#catch a cold that hasn’t gone away (and got worse) for at least two weeks now

[hikaruchen]

Good news: ☀️☀️☀️ HERE COMES THE SUN ☀️☀️☀️

Bad news: STILL FUCKING COLD OUTSIDE THO WINTER YOU MF BE DAMNED

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[fangurk]

She’s Always There (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Key:

Y/n: Your Name

Y/l/n: Your Last Name

Y/n/n: Your Nickname

Y/e/c: Your Eye Color

Y/h/c: Your Hair Color

Prompt Given To Me By @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhghhhh.tumblr.com: hey!! so the reason I'm messaging is because I wanted to request something but can't fit it all into an ask lmao. anyways could i please request a Paul Lahote x reader where the reader has been super close to the whole pack for years and has been Paul's imprint but doesn't know it (bc Sam thought it would be best to keep u away from it all) and they decide to finally tell you about being shapeshifters and being Paul's imprint and you're so mad about them not telling u earlier and there's a huge argument and they and Paul tries to calm you down but you say stuff like 'leave me alone' and things like that and it sounds like you're rejecting him/the bond in ur angry breakdown. anyways Paul is heartbroken and can't get out of bed or eat or anything so the guys finally convince you to come back bc they and Paul need you and it's just the reader cuddling with him and getting him out of bed to take a shower and eat and he realizes that you're not going anywhere and it's just like healing the imprint bond? sorry for this WALL of text, I've just had this idea stuck in my head for a while lol. if you don't want to do it, that's completely fine!! thank you for your time ♡

ok so my guy,, bc this fic has been stuck in my head for a bit, some scenes have developed? so idk i hope this isn't too much, but if u do write it, would u be willing to add like some angst to it, obvi, and maybe a scene/part lol where when the reader tries to get him to shower (bc the misinterpreted rejection made him like super depressed and he just felt low about himself) he won't shower, because he doesn't want to come out and the reader is gone. so either they shower together (not smutty just angst&fluff) or she sits like in the bathroom while he showers LOL. and when he feels a bit better, they go down to eat and he's touching some part of her at all times. if this is too much to like,, include then that's a-okay. i just need to get this OUT of my MIND ugh lmao!/!

Reader Gender: Female

Summary: The Reader has been friends with most of the pack members for her whole life. Which is why, after months of silence and strange changes, she was willing to let them back into her life— until she finds out she’s been told lies that leave her in danger, of course. After a big freak out and two weeks of avoiding them, the boys come begging for her help; it turns out that Paul has some wolf-y claim on her, and whatever she said to him has left him worse for wear...

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Nudity, Angst, and Cursing.

A/n: this is literally like a whole novel I’m so sorry I got carried away. this is kinda based on a lot of fics I read where the imprint has the potential to really hurt people and I named Paul’s dad.

Word Count: 2.9k+

“The legends are real!?”

Y/n Y/l/n hasn’t ever been so disturbed in her entire life.

After weeks of radio silence, Sam Uley’s little ‘gang’, mostly consisting of people she’d known since childhood, had slowly trickled back into her life. What started as a grocery run with Paul or a movie with Jared had turned into big bonfire parties including Jacob Black and his gaggle.

But that was months ago. Months. And now, as she sits by a fire, surrounded on either side by them, they decide to tell her their little secret?

“Y/n.” Sam says as she abruptly stands, eyes stern and hand raised placatingly.

His actions only served to upset her more and her skin bristles with irritation. Sam was acting as if she, a human surrounded by shape shifters, was the unstable one. As if she could do any damage to things built to kill vampires.

“Don’t you dare, Sam.” She clenches her fists, glaring right back at him. “It’s been months- months- and you’re telling me now?”

“It’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up.” He reasons, voice a little less demanding. “We all wanted to be sure that you were ready to know.”

“Ready?!” Y/n laughs mirthlessly, y/e/c eyes wide with disbelief, “When was I supposed to be ready Sam? W-when one of you gored me? When a cold one ripped me apart?”

Her hands shake as she puts them on her forehead, blinking back tears. Growing up all she’d ever heard were stories of humans getting dragged into fights between wolf and vampire, and she couldn’t bring herself to look Emily in the eye because it was suddenly apparent that wolves alone could hurt people too.

It was so bad, whatever happened to Emily, that they said a bear mauled her— Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not like that, Y/n/n.” Embry chimes in, reaching out to grab his friend's arm.

She yanks her body out of the way and gathers her belongings quickly.

“What is it like then, Call?” She holds her bag to her heaving chest, “because it seems to me that you all have the ability to turn into giant, slobbery freaks that are built for killing vampires and, after completely dropping me for weeks, you decided to keep it secret from me for months. Did it even occur to you that I would’ve been better off knowing right off the bat?!”

No one says anything. Eight shifters and two of their girlfriends sit there, just staring at her like she was speaking a different language.

“You know,” Y/n has to clear her throat to steady her wavering voice, “had you guys really been souped-up on drugs like everyone says, maybe I could’ve handled the lying. But my life was clearly potentially in danger, and you let me hang around without saying anything. I- God I don’t want to see you people right now.”

She leaves with that, stepping over logs and storming back down the beach with determination. Faintly over the roar of her heartbeat, she can hear someone scrambling to stand behind her.

“Wait!— shit, sorry-” Paul grunts, jogging to catch up with her- “Y/n-“

With an unusual gentleness, his warm hand wrapped around her forearm. For a moment, deep in the back of her mind, a foreign feeling tells her to stop, to listen; but that small voice is quickly smothered by the rational part of her brain, and she wrenches her arm from his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, lowering her voice, “Leave me alone- I need to be alone.”

Paul stands there, dumbstruck, an unreadable look in his eyes as she walks away. And he’d continue to stand there, looking like a kicked puppy long after her retreating form became a blur amongst the darkness of the beach.

“Paul?” Sam is hesitant, hand hovering over the younger boy’s shoulder a minute before he touches him, “You okay?”

Shrugging his leader’s arm off his shoulder, Paul sighs. “No...I...I’m just gonna head home.”

Instead of going in the directions of the cars, the wolf stalks off toward the woods; Emily stands from her seat, wrapping her sweater more around herself as she watches Paul leave. Concern is written all over her features.

“He’ll be fine, Em,” He pulls her in for a hug, “it’ll all work out eventually.”

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Y/n does a good job of avoiding them for a while.

She turns her phone off a few days in and avoids going to First Beach, even when Washington gets a rare, warm summer feel. Books that have sat long forgotten on her shelves get read and TV shows she’s always meant to catch up on get watched; it’s boring and she runs out of options, at one point thinking of dying her hair y/f/c just to spice things up, but it allows her to think. (Or at least it allows this strange little voice in the back of her head to tell her that she needs to go back to them.)

The next time she sees any of the boys is exactly two weeks after the bonfire incident.

She’s curled up on her couch, picking at some of the Clearwaters’ fish fry and barely watching an episode of ANTM, when a fist comes banging down on her door. Turning off the TV, she tiptoes to the window, peeking under the curtain as carefully as she can.

As she expected, Jared Cameron and Embry Call are on her porch, the former standing in front of her door with his hip cocked, the other rooting around in her mother’s plants for something. Cringing, she hopes if she’s quiet enough that they’ll just go away.

Her front door opens within minutes, however, and she realizes her hoping is fruitless.

Should’ve known you can’t hide from wolves, she can’t help but think bitterly.

“Y/n?” Jared calls out through the house, “we know you’re here.”

“Yeah, and you guys should probably move your spare key,” Embry tacks on, flicking the light switch to the living room up, “I've known you forever and it’s still in the same place.”

From her spot by the window, the y/h/c haired girl glares at the two boys, arms crossed over her chest. Embry gives her a lopsided grin and holds the key out to her, his bud plopping down on the couch and pulling her abandoned plate into his lap.

Y/n extends a hand to take the key.

“Has it really been in the same place?” She sounds a little more defeated than she’d like.

“Yeah, it’s always been in your mother’s cornflower pot.”

“That’s...kinda sad.” She wrinkles her nose, pocketing the key with the intention to hide it better later, “but uh, I’ve been ignoring you for two weeks for a reason. Peacefully breaking into my house kinda furthers my need for space.”

Embry scratches the back of his neck.

“Well,” He says, “we need you to come back, man. Paul won’t talk to anyone- Sam doesn’t know if he’s eating, and he won’t even get out of bed for patrol! He needs his imprint-”

“His what?” She cocks her head to the side and Jared snorts from the couch.

“She left before we got there, nimrod,” Jared mocks through a mouthful of food, “she doesn’t know what an imprint is.”

He lets out an indignant “Hey!” as Y/n walks by, snatching her plate back from him on her way to the kitchen. Embry chases after her, a grumpy Jared jumping up from the couch to follow.

“You’re his imprint— you’re basically his soulmate!”

“Really?” She says warily, sealing the fish and putting it back in the fridge.

Both boys nod clumsily.

“You remember a few weeks ago when you saw each other for the first time again and he kinda just stood there like an idiot while you talked?”

“Yeah? Oh!-” She brings her hands up to her mouth, brows furrowed as she recalls.

It was exactly Jared had said. She and Paul had seen one another for the first time in a long time and the minute her y/e/c eyes looked into his, it was like he’d been struck dumb.

Embry gives her an encouraging look, “An imprint is...It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like… gravity moves… suddenly. It's not the earth holding you here anymore, she does… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend. When you snapped at him last week he thought you were rejecting him….”

A part of her thought about how absurd it was that he knew that whole speech. But the bigger part of her came to a realization that made her stomach churn.

“So he's all depressed… because… of me?” She whispers, leaning back on the counter.

Embry, always a rather sympathetic person, opens his mouth to comfort her, but Jared cuts him off.

“Basically. So are you going to come with us so we can help Paul or are you going to continue being petty?”

In any other circumstance, Y/n probably would’ve thrown something at her for calling her petty. She felt she was completely justified in her actions. A part of her wonders if she can really believe them— they’d spent months lying to her after all. But a larger part thinks about Paul, curled up in his bed, slowly desecrating because he thinks she rejected him.

If it were really all some ploy to get her to listen to them, then she’d at least be the person who chose the well-being of her friend over a petty disagreement.

“I’m coming.” She affirms, pushing herself off the counter, and letting the boys lead her to the car.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Jared and Embry drop her off in front of the Lahote household. They tell her something but she can’t really hear them over her heartbeat, she doesn’t even know they’re gone until it’s too late to turn back.

Getting into the house wasn’t the hard part. Paul’s father, Cyrus, had been leaving as she arrived, and, after he watched her stare at the house with a fearful expression for a few minutes, he happily let her in. The hard part was willing her legs to take her up the stairs to Paul’s room, and then it was opening his bedroom door.

Y/n has known Paul since they were eight, but she was afraid of him until they were eleven. He wasn’t mean, per se, but his anger made him do mean things; she wasn’t entirely happy with puberty and it’s monthly gifts, but whatever it did to make her suddenly un-afraid of him she was grateful for. But now, standing in front of his bedroom door, she had a nagging fear that Paul would revert to that eight year old boy who threw lunch boxes and twisted arms behind backs until people cried.

The door creaks slightly as she struggles to push it open.

His room is almost completely dark except for the light coming from the hallway behind her. Trash and dirty clothes have formed a compact layer on his bedroom floor, foot sized holes leading up to the twin sized bed in the corner. On the bed, amongst the blankets she’s sure he doesn’t need, is Paul— or at least, a Paul sized lump.

As gross as it is, she’s kind of relieved he’s been eating.

“Paul?” She whispers tentatively, stepping toward the bed.

The lump flinches and turns toward her.

“Y/n?”

If the room and the description of his state weren’t heartbreaking enough, his voice definitely was. Hollow, rough, and small, everything it never was, everything Paul wasn’t.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah...it’s me..”

She carefully steps over to the bed, and Paul slowly sits up, pushing his blankets to the side. There’s a beat of silence as she stands between his legs, his reluctant hands coming to rest on her waist after a minute. Y/n let’s him have another to gather his thoughts.

“You really came…” Tears well up in his eyes and loops his arms around her back.

She runs a hand through his hair. “I did, and I’m so sorry, if I had known—”

Paul nuzzles her stomach, “S’fine, you didn’t know, and you’re here now.”

There’s a sort of cute, euphoria lacing his voice and he’s visibly much more relaxed.

“Just don’t ever say that again…”

“I won’t, I promise.”

She’s surprised when he manhandles her into his lap, but she doesn’t really mind. He’s warm and strangely familiar and something about it just— clicks.

“When was the last time you spent, I dunno, a minute or two out of your room?” Y/n asks softly, y/e/c eyes glancing about the room.

The shifter’s only response is a shrug, too busy nosing around her neck with vigor. When he finds a certain spot, it makes her squeak, and this seems to excite him like a puppy finding out its favorite toy makes noise.

“You need to bathe, eat something substantial,” She intertwines their fingers, “and the...pack...they’re really worried about you— are you even listening to me?”

He looks up at her then and flashes her a sheepish smile, answering her question. Pursing her lips, she pulls his arms from around her.

“C’mon, Paul.” She stands up and takes his hand. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

She moves toward the door, urging him forward, only to be jerked to a stop as he stays put. He looks a little distressed when she turns back to him, brows furrowed, almost like he’s in pain.

“Paul?”

He grunts, jaw clenched as the cogs turn in his head. Y/n cocks her head and reaches out for his other hand. It felt like some sort of supernatural intuition, one she’ll blame on the imprint and ask Emily about later.

“Paul, hon, why won’t you come shower?”

“I’m afraid you'll leave,” He says bashfully, “it’s stupid, I know, but part of me is afraid you’ll leave while I’m in the shower.”

Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken at his confession. Paul was part wolf, and part of being part wolf was imprinting— she almost wishes she’d have stayed long enough to listen, or been able to focus as the boys debriefed her on the ride over because only being able to speculate how much she’d actually hurt him was eating her alive. He wouldn’t even shower, something he desperately needed to do, because of what she’d said.

Taking a deep breath, she barely registers the words she’s about to say.

“I’ll wait with you, I’ll sit on the toilet, you’ll see me there.”

And true to her word, Y/n does sit on the toilet while Paul showers, reading the information on soap bottles to distract herself from the fact that he was there next to her, very naked. Occasionally he asks her what she’s doing, and she reads the ingredients out loud to the best of her ability, and he laughs a little— she tries to hide her smile, but she was too happy he was laughing.

She closes her eyes when he gets out, letting him dry himself off and pull on some clean shorts. He throws the wet towel at her when he’s done, eliciting a “Hey!” that makes him laugh again.

Now that he’s clean, the two of them descend into his quiet house. Y/n navigates the kitchen, her wolf attached to her hip and being less than helpful, and makes them both something to eat— he doesn’t do much more than stand behind her, wrapped around her, making her life more difficult.

“I’m so happy you came back.” He says, watching her work.

“I was always going to.” Y/n responds, her voice sure and steady.

They talk as they eat, sitting across from one another at the too big table in the Lahote household. Talk about how this was going to work, admitting feelings that always lingered, and everything in between; she hooks her leg around his, watching him scarf down his meal with a wrinkled nose and fondness glittering in her y/e/c eyes.

He’s...gross...but he’s hers, she’s kind of stuck with him.

A date is planned. An actual date.

Paul promises to take her to the local diner (and to wear a shirt, for once.)

“I’ve been saving up for something like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and you can get that dessert you like.”

Y/n laughs softly, but heat spreads up her neck and settles in her ears and cheeks. It’d been a long time since that had been her favorite food, but it was the thought that counted...

When Cyrus Lahote returns from work later that night his son and the Y/l/n girl are awkwardly situated on his couch— him on his back, snoring, her lying on top of him, face tucked into his neck, also fast asleep. The older man turns off the TV and tosses a blanket over the pair, ascending up the stairs with a smile on his face.

Y/n Y/l/n was trustworthy. She’s always there when Paul is in a rut too big for him to handle...

[smallblip]

Forever Fifteen

Levihan | Part I of Good Bones | written for Levihan Week 2021- Memory (day 6)

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33635872

“Hello stranger…”

Hanji doesn’t have to look behind her to know who it is. Already, she’s pulling a cigarette case from the inner pocket of her jacket. She holds one out to her side, and with a brush of cold fingers against hers, it’s gone. Her heart beats out of her chest.

Oh be still! We’ve been through this before! This should be as mundane as- doing the laundry.

She turns to face him, scanning him from his nice dress shoes to the way his hair is slicked back, an exaggerated simper on her face.

“What’s a handsome stranger like you doing in a place like this?”

He scoffs. “The party’s not over yet…”

“I know…” she replies, tilting her head to get a better look at her company. “I’m just watching…”

He follows her gaze to the courtyard below the balconies, to where Jean is sitting with Mikasa. Just- talking.

“Happened right under our noses…” Hanji chuckles. Oh right… she mutters when Levi gestures for the light. There’s a little fumbling because of Hanji’s penchant for pockets, but she finds the box of matches eventually. She strikes one and holds it close to Levi. A bright little light that burns embers into the greys of his eyes. The dark circles under his eyes have made a permanent home under his skin, and there are now lines carved into the shadows. When did those get there?

As always, Levi is the first to look away.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that would you?” He raises a brow.

Jean is now laughing at something. Levi clicks his tongue in annoyance. In the many years he has known these damned kids, he hasn’t once laughed at anything Mikasa has to say. Jean must be a fool then. Jean is a fool because he listens too well to Hanji. Listens when she tells him he should go for it if that’s what he wants. Tell her a good pickup line, swap a few jokes, share a little fruitcake. Easy.

Hanji gasps dramatically, “as Commander of the Survey Corps, I would like to remind you that I am well aware of the policy against fraternisation!”

