I always feel renewed. I feel youthful. More like… you know that feeling you get when you realize you’re falling in love with someone? That’s this. Please read. Please.

- Disqualified (Kyungsoo, EXO): Friends to Lovers AU, one-shot, angst, fluff

Imagine twisting a knife in your gut and slowly removing it through the opposite side of your body. That’s this fic. But like. With love. askdjflksjd I really love the way Sarah portrays Kyungsoo. Her descriptions of his thoughts, mannerisms and quirks make me feel like I’m watching a movie. Everything is so distinct and the atmosphere feels tangible. idk words. I just love Sarah.

@snakescript I don’t know too much about this author but I’m totally and completely enamored with their writings.

- Make The Devil Cry (Taeyong, NCT) : College AU, one-shot, light angst, smut

I’m weak for the “playboy” tamer… and tbh I feel like this would be Taeyong irl. Hard and complex to the eyes of an observer, but a major softy and sweet pea to the eyes of a listener. I’m upset of how little attention this fic has bc the world is really missing out on a diamond.

- Face Like Thunder (Chanyeol, EXO): Mythology/Greek God AU, one-shot, light angst, fluff

I would like to file a complaint. My heart is crying and my love for Chanyeol is soaring and I’m ACHE FOR THE MAN. Lmao I’m not even a Chanyeol stan but this fic got me thinkin’

@johobi you can always count on Jo to make you cream your pants in the middle of Target (stay away from the baby section kids)

- Bloom / Snared (Yoonji/Yoongi, BTS): Mafia AU, smut

honestly, Yoonji can wipe the floor with my body, in pool of my own blood, and I would thank her. I really really love the way Jo depicts Yoonji here. I can just feel that fem fetal power and that in itself got me ruining my underwear.

- Tooth and Claw (Jungkook, BTS) : Werewolf AU, smut

I’ve never related to furry more in my life than while I read this fic. high key wanna be rawed and torn in half by his king kong schlong … idk how MC survived, but she’s my idol.

- Dig Deep + Interval (Yoongi, BTS): Space AU, smut

I’m ngl. I really went to Pornhub and looked up tentacle porn after reading this. Y’all can @ me, roast me if you like,,,, but you’re a got-damn liar if you say this doesn’t get your blood pumping. p sure I wrote this on my tags but i didn’t even know I liked tentacle porn until then…. I hate myself

@bread-jinie idk where to start…. there are so many things I can say about Kat…… im tongue-tied….

- Wings (Chanyeol, EXO): Friends to Lovers AU, angst, fluff

I think this fic is my favorite work Kat has written so far. It’s like she knows the right words to tug the strings of my heart and play me like a puppet. A heartbroken but hopeful puppet. MC and Chanyeol always looking at each other but never at the same time breaks me; thankfully, the ending patches me back together.

Honorable mentions bc I’ve grown v tired and cannot continue with full details for info regarding everything, in addition to the fact that I’m inpatient and I want to post this ASAP:

@kollectionn GOD SENT. DO NOT PLAY AROUND. YOUR LIFE WILL CHANGE. YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. THE WORLD WILL END AS YOU KNOW IT. THEN BE REBORN FROM THE ASHES AS C WILLS IT SO. (sorry for the all caps but I feel INTENSELY about C and her works of art; If I can recall correctly, I believe she said that she would begin to write her own non-fanfic when she finds the time. I think she has the power and ability to write best selling novels that would leave J.K. Rowling quaking in her boots. Plz go and love C. Don’t ask for updates. Just show her all the love she deserves and more; I haven’t been lately and I feel terrible for it; I hope she knows I love her!!!)

@dropsofletters lemme tell you somm’… this author is so talented and diverse in her work that I find myself scattered with the amounts of fandom’s she holds in her clutch. I’m so thankful to have found her page on this godforsaken website bc she caters so much to this world. Talented. Spectacular. Amazing. Blessing to Society. I don’t think I’ve found any multi-fandom writers that has spread out as far as she has. She’s one of those authors that has exactly what you’re looking for, even if you don’t know what it is. An Angel.

@layhyunnie beautiful. ethereal. whimsical. Inspiring. I mean literally inspiring. I wrote a few drabbles after reading Guardian bc I wanted to try and bring to life a world outside of our own, to step outside reality, just like I felt while reading their work.

- Guardian (Yixing, EXO): Supernatural AU, series, fluff

Again… I’m v tired… so here’s a short list of authors I meant to add here, along with their fics/full details of why I love them:

@knockknocksoosthere / @underthejoon @marshmallow-phd @kpopfanfictrash @yeolology @yeolology @whimsical-ness @remembeo @lofiexo @nochugguk @noona-clock @noonachronicles @oilblotter @soobadnoonecanstopher

((If you would like to know more about my interests in the unfinished authors, or any authors above for that matter, then please leave me an ask!! I will answer them when I am no longer tired akjsjdf I cannot reply via chat as this is only a side blog))

#i hate u anon #did u really wanna kill me #jk sjfdsdjf #i cant hate u #i hope you like it ;;#also at all the authors i've reblogged from... you are my favorite.... im just v tired and only have 2 brain cells left #paep speaks #asks #anon #exo #bts #exo fic recs #bts fic recs

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echo-bleu · 6 years ago

Text

Day 30: Acceptance

Based on the prompt list here, I’m writing little ficlets for every day of April, for #AutismAcceptanceMonth.

Fandom : Leverage, The Librarians (can be read without knowing either fandom though)

Series : This is set in the same universe as Every Chance We Get.

Title : A Place We Can Share

Prompt : Day 29 is Acceptance.

Read also on AO3 and FFNet.

This is the last day of this challenge. I wanted today's text to be special, given the theme, but it turned out to be quiet and simple and in harmony with the rest of the series, I think.

I missed seven days, so I may come back and do them one day, or maybe not. I'm fairly happy that I managed to get this far and write 23 texts, that spanned pretty much the whole AU, and that all are on themes close to my heart.

If you've read and enjoyed it, please don't hesitate to let me know! I want to publish the next chapter of Every Chance We Get soon, and then hopefully keep posting at a better rhythm that I have so far, but in the meantime I would really love to hear your thoughts.

“I like how you turned out,” Hardison says to Parker, when they've only known each other for a couple of months.

The phrase sticks with Parker for a long time. She mouths it to herself sometimes, when she's alone in a vent. It's so incongruous to her, it seems impossible that someone would really think that about her.

She grows to know Hardison well enough to be sure that he meant it. But she still doesn't understand why. She's everything a parent would never want their child to become: she's a thief, she doesn't know how to make friends, people run away from her. Sometimes literally. She's not normal.

But she progressively gets it. First, Hardison is hardly normal either. When they meet, Parker doesn't know enough normal to notice, but he doesn't fit perfectly with regular people either. None of the crew does. Maybe Nate and Sophie can seamlessly integrate into society, but they live mostly outside it.

They don't just not treat her like a freak, they also don't treat her like a child. They don't try to make her change who she is, but Sophie and Eliot will teach her new things if she asks. Nate grooms her to be a good mastermind, but after his failed first tries early on, he doesn't try to make her into something she's not.

That's new, to Parker. Everyone in her life has always treated her like she was somehow broken, until she came to believe it.

It's in the little things. Hardison always asks before touching her, and he waits for her to write or sign or use pictograms when spoken words won't get past her mouth. He's just as patient with Eliot, and the grumbles and bad mood that hide the moments when he's tired or in pain. He rarely shows it, but he's always attentive to their comfort.

