#can you believe we survived the week of bad 3g

[justfriendsbestthings]

Simon‘s Month Day 29: Stars

@youngroyals-events

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

Fight or Flight

Hey, full disclosure: did not realize that second one was asking for HCs and not its own drabble.  So I folded the two together into One Big One to make up for it.

Stress was a fact of life, as intrinsic to a person’s reality as breathing.  Being able to work under stress—to make wise and timely decisions, to keep a cool head, to retain and recall crucial information—is a quality that anyone expecting to survive, much less make anything of themselves, must master.  It stood to reason, therefore, that the childish tendency to freeze under pressure, to panic, to make impulsive decisions (or no decision at all) was a detriment and something to be outgrown as soon as possible.  This was how it had been explained to you.

Knowing, of course, didn’t dispel the panicked fog in your head, or help you understand the stubbornly complicated problem in front of you.  Black printed letters and numbers glared back at you from the crisp page, describing a concept you were supposed to understand but might as well have been in a foreign language.  You felt your pen tremble in your hand.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.  We just reviewed this.”

You jumped.  Fugo’s eyes hadn’t left his book, but the room was so silent that he could hear the absence of your writing even from where he was sitting.  He idly turned a page.  It was strange, thinking of him as relaxed, given how he was only a few minutes ago.

Your throat was so dry.  You swallowed heavily, glancing at the glass of water just in arm’s reach.  Condensation on its surface glistened invitingly, but you hesitated in reaching for it.  Doing so required either putting your pen down (not an option), or…

Cold metal gleamed as you stared at the two knives stabbed into the table around your free hand.  One for each mistake.  You quietly, delicately raised your arm past them before leaning over to grip the glass.  

The water was refreshing and cold, but more importantly it was a distraction.  For a moment, you could focus on something other than the chemistry problem leering at you, or the knives counting how often you’d messed up, or…

You glanced over at Fugo and immediately regretted it.  He had abandoned the book entirely and was now staring at you, his expression almost—but not quite—something you could call a glare.

“Entrance exams are timed, you know,” his voice was gentle but still somehow accusatory, “the amount of time you’ve wasted on this problem would have been much better spent on another question.”

Deep breaths.  Deep breaths.  The implied suggestion was to give up and move on, but something in your gut told you this was a trick.

“I can figure it out,” you replied evenly, “this isn’t the actual exam; I should make sure I can do the material rather than worry about rushing.”

His expression barely changed, but you could tell Fugo approved by the brief lightening in his gaze.  He nodded, curt, and silence descended on the room once more as he waited expectantly for you to get back to work.  You looked back at the page.

14mL of water (18.01g/mol) reacts with 3g of calcium, creating…

Damn it all, your eyes were already watering again.  

When Fugo heard you were having trouble preparing for your university entrance exams and offered to help, you were elated.  He was a prodigy, someone able to easily understand and master the material you struggled with so much, and he seemed like a good tutor…even if he did get violent with Narancia once or twice.  

At first, everything seemed reasonable enough.  He developed a strictly regimented schedule of what you needed to know when, and that turned into regulating your sleep schedule and mealtimes to maximize how much information you retained, and that turned into…needless to say, your life became studying.  You ended up just staying at Fugo’s home to keep up with it all and ‘minimize distractions’.  It was getting to the point where the only time you had alone was when you were either asleep or in the bathroom.

Not that it wasn’t worth it!  You said you’d give anything to get accepted into your dream school, and with his help you were pretty confident about your chances.  It’s just that Fugo was…

Intense.  Aggressive.  Violent, at times.

Scary.

He hadn’t hit you—you never would have tolerated something like that—but Fugo wasn’t exactly a patient teacher.  His memory was perfect, and he only allowed a mistake to happen once.  You were too intelligent to get things wrong the same way twice, he said.

It didn’t matter that you tended to freeze when stressed.  This was just another flaw to be overcome if you had any intention of excelling, and you could do it with enough practice and enough pressure.  It didn’t matter that it seemed impossible, he believed you could do it.  You could do it, and therefore you had to.

If he pushed you enough, you would break through.  You found yourself believing it, too, throwing yourself into your studies to please him just as much as you were doing it to pass the exam.  You lowered your free hand, firmly situating it between the knives once more, and got to work.  Fugo made a pleased hum as the scratching of your pen began once more.