“That never stopped you…” Levi answers. But oh it has. The people who knew them as lovers are now dust. And now the rumours speak for them, past prefixed to lovers as a way to explain the familiarity, as a way to grow the distance.

Oh it has stopped them.

“Never stopped you either… If only they knew the great Captain Levi wrote crazy ol’ Hanji Zoë a love letter in his youth…” Hanji chuckles, a little too brave so it must be the alcohol, because she feels anything but brave lately. Her laughter is a little too bright for the night. A little too beautiful and familiar that it makes Levi smile. There’s a spray of pink on his cheekbones. The thought of people knowing the details is mortifying to say the least. But no one will know. This secret will be buried in a shared grave. A cosy little grave that gets a little damp in the summer. But they’ll brave the heat. Good things happen in the sun. Good for the linens too. Just- not good enough to untether the smell of Hanji’s skin from the fabric of his sheets.

“Do you remember what was in that letter?” She continues.

He doesn’t look at her now. His gaze is fixed on Jean’s fidgeting and he thinks of his own attempts at romance. His own little love story that blossomed beautifully and died tragically as they grew older. When they were put in charge for lives outside their own. When Erwin had named Hanji the next in line for the cursed role of Commander. One last night with her. One kiss and a handshake and a- hello stranger, my name is Hanji Zoë.

Levi. He had replied, just Levi.

He remembers Pyxis’ smug little “maybe your boyfriend can help with the mission” and Hanji’s vacuous, unthinking “oh he’s not my boyfriend anymore…”. The look on Pyxis’ face had been one for the books- a genuine surprise from coming by two pieces of information. So they are exes. The rumours were true. Menacing Levi and Kooky Zoë. Levi had launched a kick at Hanji’s shin under the table. Never in Levi’s life had he wished so much for the earth to swallow him whole.

“No…”

He says. It’s not lying if she knows what he really means. If she can tell, between each drag of her cigarette, what he’s thinking.

And she can. Oh she can.

He lets the memory dance across his eyes. That night at the pub, two kids puffing out their chests so they wouldn’t rouse suspicions (not that people care much in the Underground), listening to the men sing songs about love. Oh what Levi would give be young again. To look at Hanji, really look at her for the first time and have his mind play static on loop. To realise that for the rest of his life he’ll only be mesmerised by her.

She chuckles. Another drag of her cigarette, two taps to watch the ash drip. A wink.

“We must be getting old then, Levi…” She says, “in a few years we’ll be a couple of old prunes, you and I…”

Levi smiles at her. He’s never really thought about the mechanics of growing old. But he thinks the image is nice. Of Hanji tracing pruny fingers along the length of his pruny skin where the crescent scars sit in the leather of his skin. And he’ll remind her of the time when they kids, because that’s what old couples do right? Tease each other endlessly, talk about the ambiguity of the good old days, reminisce over long walks? Levi wants the complete works. He laughs to himself, a private little joke that simmers to a murmur-

Four-eyed prune…

It’s a little later when Hanji decides maybe it’s time to stop eavesdropping and get back to the party. The musicians announce the last dance of the night. The trumpets trail after the saxophone and the sound is something grand. And Hanji asks Levi if he wants to dance, because she’s a sucker for romantics, even though she’ll never admit it. And she knows Levi is too. And Hanji thinks life must still be pretty sweet if she’s dancing with her ex lover with a sea of memories between them and the abject refusal to explicate the boundaries of exes. Because it’s hard to forget. Because it’s hard to wash your lover’s scent from your sheets. No matter how hard you scrub, no matter how much the sunlight eats at the fabric and bleaches it. So much so that Hanji thinks it’s all in her head. The smell of his skin, the taste of cigarettes on his tongue- he only smokes with her, only with her- the ghost of his breath against the shell of her ear.

And Levi’s heart is beating out his chest.

Oh be still! We’ve been through worse! We scrubbed at the sheets until our fingers were raw and pruny, remember?

But with Hanji it’s hard to catch a break. He knows. He’s dealt with this for so long that he doesn’t even flinch when she tells him-

“You’re my best friend, Levi…”

But she recognises all the signs. The slight twitch of the corner of his lips, the creasing of the skin between his brows, the sadness in his eyes so bright that she has to avert her gaze.

“Do you tell all the boys that when you dance with them?”

He answers. And she hears the rhythmic grate of the sheets against the washing board.

Forgetting is hard.

“I don’t dance with other boys…” She replies, channeling Hanji Zoë at fifteen- was it sixteen? Seventeen? Eighteen maybe? Hanji Zoë who would sneak into the boy’s barracks to make out with her boyfriend in the dead of night and scurry back under the sheets before anyone found out. “You know I like you the most…”

“Good…”

He says. And he’s Levi- a few years older than she had been, a little too curt, a little too much misplaced possessiveness, thinking to himself that maybe love isn’t so icky and banal. Thinking maybe this is what his mother had promised him. This is all that’s beautiful.

He leans his chin against her shoulder, wrestling against the caution thrown at his beating heart.

Let them talk. Let them say we were lovers in a past life. Because that’s all we are.

Hanji presses her temple against his. The familiarity is jarring in all the ways a stain is. Bright mustard yellow against white cotton, evidence of a split second stupid decision to eat on the duvet. This is a cumulation of mustard moments then- a stain so big the entire world turns yellow.

“I like you the most too…” Levi says, voice low like this is a secret. Like as if the whole of Paradis Island doesn’t already know.

Hanji chuckles, and the vibration that spreads from her bones to his makes him blush. He knocks his temple against hers. Stupid Hanji. Stupid mustard stain.

“Liar…” she laughs. The word is a breath that caresses his cheek. But she knows him- this boy Erwin collected from the underground city. He got under her skin and she proceeds to make it her job to get under his. She had greeted him with scars on his forearm and in return, she walked away with a bruised eye, a broken nose, and an epiphany. And in the years after- the good years- they do what every teenager would do-

fuck around and fall in love.

Levi pulls apart, and in that moment, his lips brush against her neck- fleeting casualness befitting a hey big idiot. It’s the hottest day in the history of mankind but I’ll brave the stickiness to kiss your sweaty neck. Befitting a lifelong stain of a crush on a stain of a human being that will never quite go away.

It’s hard to forget.

Hanji watches as Jean crosses the hall back to where Connie and Sasha are. A sheepish grin plastered on a bright red face. The two tease him endlessly and as always, Jean swats them away, trying to maintain his cool. Hanji knows nothing really happened, but his reaction can only mean hopeful possibility. She smiles.

“Hey, do you think we would’ve worked out?”

Hanji asks when they’re walking back to the barracks, her jacket concealing a few bottles of alcohol. The other bottles have found their way to Levi’s reluctant hands. They’ve been through this before. It’s okay now. After all, comfort is a stained duvet. Soon, she’ll have to bid him farewell with a goodnight, stranger. But for now, Levi answers without looking at her.

“Yeah…” he replies, matter of fact, “we’ve got good bones…”

Oh be still! Hanji feels betrayed that her heart- a wretched thing so broken- still beats the same for him- this beautiful stain of a human being. This moment is living, breathing nostalgia. What had they been before one another? Menacing Levi and Kooky Zoë. How could anything bad ever happen to them. She grins at him.

“The best…”

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Mild Language

Chapter 7

* * * * * * *

One thousand one hundred eighty eight. 

One thousand one hundred eighty nine.

One thousand one hundred ninety.

One thousand one hundred ninety one.

One thousand one hundred ninety two.

One thousand one hundred - 

You shoot up from the bed, the counting of the passing seconds erased from your mind instantly as you throw the sheets off and get up. 

The sound of your front door opening and closing rouses you from your restless lounging and at first you thought it might be an intruder. Until you realize the very reason for your restlessness.

Apparently you couldn't go a week without Natasha. 

The first morning without her persuading you to give her cuddles, you knew you were screwed. You immediately hated the silence of your apartment, something you once were thankful for. Even making just one cup of coffee with breakfast felt weird. 

By the third day you were hoping you’d see her when you went to the compound. Hoping her mission was completed early and she’d come home with you after you trained Wanda. That didn’t happen though.

Worse than all that was that, since the first night she was gone, you couldn’t sleep. On the off chance you did manage to fall asleep it lasted a few hours and it left you feeling worse when you woke up. It became a recurring problem the nights that followed. 

Tonight was no different. You tossed and turned, tried cuddling a pillow, even resorted to counting the seconds that passed by. That is until you heard the door. 

Knowing only Natasha has a key to your apartment makes you get up in a second and leave the bedroom, quickly going down the stairs to the dimly lit first floor of your apartment. The lamp you left on in the living room gave you a fairly clear view of the redhead who slightly stumbles as she walks. 

A smile almost pulls at the corners of your lips at the at the sight of her. Seven days apart had been too long. But your happiness doesn’t stick as you register that she’s still stumbling on her way to the couch. 

You frown, flicking the closest switch to you, that turns the living room lights on.“ Glad I wasn’t sleeping. You’re losing your sneaky touch Romanoff.” You joke, knowing her reaction will confirm or deny your thoughts.

Instead of a laugh, Natasha lets out a huff as she leans back into the couch. It’s right then you know she’s hurt. You take a step closer, the new angle gives view to her bruised and definitely bleeding body.

A frown forms on your face and you lean forward a bit to get a better look at her. It seems the new angle reveals a few more bruises and the worry quickly sets in causing you to rush to the bathroom for the first aid kit. When you get back Natasha’s eyes are drooping and even though you can see she hasn’t lost much blood, you still call her name louder than needed.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, not while you’re losin blood.” You tell her, sitting on the coffee table in front of her.“ Now, lift the shirt so I can see what I’m working with.”

She smirks a little, glad the dim lighting doesn’t allow you to see her blush. You simply roll your eyes at her and focus on her wound.

Admittedly it’s not much. The blood is coming from her side where a bullet grazed her, plus a few other scrapes and scratches on her arms and neck. The bruises would heal but until then they were in places that could be hidden with the proper clothing. 

When you’re done patching her up and throwing away the bloodied cotton balls, you return to your spot on the coffee table with an ice pack in hand. Reaching forward, you gently press the ice pack to her side where the majority of the bruising is. 

She looks down at your hand and despite the cold of the pack, she feels herself heat up from the mere idea of your touch.

“Hey,” you curl a finger of your free hand under her chin and gingerly lift her head to look into her eyes.“ Gonna need you to start being more careful.”

She cracks a little smile.“ What? You worried about me Y/ln?” 

You nod,“ of course I am. Don’t know what I’d do without you Romanoff.” A small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

Despite the slight playfulness of your tone and the almost teasing smirk on your lips, your words are dripping with sincerity. It was clear when you were patching her up that you cared, that you were a little worried, but not knowing what to do without her? 

She could’ve brushed it aside, played it off as a joke on your part. But she didn’t want to. 

Almost two weeks away from home, alongside completing her mission, Natasha was missing you. She couldn’t sleep because the bed felt too cold without you beside her. The coffee she drank didn’t taste right cause you didn’t make it. Everything was wrong, because she didn’t have you.

When Natasha finally pulls herself from her thoughts, she’s suddenly hyper focused on how closer you are. The cold ice pack on her side seems to warm at the mere thought of your hand so close to her body. 

Glancing down at the ice pack and your hand, she looks back up into your eyes.

She wants to take a chance. It could absolutely, without a doubt, ruin everything that’s been built between you. But she wants to kiss you. She wants you to kiss her back, to feel for her what she feels for you.

Another thought passes, you softly call her name, and she abandons all thoughts of doubt and fear. 

With the pain in her body diminished to nothing but a quiet hum due to the intensity of her emotions, she surges forward and crashes her lips against yours. The force of her action nearly sends you tumbling back but you’re able to catch yourself. 

Natasha holds her breath as her lips press to yours, heart hammering in her chest as she waits for a response. She’s ready to pull away, ready to run away the second she does so. But she isn’t given the chance to. 

Setting the ice pack aside, you place your hand on her hip and attempt to pull her closer despite the gap of space between the couch and coffee table. 

She takes the initiative, driven by the pure euphoria that shoots through her heart at the returned pressure of your lips on her, and gets up to straddle you. Her hands cup your face as the kiss intensifies. She notes the warmth that radiates from your skin, a near complete opposite of the cold that seems to naturally come from her. 

You can’t say you agree though, not right now at least. While you have been on the end of her cold touch, right now it’s like you’re on fire. Burning from a passion that only she could pull from you. The fire starts at your lips, seemingly getting hotter every time hers press against yours again. It spreads down your body, the feeling not as hot everywhere else, instead it’s more like an inner warmth. 

Comparing it to the feeling of being outside on a cold day and taking a sip of hot chocolate is the most accurate. It’s a warmth that spreads all over, makes you shiver as it fights the cold. All the while it’s accompanied by the sweet taste of chocolate. It’s an addictive feeling, makes you want to keep sipping and sipping.

Kissing Natasha is the exact same. 

So much so that the both of you seem to forget you have to breathe until your lungs start burning. Even then you kiss her for a moment longer.

Pulling away leaves Natasha’s mind hazy as she tries to float back to reality, aided by the subtle touch of your thumbs on her waist. 

“Now I’m really glad I wasn’t sleeping.” You joke, voice still a little breathy. 

A quiet laugh leaves Natasha’s mouth, a puff of air ghosting over yours, reminding both of you how close you are still. 

It’s then that Natasha gets up, her hands gripping your shoulders as she does. You feel when she shivers a little as your hands slide down to her hips and off her body, but you don’t say anything. The small smirk on your face makes it clear though. 

Suddenly her face becomes unreadable.“ Um, I’m gonna go have a shower.” She says, a slightly nervous tone curving her words.

You do your best to hide your frown, simply nodding in reply and watching her walk away. Once she’s up the stairs and out of sight your mask slips and your frown shows.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a huff and push yourself up off the coffee table. Her shift in mood immediately after getting up worries you. It was like you were in a bubble and the second she got up it popped.

Did she instantly regret the kiss? Get up, realize what she’d just done and then use the need of a shower as an excuse to get away?

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you fall back to sit on the couch. 

You can’t bring yourself to admit you regret it. After months of having these romantic feelings for Natasha, regret is the furthest thing from your mind after finally being able to act on it. 

With the intention to talk to her about it after her shower, you wait for her. But that’s an exercise in stupidity. She doesn’t come back down and when you go upstairs, you find her curled up in your bed. 

Sighing, your eyes find the clock. It’s the early hours of the morning, a little past five. 

If Natasha is going to sleep her regret off, you’re going to run your disappointment off. 

~~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on Wan let’s go.” You clap your hands, a bit of force in your voice as you watch the young brunette.

After running for hours, you thought you were okay, that your thoughts and feelings about earlier today had been sorted and dealt with. 

It became abundantly clear as you trained Wanda that that wasn’t the case. 

While you’d figured out your disappointment, you also realized it was dumb of you to just jump to a conclusion just because Natasha needed some time to think. You needed to do the same, granted it only came after Natasha walked away.

Still though, you grew frustrated because well, she could’ve just said that. You know that communication, feelings wise, was still pretty new to Natasha but you wouldn’t have asked many questions. A simple “I need a minute to think” would have sufficed. 

Your frustration grew the more you were able to think about it and sadly Wanda ended up on the other end of that. 

She huffs with each step on the treadmill. You’d gone from mental exercises, her using her powers to do things, to physical exercises. She’s only been on the treadmill for fifteen minutes. But she’d been training with you for almost two hours. 

“Give the girl a break, Y/ln.” A familiarly sultry voice meets your ears.“ Not everyone has super soldier serum running through their veins.”

Breathing softly, you look back at Wanda.“ Alright, we’re done for the day. Good job.” She accepts your high five, giving you a tired but glad grin. You watch her leave with proud eyes, your vision of the door obscured by the redhead who now stands in front of you. 

Her head tilts a little as she looks into your eyes.“ Usually I have to beg you to stay in bed with me. When I woke up it looked like you weren’t there at all.”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you huff and nod.“ I didn’t go to bed. Went for a run instead.” You do your best to keep your tone level, not giving your feelings away. 

Not that it does much since Natasha asks,“ is everything okay?” Her brows pinch together as you walk away. Moving quickly, she catches your arm and turns you around to face her.“ What’s wrong?”

“Noth-” She doesn’t want to hear that, which is made clear by her expression. It’s one of brief annoyance, quickly shifting to a sadness you’ve never seen from her before.

“Do you-” her hand drops from your arm and she takes a step back.“ Do you regret kissing me last night?” 

A mix between a chuckle and scoff falls from your lips and Natasha gaze snaps from the floor up into your eyes.“ I’m sorry but you- you think I’m the one that regrets it?”

“Well I don’t regret it.” She says with her eyebrows raised.“ I initiated it. I wanted to kiss you.” 

You breathe in deeply and slowly exhale, mentally cursing yourself.“ Why didn’t you say anything afterwards? You just went to sleep.” 

“I know. The shower felt so good. I was so tired, the second I sat down I started to fall asleep.” 

Natasha jumps slightly at the sound of your hand smacking your forehead. She watches you shake your head and quietly mumble to yourself. 

“I’m an idiot.” You finally speak up, running your hand down your face and looking into Natasha’s eyes.“ I thought- I assumed that you not saying anything and going to sleep meant you regretted it and didn’t want to talk.”

“Yeah,” she nods and purses her lips,“ you are an idiot.” A little laugh leaves her lips and you’re glad she isn’t upset at you for assuming.“ Why would I regret it when I’ve been waiting so long to kiss you?”

Her words make your eyebrows raise. A quiet, slightly disbelieving chuckle leaves your lips as you subconsciously take a step closer.“ You’ve been waiting to kiss me?” She nods, taking a step forward as well.“ How long?”