Eliot hugs her, tight, when her skin is crawling and she wants to crawl into a small space. He's warm and soft and much better than a vent. He cooks food that she can eat, even when he makes a face and tell her it's not good for her health.

In return, Parker subtly changes all her flaps so that they make noise that Eliot can hear. She listens to him talk about the best way to cut tomatoes, even though he won't even let her near his kitchen knives. She snuggles up close to Hardison and comforts him when he dreams of drowning, or being buried alive, even if she doesn't know the right words.

For years though, their little crew is like an island. They fit well enough together, but they don't have anyone else. Parker still doesn't fit in with normal people if she's not wearing her Alice White mask. She knows that won't change, and maybe that's okay. Maybe she can have Hardison and Eliot and Nate and Sophie and it's enough.

Nate and Sophie leave, though they're still in contact, and they occasionally come back for a job or two, but for Parker, it's a plunge into the unknown. The crew she's grown so comfortable with is gone.

It takes adjustment. Eliot has as much of a hard time as she does with change, and Hardison's confidence needs building up. But they make it. Better than that, they thrive. Their little team of three does things that they never even dreamed of, and they complete each other, like a perfect fit. There's still no one else in their lives, though people come and go, Quinn, Amy, Peggy and even Hardison's Nana. But Parker is never completely herself with them.

She doesn't truly realize what's changed until she meets Jake and Cassandra. They're just like Parker was years ago, at first, when Hardison said that to her. “I like how you turned out.” They're lost souls suddenly thrown into a place where there are people ready to accept them for who they are.

She watches them grow into it. She keeps her distance, a bit, because Jake is Eliot's brother and they have a lot of unresolved issues, that they need to work out without her in the way. Cassandra, despite her bubbling, exuberant personality, keeps everyone at bay. But Parker notices the little changes, the way that Jake is more and more comfortable talking about history, the way Cassandra stims with more confidence, when she realizes no one is going to “quiet hands” her.

She watches them, and she wants nothing more than to help, help Eliot build them a space where they can thrive, like Nate and Sophie and Hardison did for her. And she understands. These are two people who society thinks of as failures, as defective. People who didn't turn into who they were supposed to be, because that ideal was not a mold they could fit in.

They just needed to be accepted and loved.

“I like how you turned out.”

She likes how they're turning out, too. There's no need to be normal to be worthy. And if they find a place where they can grow, people like her can bloom into something beautiful.

She understands that, now. She's even starting to like how she turned out.

#leverage #leverage fanfiction #the librarians #the librarians fanfiction #a place we can share #parker #eliot spencer #alec hardison #jake stone #cassandra cillian #actually autistic #autism acceptance month #aut prompts

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dr-gloom · 6 years ago

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It’s Still a Good Life (Ch 1)

So! Another installment of Those Songs Isaac Was Given Last Week and Has Been Putting Off Writing For. This is going to be another multi-chapter story, each chapter inspired by a different song. I’m posting this one one at a time because I do have some school work to get done but I wanted to post something today, so I’m kind of switching between my school work and taking short breaks to write. Anyways, here’s chapter one! Inspired by Good Wife by Mika

@dead4sevenyears and idk @the-incedible-sulk if you want some pain

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: unrequited Analogical, Logicality

Summary: Logan is hurting, and Virgil takes some time to think about what’s important to him.

Tags/Warnings: break ups, sad boyos, unrequited love, Virgil’s just a really good friend okay?

Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

It was almost 1 AM when a knock came to his door, startling Virgil awake. He sits up, letting the blanket fall off his chest as he wakes up a little more. He gets out of bed, shuffling through the house in loose black sweats and a large light blue shirt Patton had given him that said, “Bear hug?” (When you took the bottom of the shirt and pulled it over your head, there was a bear’s head on the other side). He’d always been a light sleeper, which he never particularly minded, but right now he was cursing out whoever was on the other side of the door under his breath. He opened the door, scratching his chest idly as he yawned and looked up at the person who’d rudely woken him up. He was met with the sight of Logan crying in his doorway, fat heavy tears dripping down his cheeks. Virgil was suddenly wide awake as he stepped aside and waved Logan inside, shutting the door behind him. “Shit, Lo…. Go sit on the couch.” Logan nods, taking a shaky breath and heading to the living room.

Virgil goes into the kitchen, getting out a kettle and filling it with water, turning on the stove and waiting for the water to heat up as he processed. Logan, crying. He came to Virgil, not Patton. So… Had something happened to Patton? Oh god, what if Patton was hurt? What if he was in the hospital? What if he was in a coma? What if he was dying? What if-

No, okay, he can’t do that right now. He had to make sure his- make sure Logan was okay. The kettle whistling made him jump, and he quickly gets out a couple tea bags and mugs, pouring the water and setting the bags in the mugs before picking them up and heading into the living room. He sits next to Logan, setting the mugs on the coffee table and wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulders. Logan leans into the contact, and even though Logan has never exactly been averse to touch it still surprises Virgil. They sit there in silence for a moment, the only sounds in the room coming from the clock on the wall and Logan’s crying.

After a long moment, Virgil speaks up. “Lo? What happened? What’s wrong?” His voice is barely above a whisper, afraid to break the silence. He almost doesn’t want to hear it, afraid of his fears coming true, but he knows this is important and no matter what it is Logan needs to get it off his chest. When Logan doesn’t answer, Virgil lightly shakes his shoulder. “Logan? Come on, talk to me.” Logan takes a deep breath, at least somewhat calm now.

“Patton and I have… broken up.”

Virgil swears he hears a record scratch as his brain just. Stops. Patton and Logan…? What??? But they were completely in love! Where did that even come from? Virgil isn’t even aware that he said that out loud until Logan replies, “He said he liked someone else. He… He apologized a lot. God, Virgil, he was so sorry, so sad, but he… He left.” Virgil purses his lips, rubbing Logan’s back as more tears fall. He didn’t know what to say in situations like this. Especially since this was Patton they were talking about. Sweet, caring Patton who couldn’t hurt a fly. Never in Virgil’s wildest dreams could he have imagined him leaving Logan for someone else. Though, he supposes Logan thought the same thing. Poor Logan….

They sit there until their teas have gone cold, completely untouched. Virgil doesn’t care. He holds Logan close as they watch any and every movie Virgil can think of that Logan likes, starting with Treasure Planet. Despite the fact that it was… One of the most illogical and nonsensical movies about space that he knew of, it was one of Logan’s favorite animated movie. As they sat there, Logan losing himself in the movie to distract himself, Virgil thought to himself. If it had been him, if he’d been Logan’s boyfriend, he’d have never just… ended it like that. He didn’t think he could ever love someone else, especially if he was already dating Logan. He thought about what their relationship would be like. He liked to think they’d be happy, a perfect balance. Logan would keep Virgil grounded, keep him from being too anxious or pessimistic. Virgil would help pull Logan out of his head and focus on the world around him. They’d be happy together, supporting each other and never asking too much.

Virgil tightens his hold on Logan slightly, but the other doesn’t notice. A distant part of Virgil’s mind tells him to be happy that Logan is finally single, that he should go for it, but Virgil knows he shouldn’t – he can’t. Logan doesn’t need that right now, and besides Virgil was his friend first and foremost. Any feelings he might have about the more formal man beside him would be put on hold until he knew he was okay. So, he’d be satisfied with his daydreams, but he wouldn’t lose himself in them. He’d appreciate the friendship he had with Logan and he would be his shoulder for as long as he needed Virgil.