“That’s very good.  Keep moving, that’s all that’s important.  You won’t solve the problem by freezing.”  He flipped another page.

One of the numbers in this problem was superfluous.  Was it one of the masses?  The molarity of the product?  Maybe…you looked at the possible answers and back at your math.  How did you get this wrong last time?  

“If you get them all correct, I think you’re due for a reward.  We can go out somewhere for lunch, we haven’t done that in a while.  After that we could see a movie, I’m fine with pushing your anatomy review—“ loud, erratic knocking reverberated through the house, cutting Fugo’s musing short.  He looked at his watch with a frown.

“I hope that’s not a mission.  What bad timing…stay here, I’ll see who it is.”  He got to his feet, pausing by your table instead of moving directly to the door.  You held your breath as he checked your work; not just because you were nervous, but because he rarely got this close and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.  Glancing at his face to gauge a reaction was tempting, but he was already turning away, walking out the door and down the hall in quiet but quick strides.

“Remember to show more of your work.  I want to see every step of your logic,” he called over his shoulder, and then disappeared from view.

He seemed pleased.  That must have meant you were correct, or on your way there.  You smiled to yourself and began working again, but paused as you finally gave proper thought to something that had been bothering you for a while now.

“What am I doing?”  It was ridiculous how quickly you’d lost control of your life.  Why was Fugo the one deciding when you were ready for a break, or whether you were doing well enough, or when it was time to go to bed?  Why was Fugo the one deciding how far to push you and what you could handle?

Why was Fugo the one who decided when and how often you left his house?

The knocking—that evidence of another person, an intrusion into a world that only held you and him for weeks—was enough to embolden you.  It was time to set some things straight, reign him in, remind Fugo that he was your tutor and not your owner.  You got out of your chair, kicking yourself for wincing at the light scraping noise (why did it feel like you were doing something wrong?) and heading down the hall, wandering the turns and staircases that would take you to the front door, where Fugo had headed.

It was silent, here, silent enough that your footsteps sounded deafening even though you were doing your best to walk quietly.  Your tutor had made several additions to the walls to accommodate your stay; you passed printouts of your schedule, reference sheets for various formulas and several charts of the human body so you could review as you walked from room to room.  Even the quietness of the house was for your benefit.  Fugo really had made you his one and only priority.

That was the problem, you realized as you approached the sound of a quiet but heated argument, he was too invested in this.  You rounded the corner, finally entering the front hall.  Fugo’s back was to you, and he had the door open wide enough to talk to but not enough for you to see who was on the other side.

“…from her in weeks.  Even Buccellati’s getting worried, I can tell.  What are you doing?”  The visitor’s voice was shrill, boyish.  Familiar.  Narancia?

“Just because you never took your education seriously,” you could hear Fugo replying through gritted teeth, even from here, “doesn’t mean she has the same abysmal standards.  This is an important time for her.  Nothing can interrupt it.”

He had been keeping people away?  It made sense, in a twisted kind of way, but the idea still made your stomach turn.  You thought they just knew you’d been busy…

“At least let me see her, damn it!  This is creepy.”  You looked at Fugo’s hand, still on the door, and noticed with vague dread that he was clenching it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Absolutely not.  It’s clearly better to keep you away if you’re just going to be disruptive—“

Narancia must have rushed him, because you watched Fugo suddenly stumble back, flinging his arms forward to contain the other boy.

“Fuck you!  Hey!  Hey!  Are you in there?  Can you hear me?” Narancia yelled, forcing his head past Fugo’s arm.  They struggled for a few seconds, and then he finally caught sight of you, still frozen in the hallway.

“What’s going on?!  Hey, tell me!”

They’re fighting, they’re fighting.  You had to stop them.  Why couldn’t you move?  You couldn’t even open your mouth for words to come out.

“Enough!”

Fugo moved again, leveraging his weight behind his arm and forcing Narancia back a step.  He pulled back and struck a punishing blow, landing a direct hit on the other boy’s head with an almost unnatural force.  You watched his head snap backwards before the rest of him followed, tumbling end over end down the stairs.