“Long enough that one kiss last night isn’t nearly enough.” Natasha raises her hand and runs her fingers down the muscle of your arm.

“Y-you wanna kiss me again?” Mentally you curse yourself for stuttering but the thought is long gone when she smirks and nods. 

When your hand reaches up to cup Natasha’s cheek, both of you instantly feel the difference in this kiss and last night’s. It’s a slow, anticipation building, lean in before your lips meet. 

That same warmth you felt the first time feels amplified. 

Natasha’s hands cup your face and you both move closer, pressed up against each other as you share in this very clearly passionate moment. 

You part a moment after, a smile breaking out on the redhead’s lips. Just seeing her smile as you open your eyes, and knowing she doesn’t regret kissing you makes you lean in again, this time pressing multiple light kisses on her lips. 

She giggles quietly, a sound you hadn’t heard from her before, and squeezes your arms. Ducking your last kiss, she turns her head and pulls you into her arms, wrapping hers around your lower back. 

You chuckle softly and return the hug, resting your chin on top of her head as you squeeze her gently. 

While there will inevitably be a discussion about this, for now that’s not important. 

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ecruzsalaz

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

I'll Hold You Just The Same

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: vampire

Everyone knows about Geralt's affliction and has for years - at least the people closest to him do - and it's not a problem anymore. During the warmer months, feeding isn't difficult; there's no shortage of bandits and criminals coming after him and if they happen to wind up with holes in their neck, well, Geralt knows well enough how to dispose of a body. It's become a necessity, one he hated at first but had grown to put up with in the past few years. The only time he has to worry is during the winter, but if things go south, his brothers are always more than willing to let him feed when he needs it. Geralt never takes more than he needs and the other Witchers never offer more than they're willing to give. They know each other well and it works. So taking Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with him hardly seems like it's going to be a problem.

Their first sign that something was bound to go wrong should have been obvious. Things happen in threes, or so they say, and the first of three happens as soon as they hit the last town heading north.

It's a little place, more of a trading post than a town, really, but they have a small bunkhouse for travellers and a shop for supplies. Geralt always stays on his way up the mountain - one last night of rest before trekking up the pass. This year, there are no free rooms.

A hunting expedition gone badly, the man serving as innkeeper says, two injured and one killed, everyone remaining is being sheltered until a sled can be brought up to take the injured into town. And that's... fine. They've slept in worse places and the innkeeper offers whatever he can for supper and comfort.

Geralt leaves Jaskier in town while he heads off to find them somewhere to sleep for the night. He's hoping for a cave or an overhang of rock, something to help keep the heat for Jaskier. He especially needs a good nights' sleep before they head out. But as he's searching, Geralt encounters the second sign.

There's been a light dusting of snow on the ground for days now. This far north, it isn't uncommon, especially so late in the year, but tonight it starts snowing heavily. Geralt finds what he's looking for, sort of. It's a small shelf of rock, enough to shelter them from the oncoming snow, but it won't do much in terms of holding heat. That, he can cope with, so long as they're out of the snow.

He goes back to collect Jaskier once he's lit a fire and cleared a space for them. They sleep under the shelf that night, and it's not as bad as some nights on the road, but Geralt still feels bad. It's the first time he's brought Jaskier home with him and he wasn't expecting to have problems immediately.

In the morning, he's feeling somewhat better. He's no less hesitant about the mountain pass than he has been since asking Jaskier to come, but they've made it through the worst of it and soon enough they'll be up in the keep with his brothers, with Vesemir.

They set out early, just after dawn, and the snow hasn't stopped yet but Geralt tries not to let that bother him. He's made worse treks, including the one year he had to leave Roach at the foot of the mountain and walk up alone. Since that year, he's been much more careful.

The snow doesn't stop, though and while Jaskier is steadfast and determined, Geralt starts to worry about him. It's not until they're halfway through the day, that Geralt realizes he hasn't fed in a couple of days. At the time, he thinks it's the third in a line of problems, and that things should be easier from then on, but he has no idea what's coming.

By early evening, the snow is falling in heavy flakes and the wind has picked up. They push through, but even Geralt is finding it hard to continue with the snow piling up toward their knees. When Jaskier stumbles, Geralt barely catches him in time to keep him out of the snow and he knows they have to stop early for the night.

"If we press on a little longer, there's a cave," Geralt says, "are you okay to keep going?"

Jaskier nods. He's gritting his teeth against the cold, Geralt knows and he hates it. Unclasping his cloak, he winds it around Jaskier's shoulders, tucking it under his chin.

"Not much longer," he promises.

And it's not. Barely ten minutes later, Jaskier is ducking into the mouth of the cave and Geralt is trying to encourage Roach in after them. The roof of the cave is tall enough, but she's hesitant nonetheless and it takes Jaskier bribing her with an apple to get her out of the snow. After that, she's quite calm and happy so lay near the fire once Geralt gets it lit.

But the morning only brings more snow, rising at least six inches up from the ground and Geralt's optimism is wearing thin. He's certain now, that this must be the third in their bad luck streak, that nothing could possibly be worse than this, but he holds out. Hopefully, the snow will stop, maybe some of it will melt and they'll be able to make it up on time.

He continues to keep up hope until the third day when he realizes how long it's been since he's fed, and then the hope he offers Jaskier is no more than platitudes. He sleeps too much and Jaskier notices, fretting over him more than usual. He's always got an eye on him, always checking in, and what can Geralt do but lie. There's nothing here for him and he knows it, his only option is to sit and wait and hope his brothers come looking for him. They know he's coming this year, they know he's bringing Jaskier.

When he falls asleep that night, it's with Jaskier pressed against his chest, facing out into the cave. He's soft and warm, but he smells fucking incredible and Geralt can't help but press his nose into the back of his neck. He wants to push further, to nip at his skin, to sink his teeth in. And fuck, Jaskier would taste so fucking good. Already his scent is practically unbearable when Geralt gets to this stage. But he can't. He won't. He'd never do anything to hurt Jaskier or to harm their friendship in any way. Jaskier has been so understanding since the beginning, Geralt can't do anything to betray his trust.

He wakes, shaking, in the middle of the night and when he opens his eyes, Jaskier is kneeling over him. Geralt thinks it's a dream at first, but Jaskier's palm cups his face and he's so warm. Geralt leans into it and Jaskier sighs.

"Geralt?" he asks, "when was the last time you fed?"

"Mmm," Geralt mumbles, "before we stopped."

"Geralt, that was a week ago. Maybe longer. You need to feed."

Geralt grits his teeth. He knows what he needs, but he also knows there's no way to do it. He won't hurt Jaskier so he has to wait. He says nothing. Jaskier, of course, has a different opinion.

"You know I'd be more than happy to offer."

"Absolutely not."

"Geralt-"

"Jaskier, no. I won't risk it."

Three days pass before Geralt gives in. Three days pass and Jaskier offers every day his pleas becoming more desperate as Geralt finds himself weaker and weaker. On the fourth day, they're sitting by the fire and Geralt sways. It takes too much effort to keep upright properly any longer and the only reason he tries is so Jaskier won't worry about him. But before he knows what's happening, Jaskier is on him, climbing into his lap with his hands on Geralt's face.

"Please," he says again and he's already tugging away to unbutton his shirt. Geralt watches, exhausted, as Jaskier pulls his shirt and doublet off, dropping them into the dirt behind him.

Geralt knows exactly what he's doing, knows he probably should let Jaskier give him this, but the thought of what he might do to him. The fear wars with a budding arousal, sparked by the way Jaskier shifts in his lap, shirtless and willing.

Jaskier leans in close enough that his thighs press in against Geralt's hips and he can practically taste the woodsmoke on Jaskier's skin. He braces his hands on Jaskier's waist and Jaskier leans in closer, tipping his head to bare his neck to Geralt. One soft hand slips up the back of his head, guiding him closer and Geralt groans softly. He wants this, he does, but this is Jaskier and he shouldn't.

"Go on, love," Jaskier whispers, "you need this. I want to give it to you."

Geralt's nose bumps under Jaskier's jaw and he's not sure which one of them is moving, but then his lips are on his skin. He presses a soft kiss to the skin, then another, and he can feel each shudder that runs through Jaskier's body. When he parts his lips, Jaskier shifts in his lap, turning slightly so the angle is better.

Geralt parts his lips, lets his teeth graze Jaskier's skin before pressing forward and biting down. As he breaks the skin, Jaskier lets out a soft sound, more needy than pained and Geralt lets the sound of it echo in his ears as he drinks from him.

He loses himself in the rush of it, only vaguely aware of Jaskier moving in his lap until Geralt draws away. There's a trickle of blood down his neck and Geralt leans in, licking it away without thinking.

His strength returned, to some extent, he turns Jaskier to face him. He didn't smell it before but the air is thick with it now, arousal and anticipation. Jaskier slips back and Geralt can feel the way his cock strains against the being of his trousers. Geralt can't exactly say he's unaffected, either.

For two days they don't talk about it.

Geralt is feeling back to normal again and Jaskier had rations for at least a couple more days, so neither of them needs to think about food. Time has become irrelevant, known only by the light coming on from the mouth of the cave. It's dark though when Jaskier approaches him again.

"I can't see you like that again," he pleads and Geralt is helpless to fight.

This time when Jaskier crawls into his lap, Geralt tugs him forward so they're pressed together, so this time, if Jaskier is aroused, he'll be able to feel it. He wants to, wants to know Jaskier is turned on by this, that's is mutually beneficial.

He presses his lips to Jaskier's neck, placing soft kisses over the mark from the previous bite, then slowly moving toward his collarbone. Jaskier is shirtless again to prevent the staining of his fine clothes and Geralt takes advantage of that, running his hands over all that bare skin.

When he pulls away, Jaskier lets out a little whine, but Geralt lifts his hand, nosing at the veins in Jaskier's wrist. He can hear his pulse, feel the beat of it under his fingers and he longs to feel that skin under his teeth. Less because he's hungry than for the way Jaskier will react to it.

Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt licks the skin before pressing down with his fangs. There's a groan of pleasure and it takes Geralt a moment to realize it's coming from him. Jaskier is stone-still, watching with wide eyes, pupils blown so only a sliver of blue is visible around them. Arousal wafts off of him and Geralt can practically feel how badly he wants this. Which is... something.

If Jaskier wants this, if he feels like this about it, who is Geralt to argue. He bites down, breaking the skin and Jaskier's arm jerks involuntarily, but as the shock passes, he relaxes, a soft moan slipping from his lips. Jaskier brings his free hand up, slipping his fingers through Geralt's hair and it feels good. Geralt presses into the touch with a hum just as Jaskier slips forward and there it is. Jaskier is hard, his cock pressed firmly between them and when Geralt draws back, Jaskier meets his eyes and rocks his hips forward.

When Geralt draws back, Jaskier surges forward and Geralt has to stop him. His lips are stained red, the tang of blood lingering, and he doubts Jaskier wants to taste it.

"But I want to kiss you," Jaskier whines and Geralt huffs a soft laugh as he lets the hand pressed to Jaskier's chest drift downward. When his fingers wrap around the jut of his cock, the kiss is forgotten.

Jaskier's hips jerk forward and Geralt fumbles between them, opening Jaskier's trousers and tugging his cock free. He strokes him slowly, paying special attention to the head, squeezing tight around it then brushing his fingertips along the underside.

Geralt spares only a moment to unbuttoning his own trousers and shifting so his cock fits against Jaskier's, sliding against him with the slightest movement. He gets one hand around them both, stroking slowly as they rock against each other, his hand source of friction more than anything else.

He wants to kiss him, wants to bite his lips and make him whine and if he didn't have Jaskier's blood in his mouth, he would. Instead, he buries his face in his neck, licks and sucks at the skin there as they grind against each other. It’s rough and dirty and uncoordinated and Jaskier would probably be horrified should anyone find out this is how he treats a lover, but Geralt couldn't ask for anything more.

Jaskier wants him at his worst - literally with a mouthful of blood - and Geralt loves him more for that than the rest of his lovers, past or present, combined. He holds Jaskier against him with his free arm, cinched around his waist and Jaskier's fingers dig into his scalp.

"Bite me," Jaskier says, breathless. It's not a question.

Geralt doesn't hesitate, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Jaskier's throat and the moan he gets in response is low and heady. Jaskier's hips jerk hard, nearly dislodging them both and then he's coming, spilling hot and wet between them and Geralt can't keep his eyes off him.

Jaskier's cock twitches with one final spurt and Geralt drops his own cock, wrapping around him to pull every last drop of pleasure from him. Jaskier's shaking before he's done, mumbling breathlessly into Geralt's skin and then he's pulling away, spreading out on his stomach between Geralt's legs.

He takes his cock without hesitation, wrapping his lips around him and swallowing him down as far as he can manage. The position is awkward, but Jaskier is talented and Geralt finds himself drawing close to the edge almost immediately. He rocks his hips lightly, thrusting shallowly between Jaskier's lips and he pushes a hand into his hair, guiding Jaskier's head as he takes control again.

When Geralt comes, he doubles over, nose nearly pressed into Jaskier's hair, and it feels so fucking good. He doesn't care that he's a mess, doesn't care that Jaskier is. That they're both covered in blood and come and whoever finds them will know exactly what happened. It doesn't matter because when Jaskier pulls off, letting Geralt's softening cock drop between his legs, he kisses him.

It's just a soft peck on the lips and Geralt couldn't fault him for it; he knows what he is and he knows how people usually react to blood. But it's a kiss, nonetheless. And he resolves to spend the entire winter at Kaer Morhen returning that kiss, again and again and again.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 15 - GHOST

----

[2009.]

Cold, unforgiving metal met the tender skin of my arm as I blocked his punch. That's going to leave a bruise. His blows were getting stronger, faster. He was testing my skills, they wanted to see how far I could be pushed. Although I wasn't far from the edge, I wasn't going to let myself fail today either.

"Focus!" He yelled.

I grimaced, ducking under his arm and landing a punch to his gut. Rookie move, but it was all I had at that moment. He grabbed my arm, quick as lightning, and dragged me by the chin so he could look me in the eye. My fists were still clenched but the exhaustion was starting to take a toll on me. I panted heavily as I tried to mask how drained I was.

With my arm still in his grasp, he said, "Who are you fighting for?"

It was almost a mantra that I was forced to reiterate every single time I fucked up. "Hydra."

He said it again, louder this time, his grip on my hand growing tighter. He could break my wrist if I didn't deliver. Hell, he could break every single limb I had. I couldn't fail.

"Hydra!" I scoffed. I belonged to them. I had to die for them. Hydra ran through my blood, and if it was ever spilled one day, it would be justified in their name.

That's what they told me.

Who was I to question them? I was nothing but a vessel, a weapon for these people. If I failed to deliver what was asked of me, I'd be killed. How ironic was that? To kill or be killed.

I hated it.

As soon as he let my arm go, I thrusted the top of my head into his face. I heard what sounded like his nose breaking and true enough, as I regained my balance and faced him, I found him wiping blood from his nose with the heel of his hand. It was satisfying, to say the least, to see that I finally made a dent.

"Perfect." He nodded.

God, it wasn't over yet.

He pulled his knives out of the holsters he wore, spinning them in the air and catching them both flawlessly. It was his signature trick. Honestly, I thought it was a bit too dramatic. But what can I say? Hydra loves their drama.

"Pay attention." He pointed the tip of the knife towards me. "Or you'll bleed."

He pounced, spinning his knives like they were toys and not murder weapons. He thrusted his right knife in the vague direction of my shoulder, I took a half-step back and circled around so I was behind him. It only took a second for him to whip around again, but I expected that move. So, I threw my leg up as soon as he did and I kicked the weapon out of his grip.

The knife spun around threateningly in the air before falling onto the concrete across the room with a thump. He didn't seem to pay any mind to his fallen weapon. That's when I remembered he had another. He twirled it around his fingers before gripping the handle and thrusting his right arm with full force, the gears of his metal arm whirring as he did so.

I thought I had it. I jumped back so he wouldn't catch my rib, but he was quick to calculate my movements. I should have known.

The pain was searing.

Blood oozed out of the newly-made wound on my calf, the knife buried to the hilt. I screamed uncontrollably as the pain of it kicked in, my body going limp immediately.

"That's enough, soldat."

Tears were falling down my face against my will. You know how sometimes your body does things you don't want it to do? I know, logically, tears were just how your body reacted to certain things. For example, being stabbed in the goddamn calf. But I knew, despite literal fucking science, the people around me took it as a sign of weakness. That's how messed up in the head they are.

But I wasn't weak. I just got through 2 hours of intensive training with the Winter Soldier while they just watched.

I'd like to see the lot of you fight him and manage to not get killed.

One of the medics went over to my side and helped me up. The Winter Soldier stepped aside and watched me with disdainful eyes. I knew I disappointed him. That alone could have fucked up my assessment. How did I not see it coming? How did I miscalculate that movement?

The Commander leaned in to talk to him as he watched me limp away. I made eye contact with both of them. The Commander's lips were moving but I couldn't make out a word of what he was saying.

Through pain-ridden eyes and a half-delirious mind, I could almost make sense of what the conversation was about.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

Next thing I know, I was being treated by Dr. Nolan in the Medical Room. I don't think I processed anything yet. My brain felt numb. My eyes were glued to the knife — now on a metal tray — that I failed to dodge.

My mind flickered through all the different scenarios that I could have went with. I was beyond frustrated with myself and with my complete and utter failure. What were they going to do with me now? They couldn't really kill me...could they?

My mind reeled back to the conversation I saw that the Soldier and the Commander had earlier. What were they talking about? Did they finally decide what to do with me? The defective agent?

I wasn't perfect. I tried to be, but I wasn't. Somehow I always found myself disagreeing with their rules and their missions, even if I carried them out anyway. Although, sometimes I couldn't help but protest. I had to. Even if the consequences would hurt me. If they knew that I'd gone against more than just a few of their regulations, there's no doubt I'd be dead within the minute.