Virgil silently selects another movie, Logan not saying anything for or against his choice as the movie starts. He wonders if he should talk to Patton. Who was so special that he had to break up with Logan to be with them? Why wasn’t Logan enough? But in the end, he knew he wouldn’t. Whether it was because it wasn’t really his business, or because he could never be confrontational with Patton, he wasn’t exactly sure. Probably a little of both. That was Logan’s decision, he’s the one who deserves closure. Virgil remembers something Roman told him a couple months ago.

“Virgil, in this world there are Do-ers and there are Watchers. The Do-ers go out and grab life by the horns! Lead their own destinies! They go after what they want!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, glancing up at his friend who was staring down at him expectantly. “I guess that makes me a Watcher then. What’s so wrong with that?” Roman looks almost appalled, throwing his hands into the air.

“If you just sit back and watch, life will pass you by! You’ll be an old man before you know it, and you won’t have done anything with your life!”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe people are how they are not by choice?”

Virgil wasn’t a Do-er. He’d never been the kind of person to go out and take risks, or “grab life by the horns”. He’d been conditioned by life to take what he was given, to not ask for more or be ungrateful for what he had. In some instances, this was a good thing because he wasn’t as dissatisfied with his circumstances as Roman often was – particularly when he bombed an audition – and anything that happened to him that might make someone else feel unsatisfactory would just be a minor inconvenience to Virgil. He didn’t take risks. Maybe that’s why he had such bad anxiety? He didn’t know, but all he knew was that he wished, maybe someday, that he’d have the courage to tell Logan how he felt.

He realizes his thoughts are getting kind of circuitous and tries to pay attention to the movie. He’d only been sleeping for a couple of hours when Logan woke him up, so it didn’t surprise him when he felt himself growing tired halfway through the third movie. His eyes were growing heavy, and his mind felt a little numb. He wasn’t registering what was happening on the TV, and Logan’s warmth against his side was making him drowsy. He groggily reached over the back of the couch to grab the purple fleece blanket he always has laying across it, shaking it out with one hand and draping it across both his and Logan’s legs. Logan looks completely exhausted, and Virgil isn’t too surprised. He figures Logan walked the ten blocks here, and they’d been watching movies for a few hours. The sun is peaking through the curtains of his living room as he finally closes his eyes, smiling softly when he feels Logan’s head rest on his shoulder.

Some people might say that being a Watcher meant missing out on life, but Virgil felt like his life was pretty good, at least for now. And later, if Logan blushed brightly upon realizing who he was cuddled up to and became fidgety, refusing to look at Virgil? Well, he wouldn’t mention it. He’d still be there for his friend if he needed him, because even though he couldn’t be with Logan, this was still a good life.

A/N: So I know Good Wife is an inherently sad song, really, about unrequited love, but I couldn’t bring myself to have my boys hating life, so this happened.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders

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rohobi · 7 years ago

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Pulse 03 | (m)

COUNT: 8k Words CHAPTER SUMMARY: ❝There are wounds that never show on the human body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.❞ LISTEN ▶

↳ INDEX → CHAPTER 4

↣ SEOUL HEARTS HOSPITAL | Dr. Kim Taehyung

Changing into a new pair of blue scrubs in the bathroom, Taehyung asks himself at which point did everything in his life go wrong. He was so tired. So fucking tired and so fucking unhappy and so fucking miserable. He’s been hiding it behind a smile, burying it deep within him.

A pain like no other.

He scrubs his face with a cleanser he thinks belongs to Dr. Yoongi, hoping that it might make him feel grounded in something other than misery. But no matter how hard he scrubs, the feeling’s still there.

Like scum.

Patting his face dry with a white face cloth, he takes a deep breath. It might as well tattoo itself across his face, nothing could take it away. Sadness made its home in his bones a long time ago and now he was living with the consequences of it.

The memories of a happy life he once had, grew into shards of glass over time, cutting him up in the inside. Why can’t he go back to that time? Why can’t he be that person he was? Why does he feel so damn guilty all the time when he was just trying to be a good son for a mother who’s on her way out?

The wounds he sustained, ripped open at every reminder of you, are his worst enemy to date. He wonders if his mother’s aware that everytime he smiles, the ingenuity of pretending to be happy tastes like rotten fruit on his tongue.

He could never be happy again, as neurotic as that sounds, he doesn’t think he deserves to be.

He hates himself.

Staring at his face in the mirror, he takes another deep breath as he stands up straight. He adjusts the lapels of his pristine white coat while brushing his teeth with his other hand. At least he enjoyed his job, the patients were usually older adults who reminded him of his grandmother, it was nice being around people who liked him. Lots of broken bones.

It was ironic, a doctor who could mend broken body parts for other people, lived uncomfortably with a broken heart.

One he broke himself.

One he could never mend on his own. Taehyung wondered if he would get any category one acute surgeries tonight. He loved the cases from ED. Traumatic neck of femur fractures -the greater trochanter fracture in particular were fun, he enjoyed being the specialist whenever he ran down. He loved the spinal injuries and the tibial fractures, knees and shoulders.

Bones. He loved them. It was the best distraction from life that he knew. Taehyung had always been really interested in Emergency Medicine but he could never do it, knowing it was your speciality and knowing you’d never want to see him again.

He tried to respect that, he tried to respect the distance you wanted but sometimes, he just wants to know if you're okay. If you're happy. If you're loved. If you ever kept his child. If someone took up the space in your life that he used to. He's too afraid to act on those curiosities, to cowardly to come forth, too ashamed in himself for letting people control him, too ashamed for never standing up for himself, too afraid of the consequences his family offered if he did not follow their orders. He was a coward. Rinsing his mouth out, he frowns at himself in the mirror. This was the real him, the real Taehyung, the real person who never put up a pretence, someone who was unhappy and in pain every single day. But who else wasn't in pain. He adjusts the red, blue and green pens in his front coat pocket and wraps the bright red stethoscope from his pocket, around his neck. He turns the light off before closing the door behind him. Checking his pager, he clips it on to the waistband of his pants before pushing through the doors with his shoulder. Dr. Yoongi, Taehyung’s bestfriend, waits in the hallway for him with a coffee and an apricot danish for Taehyung. “Morning loser,” Yoongi says, handing him a bag and a coffee, “Got you a coffee that resembles your taste in woman.” "Morning? It's like 8pm," Taehyung smiles, sipping the bitter tasting beverage. “Yuck, Yoongi, my taste in women is not bitter.” Yoongi smiles. “You know, she called me last night, told me you hadn’t come home in a month, that true?” Sighing, he rolls his eyes. “I sent over the divorce papers, I’m only going back there if it’s to pick up those signed documents.” “Sounds about right,” Snorting, Yoongi wraps his arm around his shoulders. “You’ll finally be free from her? How do your parents feel about letting you loose?” “I haven’t told them yet,” Taehyung looks away from Yoongi, gesturing to start walking to work. “I’m pretty sure they’ll disown me. Anyway, enough of that, ready for a good night?” “Sure, we’ll talk about it later," Yoongi sips his own coffee. "I’m more than ready for a good shift actually. I've slept for 12 hours. Had to lecture the new guppies about social hierarchy yesterday, I swear they get loopy when they have rotations at Forest Lake. What are they putting in the water that makes them dumb?” “I don't know, whatever you’re drinking,” Biting into his pastry, Taehyung smiles wickedly at the blonde boy as he marches down the clean white hallway towards the Orthopaedic medical doctors office.

* * *

They stand in the office, preparing to do rounds on the ward. Taehyung’s looking at the list of patients he needs to visit experiencing post-operative delirium and constipation. He has students working with him tonight and Taehyung was fully prepared to dump his workload on them for “experience”.