Narancia was only still for a moment.  You were still running forward, on the verge of shouting his name, as he began to stand up, frantic concern replaced by a look of absolute murder.  He took a step forward…and stopped.  You collided with Fugo’s arm, thrown forward to prevent you from getting too close to the door, but Narancia didn’t come any closer, just pointed at Fugo accusingly.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is!” Fugo shouted, and you were finally able to see the fury that distorted his handsome features.  “I don’t care if you’re on my team, Narancia, you try that again and I’ll kill you.  That’s the only warning you’ll get!”  It must have been unusually hot outside, because heat rose from the pavement in waves, warping your view of Narancia’s face.  Blood was streaming down his chin—no doubt his nose was broken—and while his eyes were watering, you didn’t think it was from the pain.

He didn’t say anything more, though, just turned on his heel and stalked off.  Fugo pulled you further away from the door, rougher than he’d ever been before, and slammed the door shut.  He was holding your arm tightly enough that you were starting to lose sensation in your fingers, but loosened his grasp immediately when you tugged away from him and stepped away.  He took several deep breaths, visibly shaking, but you didn’t dare try to touch him.

“…go back upstairs.”  He said in a low growl, after the longest pause.  It wasn’t a request, but you were too frightened to comply.

“I can’t.”

In the past, the glare he gave you would have scared you into immediate compliance.  Now, however, things had changed.  The naked reality of your situation prevented you from playing along any further.

“I wasn’t asking.”  Something—and you say that because it certainly wasn’t Fugo—grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed, sending you staggering back several paces.  What the hell was going on?  

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears now, and the stress made your breath come in quick and sharp gasps.  Fear worked its fingers into your limbs threatening to paralyze you, but you forced yourself to move your legs, to stand taller and meet his gaze even if you knew he was stronger than you.  

Keep moving, that’s all that’s important.  You won’t solve the problem by freezing.

That thought occurred to you first, his words echoing in your head as Fugo took another step forward and grabbed you by the arm once more, pulling you along.  The next thought that occurred to you was the fact that you were still holding your pen.

It was a beautiful thing, an expensive thing, given to you when you first started studying here.  A fountain pen, with an elegant wood case and a razor-sharp nib that fit easily into your hand.

It sank just as easily, you found out now, into Fugo’s arm, the one that was holding you.  He shouted, more from surprise than pain, and reflexively let go, allowing you to pull away from him and run.  You bolted for the front door, wrenching it open, but stopped before you ran through.

The world had changed for you, in a way you hadn’t realized until now.  The distortion you noticed earlier wasn’t because of the heat at all—it was actually quite cool today—but a strange, whitish-purple haze that shrouded the door and front steps.  Your instincts screamed at you to halt, to get away from it, as the withered grass and melted corpse of an unlucky sparrow registered.  You took a step back, but then remembered who was behind you and turned around.  And froze.

“Oh my god, what is that?” you whispered.

It was tall, tall enough that you had to look up at it even from here.  It moved in time with Fugo’s advance, strangely splotched skin fading in and out of view.  It growled, a low ragged noise you were only registering now, even though something told you it had always been there and you just hadn’t noticed it before.

Fugo paused.  Blood had already soaked that part of his jacket, and you watched droplets hit the linoleum as he pulled your pen out, holding it like some would a knife.  He looked you up and down, considering your words.

“You can see it?  Interesting.  I knew you had promise, but I had no idea it would go this far…now I really have to make sure you reach your full potential.”  He stalked forward.

You had nowhere to go.  You didn’t understand what was happening, but the haze was still there, and something told you beyond a shadow of a doubt that going through it would kill you, as easily as it did that bird.

Given the look on his face, though, it looked like Fugo might kill you anyway.

“Since you can see my Stand, it should be easier to explain this to you.” Fugo took a deep breath.  Even now, he was making an effort to speak to you calmly, but you still shrank back as he advanced.

“You have nowhere to go.  If you keep trying to run from me, I can’t promise you’ll be able to attend school in the condition I’ll leave you in.  I don’t care what kind of new ability you have, there’s no way you’ll win against me.”

He wouldn’t hesitate.  You saw it in his eyes, in the advance of the monster next to him, relentless and unforgiving.  Fugo was Death, and who could fight Death?

Panic screamed in the back of your head, but you weren’t frozen anymore.  You stepped towards him, not in defiance but in compliance.  

Submission.

“Okay.”  your voice was a whisper.  As if a switch had been flipped, Fugo’s face brightened, an expression that once made your pulse quicken.  You flinched as he brought his arm close to you, but the monster didn’t move with him, just watched silently as he draped his arm around your shoulders and began leading you up the stairs.