Footsteps came through the corridor, yet I didn't even think to look up.

"Your mission." The familiar faded black of a case file was thrown into my lap carelessly, the papers crinkling in protest as it landed. I looked up to see an annoyed expression that was attached to the face of one of the high-ranking agents.

"Mission? I thought I failed the assessment." My thumbs flicked through the papers almost automatically, scanning through the details quickly. I didn't miss the red stamp on the front. This wasn't just any mission.

He–David, I think–shrugged, "The Commander asked me to hand this to you. You're leaving in an hour."

"What?"

I was...thrilled and appalled at the same time. The whole point of the assessment was for them to see that I was worthy enough to be placed on important missions like these. If they trusted me with it, that means I succeeded.

"In an hour?" Dr. Nolan chipped in. "She hasn't fully recovered from her stab wound yet. You need at least two to three weeks of rest."

The red star-shaped stamp looked even more brighter in that moment, even if the room was poorly lit. "I've had worse. I can survive a limp."

"You won't even be able to walk." He raised an eyebrow at me in disagreement. Somewhere deep down, I knew I should listen to him. I wasn't in the best shape for a fight, let alone a mission like this one.

David huffed, "Orders are orders."

Then my brain clicked back into place. David was right. I nodded once. "I'll be at the hangar in 30 minutes."

"You better gear up by then. They wont wait up for you."

Dr. Nolan sighed and shook his head before wrapping my leg up with bandage. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

———

Snow was blowing in my face. The cold seeped through my coat, prickling my skin like tiny little needles made of ice.

"Any minute now." He spoke through the earpiece.

We were supposed to ambush a S.H.I.E.L.D operation that was a threat to Hydra. I wasn't entirely sure why I was sent along with the Winter Soldier, but I wasn't in the place to argue. Not when I just barely survived the assessment.

"Get in position." I crouched down, trying to smother a whimper that threatened to escape my throat. My calf was burning, but that wasn't a priority right now. Everything was always burning somehow, and I learned to ignore it overtime. I scanned the area through the scope of my sniper rifle. As soon as a car came into view, I steadied my hand on the trigger.

"Now."

Four continuous shots for each tire. Every single one blew out and the car spun out of control, spinning from left to right. It was a narrow road, the plan was bound to work to our liking. After a few nasty turns, the car swerved off the cliff, leaving nothing but dust and debris in it's place.

"They're not dead yet. Keep an eye out."

It was quicker than I expected, but I spotted two figures climbing out of the wreck after a while. Their movements were slow and staggered, but alive nonetheless.

"Target acquired."

I watched through the scope as he stepped out of his position in the shadows. One of the figures moved in front of the other, shielding them with their own body. I knew it was useless. He'd kill them both anyway.

A single shot rang out. I could picture the bullet going through one body to the other. They both dropped to the ground, dead.

"Target eliminated."

"Roger."

He didn't say a word. I didn't hear the usual rustle of his movements through the earpiece. Silence engulfed me. Usually, I wouldn't be so unnerved. He was always silent. But this time it felt...strange. I stayed where I was, unmoving. Something in my head told me I shouldn't move, shouldn't speak.

It seemed too easy.

I don't know what it was, but I didn't take my eyes off him. Something about this whole thing seemed...off. He could have completed this mission alone.

Why did they ask me to go with him?

He turned away from the bodies and faced me. I gulped, hands trembling as I held my rifle reluctantly. What was he doing?

"Sir?" I managed to say. Everything was telling me to RUN. NOW.

Slowly, he raised his gun and pointed it towards me.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

My whole body trembled at the sight before me.

"Take the girl on your next mission. I need you to take her out. She's a threat to us, soldier. She's defective. Eliminate her. "

I was right.

Bang! The sound of a gunshot snapped me back to reality. It was real. They wanted to kill me. The Winter Soldier was standing ten feet away from me with a gun in his hand, ready to kill. To eliminate the threat.

Out of reflex, I pulled the trigger of my rifle that was pointed to his head, only to find it empty.

Four bullets. They only gave me four bullets and nothing more.

Without thinking, I ran. I dropped the rifle and ran as fast as my legs could take me. I heard another gunshot, closer this time. That's when I started to feel a strange sort of stinging at the back of my leg. The pressure felt strenuous as I continued to sprint in the snow.

Oh, God...Dr. Nolan was right.

I could feel the pain taking over once more as my stitches started to pop. Warm, thick liquid ran down my leg and seeped through the pants of my uniform as the wound on my calf bled out. Between the stinging cold and the stinging pain, I was starting to feel hopeless. I couldn't possibly go against him.

Bang!

Closer this time. I was running blindly into a vast, wide-open landscape of infinite snow. Not only that, but I was also leaving behind a trail of blood behind me. Deep scarlet upon stark white. What a contrast. Was this Hansel and Gretel or some shit?

"You cannot run forever." His voice was crisp, threatening. I couldn't take the fear that ran cold through me. If I stopped running now, I wouldn't ever get up again. He was the embodiment of fear, and he was chasing me.

I tore off my earpiece and threw it behind me. How could I have been so foolish today? Of course they sent him out here to kill me.

All along I thought I was playing the part perfectly. But, maybe I didn't hide my doubts of Hydra as well as I thought I had. Did they find out about everything I've failed to do?

How could I have killed those innocent children? How could I have murdered that innocent family? Or that innocent man who just so happened to stumble across a Hydra operation?

I was fine with the blood and the gore. I was used to that. The only thing that never sat right with me was when the innocent had to be slaughtered. The first time I went through with it, they haunted my dreams. Their animalistic cries for mercy, their howls of pain...I couldn't live with myself.

They were right. I was defective. I didn't have the makings of a Hydra agent. I wasn't as ruthless as I should be.

I ran and ran, hoping that he was far behind me. The snow was getting thicker by the minute, it was getting harder for me to see and to navigate.

I ran until my aching feet hit the pavement of a road that led to a small village. It looked homely, with houses and shops lined up along the road. Lanterns hung from roof to roof, providing light in the heavy snowfall. If I didn't know any better, I'd try to hide there. But I knew he would only tear it apart and kill everyone on sight just to eliminate me.

Then I sensed footsteps behind me. There was no time to think. It was my only option.

I sneaked through the worn paths of the area, trying my best to lay low. It didn't help that I was sporting a mean limp and bleeding all over the place. People saw me and they avoided me. I started to wonder why I thought heading here would help me. I scanned the area for anything, anything that would help. A weapon, a car, a spot that I could take shelter in...

Then, out of nowhere, I bumped into a woman.

"Oh!"

I held onto her arms as I tried to keep us both from falling. The woman was wearing a niqab. Her piercing green eyes looked right at me, distracting me from my original plan for a moment.

"Are you alright?" She asked, gently.

I must have looked horrible. Sweaty and bloody with panicked eyes. I didn't notice that her arms were still locked on mine, keeping me upright.

That's when I felt it, the surge of energy suddenly coursing through me. It was a peculiar sensation, but I welcomed it. Her green eyes widened. I knew she felt it too.

"You're-" she gasped, trying to pull away from me. I held onto her tighter, not wanting to let go just yet.

"Please." I begged. "It won't hurt."

I had to go before he came.

I heard gunshots behind me. I couldn't let him get to me, not when I just found the key to my escape.

"Who are you?" The woman whispered, struggling against me.

"Someone you’ll help escape death." I looked into her eyes, trying to let her see how desperate I was. I didn't want to take anything else from her but this.

Her eyes jumped from mine to behind me, before flickering back to look at me again. "You're like me, aren't you?"

"You don't need to do anything." I assured her. "I just need to leave."

It took a second of hesitation for her, but slowly, she nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, but I never heard what it was. Because that's when the screaming erupted.

I closed my eyes and teleported myself the fuck out of there.

[jean-kayak]

I Fell For You, No Literally

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend comes walking back into your life, causing a whole bunch of emotions to resurface

Pairing: Terushima Yuuji x black!fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of past relationships, like two handfuls of angst, real fluffy at the end, A LOT of dialogue at the end, Terushima being soft, brief mentions of sickness (like real brief), hurt/comfort, exes-to-lovers?, a huge misunderstanding, it gets really stressful at one point in this thing, implied past reader x oc, smut!, fingering (f. receiving), oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, overstimulation, little bit of aftercare, Terushima has a dick piercing LMAO, domestic things, mentions of alcohol consumption (reader gets drunk), it’s basically an emotional rollercoaster, Terushima being suggestive *sighs* i think i covered everything

Word Count: 12,881 (BITCH im sorry it wasn’t supposed to be this long)

A/N: This was originally going to be apart of the writing event that I was doing, but this was really long, and it took me a little bit longer than I thought so I figured I would just do it separately. And also I tried to do fluffy smut, I don’t really know if I did that lmao. But anyways, enjoy! 

P.S.: I also gave the reader a name bc this is really long!

All characters are 18+!!

"I think I have more lights in the back, I'll go get them," your best friend tells you, and you nod as you continue to hang up the lights on the top of your shop.

Although you realize your mistake when you lean over, and the ladder starts to slip. "Shit," you whisper, and you feel your heart drop, fear coursing through your body as you feel the ladder going down and not stopping.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact on the freezing cold concrete, but it never comes. "Oh, my God, are you okay?!" It's a deeper voice, and you open your eyes to see that you're nowhere near the ground and that you're in someone's arms.

You're still a bit shaken from the fear of the fall, but the voice and the scent are all too familiar and it brings you back fairly quickly. You look up and see a face that you never thought you'd see again.

"You know, I'd always say you'd fallen for me," he quips, and you roll your eyes as you try to squirm out of his grip. "Wait, where you going? I like holding you like this." You chuckle softly as you roll your eyes playfully, and he lets you down. "But seriously, are you okay?"

You release a deep breath. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for saving me, Terushima."

He takes a few steps closer to you. "Come on, baby, you don't have to be so formal with me." You scoff as you take a step back, fully taking him in.

Terushima Yuuji. Your ex-boyfriend. Your relationship lasted all through high school and your first year of college until things went rocky. You prefer not to think about the details, but you can't not think about how good he looks right now.

He's still blond, with the undercut, and piercings, and even through his winter clothes, you can tell he's filled out a lot since you last saw him. Matter of fact, how long has it been? Three, four years?

"Three and a half," you flinch slightly. Shit, were you thinking out loud? His eyes rake down your figure, and even in the cold, you can feel the heat course through your body. "You look good."

"So do you," you reply, not really knowing what to say. How are you even supposed to talk to your exes? You've had others besides him, but you haven't made contact with them since you called it off.

There's a weird tension in the air, and you don't know what to say to break it, but luckily Kiya comes out of your shop, her eyes widening when they land on Terushima. "Oh, now, this is a surprise," she says, smirking as she looks between the two of you. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know, just being her knight in shining armor and catching her from falling off the ladder," he tells her smugly, and she looks at you in horror.

"Via, what did I tell you about doing things on the ladder without me watching you?" she scolds, and you shrug as you kick at the ground.

"I'm sorry, okay? And besides, I think that's enough lights for the front don't you think?" you ask, looking at the front of the shop to take in your work. Kiya follows suit, taking in the lights.

"Yeah, they look good. And I would tell you good job, but you almost killed yourself in the process." You roll your eyes again as you scoff. "Thank you, Terushima," she says, and he waves her off.

"Any time." So he still has that smug, confident personality. That hasn't changed much. You clear your throat as you gesture to the door.

"Well, I should probably open up shop. Thank you, Terushima, I really appreciate you catching me."

"C'mon, what'd I tell you about the name?" You tilt your head as you raise an eyebrow.

"See ya around, Terushima." And you're walking through the door.

Kiya comes in behind you a few seconds later, and you just brace yourself for the conversation that's about to happen and is going to last at least twenty minutes. "Holy crap, he is still hot as hell." You sigh as you put on your apron. You don't respond, and she knows you're agreeing with her, so he continues talking.

"No, Kiya, don't even go there."

"What? What's wrong with rekindling the flame, at least a little?"

"You remember how we left off," you remind her, and you see her wave you off before washing her hands.

"Okay, that was a few years ago. People change."

You scoff. "Yeah, I doubt he's changed." The conversation is quickly put to bed as people start to come in, and you submerge yourself in your cooking.

This week was your shopping week, but Kiya had family things so you're at the store by yourself, collecting a ton of food to stockpile for the shop. You feel a headache coming on as you cross out another item off the list, your vision full of lines every time you look up from the crumpled piece of paper.

You also have to carry and put all of these groceries in your car, and you want to whine in annoyance, that headache starting to beat behind your eyelids, and the cold isn't helping either. "You look like you could use some help, m'lady." You sigh heavily, recognizing the voice immediately.

"You're not following me are you, Terushima?" you ask, playfully, but a part of you is serious.

"Of course not, but it seems that whenever you're in trouble, I'm always around." You let out a surprised laugh, but you don't turn your attention to him, keeping it focused on putting the groceries in your car. "Let me help you," he offers, already moving to grab a bag, but you stop him.

"I got it, it's fine. Thanks anyway," you quickly tell him before catching your breath and starting again.

"Via, seriously, let me help you." Your movements falter at the nickname. Even though everyone calls you that, it always sounded different coming from him. You want to scoff at how easily your body reacted to it. You don't have the energy to fight, so you scoot over, giving him enough room to help pile the bags in your car. "So, you have your own shop," he starts, and is he really trying to make casual conversation right now?

"Yeah, I do," you respond, deciding to partake in whatever this is.

"American, right?" he asks, and you hate how he still remembers, and you drop the bag into your car a little bit more aggressively.

"Yeah. We have Japanese as well, but Kiya knows more about that than I do." He helps you put the last bag in, closing the trunk shut and returning the shopping cart.

"Well, that's great. I'm happy for you," he tells you when he gets back, and you nod as you purse your lips.

"Thanks." And there's that awkward tension again. Why was he trying to act like everything was normal? Why is he talking to you like nothing happened between you two? "Listen, Te--" You're cut off by his phone ringing, and he quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket and grimacing when he looks at the screen.

"I have to take this, uh--"

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. "Go ahead, it's okay. Thanks again," you say, quickly signaling the end of whatever this conversation was. You don't give him another look, turning around and getting into your car, thankful that it's still warm. You crank the car up and you look out the window as you do, seeing Terushima walking away on the phone.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel. What are the fucking chances that he out of all people would walk back into your life? You take another deep breath. Thinking about it too much will only make your headache worse. You give him one last glance before driving off, hoping that you're actually getting away from him this time.

~

"You saw him again at the store?" Kiya asks, her eyes wide as she sits up on the couch. You roll your eyes from exhaustion as you stab your fork into your takeout.

"Yes, he said it's like whenever I'm in trouble, he's always around." You stab your food again, but you don't know if it's out of annoyance or anger this time.

"Okay, Via, come on, this is like a sign, isn't it?" You give her a look before shaking your head. "Why not?"

"Kiya, you were there through all of it. He's...he's not--he's probably still the same," you say, trailing off quietly, and Kiya's face turns into concern as she finally sees that the hurt you've tried to push back down is now coming to the surface. She moves closer to you on the couch before wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into her.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I just thought, maybe this one could be different. Different from those other douches you were seeing." You huff slightly, a smile forming on your face as you remember everything she said about what she didn't like about every last one of your exes.

Some of them were just flings, others could've easily gone further, but they always broke it off. You don't really know the reason, but you've sort of come to terms with it. Maybe dating just isn't your thing right now. "Yeah, I know," you say, burrowing yourself further into her embrace. "It's just, I don't know, what if it happens all over again?"

"If that does happen again, then I'll actually kill him this time." Both of you laugh at her words before she speaks up again. "But, all that aside, it's up to you what you want to do. Don't listen to me, I'm just the crazy best friend."

Your smile grows wider. "Crazy, you definitely are."

"Hey!" she says, shoving you away playfully, and you both dive back into laughter as you finish your takeout and the cheesy rom-com playing on the TV.

You sigh as you wipe off the bar counter, the shop quiet due to the fact that you're about an hour and a half from closing. You usually enjoy the serenity, grateful that it's not a rush like it is during mid-morning, lunch, and dinner. Around this time, you and Kiya usually get a chance to sit down and take a break.

You finish scrubbing off a stubborn stain on the counter when you hear the door open. "Welcome, I'll be with you in a moment," you greet out of habit without even looking up as you turn around to throw the rag into the sink.

"The place looks great." The familiar voice almost makes you stop in your tracks, but you recover quickly, wiping your hands off on a towel before turning to see Terushima sitting in the middle of the bar counter. You walk over to him, standing right in front of the counter, feeling like the counter isn't a big enough gap between the two of you.

"Thank you," you tell him honestly as you plant your hands on the edge of the counter. "What can I get for you?"

He smirks at you before he answers. "We both know you already know what I want," he says confidently, and you want to punch yourself because of the fact that you still know what his favorite food is even after you've been broken up.

"Coming right up." You turn around quickly, getting started on his order so that you can get him out of here as fast as possible before Kiya can see him. Unfortunately, that isn't the case, and she comes waltzing in from her office, her eyebrows raised high.

"Oh?" she starts, her voice a whisper. "What's he doing here?" she asks, and you shrug.

"I dunno. He just walked in here like a few minutes ago." You turn your head to look at him over his shoulder, and you see that he's taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. You notice that he's got a tattoo on his left arm that snakes all around his upper arm. Yeah, he's definitely gotten bigger since you've last seen him.

He looks up from his phone, catching you in the act, and he smirks at you before flexing his muscles, and your face heats up quickly, your head turning back to what you're doing. "He actually ordered something?" Kiya asks playfully with a huff, and you return it as you flip the patty.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. I thought he'd be here to bother me again," you admit.