Yoongi is signing discharge letters for patients leaving in the morning, writing prescriptions for pain relief and documenting orders for the morning nurses. The ward was quiet this evening, leaving a settled and peaceful evening for the nurses on shift but Taehyung wasn’t about to use the ‘q’ word in front of them.

“Shall we see our patients now?” Taehyung smiles, grouping up his 6 tired orienting medical students. “Why are you looking at me like that guys? Doctors rounds are fun and educational.”

“At this time?” One of his students snort laughs. “Not on this ward, it’s just old people-

-shut up Taemin,” a short girl says, she crosses her hands over here chest, rolling her eyes at the boy as she does. “You’re being disrespectful. Dr. Taehyung, please lets visit our patients. Quicker we can do this, quicker we can go home,” Younggi smiles up at him, “And I’d personally really love to see their progress.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi curses under his breath. "Fucking brown noser."

The student ignores Yoongi as she stares back down at her black leather loathers.

“Every patient is your grandmother, try to think like that,” Hitting the top of Taemin’s head with his clipboard, Taehyung instructs a third student to push the trolley of patient files with them as all 6 students follow him down the ward hallway. Taehyung discards his coffee in the rubbish bin on the way. “Okay, because I know you all want to go home and sleep, let’s work in a team. Sound good?”

They all smile. Walking over to the trolley, he gives each of them a patient file. “What do you want us to do with these?”

“There’s six of you, pair up,” he says, watching them look at each other in confusion. “One of you will be assessing and the other will be scribing. You have two patients each, remember to switch.”

Taehyung folds his arms over his chest, they all look at him scared. “Oh come on, when my best friend in med school was in third year, below all of you, she was diagnosing aneurysms and scrubbing in on operations and you guys can barely talk to a patient without crawling in on yourselves. Get a grip, all of you.”

“But ...without you?” Taemin asks. “Can we do that?”

“I’ve worked with all six of you this month. Closely and together as a group. You’ve all grown so much and I believe that you all will make exceptional doctors. Believe in yourselves?” he says, watching them all smile, “So, look at the patient files for five minutes before going in, be polite and think before you speak. If you can't answer their questions, use your confidence and come and get me. I hope that doesn't actually happen though because you all should know the answers. Go on now.”

They all smile at him, clearly happy with the assignment.

“God, Taehyung,” Yoongi groans from behind him. “You still do that? You treat them like babies. That's why they get dumb.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as he watches the students head off to their retrospective patients. He’d given them all stable patients who had questions regarding the postoperative process. Nothing they can’t answer but it was always a confidence booster for his students and he loved seeing them go home happy.

“Yoongi, this is why I am the educator on this ward and you’re an asshole,” Taehyung picks out the last couple of folders before walking into the 4 patient room, handing one to Yoongi.

Yoongi sanitises his hands, pulling out his favourite black pen before following him in into the cubical.

Yoongi watches Taehyung sweeten up to the old lady covered in a mountain of blankets as he reads over her notes. “It’s lovely to see you again Dr. Taehyung, how are you?” she smiles, gazing up at Taehyung like he was the sun and she was the moon. Yoongi watches his little hands rub up and down on her purple, green and pink crochet blanket on top of her. “I’m better now that I have seen you,” he winks and she laughs softly. “I’m here to talk to you about your bowels. The nurses tell me you haven’t moved your bowels since the operation three days ago.” “Ooh my dear, a lady never does number 2 and tells,” She widens her eyes at him. “But yes, I have not. Those wicked nurses have been trying to get me out of bed, I’m just too old for this, doctor. It hurts too much.” Taehyung sits on her bed, cupping her hands. “They’re doing that for you. Exercise is good for recovery, especially since you’ve had a hip replacement. Quicker you’re up, quicker you can go home and be with your kittens.” “Oh is it?” she opens her mouth in a little ‘o’ that makes Taehyung giggle. "My kittens, oh I miss them terribly so." “Do you usually take medication for your bowels?” he asks and she shakes her head. “How about we try some?” She frowns. “I’m not taking any more of your pills doctor. I'm quite content with my remedies but the nurses won't let me take my herbal remedies and rubbing crystals. What can I do?” “Some of your remedies can have a dangerous effect on the medication we give you here, that’s why you can’t take them,” Unwrapping his stethoscope from around his neck, he smiles softly. “What about kiwifruit?" "What about kiwifruit?" “Kiwicrush. It’s a little shot of kiwifruit that helps you move your bowels, it's like a natural remedy, I assure you that it tastes very good,” he informs her, she nods hesitantly. “I’m going to listen to your stomach now, my stethoscope is a bit cold so don't be surprised okay?" "Okay," She nods again. "I'll try the fruit doctor." "Good, Yoongi please make a note of that," Placing the diaphragm of his stethoscope on her abdomen, he listens for any present bowel sounds. Yoongi draws a little picture of abdomen in her files as he examines her, watching Taehyung’s face for an answer. Taehyung frowns, shaking his head for Yoongi. Yoongi then draws a cross through it. Yoongi writes the prescription in her drug chart for kiwicrush and signs her notes before closing them and slipping out of the cubical to tend to the last patient in the room for him. “Everything okay?” she asks, a worried expression drawn across her face. “You frowned, am I dying?” “Oh don’t be silly,” Clasping her hands again, he smiles tenderly. “It’s just that I am a bit worried about your bowels at the moment, and getting you up seems to be the best option right now. I’m going to ask the nurses to give you some pain relief before getting you up tomorrow morning, just so it’s a little easier for you and then, I’m going to ask you to give it your best shot. Mobilising will be very good for your stomach Maurine.” “You sound like the nurse,” She laughs, smacking the top of his warm hand. “I’ll try for you. So, please, call me mama. I’m too damn old to be called anything else.” Standing up, he lifts the blankets up to her shoulders, making sure her toes are covered the way he knows she likes. He turns off the overhead light, leaving a small night light on for her. “Alright mama, you have a pleasant sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.” She hums her response as she turns her attention to the window beside her. She stares at the moon with a gaze he can only describe as suddenly haunting as the soft hues of light accentuate an unspoken fear drawn across her face, something Taehyung feels uncomfortable about. “What are you staring at mama?” he whispers, following her gaze out the window. "Are you okay?" "I am okay for now," Standing by the window, he presses his hand to the cold surface as he feels the wind brush against the surface underneath his palm. She laughs softly under her breath from behind him. “It’s a full moon. The wolves are out howling for blood. I’d be careful on such an auspicious night Dr. Taehyung, who knows what might happen.” He turns back to her. “It’s always an auspicious night when one is in a hospital mama, anything could happen here too.” Leaving her cubicle, he pushes the hand sanitiser on the wall into his palm, rubbing the dollop into his hands as he walks down the hallway. “You know, the other patients call her a witch,” Yoongi says, walking beside him with the trolley, patient file on top as he hurries with writing the last note. “Her notes say that she chants under her breath at people, gave me the shivers reading it but you seem close with her, so good for you. If you get hexed, let me know.” “You shouldn’t talk about people like that Yoongi,” Taehyung laughs, walking towards the nurses station. “You’ll be the one hexed. So, what was that patient's primary concern?”