"Which is what you would've wanted, right?" she teases, and you shove at her which makes her laugh, and yours soon follows.

"You guys talking about me?" you hear him speak up, and you roll your eyes with a scoff as you glance at him.

"Yeah," Kiya starts, "we were talking about how we could've closed up early if it weren't for you," she tells him, and you chuckle softly as you continue cooking.

"Well, I had to try the food for myself," he responds, and Kiya hums as she nods, obviously believing that he's not telling the entire truth. She starts to walk away back towards her office, but not before she nudges you softly, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You give her a look before waving her off.

Once she's left, you shudder lightly, feeling his eyes on you. You know he's watching you and everything you're doing. His eyes never leave you, watching you as you move along through the kitchen. You can't remember the last time you felt so heated under someone's gaze.

But you do remember that it took absolutely nothing for you to melt for him, and you internally shake the thoughts that are starting to pool into your head. You finish his food, sliding the plate to him softly, his drink following shortly. "Enjoy," you tell him easily, and he starts speaking before you can turn around.

"Thanks, but I think there's something that I want that's not on the menu." You roll your eyes, knowing what he's implying, but you play dumb anyway, leaning forward on the counter, resting your chin in your palm.

"Oh, and what would that be?" you ask, and he's leaning in, his face dangerously close to yours. He moves his eyes from yours to your lips before bringing them back up to your eyes. You feel your breath starting to pick up, your mouth falling open slightly, but you don't move away from him. You can't.

And then he's smirking at you again, and your knees almost give out. "You."

There's a knock on the door, and you let out an exasperated sigh that echoes throughout the walls of your apartment. You grab the baby currently sitting on the floor in the middle of your living room as another knock comes from the door. "I'm coming! Just give me a second!" you yell, your thin patience starting to disappear.

You walk to the door, yanking it open, getting ready to yell at whoever is presently throwing a monkey wrench into your day. "What are you doing here?" you deadpan, blinking a few times in confusion as you take in Terushima standing outside your apartment. "Actually, how do you even know where I live?"

He has the actual audacity to look sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck as he looks down. "I may or may not have gotten it from Kiya." You roll your eyes. Of course, it would be her. You really are going to kill her. Your niece starts fussing and you sigh. You really don't have time for this right now.

"If you wanna come in, come in," you rush out as you make your way back into your apartment. You vaguely hear the sound of the door closing and some footsteps, but you pay the sounds no mind as you set your niece in her high chair.

The first thing Terushima didn't expect when the door swung open was for you to have a baby in your arms. That alone almost distracted him from how you looked. Your hair was thrown together in a ponytail, curls falling out of it. Your shirt is covered in all kinds of stains, along with the sweatpants you're currently wearing, but Terushima thinks that you look amazing.

He slips off his coat and his shoes, throwing his scarf over his jacket before slowly making his way into the kitchen where you disappeared to. He takes in your apartment, the decorating and furnishing matching your personality to a T. The sound of fussing brings his attention to the baby that you were holding not too long ago, and he hears you speak.

"I know you're hungry, sweet girl," you say, opening the fridge. "What do you want?" you ask her even though you know she can't respond. Terushima smiles fondly as he sits down next to her, resting his arms on the island in front of him. "You want bananas?" You lift your head to look at her, and when she fusses, you try again. "How about peas and carrots?" Both her and Terushima's face screw up, and you smile softly as you turn back towards the fridge.

"Let's see," you bend over to look further into the fridge, and his eyes zero in on your ass before he snaps himself out of it. "Strawberries?" you ask hopeful, and when she laughs lightly, you smile before pulling out the container and warming it up with your hands as you bump the fridge closed.

You walk over to a drawer, opening it to pull out a small spoon before bumping it closed with your hip. The movement makes your boobs sway, and Terushima can't help but notice that he can see your nipples through your thin t-shirt. "Eyes up here, perv." Your words jolt him out of his spell, and he smirks at you as he shrugs.

"What can I say? They're nice tits." You scoff at his words, trying to fight the heat rising in your cheeks that he was checking you out, and it dawns on you how you actually look right now. You feel a little bit embarrassed, but the damage is already been done, and could you really blame yourself? You've been watching a baby all day.

Satisfied with your reaction, he turns to your niece, leaning forward to pinch her cheek softly, which makes her laugh. "And who is this pretty lady?" he asks as you smile at the interaction before walking to stand at the opposite side of the island.

"This is my niece, MJ." You set down the container of mushed food, taking off the lid before swirling around the food. You look up to see Terushima hold out a finger which she immediately grabs onto, and she smiles widely at him. "She seems to like you," you comment, feeling conflicted at the way your heart skips at their interactions. "You wanna feed her?"

You push the bowl his way, and he picks up the spoon with his other hand, his finger on his hand still being held hostage by your niece's hand. He feeds her with ease, and she even seems to be accepting the food a lot better from him than from you. "Do you think you could watch her while I get in the shower?" you ask. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Yeah, go ahead. We'll be fine," he tells you without even looking your way.

"Are you sure?"

He finally looks at you after wiping some of the food off of her face with the spoon. "I'm sure, Via. I can handle it. Go do what you need to do." He quickly turns his attention back to MJ, and you quickly dart out of the kitchen making your way to your room.

You've been in the shower for about ten minutes, and the only thing Terushima keeps thinking about is the water running down your naked body, and he keeps shaking his head, forcing the images out of his head.

MJ's already eaten all of the food, and Terushima lightly presses on her stomach, seeing that she's completely full, and he looks around to see all of her toys in the living room. He finds the baby wipes, cleaning her up before he takes her out of the high chair and carries her to the living room.

He sets her down on the blanket you have out for her, and she immediately moves towards one of the toys as he sits on the floor next to her. Terushima's plan was mostly to bother you when he came over, and the last thing he expected was for him to be babysitting. He doesn't mind it though, he'll take any time he can spend with you. He'll take as much as he can in order to try to get you back.

He doesn't really know why he came to America, but part of him knows it was because of you. He knows that after you both graduated college, you moved back here and started your own shop. He hates how things ended between the two of you, and he wants to fix it, but he knows he's going to work hard especially because of how bad he hurt you.

He's been punching himself for three and a half years because of how stupid he was back then. If he could back in time and punch himself, he would curb stomp himself instead. He notices that he doesn't hear the water running anymore, and then he hears a door open. And he thought the clothes you had on before made you look good.

You walk out into the living room, your hair damp from the shower, and you're wearing a tank top and shorts, and he's glad you have a bra on this time. You're definitely not the same girl he dated back then. At all. "She wasn't too much trouble?" Your words jolt him out of his trance, and he forces himself to look at your eyes.

"No, she was not," he says, standing up before picking her up. He plants a small kiss on her head, but she's preoccupied with the toy in her hands to notice. "She was an angel." You sigh in relief, and Terushima moves her higher up on his hip. "Were you cooking something before I got here?" he asks, recalling something smelling really good vaguely filling his nostrils. Now, that smell has been replaced by your scent due to the fact you're standing so close to him.

"I was," you say, turning to walk into the kitchen, and he follows behind you while MJ smacks him in the face. "It was a new recipe," you continue, opening the oven. Terushima almost delays his response, his eyes zeroing on your ass again, but he manages to catch himself.

"New recipe for what?" he asks, and he's thankful when you stand up straight even though it's not that much better. When you set the pan down on the stove, you glance behind you nervously before speaking.

"It was a new recipe for cheeseburgers," you say, and he almost misses it, but he smirks as he walks around the island to stand beside you. You'd been keeping the burgers in the oven to keep them warm, and he looks down at them.

"They look really good," he comments. "You weren't thinking about me, were ya?" He has to jab at you, loving your reaction as you glare at him before looking down. "Can I try it?" he asks, and you nod before getting a knife to cut the burger in half. You grab a piece, bringing it to his mouth, and he puts the whole piece in his mouth, making sure to wraps his lips around your fingers briefly before pulling away.

The action has you feeling things that you shouldn't, and the moan he releases while he closes his eyes doesn't help either. "Oh, my God, that is amazing."

You feel your heart flutter at the compliment. "Really?" you ask softly, and he looks at you like you're crazy.

"Are you serious? This is the best thing I've ever tasted." He grabs the other half, stuffing it in his mouth before you can stop him. "Wow, you really are an amazing cook." You hate how easily your face heats up at the praise, and you just respond with a shrug. He reaches for another burger, and you grab his wrist before he can grab another one.

"You can't eat all of these!" you chastise. "I can make you some if you want me to." He uses the fact that you're still holding onto his wrist as an advantage, yanking his arm forward which causes you to bump into him. He barely moves, just wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him.

"That sounds good. Thanks." You both lose yourselves in each other's eyes, time seeming to slow down as you feel your body going warm all over. God, you both missed being close to each other like this. You feel yourself starting to lean closer to him, your breaths started to mingle when MJ cries out, startling the both of you out of the spell you were in.

You jump away from him as you slightly shake your head. You did not almost kiss him. You quickly turn your attention to your niece, plucking her from his arm before walking back to the living room. Terushima sighs heavily as he puts the tray back into the oven, giving himself something to do to try to distract himself.

What would've happened if he had kissed you? Would you have kissed him back, or would you have pushed him away? He knows he's making some progress, but he doesn't know if kissing you would've ruined all of that. Do you want to kiss him? He sure wants to kiss you. He hasn't felt your lips on his in so long, and he wants to feel them so bad.

He forces those thoughts out of his head, and just as he's about to walk back into the living room, there's a knock on the door. "I'll get it," he tells you when he sees you about to stand up. He jogs to the door, and he opens it before almost being knocked down by two kids running past him.

"Boys, what did I tell you about that--Terushima?" The voice is filled with shock and confusion, and when he steadies himself, he looks at who's standing in front of him.

"Autumn?" he asks, and he steps to the side to let her in, closing the door behind him. "It's been a minute," he says, and she scoffs.

"It's been longer than a minute," she says almost in disbelief that he's standing in front of her. You walk to your sister with her daughter in your arms with your eyebrows raised.

"Aut, you wanna explain what this is?" you ask, gesturing towards the noisy boys running through your apartment. They run into your legs, both grabbing one, luckily you don't falter, still glaring holes into your sister.

"Auntie Via!" they both yell at the same time, Terushima wincing at the loud volume, and Autumn gives you a sheepish look.

"Look, something came up at the last minute, and I didn't know what else to do," she tells you, and you blink slowly.

"We have another sibling!" you argue, and she smiles at you.

"Yeah, but I don't trust him as much as I trust you," she says like that'll work, and you give her a deadpanned look. "I'm sorry, but I shouldn't be long, I promise. I owe you one," she continues, and you sigh as you roll your eyes.

"Fine," you give in, and she jumps up before giving you a hug on the side that isn't holding her daughter. She starts to head towards the door, and she waves goodbye to her kids, who really aren't paying her any mind, and she quickly slips out the door before they can see that she's leaving.

Your nephews are now focused on Terushima, prodding him with questions about his piercings and his tattoos. "I'm sorry about this," you tell him, and he looks up at you as he shrugs.

"I don't mind. I can stay if you want me to." He moves to go to the living room, but the boys jump on his legs, and he has to drag them to the living room as he walks.

"I can't ask you to do that," you say, smiling at him and your nephews.

"That's okay," he says, "You're not asking me. I'll stay," he concludes before sending a wink over his shoulder.

~

Turns out Autumn's "I won't be long" turned into five hours. Yeah, she definitely owes you. You're thankful that Terushima stayed, he was able to occupy the kids while you got stuff done that you had planned to do today. But you also hate how domestic it all felt, and it makes your heart do something weird. Like it doesn't know how to feel about the whole thing.

He even somehow managed to feed MJ while keeping your nephews distracted so that you could make dinner. You all eat in the living room, watching a movie that's more so for the boys, while MJ keeps herself entertained in her bouncer. When you all have finished, Terushima takes the dishes and even washes them before planting himself right next to you on the couch.

You notice that MJ is starting to get sleepy, she keeps rubbing her eyes and her bouncing is beginning to slow down. You grab her out of the bouncer, rocking her softly until she falls asleep. You're so glad that she doesn't fight sleep like her brothers did. You start to feel tired yourself, your eyelids feeling heavy, and Terushima seems to notice because he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into him.

You don't even fight it, his body heat pulling you further into sleep. As you're drifting off, you feel someone moving your arm, and you look down to see your nephews laying on either side of you and Terushima, laying down in your laps. You smile fondly as you rub his back before laying your head down on Terushima's shoulder. And before you fully fall asleep, you feel him kiss your forehead.

When Autumn uses her key to get into your place, she doesn't expect to see all of you asleep on the couch along with a questionable guy, but she can't help but smile as she pulls out her phone to take a picture. Once she's got them, she flicks your forehead. Your face scrunches up before you're blinking sleepily. "Oh, hey, you're back," you say, your voice filled with sleep. "Took you long enough."

She laughs quietly as she grabs MJ. "I know, I'm sorry," she whispers. "The twins weren't too much trouble, were they?" she asks, rocking her daughter back to sleep when she stirs.

"Then they usually are? No, not this time." You both exchange a soft chuckle before you carefully remove yourself out of Terushima's grip, not wanting to wake him, and you freeze when he shifts, but he just rolls his head to face the other way.

You help Autumn load her kids in the car, all of them still fast asleep. "I think they've only been asleep for about thirty minutes," you guestimate and she nods, but you know she wants to talk to you about the massive elephant in the room. You sigh. "Go ahead. Let it out."

"What the hell is he doing here? And in your apartment of all places?" You can hear a faint sound of disappointment in her voice considering the fact that you told her what he did to you and what led to your breakup.

You throw your hands up as you shrug. "I don't know. I didn't even know he was here. I found out when he caught me after I fell off my ladder." Her eyes go wide, and you wave her off before she can yell at you. "I didn't know he would be coming over here today either," you admit, and you sigh as you shove your hands into your jacket pockets.

"I just don't want you to get hurt again," she says, and you nod. "You've got nearly four years unaccounted for." You nod again, understanding what she's saying.

"I know, I know, but I don't know. He seems different now," you explain lamely, and you hear her sigh before you raise your head to meet hers.

"I know you don't want to hear a lecture from me, but be careful Via," she warns, and you nod firmly before moving in to give her a hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Text me when you get home," you tell her when you pull away. You watch her get in the car and drive off. You sigh again, watching the puff of air disappear into the chilly, night air before you make your way back to your apartment. You smile softly when you see that Terushima is still in the same position you left him in.

You take off your jacket, warming your hands up as you walk over to him. "Teru," you whisper, and when he doesn't respond, you tap him lightly. "Teru," you repeat, and you jump slightly when he grabs your wrist quickly, and he peels his eyes open.

"Your hands are freezing." You chuckle lightly as you see him look around. "The kids are gone?" he asks, rubbing his eyes with his palm.

"Yeah, my sister came and got them." He hums before he starts smiling widely, and your eyebrows come together as you look at him. "What are you smiling about?"

"You called me Teru." You feel your face heat up for the millionth time, and you scoff softly as you move to turn away, but he stops you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him. He starts to stretch out on the couch, but you don't move, and he pulls you down with a little more force. "Lay with me," he murmurs, his body starting to drift off.

"You need to go home," you tell him, the nickname on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. He whines before pulling you down, making you fall onto him, and he traps you with his arms.

"I'll go home when I'm not tired." You chuckle again, situating yourself so that you're comfortable, and you notice that he's staring at you.

"What?" you ask, fighting the urge to shrink under his gaze. He brushes a strand of hair from your face before he rubs your cheek softly with his thumb, and you lean into the touch.

"You're just so beautiful," he whispers, and you huff as you look away, even your ears heating up at the compliment. "Hey." He turns your face so that you're looking at him again. "Can I kiss you?" There's something in your head that's telling you that you're already too deep and that doing this is a really bad idea, but it doesn't win.

You both lean in, and when your lips meet, you feel like you're back in high school, kissing him for the first time all over again. Tingles are sent all through your body as you sigh contently, and you feel yourself falling in love with him all over again. You know this is bad, but you can't bring yourself to care, blaming it on your fatigue.

He pulls away, a sleepy smirk on his face as he pulls you closer to him, your face buried in his neck. "Man, I've missed you so much." You feel your heart flutter at his words, and you're scared to respond with the same thing even though it's clear as day, but the soft snores filling your ears tell you that you don't have to worry about response right now.

Things seemed to do a complete one-eighty after that night. You thought when you would've woken up the next day, things would've been awkward, but to your surprise, you found yourself alone on the couch, and the smell of breakfast food filling your nose. He had made you breakfast, then sent you off to work with a kiss goodbye and a promise to call you later, which you wish you've would've let out when you were telling everything to Kiya.

"So, you guys are dating now?" she asks as she pours a cup of coffee for a customer.

"I don't know, I wouldn't call it that?" you say, unsure of where you both really stand right now. You serve two more plates to a table, and Kiya continues the conversation when you come back.

"But you guys have kissed?" she argues, and you respond with a shrug. "I don't know, from what you've told me, it seems like you two are back together."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it," you notice, and she replies with a pout as she tilts her head and you sigh. "Look, I know how things left off between us, but we'll talk about it," you try, and she holds her hands up.

"I'm not trying to tell you who to date or what to do. I just want you to be careful." You nod quickly at the repeat of words, and you really appreciate how much Kiya and Autumn care for you, and you smile as you nudge her.

"I know, thanks for looking out for me," you tell her, and she gives you a smile.

"Of course, that's what I'm here for."

Naturally, things are very prone to blow up in your face, and the blow-up happens about three weeks later. Everything with Terushima has been going pretty smoothly, both of you agreeing to talk about how things were left those years ago. He had been spending a lot more time over at your place, even more than you were spending at his. He'd been helping you babysit whenever your sister had to drop them off. It was like he had inched his way back into your life and planted himself there.

You decided to surprise him and make some of the burgers that he loved the first he came over. You can't help but bound happily to his apartment, the burgers in a plastic container, warm in your hands, and you finally get to his apartment, but just as you're about to knock, you hear laughing. Your hand stops midway as you lean in to put your ear against the door, careful not to alert anyone inside.

You assume it was the TV, but as you listen closely, you can hear Terushima's voice, but you feel your heart shatters when you hear a woman's voice coming from inside. You feel the tears forming in your eyes as you take in more of the conversation before you hear them erupt into laughter.

You finally find it in you to move, slamming the container on the ground before hurrying away from the door, your vision blurry from the tears. You were so stupid, so pathetic. You were so easy, that you fell for it. Again. And you thought that he had changed. You were dumb enough to think that things would be different this time around.

~

You don't tell anyone what happened, and you don't talk to Terushima. You don't even tell him what you heard, you just stop talking to him. It's not like you had time anyway. You and Kiya were hosting a Christmas party are your shop (her idea, not yours) and you barely had any time to really sit down and breathe. You both spent all day making the food, that you barely had time to sit down.

You luckily had enough time to run home and get in the shower to get ready. You came back just in time for the party to be in full swing, both you and Kiya's families here along with some friends. You've greeted everyone, and now you're just standing around, enjoying the atmosphere around you, while at the same time feeling a little bit insecure about the dress that Kiya made you wear.

It's a red sweater dress that's off the shoulder, but it hugs your body, stopping very close to the bottom of your ass with thigh-high boots. Why she had you wear this, you have no idea, but you decide that you're going to go change when she's preoccupied. "Via." You turn around, your heart dropping at the sight of him in front of you, and you hate how good he looks right now.

He walks closer to you, and his scent fills your nostrils, the way he fills out his suit should be illegal. "You look, wow," he says, shaking his head at a loss for words.

"Ridiculous, I know," you say, pulling at the hem of your dress and he scoffs.

"Gorgeous." You want to accept the compliment, but just looking at him makes you angry and upset at the same time. You mumble a soft thanks, and you're trying to find an excuse to get out of this conversation when he speaks up again. "You haven't been answering my texts or my calls," he starts, and you look away from him as you find an answer.

"Terushima, listen--"

"Via?" You turn your head towards the soft voice, and your eyes widen at the man walking towards you. He gives you a hug, and you reluctantly hug him back, disarray raging inside of your head.

"Kaleb! What are you doing here?" you ask incredulously, and he gives you a quick look of confusion before it's replaced with a smile.

"You invited me?" You raise your eyebrows. You did not invite this man to this party. You didn't even invite Terushima, and they coincidentally show up here? You internally roll your eyes. Kiya.

"I did, didn't I?" you lie. "Right, I'm sorry, I forgot, I've just been so busy." You haven't spoken to Kaleb in about a month. He was the recent guy you were seeing, and he was alright, but he really wasn't your type. You didn't even have his number saved in your phone. You sense even more tension in the air as Terushima and Kaleb stare each other down, and you definitely need way more alcohol.

"Terushima this is Kaleb. Kaleb this is Terushima." They both shake each other's hand, but the tension only seems to get thicker, and you feel like you're suffocating in it.

"If you guys would excuse me for a minute. I'm just going to check on the food," you rush out, not waiting for a response before darting off to find the culprit. When you spot her, you yank her to the side, and if looks could kill she'd drop dead on the spot. "You invited them both here?!" you yell, making sure to keep your voice lower than the music.

"Both? Who are you talking about?" You rub your forehead, feeling the stress really starting to hit you. This was the last thing you expected and you really don't need this right now.

"You invited Terushima and the guy that I ghosted a while ago." You sigh heavily, rubbing the back of your neck as her eyes go wide.

"Oh, shit. I did accidentally text a wrong number by accident, but I thought it was nothing." You give her a tired look, and she tilts her head in confusion. "I mean, it's gonna be okay, but you sound even more frustrated."

You sigh again. This really isn't the place to tell her, but you were going to tell her eventually. "I heard a woman's voice when I went to Terushima's apartment a couple of days ago."

"What?!" she nearly screams, her eyes wide before she slaps a hand over her mouth, realizing how loud she was. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. Because there was just a lot going on, and I didn't want to be sad during the holidays or ruin yours, but that plan has failed miserably." You laugh bitterly, feeling completely drained.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Via. I didn't know." She reaches up to rub your arm as you shake your head.

"No, it's okay. You didn't know." You close your eyes as you take a deep breath, regrouping yourself. "It's okay. We'll worry about it later, 'kay?" You don't let her answer as you walk off, ignoring her calls of your name.

You linger around the party, hoping you don't run into Terushima, but your eyes land on him talking to your mom like they've been friends for years, and it feels like someone ripped your heart out of your chest. How could he just go about his life knowing that he was playing you? Just like he did before.

"Via?" A soft voice and soft hand shift your attention to Kaleb who's come up next to you, and you smile despite the fact that you feel like complete shit and that you're tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Hi, Kaleb, what's up?" you ask, and he hands you a drink which you gratefully take, almost downing the whole thing in front of him.

"It's just, um, you're standing somewhere pretty cool." You look at him in confusion before you glance up, seeing mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Kiya must've put this in last minute. You feel your stress building up as you look at him, chuckling softly.

"I guess I am." You know he's going to kiss you, and you've never been so conflicted in your entire life. You don't really want to, but you want to, secretly hoping that Terushima's watching so that he can feel how you're feeling right now. But at the same time, you just wanna go home and cry yourself to sleep.

You've been quiet, your thought preventing you from answering, and you feel his lips on yours, and you feel your body sag slightly at the fact that you don't feel a spark from kissing him unlike when you kiss Terushima. When you pull away, you just happen to look to your right to see a very pissed off Terushima.

You see him shake his head before heading out of the door, and you hand your drink to Kaleb. "I'm sorry, I have to do something, I'll be right back." You rush to the door, disregarding your jacket as you follow Terushima out. "You got a problem or something?" you ask angrily, and he stops in his tracks, his back facing you for a few seconds before he turns around.

"Yeah, I do. You're over here leading me on while you're kissing other guys." You scoff at his accusation.

"Oh, like you're not doing the same thing," you spit back, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Excuse me? I haven't been seeing anyone else besides you, but you obviously have other plans."

"You know you have some real balls to accuse me of leading you on when that's all you did the entire time we were dating." He goes to speak, but you cut him off. "No! You entertained girls all the time, sometimes right in front of me. How you reacted to them is not how you're supposed to react when you have a girlfriend. Do you know how pathetic I felt?!" The tears are spilling, and you don't have any more will to stop them.

"I felt so stupid. You made me feel so...ugly." You see his face soften, but you don't wanna hear what he has to say. "And you're accusing me when you had a girl in your apartment a couple of days ago." His eyes widen at that, and he stops his trek towards you.

"What are you talking about?" You scoff as you throw your hands up. You'll have to spell this one out for him too.

"I went to your apartment to give you the burgers that you wanted, but when I went to knock on the door, I heard your voice laughing with another woman's voice." You see his face drop in realization, and he starts to wave his hands. "Did you both enjoy my burgers?" you ask, your voice cracking as more tears fall down your face.

Terushima recalls hearing something fall outside of his door, and when he opened it, he saw the burgers, but he didn't think anything of it. He should've been more aware. How could he be so stupid?

"Wait, Via, baby, that wasn't what it looked like, I swear--"

You chuckle bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?! Because that was the same shit you told me four years ago!" You're past done. You're exhausted. "Fuck you, Yuuji Terushima for being the same piece of shit guy you were four years ago! And for breaking my heart again." Your voice breaks when you say again, and Terushima feels his heart breaking into a million pieces. "I never want to see your face again."

You turn around quickly making your way back into your shop while Terushima stands there frozen, letting you walk out of his life once again. The words you just spoke to him the exact same words you said back then. He feels the tears on his face before he registers them. How could this happen? How did it all go so wrong so fast?

You walk back into the party, thankful that you didn't put mascara on as you wipe your face off, and Kiya walks up to you. "Girlfriend, are you okay?!" she asks you, concern etched all over her face as she pulls you to the side.

"No, I'm not," you tell her honestly. "But, this is a party, and we're supposed to have fun. So, that's what I'm going to do." For what seems like the tenth time tonight, you walk off without waiting for a response.

After everyone left the party, that's when you decided to get yourself drunk. You usually don't drink this much, but you couldn't bring yourself to think about anything else. Kiya takes you home, and she stays with you as you scream, cry, rant until you finally crash on your bed due to a mix of the alcohol and your emotions being all over the place.

She sighs worriedly at your figure, and sits next to you on the bed, brushing her hand over your head before your face which is stained with tear tracks. Your phone on your nightstand rings and Kiya picks it up, seeing that it's Terushima and she rolls her eyes before hitting the decline button. She sees that he's called you non-stop through the night, and she scoffs again. She's pretty sure she could get away with murder.

When the phone rings for the fourth time, Kiya angrily picks it up. "Via, baby, I am so sorry, please listen to me, it was just a misunderstanding--"

"Olivia can't come to the phone right now," Kiya cuts him off curtly. "She's passed out because a fucking piece of shit decided to walk back in her life and break her heart the same fucking way he did four years ago," she spits, and she hears him sigh heavily before he sniffles.

"Kiya, you gotta let me explain, please let me explain." He sounds completely wrecked, Kiya can barely understand what he's saying.

"I don't think so, Terushima. You barely deserved a second chance, and you definitely don't deserve a third. Goodbye."

"Wait, wait, wait! Please! Please let me explain!" He's practically yelling in her ear, and she knows that if she hangs up on him he'll just keep calling. But she's also never heard him like this before.

"Fine. You have five minutes."

It's been roughly a week since one of the lowest moments of your life, and you're not entirely healed, but you definitely feel better, and you swore off getting that drunk ever again due to the awful headache you had when you woke up the next morning. Right now, you were hanging with Kiya, which she fully insisted for whatever reason, and you assume it's just because she wanted to spend time with you before the new year.

"He proposed?!" you yell as you practically throw yourself off the couch. Kiya laughs as she nods. "What? Show me the ring!" you demand, and she holds her hand out which you quickly take into yours to examine her finger. "Woah, that is expensive," you comment as your eyes go wide.

She pulls her hand back as she agrees before looking at it again, her eyes full of love and happiness. You can't help the ping of jealously that stabs at your heart, but you push it away, replacing it with the happiness for your best friend. "So, I'm obviously going to be the maid of honor," you say matter-of-factly, and she laughs as she rolls her eyes.

"Of course you are. There's no one else I would want it to be." You both talk for a couple more hours, and you look at the clock on your phone.

"I should probably go. I don't want to implode on the newly engaged couple. He's going to be home soon, right?" you ask, standing and stretching.

"Yeah, but it's okay, you can stay. We won't mind." You shake your head as you start to gather your things.

"It's okay. I've got a bunch of takeout and some wine calling my name at home." You slip on your coat and your boots. That's mostly the reason why. The other reason why is that you really don't want to see any happy couples right now. That's just putting salt in a wound that's slowly healing. "Congratulations again, Kiya. I'll text you when I get home." She nods while walking you to the door, and she watches you walk to your car and drive off before closing the door.

You yawn loudly when you get home, kicking your boots off and throwing your jacket onto the couch. You decide that you're going to take a nap first, and then you'll eat, and as you walk to your room, you feel something under your feet. At first, you thought it was something weird on your sock, but when you keep feeling it, you look down to see rose petals?

You turn back to the door. You had locked the door when you left, and you just unlocked the door when you came home, so...

"Hello?" you call out into the quiet apartment, but you receive no response, and you follow the trail of rose petals, assuming that this is possibly the way that you're going to go out. The trail stops at your door, and you slide the door open, gasping when you see what's inside.

The lights are off, the only light being provided is from the vanilla-scented candles all over the room. There are rose petals all over the place, and there are vases of your favorite flowers spread out across the room, and standing in the middle of it is Terushima.

He's facing you, wringing his hands together nervously as he watches you take in the new changes made. "What is all this?" you ask in disbelief, and he steps forward before he speaks.

"An apology. I mean, I don't really think I can make up for the pain that I've caused you, but there's been a huge misunderstanding." You sigh softly as you look away.

"Terushima..." you start, and he startles you when he falls to his knees before grabbing your hands.

"Via, I'm begging you to let me explain. If you let me explain, then I'll be out of your hair. You won't hear from me ever again. And I know I don't deserve this, but please, please, let me explain." You only respond with a nod, mostly because of how he's acting right now. "For starters, I am so sorry for how I've made you feel. This year and four years ago. It was never my intention to make you cry or to break your heart, and I did both of those things, and so much more."

He takes a deep breath before speaking again. "Second, that girl in my apartment is not what you think," he tells you firmly making you roll your eyes, and he quickly starts speaking again. "I know, I know, but let me explain." He quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket like he's afraid that you're going to leave.

You watch as he brings up a conversation with a number before scrolling up to a certain part of the conversation, and he turns the phone to you. You hesitantly grab the phone, looking at him before bringing your eyes to look at the phone. You scroll through the messages, the messages themselves not outright telling you that he was seeing another girl.

One of them says 'it'll be ready in a couple of days,' another one says that 'you can meet me at my place.' That one's from Terushima. You hand him back the phone, not convinced at all. "You told her she could meet you at your place."

"And I should've realized how that would've looked. I was stupid, I wasn't thinking, and I'm sorry." You gesture to the phone.

"What was supposed to be ready?" you ask, your voice full of disinterest, and he quickly pockets the phone before reaching into his front pocket. Your eyes widen when he pulls out a box small enough for a ring, and he grabs your hand before you have the chance to move.

He opens it to reveal a small, simple ring with your birthstone in it. "Terushima..." you trail off, and he shakes his head.

"It's not what it looks like. It's a promise ring." A soft, surprised expression comes over your face. "It's a promise to you that I'm going to be better. Everyone knows that I don't deserve you, but this is a promise to you that I'm going to become the man that you deserve." Now you feel the tears coming, and he keeps going.

"It's a promise that I'm never going to hurt you again." He stands up quickly, your head now lifting upward to look him in the eyes. "Olivia, you mean the world to me. There's no else but you, there hasn't been, and there never will be." He takes the ring out of the box, setting the box on your dresser.

"I love you so much that it hurts. You're all I ever think about as soon as I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. Please, give me another chance. I promise I won't make you regret it." The tears are falling more frequently, and you wipe them away.

"How do I know you're not lying?" you ask quietly, trying to keep your weak resolve up. He steps closer to you.

"You know that I'm not lying," he tells you confidently, his gaze never wavering from yours, and you sigh knowing that he's right. He's one of the worst liars you've ever met, having tells for days. And none of them are showing. You're still fighting it in your head, looking down away from him, and he tilts it back up by your chin.

"Please. I will never make you feel that way ever again. I promise." He tells you firmly, his voice solid. Terushima feels like his heart explodes when you nod your head. He slides the ring onto your finger before wiping the tears from your eyes. He's so happy he could cry. He plants his lips on yours quickly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling him into him.

"Please, let me show you," he pleads after he pulls away, holding your face in his hands.

"Okay." That's all he needs before he's picking you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you to the bed, and he never breaks the kiss as you land on your back. He moves you further up on the bed before moving his lips to your neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

Your hands move to his hair as you feel him biting marks into your skin, and you know that you're going to look like a freaking leopard tomorrow. He pulls your shirt off, throwing it somewhere off to the side, your bra soon following, and he doesn't waste any time attacking your breasts, one hand stimulating one while his mouth is on the other.

He pulls your hardened nipples between his teeth and his fingers at the same time, making your back arch off the bed at the different feelings. After marking up one breast, he moves to the other, doing the same thing before he starts to kiss down your abdomen.

He looks up at you when he reaches the waistband of your sweatpants, and you nod quickly as he groans seeing how your pupils are blown with lust. He quickly gets rid of your sweats, groaning again when he sees the growing wet spot across your crotch.

He licks a broad stripe up your covered cunt, both of you moaning simultaneously as you squeeze his head with your thighs. He makes quick work of your panties, almost ripping them with how eager he is to taste you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, almost entranced by your naked sex, and he teases you a bit more by marking up your thighs, whining when he pulls the skin between his teeth.

"Yuuji, stop teasing," you whine, and he smiles wickedly before he spreads your legs.

"I gotcha, pretty girl," he coos before licking another stripe through your folds, the action so sudden that it makes you jump slightly. His hands press your legs into the mattress as he eats you out like you're his last meal. "You taste so fucking good," he moans, the vibrations only elevating the feeling, and the taste of you on his tongue and the sounds you're making are like heaven, and he's close to blowing his load that he has to force himself to hold back.

He moves up to your clit, running circles over it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, making the grip on his hair tightening just shy of painful. He prods a finger at your hole before slowly inching his way in, and he ruts against the bed to find some release. You already feel so good on his finger, so he can only imagine what you'll feel like when you take his dick.

He slides another finger in while continuing to use his mouth on your clit, stretching you out before sliding in a third. He curls his fingers, hitting that spot inside of you with ease, making you release a loud moan. "Teru," you gasp, and he smirks against you.

"You close, baby?" he prods, already knowing the answer. He keeps curling his fingers, the squelching sounds almost overpowering your moans, and he feels you pulling at his hair, this time painful, but he can't bring himself to care as he licks up your clit making sure his piercing strikes it.

You cum with a scream, and he moans when you clench on his fingers, but he keeps going, his fingers seeming to go deeper inside of you, and a weird feeling sits in your core, and you try to push him away, but he keeps going until you feel another release.