Looking back at the notes, Yoongi says. “Another patient needing laxatives. Typical for this ward. I don’t know why you don’t just prescribe laxatives post operatively anyway. Saves so much time.” Taehyung shrugs, leaning against the station. “I would if it were me doing it. It’s Dr. Minho. He thinks the best laxative is water and exercise.” Yoongi snorts. “He sounds out of touch with real patients.” “He’s a good doctor Yoongi.” “We’re all good doctors until we’re proven that we are not.” Settling in the nurses station, Yoongi starts nibbling at the cake the nurses left out, as Taehyung leans against the station. It was dark, the nurses had turned off the hallway lights so patients could settle to bed. The nurses station was empty as nurses eat their dinner in the fishbowl behind it. Their laughter flutters nicely out from their office into the long empty hallways. Taehyung’s ward was the only department in the hospital who did night doctors rounds. It was the only department in a rush to discharge people, shift them back home for recovery and it was good for student practice. “Dr Minho’s on tonight, floating between orthopaedics and urology by the way. You in ED tonight?” Taehyung asks, “I hear it’s been really busy down there.” “I’m the floater tonight,” Yoongi shakes his head. “We’ve got too many staff on down there. Too many damn know-it-all students too.” "Isn't that good though for the acuity?" he asks and Yoongi rolls his eyes. Looking over Taehyung’s shoulder, Yoongi sighs. "Speaking of the devils." The first lot of students walk towards Taehyung, file outstretched waiting for his signature to co-sign. “Younggi,” Taehyung says, reading over her exceptional penmanship. “Next time, just draw the lungs if you assess them. What is your plan? What do you want the nurses to do?” She smiles, looking at her partner. “Regular repositioning in bed, PRN asthma medications when symptomatic and lots of pillows for comfort.” "As if they aren't doing that already," Yoongi snorts behind Taehyung. "Your kids need to spend a week with the nurses, that'll make ‘em work." All the students arrive back and Taehyung reads through their notes, signing his name at the bottom. Congratulating them on their first lot of assessments. “Now, that is how we’ll do our night rounds from now on. In the morning however, it will be different. I will be assessing your assessment skills on morning ward rounds. One at a time, in front of all of us." They all groan. “Oh shut up, if you don’t like it, drop out,” Yoongi cackles, “You with the orange hair, put the folders back in the office and if you groan again, I’ll steal the muffin I saw in your backpack you had on earlier.”

Taemin, the boy with the orange hair, disappears to do so. "God," Taehyung says, yawning into the crook of his arm, "Why is it so settled tonight?" Yoongi laughs. "Trying to avoid the q word?"

"What's the q word?" a student asks. Know it all Younggi fills her in. "It means quiet, he's asking why it's so quiet tonight." Taehyung sinks against the station, dropping his head onto his hands, a loud groan falling from his lips as Yoongi leans up and smacks his head. "You didn't tell your stupid fucking kids not to say that word did you? Great." "Did I say something wrong Dr. Taehyung?" she asks, insecurity suddenly plaguing her usually confident demeanor. Taehyung stands up, turning to face her. "That word is a cursed word. We don't use it here."

"Oh. I'm sorry?" Re-emerging with his phone in his hand, Taehyung gasps loudly as Taemin walks towards him, face focused on his phone. He was 100% against students using phones on the ward at all times, often challenging them to stay engaged. “Taemin, you know the rules, I don't like phones on the ward- -you're gonna wanna hear this though. A code black has been triggered at Forest Lakes Hospital,” he looks up at the two senior doctors, suddenly pale faced. “My girlfriend’s a nurse there and she’s just texted me “FLH called a code black, it's not a drill, I am fine.” oh god.” "What's a code black?" one of the students asks much to the chagrin of the other students. "That some sort of medical emergency alarm bell?" Taehyung and Yoongi trade vacant looks. “What?” “It’s probably just a drill,” Yoongi says, picking his nails. “They always do them over there. They’re close to a military camp, lots of North Korean defectors get treated there. A code black is a bomb threat kids."

Taemin looks up at Yoongi. “With all due respect, there is no way in hell that this is a drill. Look,” Turning his phone screen to Taehyung, a picture of ambulances rushing patients out, all wearing equally terrified facial expressions as they pile in the back of the trucks. “They’re evacuating people.”

“Are you sure you aren’t being pranked?” Younggi asks, hovering over his phone to check. Taehyung watches her double tap the picture, her face suddenly growing pale.

“Doesn’t look like a prank does it?” Taemin whispers and they all watch her retreat back as she shakes her head.

And then, all of their phones vibrate, pinging with texts, tweets and calls.

All 8 of them, pull out their phones.

Yoongi and Taehyung’s pagers go off. Ward phones start ringing. Grabbing his phone out of his coat pocket, Taehyung opens the first notification on the screen and the picture makes his heart stop; a wing of the hospital was on fire. A wing of your hospital was on fire. “Dr. Yoongi,” a nurse runs out, all the nurses following behind her. “Did you check your pager? Am I calling it in?” “Call it in please. Get your manager to remove all the patients in this ward. Orthopaedics is the mass casualty ward for this hospital kids. Whoever is the ward co-ordinator tonight in the nursing team, call all the other nurses, get them to come in immediately and cancel every single elective operation scheduled for tomorrow,” Yoongi says, reading his pager. "I want this ward cleared of patients within half an hour. I assume from the distance, patients will be arriving soon. So, let's do this quickly and properly according to your emergency protocol." “Why do we need to remove all the patients?” a student asks and Yoongi frowns at him. “Victims do better psychologically and physiologically where other victims are. Hence, why we need to get everyone out now and get the ward prepared for incoming patients.” “How many do you think we will get?” he asks again, his eyes widening in fear. Looking up to all the students and nurses pooling out from their office. Taehyung's hands suddenly begin to tremble by his side. “In this case, probably a lot.” “But you never know.” His heart begins to pound harshly against his ribs. Adrenaline surged down his body at the prospect of all those incoming patients; at the thought of you being in that building. “Text your families that you're okay.” Yoongi announces, pulling him out of his thoughts. Putting his pager in his pocket. Looking up to each and every nervous face in front of him, he grabs the department phone, immediately pressing the emergency number and holding it up to his ear. His hands are shaking but the only one who notices is Taehyung as a voice loudly screams into the receiver. Everyone in the room watches Yoongi's eyes widen and his head nod before hanging up again. "Fuck, it's real. All of you go, get ready. Remove these patients and clear this fucking ward right fucking now." "What about us?" Younggi asks, as the ward lights turn back on and nurses begin to frantically run around them. "What do we do?" “Text your families right now, none of you are going home tonight." ↣ FOREST LAKES HOSPITAL | Dr. Y/N The first blast hit the far west side of the hospital, where the VIP recovery ward was located, as you had run back into the dark and desolate, abandoned looking Emergency Department. You could smell the fire, you could even see it’s smoke boil up from the building in the northern windows of the ER. You ran harder. You were panting, completely solely running on adrenaline.

Your heart raced out of your skin as you looked in every room. In every bay. In every office. You were running completely on instinct and your instincts were telling you, someone was left behind. And you don’t leave people behind. No, not you. The force of the blast rumbled the entire floor, it was weak, a warning of what was yet to come and had you not been standing by an empty bed, it would have knocked you clean off your feet. Falling onto the white bed, plaster from the ceiling fell and the room seeped into darkness as the electricity completely cut out. No generator back up or anything provided you with a light to see in the dark either.

You coughed into your hand as you inhaled the plaster.

“Hello, is anybody here?” you had screamed, coughing as you run through the hallway you’ve memorised by heart. “We don’t have much time, is anyone here?”