"Fuck. Holy shit, babe." You come down from your high, gasping for air as you watch him come up with your juices all over his face while he sucks his fingers clean. "You just squirted." You move to cover your face with your hands but he stops you. "Don't be ashamed. That was really hot," he admits, licking around his mouth to get some more.

He kisses you hungrily, and you moan as you taste yourself on his tongue and when his piercing knocks against your teeth. He hisses and breaks the kiss when you palm his straining erection through his jeans. "Do you want me to return the favor?" you ask, still breathless from your previous orgasm, and he lightly brushes your hand away as he shakes his head.

"Later, right now is all about you," he tells you, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close to you.

"Then I want you to fuck me," you whisper against his lips, and he groans before making quick work of his shirt and his jeans. You can see a huge wet spot in the front of his briefs, and he gets rid of them quickly, his dick smacking his abdomen once it's free.

He stands at the edge of the bed, lazily stroking himself, and you feel your mouth go dry at how beautiful he is, so you tell him, and he responds with a soft chuckle, but you can see his face deepen with a blush at the compliment. "Nah, that's all you, baby girl." He smirks when he sees your eyes widening once they land on the pair of metal balls at the head of his length. "You like it?" he quips, and you just gulp, your eyes having a hard time looking away from the angry red tip dripping with pre.

His eyes drag down your figure, making you hot all over and he moves onto the bed, hovering himself over you. "You're so gorgeous. The prettiest woman I've ever met." You don't have time to feel flustered by his words because he leans down to kiss you, this one different from the previous ones.

This one is softer and filled with love, but still has the same amount of passion and hunger. "I have a condom," he tells you when he pulls away, and you shake your head.

"I wanna feel you," you tell him, lust dripping in your words, and he bites back a moan as he gives you one last kiss before guiding his dick towards your leaking hole. He pumps himself a few more times before sliding in, and you can't help the whine that falls from your lips.

It's been so long since you've felt him inside of you. And it's an addicting feeling you didn't even know you were missing until now. "Fuck, you are so tight. Shit." He bottoms out, stretching you in the best possible way, and he rests his head against yours.

"Move, Yuuji," you urge, and he nods while he pants.

"I know, baby, I know, give me a second. Fuck." He takes a few more deep breaths, and when he's sure that he's not going to bust just from how warm you feel, he backs up until only the tip is inside and he rams back into you, making the bed knock against the wall.

You cry out, your arms wrapping around his neck again as he repeatedly slams back into you, the feeling of the piercing rubbing against your walls foreign, but it feels so good. He keeps shifting his hips until he finds that spongy spot inside of you, and he grips the headboard, using it as leverage to piston that spot, and you feel like you're going to explode with pleasure.

You rake your nails down his back, and he feels it hit every nerve ending all over his body, and his hips falter just a tad when you clench around him. "Fuck, baby, touch yourself for me, please touch yourself," he spills out, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

You bring your hand down to roll hard circles on your bud, clenching at the sudden stimulation, and Terushima shudders. "Feels so good, Yuuji," you moan out, and he can't help but reciprocate it as his face scrunches up in pleasure.

"You feel too good, baby, oh my God." You can sense that he's close, so you clench around him again, and that's what send him over the edge, letting out a shout of your name as his hot seed shoots into you.

He doesn't stop moving though. He brings one hand down to your shoulder and fucks into you harder than he had before. He whines at the overstimulation, but he's determined to get you there. "Cum for me, baby, cum for me."

With one last hard thrust, you cum hard, back arching off the bed as you scream his name while Terushima moans at you coming undone under him. Your back meets the bed again, and Terushima rests his head on your forehead as you both catch your breath.

He pulls out of you slowly, wincing at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure mixing with pain before he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom the best he can on shaky legs. You feel yourself starting to drift off, and you jump when you feel something warm at your core.

"Sorry, I gotta clean you up," he tells you softly, wiping the mix of your juices away before putting the rag in the sink in the bathroom. He comes back, pulling the blankets down and getting in before pulling you into his chest. "I love you so much, Olivia. And I am so sorry. I won't make you regret giving me another chance."

You look up at him with a sleepy smile and sleepy eyes before sitting up to kiss him. "I love you too, and I forgive you, maybe," you joke, and you giggle when he pinches your side.

The rhythm of his heartbeat and the finger dragging up and down your arm lulls you to sleep fast, and the last thing you remember is hearing "goodnight."

~

Terushima wakes up before you, the sunlight bleeding in through the blinds and into his eyes. He takes a deep breath in and looks around, thankful that he remembered to blow out the candles before he went to sleep. He looks down to see you still sleeping peacefully, and he feels his heart do a somersault. He finally has you and he going to make sure that you don't leave. Not again.

He never realized what he was taking for granted until you broke up. He had slept with a few other girls, but they weren't you. All he could think about was you. He even got kicked out of a girl's place naked because he accidentally called her by your name. He pulls you closer to him, and you stir slightly, moving your head so that it's angled more towards his.

He thinks you look ethereal. The way the sunlight makes your brown skin glow almost makes him melt. He runs a finger down your sleeping face lightly before brushing the hair out of your face. "I'm sorry for being so stupid," he starts even know he knows you can't hear him. "I didn't realize what I had lost until it was too late. I wish I could go back in time so I could fix it or beat myself up, one or the other," he jokes laughing softly. "Probably both."

He rubs your back softly. "I don't even know if I have enough words to describe how much you mean to me. I should've never entertained those girls, like I said I was an absolute idiot, and to be honest, I didn't think you would've given me a second chance. I would've understood if you didn't." He holds you a little tighter. "But I'm glad that you did. I love you, and I'm going to keep saying it until you get tired of it, but I want you to know that. I want you to know that it's true and that I seriously mean it."

He takes a deep breath. "After the Christmas party, I cried so hard I almost threw up." He laughs bitterly, he doesn't really know why he's saying this, but he feels like he should get it off his chest. "That night it felt like my heart had been ripped out and stomped on multiple times. I only have myself to blame though. And I figured that must've been what you felt like because of me, and that happened to you twice.

"I was almost in hysterics. I kept calling your phone, but you never answered, and when I was about to give up, Kiya picked up the phone." He laughs again." And she almost hung up on me until I explained to her everything that happened and the huge misunderstanding that caused all of this. She held me put this whole plan together actually. She got you out of your apartment so I could do all of this."

He looks down at you again, giving you a kiss on your forehead. "I hope you stay with me forever. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You really are sappy in the morning." Your groggy voice makes him jump, and you smile as you struggle to hold back your laugh, peeling your eyes open to reveal a very red Terushima.

"You were awake?!" he asks, and you laugh fully as you nod. "You heard everything?!"

You nod again. "I did, I'm sorry. I thought you were talking in your sleep, but I realized it was too coherent for it to be sleep talk." You sit up, resting your hand on his chest and putting your chin on top. "Did you mean everything you said?"

He responds quickly. "Every word." You fight back tears as he pulls you in for another kiss, his hand resting on the back of your head softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Yuuji Terushima."

EPILOGUE:

"Teru, you're not taking me to the woods to kill me, are you?" you ask, looking around blindly due to the blindfold wrapped around your eyes. You hear him laugh as you feel him take another turn.

"No, I'll do that for our next anniversary." You laugh as you try to figure out where you are. Terushima had woken you up saying that he was going to show you your anniversary present, but then he blindfolded you and led you to the car. "Stop trying to figure out where we are with your weird powers!" he yells at you, and you nudge at him while playing with your necklace that he got for you after you both made up. It has his name on it, and he bought a matching chain with your name on it.

"It's not my fault I know this city like the back of my hand." You feel him take another turn, and you close your eyes as you try to narrow it down. "Are we in a subdivision?" You smirk when you hear him groan, knowing you guessed right.

"Can you please stop? You'll ruin the surprise."

"It's hard to focus on anything else," you admit, and you quickly go quiet when you feel his hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

"It is hard now?" he asks you, lowly, and you feel your core clench at his words and his actions. Now you can't focus on anything but his hand, but you're abruptly pulled from his actions when you feel the car stop. You hear him turn the car off and you hear his door open and close while you take your seatbelt off.

Your door opens, and he's guiding you out of the car. "You ready?"

You jump excitedly in impatience. "Yes, yes, hurry up!" He peels off the blindfold, and you blink a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the light before they focus on a two-story house. "A house?" You feel something cold touch your hand, and you look down to see a pair of keys in your hand.

"Our house." Your eyes go wide as you snap your head up to look at Terushima before looking back at the house. "Happy anniversary, baby."

"Are you fucking serious?!" you say, jumping into his arms, almost taking him out before you run towards the door, unlocking it as fast you can. Terushima smiles at you fondly as he follows you around the house as you tour it.

"This bedroom's kinda small though," he comments, looking around, and you step in the room, spinning around as you look at the room before stopping to face Terushima.

"I don't know. I think it's the perfect room for a nursery," you admit, and you see him shrug as he looks around again before the words dawn on him. He almost breaks his neck to look at you, and you smile widely as you nod.

"You're fucking serious?! I'm gonna be a dad?!" He runs to you, picking you and spinning you around. You both laugh loudly before he sets you down, pulling you into a loving kiss that leaves you breathless.

"Happy anniversary, Yuuji."

A/N: If you stayed this long thank you for reading, but if you didn’t, I don’t blame you LMAO

[ak47stylegirl]

Doctors Appointment: Chapter 3

Okay guys, here’s the third chapter! I hope you guys enjoy this!!! 😁💙

First two chapters. 

@janetm74 @dragonoffantasyandreality @katblu42 @cg29 @alexthefly @inertplanetary ----

Scott stood with his arms crossed, watching with a worried frown as Alan’s doctor, Dr David, examined his baby brother. At this moment, Dr David was examining Alan’s joints, mainly his arms and legs. 

Alan’s eyes glanced over at Scott.

“Okay, tell me if any of this hurts, okay?” Dr David began to put pressure on Alan’s unbraced leg joints, feeling around with his fingers. 

Alan’s face was scrunched up in discomfort, slightly flinching each time pressure was applied to his limbs.

But then Dr David put pressure on Alan’s ankle joint-

“Ow! Ow!” Alan wailed from where he laid on the bed, tears gathering in his eyes. “Ow! That hurts! Stop!”

Dr David instantly took the pressure off, frowning as he gently examined them further. At the same time, Scott had rushed over to Alan’s side. 

“Shhh, it’s alright….” Scott whispered, brushing his fingers through Alan’s soft blond hair. “It’s alright….” 

Alan whimpered, pouting up at Scott in disagreement. 

Scott’s eyes saddened immensely at the sight, tilting his head slightly in sympathy. Oh, my poor little one…

You never should’ve had to deal with this...

Dr David sighed heavily, catching Scott’s attention in a snap. Scott’s stomach flipped at the deep frown on the doctor’s face as he typed his notes into his tablet. 

Alan’s joints have gotten worse, haven’t they?! 

Oh no, please no! 

Alan struggled enough.

Please...no...

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t see much improvement from last time…” Dr David explained sadly, placing his tablet back down, “There is some stiffness in Alan’s left knee, but overall not much has changed….” 

Scott let loose a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping. While no improvement wasn’t good, it was better than the other option. 

Oh, so, so much better...

Alan blew out a frustrated breath, “Can...Can I sit up now?” Alan mumbled, looking up at the two adults. 

“Yes, of course….” Dr David nodded. 

Alan slowly sat up with Scott’s help, leaning his head heavily against Scott’s side with a weak groan. 

Scott’s eyes creased in sorrow, lips pressed tightly together as he stroked the back of Alan’s head. 

This was only the first part of the appointment, and Alan’s tolerance was already getting paper-thin. 

It didn't bode well…

Especially seeing as Alan’s appointment was actually multiple appointments.

First, there was the appointment with Dr David, Alan’s main specialist. The team leader of Alan’s health professionals. They had the main ‘check-up’ with Dr David, who checked all the basic things they needed to watch.

After that, Alan was handed over to the pathology lab for tests and scans. That usually took quite a while. 

Alan wasn’t overly fond of some of the tests, to say the least…

But once that was done, Scott and Alan would retire to a private hospital suite for a little break as Alan needed to rest.

Because if Alan didn’t get said nap, there would 100% be a massive meltdown. Like laying on the floor crying his eyes out, refusing to cooperate…

Lots and lots of screaming… 

So yes, Scott very much insisted on that break. 

(Though sometimes, even that didn’t stop the meltdowns from happening…)

The second main appointment of the day was with Dr Suzzy, Alan’s fitness/rehabilitation specialist.

It took place down in the hospital’s rehab gym, where Dr Suzzy would walk through a couple of simple exercises with Alan. Alan actually had a training schedule for home as well, created by both Virgil and Dr Suzzy. 

As their medic, Virgil pulled rank to be the one to help Alan with those exercises. 

Scott tried to help sometimes, but unfortunately, running a business and rescue organisation kept him tied down most of the time...

The guilt plagued him…

Gordon also helped out with those exercises at times, especially if the pool was involved. 

If there were two things that Gordon took deadly seriously, it was pool safety and looking after his only little brother. So you could be damn sure Gordon was going to be there. 

Don’t think you can stop him. He’s a sneaky one, and he bites.

Scott had a faint scar on his arm from a four-year-old Gordon to prove it. (It had happened shortly after mum died, Gordon had been having a bad day… he hadn’t meant it...)

Don’t mess with the Gordo; at times, he’s a cuddly squid and others…

Shark. 

Pure shark.

Anyway, after that appointment, it was onto the final and honestly worst part of the day.

Alan’s treatment. 

It would occur in the same hospital suite as before, with Alan hooked up to an IV containing his medication. It was a slow process, taking an hour or two. Alan typically spent that time cradled up in Scott’s lap, hugging his Thunderbird Three plushie. 

Virgil had gotten it for Alan when he was first diagnosed. 

Scott knew Virgil was tempted to get Alan the Thunderbird Two plushie instead but went with Three as that was Alan’s favourite ship.

Also, that before mentioned Thunderbird Two plushie?

It was sitting pride of place on Virgil’s bed. 

Because-

‘I couldn’t just leave it?! She was looking so sad sitting there!’

While Virgil needing to have the plush version of his bird was understandable, buying the whole store’s supply of plushies was a bit much.

Like seriously, Virg…

Most of those toys got donated to families that couldn’t afford toys or sick children in hospital. 

It ended up being a very good experience for everyone involved…

Virgil had personally gone to the hospitals himself, handing said plushies to the unwell kids himself. 

There were tears…

And the lucky survivors that remained either got a job as an International Rescue’s cuddle operative; tasked with comforting young rescuees.

Or adults, it has definitely happened before... 

And the last few were adopted by Gordon, whose bed was a sea of plushies. 

Scott would never know how Gordon could sleep in that bed…

But it was a pretty adorable sight, he will admit. 

Dr David put his stethoscope in his ears, “Okay, let’s have a little listen to that chest of yours, shall we?” 

The stethoscope was slipped up the back of Alan’s shirt-

“Cold!” Alan squealed, flinching away as the cold metal of the stethoscope touched his skin. “That’s freezing!” 

“Sorry, Alan…” Dr David smiled apologetically. “I’ll warm it up a bit next time, okay?” The stethoscope was placed against Alan’s skin once again.

“Now, deep breath in for me..” 

Alan’s eyes narrowed, a grumpy pout on his face as he took a deep breath. 

Scott sighed wearily, spotting a possible meltdown brewing on the horizon. He didn’t know when it would hit, but Scott knew that it would happen some way or another.

Alan was displaying all the signs…

Dr David moved the stethoscope around a couple of times, each time asking Alan to take a deep breath. By the time the doctor was finished, Alan was slightly out of breath. 

“Well, his heart sounds good, which is always a good thing….” Dr David slipped his stethoscope back around his neck. “But his lungs sound a little wheezy….” 

Scott frowned in concern. 

“Has he been sick in the last week or so?” Dr David asked Scott, once again typing down notes on his tablet. “Cold? Flu?” 

Alan shuttered with a grimace. 

Being completely knocked down with the flu or cold was horrible for anyone. Let alone for someone like Alan, who had a weak immune system…

Scott’s eyes slipped close briefly as he nodded, 

“Yeah…” Scott replied, remembering that week well. “He was unwell with a bad cold about a week and a half ago….” 

It hasn’t been fun... 

“I figured as much,” Dr David remarked, putting his tablet down, “Nothing to be concerned about, as I’m sure Dr Tracy wouldn’t let her grandson out of her care otherwise….”

Scott chuckled in agreement. Grandma was a force to be reckoned with when it came to matters of health. 

And she had a pupil called Virgil. 

“But if it’s not gone by this time next week, I would advise getting it checked….” Dr David suggested as he set up the blood pressure monitor. 

Scott nodded thoughtfully, “Will do….” 

And seeing as they had a doctor in the house, and most of them were trained medics or EMTs, Scott had no doubt that Alan would get the best care possible. 

He would personally make sure of that…

TBC..

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

lost in the citadel (this is how villains are made)

ao3

Two Morties and a Rick stand facing each other at the end of all things.

Morty, the ordinary one, the stolen Morty--because as it stands C-137 isn’t his Rick and the family he’s stealing time with isn’t his family-thinks that maybe this is a beginning.

The beginning.

The start of something that was always going to happen. The splinter in the timelines that they’ve been careening toward for years but have always been brushing off with offhand jokes about serialized adventures and canon adventures.

Or maybe, instead of a horrifying beginning, it is the merciless end after all. The thrilling conclusion in the clusterfuck that is Rick Sanchez’s life, featuring one Morty Smith.

Or maybe they’re all missing the point.

Maybe this story isn’t about a Rick at all.