A voice muffled behind a door screams loud and clear out for you as they bang their fists on the hard wood. “PLEASE SOMEONE, I’M STILL IN HERE!” You were right. "HELP ME, I’M STILL HERE, OH GOD I’M STILL IN HERE, HELP ME PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE ME!” Running down another hall, you hear a terrified scream from behind the controlled drug room. Someone remained like you had thought, banging on the door for their dear life. The door shook from the sheer force of their desperation to get out but the lock made it impossible to break free. “I’m still here,” they sobbed, banging on the other side of the door, “Please save me.” You don’t think as you run towards it, punching in the code for the room and forcing the door open with all of your might. The doctor on the other side had tears down his face, falling straight into you. It was Jungkook. Idiot doctor and housemate, your Jungkook. "Y/N," he sobbed, looking completely broken. "I thought I was going to die." “Well, I’m glad you’re alive and all but we need to go, right now." He looked distraught and terrified, but of all, he looked relieved. Grabbing his hand, you run with every inch of strength you can muster out, of that goddamn building. He holds your hand tightly, practically dragging you as he runs faster, jumping over shattered glass and plaster.

You hold images of Sunny in your mind as you pick your feet up. You hold the sound of her laughter and her cries, her singing, her screaming. You think of Taehyung, his smile, his embrace, his warmth. You think of a life you still think you can have. You think of punching Taehyung in the jaw when you see him next, you couldn’t die today knowing you haven’t. No, not today satan.

You run towards the clearing. And the automatic doors... ...they don't open. “What the fuck, why won’t they open?” you ask, waving your hand up to the monitor. “Fuck, I thought these would open in an emergency?” Jungkook bangs against the glass. Jimin and Seokjin look up, prompted by the loud banging. Ramming his shoulder into the glass, it doesn't budge. He throws everything close to him at the doors, again, it doesn't budge. They’re stuck. Irene holds back the boys from running over to help you. They had parked on the far end of the carpark to be safe as they waited. You both stare at the red lights of the ambulance in the night. “We need something heavy to smash it.” you say, “We’ll get out, don’t worry.” “How can I not fucking worry?” Jungkook shouts, throwing himself at the glass doors. “It’s just fucking glass, why won’t it break?” “It’s shatterproof material Jungkook.” Looking for an emergency button on the doors and falling short, “I’m going to find the emergency axe thing Jungkook, keep trying to pry it open okay?”

You were certain that there was an emergency axe somewhere, you had seen it before and wondered if you'd ever need to use it and for what. Slipping on blood, you fall to the floor as the ground continues to shake beneath you. "Where is it, come on Y/N, think." Getting up again, you run to the hallway leading off to the operating theatres and that's where you find the axe, contained in a glass box, nailed to the wall by a fire extinguisher. Punching the glass, it's splinters piercing your knuckles, you grab the axe. You were certain that when this adrenaline stops fuelling your attempts to survive, everything is going to hurt. But you don't have time to think about that as you run back. Jungkook's running into the doors, kicking and screaming at it, continuously bruising his shoulder. “I’m not dying in this fucking building.” "Jungkook," you shout, he turns, eyes glinting in happiness at the sight of the axe. "I have no strength, you smash it." He takes it happily, immediately hacking at the door. "I need to get out." he chants, each time the axe hits the doors. "I'm not dying today." The axe cracks the glass but it doesn't shatter like you thought it would. He hits it again and again, only cracking it. “What the hell is this fucking thing made of?” "Jungkook," Turning to survey your area, you grab anything hard enough to throw through the glass. "Jungkook, move out of the way." "What?" He turns, watching you throw a vital signs machine straight into the cracked glass with a strength you didn’t think you had, shattering it completely. He watches in slow motion as the glass shatters and falls to the linoleum floor. He screams happily as he throws the axe into the reception to their left. He grabs your hand as you run over the ocean of glass pooling onto the sidewalk as you both run into the carpark. The ambulance was so close, yet so far away. The fresh air hits your lungs as you breath it in and then out. You were free. You would be okay too.

Jungkook turns to you, smiling widely at you. “I’m free!” "Kim Seokjin! Park Jimin!" you scream, running towards them, "Open the back doors!" But they never hear you, and that you are grateful for because what happens next would've definitely hurt him too.

The second blast hit as you were running out of the building with Jeon Jungkook. The force of this blast, much bigger than the first, had thrown you in the air and onto the soft grass by the car park, metres away from the now swaying ambulance, winding you. Jungkook had fallen onto the hard concrete pavement of the carpark beside you, hands falling on shards of broken glass, blood dripping from his forehead. He screams in agony, feeling the bone of his arm break and tear through his skin on impact. Black coloured smoke rushes out of the burning building, covering you and Jungkook in a cloak of silent darkness. It chokes you, filling your lungs with it’s painful toxin as you try to breathe. Jungkook looks at you, expression pleading, lips moving to form words you can’t understand. Everything is blurry and dark and deep and your falling into yourself as black spots fill your visual field. You can’t hear anything but a loud ringing in your ears, you can hear the faint scream of Jungkook at the back of your brain but you can't process what he's saying. He looks at you desperately, is he hurt? That's a stupid question. You know you should get up but you feel compressed, stuck to the ground, and you can’t breathe, feeling winded as though your lungs had lost their ability to take in oxygen. You try to get up, falling back to the ground. Were you hurt too? You look over to Jungkook again, watching him battle his demons, forcing himself to get up and to you. You watch as if it were in slow motion as Jungkook pulls himself up, rushing over to you as he cradles his left arm in his now dirty white coat. There’s a god awful whirlpool of horror in his brown eyes as he runs over to you, you may have saved him but he definitely earned it because he saves you right back. You pull yourself up as much as you can before his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as you both run to the ambulance. You look back at the building, still standing with flames and smoke boiling out the windows. You knew it wouldn’t last long until it collapsed or forced to the ground by another and much larger explosion. You didn’t want to be here for that. Blood dripped from your ears and down the sides of your soot covered face, building materials you couldn’t identify laced through your hair, shards of glass embedded into the skin of your arms. You felt like you had been punched in every soft part of your body. Jungkook looked equally as dishevelled. Waving you both over, Jimin and Irene rush you both into the back as Seokjin revved the engine. Minutes pass of complete silence as you rush. Isn’t that weird, after something so huge, there was just silence? No piercing screams, no sirens, no pleas for help, just fire, fear and silence. Pulling themselves in first, Irene and Jimin sit opposite each other, strapping themselves in. The third blast hit when you were trying to close the doors behind you. The blast wave hit the truck, pushing you into the back of the truck, shattering the windows, prompting Seokjin’s immediate acceleration as Jungkook toppled straight on top of you.

The glass from the window narrowly missed the intubated patient on a stroller in the middle of the ambulance, but it cuts across Irene's cheek, something she'll probably need stitches for. She wails in agony, holding a hand against her cheek, immediately applying pressure to the wound as dark red blood dripped down her neck and onto her scrubs.

Jungkook was afraid of letting you go, and for that, he saved you again. The doors slapped against the sides of the ambulance as Jin speed through the carpark and as far away from the hospital as he could. You wrap your arms around Jungkook’s waist tightly as he held onto anything that would keep you both in the ambulance as it sped away. His dead arm curled up painfully against your chest underneath him as Jin's abrupt driving makes you swing underneath him towards the other side of the truck causing shards of glass to tear through your coat as you do. You scream in agony, feeling the shards slice and embed into the flesh of your ass. It’s sweltering, a burning pain filling you by waves as it rolls over you, over and over again. You were hurt everywhere.

"Are you okay Y/N?" Jimin shouts at you. You clasp onto Jungkook tighter, eyebrows flexed as pain tears through your body. “Hold onto him, we’ll get you out of here!” Jungkook sobs, wailing in pure agony. The sound breaks Jimin as he watches, the once strong Jungkook, completely break and fall apart. "It's collapsing!" Irene shouts and you all look back to watch in horror as the sound of destruction echoes across the night sky. "The hospital. Our homes. You guys could've ...that was so close." she sobs loudly, feeling the horror of what could've been you two so deeply into her bones. “Drive faster,” Jimin screams, hitting the back of the front seat. Jungkook and Irene watch the orange flames burst from black clouds of smoke, as the hospital collapses from the emergency exit they just left, “Drive fucking faster Seokjin!” He presses his foot on the accelerator with sirens blasting and red lights flashing through the graphite night as he zips away. “I’m driving as fast as I fucking can!” Irene screams when he skids around a corner, her head hitting the wall hard as he drives straight through the car park entrance sign. The sound was like nothing she had ever heard before when she looks to her right, the once dark night now full of orange light as the fire boils and consumes her home away from home. It was haunting, something Irene would never forget.

They had only just gotten away from the building in time when fire began to rain down onto the trees, there would no doubt be a forest fire too. Everyone would be working overtime tonight. “Irene, are you okay?” Jimin asked, watching her rub the back of her head. She pulls her hand back, fingers covered in blood. Grabbing one of the only packets of gauze from beside him, he clears his throat. “Hold these to your head and hold on tight to your chair okay? We’re going to be fine.” She pants, biting her bottom lip. “Are you sure?” Jimin looks at everyone in the ambulance, he doesn't think he should dignify that question with a response, you were all safe now. “Go, Seokjin! Get us out of here!” Jungkook yelled, as he sunk his head into the crevice of your neck. “Get us to the hospital!” How you both hadn’t died was a mystery. Irene and Jimin pull you both further in by the collars of your coats, dragging your glass covered bodies further into the ambulance when Jin drives over a bridge, forced to slow down. "Irene, grab Jungkook," Jimin says, watching her pull Jungkook up beside her, strapping him into the seat. Pulling you up, he forces you into the seat beside him as he sobs. "Y/N, I've got you. You're okay now, you're okay now." He holds you close, telling you something you can’t hear but he's crying and he's crying hard. He looks like a wreck.

Holding your hands up to his checks, you wipe away his tears only to smear blood and soot across his face, he leans into your warmth. At least the sentiment was there. “Jimin, I have no idea what you are saying,” you think you shout, dropping your hands and leaning against him. The blood dripping down your right ear stains his green scrubs. “The barotrauma ...I think I have a ruptured eardrum in my right ear. Left feels like it’s resolving. I can only just hear you kind of.” He nods, red eyes sweep over yours. “I’m very glad you’re safe” he mouths and you smile softly up at him, glad you are too. Jimin hands you a bottle of water as he pulls out the first aid kit to attend to the cuts on your face. "Call Yoongi, tell him you're okay. I know he's probably worried." Jimin smiles, lips quivering. "I did, he was scared, still is I bet. The phone cut out during the second explosion, I'm just going to have to wait to see him at the hospital." "What? I can't hear you? Did you call him? yes or no?” Jimin nods, gesturing for you to drink the water. You looked worse for wear with your bloodied and blackened white coat; ripped, crimson stained scrubs; messy hair tied in a loose ponytail; and soot covered face but you were okay. You were feeling okayish. Drinking the water, you sag against him. Jimin dabs your fingers, brushing his fingers over your pulse, completely thankful you still had one. You look out the ambulance window to see your hospital, the once tall white and green structure, up in flames. All those years of hardwork, patients you’ve saved, lives you’ve lost, friends you’ve made, memories you’ve cherished. All gone. Seemingly in the blink of an eye.

You suddenly want to cry.

Today wasn’t a normal day at all. As you drink the last of your water, you feel your left ear pop and then you hear the unmistakable sound of the ambulances sirens and Irene shouting at Jungkook and Jimin shouting at Seokjin to update the hospital. You could hear and you wish you couldn't. Everything happened at a lightening speed, as though it all occurred within the single blink of your eyes. Seokjin pulls out the radio, bringing it to his lips as he speeds through the intersection, sirens blazing. “Seoul Hearts hospital, this is Ambulance 22 Kim Seokjin speaking. We are currently enroute to your facility with a 32 y/o male motor vehicle accident victim from Forest Lakes. Patient is unconscious, intubated and-

-yes, we came from Forest Lakes," he stops, listening attentively to the voice on the other end that you can't quite hear. "Mass casualties ...how many have you already got?" "32?!" he shouts, "We'll you're about to get three more- He then scoffs into the radio. “Don’t interrupt me. I have nurses Park Jimin and Bae Irene, Drs. Jeon Jungkook and Y/N who are injured- “Yes, I know the hospital has just blown up, I’m looking at it in my rearview mirror right now, we have two injured doctors in the back of the ambulance as well! Possible internal trauma, possible broken extremities,” he snaps, frustration ebbed into his voice, “We are unable to take current accurate vital signs of the patient and the doctors but our patient is unstable as hell. I'll update you if things change. See you in 5 minutes.”

He slams the radio back down. “Buckle up kids, we’re driving through the city now. Y/N,” Seokjin shouts from the front, “You good?” You nod, feeling your hearing fully come back in your left ear. “I think so?” "Good, you crazy fucking bitch, don’t you ever fucking do that again or I’ll cut your legs off." You're all staring out the back of the ambulance, watching the reactions of the public move out the way for Jin and gape at the very mangled up looking ambulance. It's almost a spiritual experience being in this position, having people responsibly move out of the way for you as you zip impossibly fast through red lights and traffic. "How's the patient doing?" you turn and ask Jimin, who had been watching you the entire time. His face pale. "What’s his vitals looking like?" "What?" Jimin shakes his head, forcing himself back into reality. "Um, I haven't checked. Hold on." You watch his heart monitor, the vital sign of life beat after beat after beat. You frown at a particular beat as it moves. "His hearts not looking too good," you point out. "It's not often but his hearts skipping a couple beats." "After everything, I would expect that too. We're just lucky he hasn't got a serious cardiac illness otherwise, he's fucked." Jimin says, shifting beside you. You watch him try to breathe. It was an insidious reminder of your responsibility to save this man. He was dangling by threads, he was so close to death. You look away from the numbers on his screen. You stare at your soot covered hands. That could’ve been you. “Seokjin,” you shout, “How far away are we from Seoul Hearts?” “A couple of minutes,” he shouts back at you, “You don’t need to shout at me you know!”

“I can’t hear anything well,” you say, pointing to your ear and the dried blood around it. “I think the blast burst my right eardrum.” Irene laughs suddenly, smacking her thigh. “I hate to laugh but consider yourself lucky it was just that. When you ran back in, I didn’t think we’d see you again. Jimin ...he-” “I thought I lost you,” Jimin interrupts, not wanting to relive those moments of his life. “You’re stupid but you’re incredibly brave saving Jungkook like that. How did you even know he was in there?” “I had a feeling someone was still in there, that’s just it,” you nod, looking over to Jungkook. The boy looked frightened as hell. “He would’ve saved me too, that’s for sure.” Jungkook stays silent, eyes wide as he tenses his jaw. You watch him cradle his arm, was he hurt? Jimin looks at him, shaking his head. “She saved your life Jungkook, you could’ve died back there. Why do you consistently and constantly go against your superiors instructions? What is wrong with you- -I got locked in the drug room!” he shouts back at Jimin, “It locked behind me when Namjoon asked me to clear it, she only found me because I was screaming for my fucking life. You think I don’t already know that I could’ve died back there, I know okay! I know it very well. I called my parents while I was holding a vial of fucking ketamine, I apologised for being a shit, I told them that I was locked in a room and that I was going to die. You think I wanted to hear my mother cry?” “Jungkook,” Jimin musters, unsure what to say, “I’m sorry, I- “-I was going to swallow it, you know. With the first sign of fire, I was going to kill myself. My girlfriend ...all I could tell her was that I was sorry that I loved her… I could’ve died back there, I could’ve seriously died back there.” Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. "But you didn't because she ran back- -and saved my life." Jungkook finishes. “Oh shut up both of you,” Irene shouts, “Pick up your damn phone and tell your family, you didn’t die already. Who knows what they’re doing thinking you’re dead. Hell, if I loved you, I would be driving out here right now to try and get you out.” “Seokjin,” You ignore their discussion as you gaze back at your patient. “Are we close?” “I’m driving as fast as I can with my sirens on, Y/N,” he shouts back clearly agitated, “Just focus on monitoring your patient. And Jimin, shut up and please Irene, fucking deal with Jungkook’s arm instead of pissing him off. It looks bent as fuck from the rear-view mirror. The kid is obviously hurt psychologically and physically, stop being assholes and be compassionate.” “You’re hurt?” Irene gasps, her voice now dripping in sympathy. Her bloodied fingers reach out for him. He lets her tender touch explore the mangled arm from underneath his coat. “It’s broken. How did this happen?” You snort. “Besides the hospital blowing up and the waves that were emitted from the explosion travelling at a supersonic velocity straight through us, throwing us in the air with all that glass and onto hard concrete and debris?” “I fell on it,” he says, watching Irene open up the bag on the floor. She nods her head. “You hurt anywhere else?” He shakes his head, letting her dab the wounds on his face with saline and gauze. It’s quiet again as she works his wounds, there’s not much she can do with his arm trapped in his coat like that, he’s just going to have to wait. Irene hands Jungkook her phone to call his family before finishing up on his wounds. Jungkook dabs her cheek with some gauze. Everyone was hurt in different ways but they were alive.

The ambulance grows silent when Jungkook sends the group text to his parents and to his girlfriend.

Jimin fusses over your knuckles, his mind on fire with residual grief and anger over your stupidity and bravery. But you were okay. For now.

* * *

Jungkook stares at the face of your patient.

He filters through the faces he knows, the patient’s he’s treated before leaning forward to look at his wrist band. “Oh it’s this guy, oh man, didn't think he'd come back,” he says, looking up at his cardiac monitor carefully, scrutinising every wave of his heart beats, “Y/N, are you aware that your patient has a past cardiac history?”

“Yes, angina pectoris,” You nod your head, pointing to his monitor as Jimin cleans your arms, “Are you worried about those PVC’s (heart skipping a beat) too? He's post motor vehicle accident, fucked himself up pretty bad. He needs surgery pretty much as soon as we get to Seoul Hearts.”

“Angina?” He frowns, prompting Irene to swap places with him beside the head of the patient. “He doesn’t have Angina, I have a photographic memory, I would’ve remembered that. He had an acute myocardial infarction a couple weeks ago and he hasn't been compliant with his medication-

-what!” you shout, interrupting him, commanding the attention of the truck as you dart your eyes into his. “This patient's had a heart attack before? That wasn’t in his medical files at all when he came in. That’s pretty fucking important information. Jimin,” you turn to the boy. “Did you get a history from the family?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Didn’t have time with the code. They still don't even know he's a patient.”

“I can see Seoul Hearts Hospital now, we’re about 2 minutes away.” Jin says, but you’re heart is racing hard against your ribs now. It’s like a dose of adrenaline and you suddenly feel so awake.

“If what I am thinking has happened, this patient probably crashed his car because he had chest pain. Irene,” your voice is shaky, everyone in the ambulance detects the urgency in your voice. You forget about the bomb. “Did you get any cardiac biomarkers from the bloods you took?”

“The ones that detect heart muscle death?” Her eyes widen as she tries to remember, clearly put on the spot as everyone looks at her. “Oh my god. I think so, like almost ...almost immediately but Dr. Namjoon came in before I got to ...I didn’t have time to check exactly.”

“What were they, do you remember? It’s okay, take your time. It’s important to remember which ones there were.”

She closes her eyes and Jungkook resets the vital monitor to get an accurate reading. “He’s hypotensive with ventricular dysrhythmia,” he says, printing the ECG out. He grabs the pen from his pocket as he reads the rhythm carefully. “Was it troponins T and I Irene? Do you remember a T?” She opens her eyes, pursing her lips at him. “I think it might’ve been but I don’t remember- -Y/N, his heart rate is 165, blood pressure is 80/40. I think he’s in cardiogenic shock,” Jimin cuts in. “Vitals are crashing.” "Good timing." you slap yourself.

“Fuck the bloods. Holy fuck,” Jungkook circles a portion of the rhythm, spotting an ST-elevation in the electrocardiogram (heart attack), holding it up to you as Seokjin drives. “He’s having a fucking heart attack right now Y/N.” “What do we do?” Irene asks. You look back at his cardiac monitor seeing it clear as day now that the patient's heart rhythm goes from erratic to nothing. "HES ARRESTING," Jimin shouts, pulling you out of your gaze. "He’s going into cardiac arrest Seokjin!!“ “This can’t be fucking happening right now. Jimin, we need the defibrillator he needs defibrillation immediately. We need an epi?! Wheres the adrenaline?” You shout, unsure if you could jump straight onto the patient with the door open like that. It looked dangerous. “The ambulance isn’t stocked, there isn’t one in here,” Seokjin shouts from the front, “You’re going to have to do chest compressions until we get there but fuck, it could be dangerous for you with the door open so be careful.” “I’ve got this,” You close your eyes. "I can save him." “Jimin, ambu bag, right now. Get on the resps." Without hesitation, you get out of your seat as Jin turns, to straddle the patient. Holding your arms straight, you press the heel of your palm on his lower sternum, compressing it in a steady rhythm with your interlocked hands, one on the other. You hear a couple cracks almost immediately. "Irene, are you sure we don’t have any adrenaline in that bag?” She tips the back out onto the seat looking for a little vial, it all flies out the ambulance anyway. “There’s no medication in here, so no we don’t.” Jimin gently squeezes the ambu bag twice. "We're nearly at the hospital, I can see it out the window now." “Beginning ...30 compressions to 2 breaths. Jimin watch me closely," you say, feeling your own heart rip through your ribcage. "Seokjin radio report change in status.” “Will do,” he shouts, pulling down the radio to call it in. “Hi, this is Seokjin, incoming ambulance from Forest Lakes we have a cardiac arrest in progress in the back of our truck, prepare for defibrillation on arrival in less than a minute.” “25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30. Resps!” Perspiration drips down your dirty face as you pause your chest compressions, turning to the two to the left of you. “Irene and Jungkook prepare to wheel me out of this ambulance and in to that fucking Emergency Department. No one is dying on my watch, not if I can help it.”

Jungkook and Irene look at each other as the ambulance comes to a halt outside the Emergency Department at Seoul Hearts Hospital. Turning off the engine, Jin runs around the truck, pulling down the ramp and grabbing the end of the stroller.

You can ear the screams of agony inside the Emergency Department from here as doctors rush in bright yellow aprons, blue gloves and white face masks towards your truck.

“Let’s go, get out Irene and Jungkook,” Seokjin yells, pulling the stroller towards him and down the ramp with Jimin shuttling beside it. “Let’s move team! Keep doing compressions Y/N and hold on tight.”

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