Morty Smith, dressed in a black jumpsuit and rapidly keying in sequence codes to the terminal beside him, offers Rick a cold glance over his shoulder and it occurs to the other Morty that this story isn’t about C-137 and or even himself.

It’s about a Lost Morty.

Because the thing is the Stolen Morty remembers the other Morty, the Morty who was President but who is now evil, but also maybe a little bit right, and very very Lost.

He remembers him tagging along after Evil Rick- the Rick who may have not been a Rick at all - remembers the expression on his face when he dragged Morty away from his not his never his Rick and the furrow in his brow after everything, before all the Morties got herded away by Ricks.

Something intelligent has always been gleaming behind the surface of this Morty’s eyes, and the ordinary Morty has been a fool to ignore it. He remembers Rick’s warnings of cocky Morties and his own itching trigger finger and how far he’s willing to go when Rick isn’t around or, even worse, how far he’s willing to go when Rick is around, how far Rick pushes him, how far Ricks push their Morties to do things against the shaky moral code they all possess, how much everything hurts so much all the time and how scared and lonely and worried he is all the time-

The Smart Morty, or maybe distinguishing him from other Morties as smart is wrong-because they’re all smart, you can’t be in their family and not have at least a little bit of something upstairs, despite what Ricks say- maybe the word he’s looking for is free , or even tired or maybe calling him Lost Morty was the most correct-

The Morty who’s currently making every Ricks killcount look pathetic turns and calls them “an infinite fucking baby” and the Stolen Morty thinks fucking relatable .

This thought is quickly lost in a barrage of oh shit oh shit oh shit as the Citadel fills with screaming. The place is literally falling apart around them, Ricks and Morties screaming as they try to activate protocol Phoenix, when a piece of the ceiling crumbles and takes C-137 down with it.

The Stolen Morty takes a step toward him, despite his anger, despite the now you’re evil Morty too ringing in his ears, when the Lost Morty turns and says-

- you can come with me and everything comes to a standstill.

Because the stolen Morty understands what the lost Morty is saying.

Just like how every Rick knows each other’s moves and hates each other, because how could they like each other when they don’t even like themselves, and understands each other on a level that no one else ever can--and despises every other Rick for it, like any of them could help it--just like every Rick knows what the other Rick is about to do-

Morty understands what the other Morty is saying.

Infinite fucking baby.

Jackshit, I’m leaving.

That’s what makes me evil.

Now you’re evil Morty too.

Or even,

You guys can’t help it-

Maybe they’re all Lost Morties and this Morty is the only one who can see that.

Except now the Stolen Morty can see it too.

And that realization breaks every foundation the Stolen Morty has, because hasn’t he been lost too for as long as he can remember?

Isn’t he lost and exhausted and hitting rock bottom only to find that there’s another rock bottom waiting for him after that one? Doesn’t he look in the morning every day and see another part of himself chipping away as he becomes more and more compliant to what everyone else wants, to what Rick wants?

Doesn’t he lie on the roof every night, with the stolen cigarettes from under Summer’s mattress, bare heels digging into the rough shingles, hoping that if he inhales enough smoke everything will stay numb when the sun rises and it all starts over again?

Isn’t Morty so so lost?

Two lost Morties and a Rick face each other at the end of the universe, the beginning of something, and the diverging of paths.

The stolen Morty, ordinary Morty, the Morty who keeps fucking up, the Morty who once opened a book and read about abuse cycles and snapped it shut, but has never forgotten but watches his mom stop drinking only to start up again two weeks later, but watches Summer promise to do better but then fall for Rick’s manipulations without fall again and again, but he, himself also keeps crawling back to the people hurting him again and again and again…

This Morty hears the words you could come with me and for the first time in his life sees possibilities.

Every taste of freedom Rick has ever given has been tainted with the knowledge that one of them always comes crawling back to the other. It’s a universal constant, as long as there’s a Rick there must also be a Morty. And usually vice versa, although Morty’s met Rick’s without a Morty. He doesn’t like to think about them.

But now someone stands before him and offers a world where “Rick and” doesn’t proceed a Morty’s existence.

He hears Rick say something about this being the better offer and something about him not having a plan, but there’s a high pitched whine ringing in his ears, breath squeezing tightly in his lungs, a burn like anxiety itching under his skin.

But there’s no time for that because everyone’s dying and Rick’s groaning with pain and the other Morty is about to leave.

Morty has only a split second to make a decision and he-he doesn’t-

He doesn’t know what to do.

There’s a burn in his lungs and a pulse in his ears and the only person in his life who’s even chosen him is in pain and Morty doesn’t even think , suddenly he’s across the room, helping Rick, the Rick that’s hurt him and forced him to hurt over people and won’t stop no matter how many self actualization moments he has or promises he makes to do better, but none of it matters to Morty because, because-

--Rick is dragging him out of bed, rambling loudly- loudly enough to wake the whole family, so Morty shushes him, makes panicked little noises begging him to just quiet down -but then they’re out in the garage and then in Rick’s ship and then they’re zipping through space and Rick won’t tell Morty where they’re going, why he’s dragged Morty out of bed this time, and on a school night again

but then Morty sees it, three orbiting stars going supernova and Rick is saying something about statistical anomalies and epic light shows , but Morty isn’t even listening because now he’s seeing colors he didn’t even know existed and he’s aware his nose is smooshed against the window and he’s fogging the glass, but he doesn’t even care-

-he fails another test and Rick tells him school is wasted on him anyway that not even he’s the kind of stupid that needs the American education system to mold him into a mindless citizen-

-the garage blows up and Morty has glass in his eye and he’s sobbing screeching yelling begging, but then warm, rough hands are on his face and everything goes numb for a second and then the pain is gone -

-Morty watches Rick fuck around the keyboard before sitting down next to him, exhausted because school sucked, school always sucks , but then Rick is guiding his hands toward the keys and saying shit like m-middle c, M-Morty, it’s not that hard , and then they’re pressing keys together and the sound soothes the itch under his skin-

-he’s no stranger to the smell of smoke, but the bar smell has him feeling a particular way, so he steps outside for a moment, just a moment to catch his breath, to quell the nausea in his stomach, but some humanoid creature follows him out and drags him into the ally and just before everything goes wrong , his assailant shrieks and crumbles to the ground and there’s Rick, streetlight silhouetting his furious face-

-he’s sitting in the Principal's office and they can’t get ahold of his mom because she’s at work and who knows where Jerry is and Summer ditched because that what she does now and Morty’s eyes hurt and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding on top of everything and the sensory overload is just too much he can’t

there’s a hand on his shoulder and a familiar drawl interrupted by belching and suddenly Morty’s being whisked away, he’s in the parking lot, he’s in the ship, someone’s pushing a pair of earplugs into his hands and it’s suddenly, blissfully quiet-

-his knuckles are red and his lip is split and Rick hands him ice cream and says next time punch with y-your two front knuckles, du-dumbass, and then something buzzes in his ears and his skin is healing-

-Rick slings an arm over his shoulder and belches loudly-

-a hand ruffles his hair-

-a voice that is soft sometimes but also yells sometimes and calls him names but also says things like I’m so sorry and I’ll do better and god, M-Morty would you just shut up -

The president Morty does that thing with the curve thingy and the citadel explodes.

____

When the golden light fades away and the crack in the curve slams shut after the other Morty--the smartest Morty, or maybe just the tiredest Morty, the Morty who had finally said enough and used his brain for something other than defending Rick--the Rickest Rick and the Morty who threw his chance at freedom away stand in what’s left of the Citadel.

Morty--possibly the dumbest Morty, the Morty that belongs to Rick C-137, even though this Morty isn’t from dimension C-137, the Morty that keeps getting a shot at getting out , but throwing it all away because at this point he doesn’t know how to exist without a “Rick and” in front of his name--turns in a slow circle, blinking rapidly.

Mortyberg is a little worse for wear, but nowhere near as bad as the rest of the Citadel, which is miles away and crumbling fast. Morty seriously doubts there’s any survivors --not after the clusterfuck that had happened there.

Morty turns back to Rick--not his Rick, but also his Rick--and his eyes lock on what the man has been staring at in horror.

The portal gun is empty.

They are lightyears from any civilization--possibly universes away, because even though Morty can’t really comprehend what the Citadel really is, he’s also fairly certain that it doesn’t exist in any universe besides it’s own--and Rick’s portal gun is empty.

Rick turns and stares at the closing crevice in the stars. Morty follows his gaze.

The tiny sliver of black disappears and so does Morty’s freedom.

He chances a glance at Rick. The man’s eyes are glued to-to-

Morty looks at the other Morties, some of them normal, some of them those terrible, hideous things they saw beneath the citadel, and realizes that it’s just them, just whoever Rick managed to drag to this part of the citadel and anyone fortunate enough to already be here.

He thinks he sees a few Ricks too, their Morty’s clinging to them in terror or watching with mild disinterest--cynical, jaded Morty’s, one step ahead of this Morty and yet still ones step behind.

“Well, shit,” Morty hears himself say, lack of stutter almost startling. It’ll come back full force in a minute, he’s sure.

Rick doesn’t say anything, lips thinning with either irritation or panic. Morty can usually tell, but the past hour has shaken him. Possibly shaken both of them.

Another Rick suddenly appears in the terminal that they’re all standing in and Morty’s stolen Rick goes expressionless again. There’s a lot of shouting that goes on, between them, between the other Ricks, and a couple of scared Morties, but this Morty barely registers any of that.

Everything has narrowed down to the other Morty’s voice in his head and the sound of his stolen Rick’s voice in his ear. Angry. Irritated. Worried.

The other Rick smacks a hand to his forehead in exasperation and says something that Morty doesn’t quite catch, but suddenly both Rick’s are practically shrieking at each other and it’s too loud -

Morty flinches away, stumbling into his Rick, who catches him on impulse, not really paying attention. His hand grabs Morty’s upper arm and he rights him, while continuing to throw insults in the other Rick’s direction. Eventually they calm down-although Morty isn’t paying attention enough to know how they actually came to a resolution on...whatever they were fighting about (he should really start paying attention)-and the other Rick sulks off, herding Morties off the terminal and into the streets.

Another Rick comes running- cop Rick-and takes over, gently talking to the Morties and asking them if they needed anything, if they were okay and everything right now between that and the Evil Morty-the Lost Morty- blowing the place up and Rick-Rick-

Everything right now is so surreal Morty distantly entertains the scenario that he might, in fact, have died. Or never come out of those memories.

He lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that stars burst behind the lids. When he opens them, he’s still standing on the last functioning part of the Citadel, with several Ricks, even more Morties, and no way of getting home.

No way yet.

There is no doubt in Morty’s mind that Rick already has a plan with at least fifty contingencies and contingencies for the contingencies. He is still Rick Sanchez after all, even if eight percent of his personality is a product of trauma.

But when he turns to look at Rick, the man is still staring blankly at the sky, where they had last seen the other Morty disappear.

His grip on Morty’s shoulder tightens.

____

It takes all of three hours to figure out that every Rick here has a plan, and not every plan really gets along with the others.

Morty’s Rick clearly has the best idea-and he’s not just saying that because he’s biased, he’s not - but it’s going to take a hell of a lot to convince the other Ricks, so Morty takes his exit when the fighting starts and finds a back alley to hunker down in.

There are much nicer places in Mortyberg to hang out in, he’s sure, but there’s also less chance a Rick will stumble across him or, even worse, his Rick.

He really just needs a moment to himself.

There’s a dumpster lying in the middle of the path, upended onto its side in the chaos, so Morty hops on top of it and sits, with his feet dangling over the edge.

Despite being the master of compartmentalization, Morty’s hardly been able to focus.

He and Rick often liked to joke about twenty minute adventures and about how cramming so much action into so little time was jarring, but this was the first actual time Morty felt it . Between the memories of someone else’s life- Rick’s life-suddenly dumped into his skull and the President Morty killing eight percent of the Citadel and offering to take Morty with him -

(he’s still not sure if the other Morty was kidding about the toilet thing.)

(he thinks he wasn’t.)

(but what if he was?)

-Morty barely can scramble his own thoughts together, let alone hold a conversation with anyone.

Which is why, naturally his self imposed solitude is quickly interrupted.

Cop Rick pokes his head into the alley and frowns.

“Y-You look like shit, kid,” he says, arms crossed as he approaches.

Morty scowls.

“N-nobody asked you,” he snaps, mirroring Cop Rick in crossing his arms.

“No, I-I mean you-you really look like shit. Christ, does your Rick even feed you?”

When Morty glare deepens, Cop Rick winces reflexively, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, di-did your Rick-was he on the Citadel or-”

Morty groans, already done with this conversation. “My Rick’s fine , he-he’s that asshole revving everyone else up.”

Cop Rick barks a surprised laugh. “Your-your Rick is C-137? Sh-shit, tough break, kid.”

“T-tell me about it,” Morty mumbles, drawing his knees up and looping his arms around them.

The Rick frowns at him for a second before hopping up beside him, letting his legs dangle over the edge next to his. “Wanna talk about it?”

This surprises Morty. This is still a Rick, still a complete asshole who smells like a liquor store and wouldn’t know what tactful was if it hit him in the face, but there’s also something surprisingly sensitive about him.

Morty doesn’t trust the guy--he doesn’t trust anyone , why would he trust a random Rick?--but something in his chest loosens ever so slightly at the almost kind voice.

“Not really,” Morty mumbles, just the same, not really up for getting into the highs and lows of the clusterfuck that was Rick C-137 and the Morty from-from-

Christ, what dimension was Morty even from?

“Wa-wanna grab a bite, then?”

A few moments later finds Morty seated in a diner.

The place is a mess- tables and chairs thrown about in the chaos, but there’s still food in the pantries and freezers, so Morty helps himself to the remaining ice cream in the ice box. It’s the first time he’s eaten since this morning and he’s suddenly ravenous .

“Th-thanks,” Morty says, a few hours later and overfull with gross junk food, as Cop Rick guides him back to where he saw his own Rick last.

He gets a pat on the shoulder in response. “Don’t-don’t worry about it, kid.”

____

Morty takes to wandering around Mortyberg at night.

He thinks it's night, at least. The Citadel didn’t operate in a proper universe, so weather and season were completely artificially generated. Even in this broken off piece of the city, a fake sun still sets, blanketing the place in darkness.

Rick and the few other Ricks who managed to survive are still trying to find a way to create portal fluid. Morty doesn’t think it will take them long. The smartest man in the universe plus twenty more of him means there’s more than enough brain power to go around.

Enough brain power that Morty can keep to himself.

He comes across other Ricks-mostly Cop Rick, which is a relief because he’s the nicest Rick and all the other one’s make him feel weirdly uncomfortable for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint-but mostly it’s just other Morties.

He meets mostly Morties like him-a few dimensions off, or a dimension where Jessica is a guy, or Summer is dating a girl, or Jerry is out of the picture-but there are a few oddities: a lizard Morty, a Morty that hit puberty faster than the rest of them, a Morty with curly curls than the rest of them, and even a Morticia.

He spends time talking to some of them, even realizes that a few are some he knew from before, whether it was from the few times Rick has reluctantly dragged him to the Citadel or the occasional Rick and Morty duo they ran into during adventures.

Most of them are Rickless which is both a terrifying and freeing concept to Morty.

He asks some of them what they’re going to do now.

“O-oh, y-you know. Go to school and j-just be normal now, I-I guess,” one Morty says.

The idea of going back to a regular life-a pre -Rick life, is inconceivable to Morty. Even during times Rick has taken off for weeks at a time to do his own thing or the more recent adventure breakout they had, Morty was still traipsing around the universe(s) getting into trouble.

Morticia squints at him when he asks her. “Wh-what kind of a question i-is that?” she asks, arms crossed.

He shrugs.

She scoffs. “O-obviously Summer and I will figure s-something out.” She shakes her head and walks off, muttering things about dumbass boys and what the fuck does normal even mean .

Morty wonders if it’s weird that out of all the Morties here, he and Morticia have the most in common.

____

Morty begins to have dreams on day three.

They aren’t really dreams. No, they’re memories , memories of that brainscan he’d dumped into his own mind. He doesn’t know how long he’d been out, but he guesses it had been somewhere between ten to twenty minutes, which was ridiculous considering the amount of information he’d taken in.

Most of it had barely registered due to, well, everything .

But now snippets are coming back.

When Rick finds him, sitting on a rooftop, a few nights after the dreams started, he only sighs with vague annoyance before joining him.

With all the Morties scattered across Mortyberg, this Morty is distantly surprised that Rick knows it’s him.

Or maybe he’s not.

“He broke the curve, di-didn’t he,” Morty says, eyes glued to a constellation of stars that might not even be real.

Rick flops onto his back, arms spread.

“So there’s a chance tha-that we can go to places wh-where you aren’t the smartest man in the universe?”

It’s barely a question.

Rick doesn’t respond and Morty doesn’t look at him.

“Wh-which means your chances of finding the Rick that-”

“ Jesus , Morty, I said w-we could stop talking about it.” He doesn’t even sound that mad, but Morty shuts up anyway.

He crosses his arms and lays down on his back too.

The roof he’d chosen to perch on belonged to some restaurant establishment Morty barely remembered the name of. It was mostly flat, but he’d found a section of it that reclined slightly enough that it felt like sitting on the roof at home.

If he closes his eyes, in fact, he can’t even feel the difference.

His fingers itch for a cigarette. He wonders if anyone here has any.

When he opens his eyes, Rick is staring at him. He looks irritated, but not in a M-Morty stop being a du-dumbass way. There’s something else behind it, something watchful and analyzing. He wants to know something, but is too proud to ask.

Whatever. It’s not as if Morty can read his mind.

“H-hey, do y-you think anyone here has any ciggs?”

Rick frowns. “W-what, you smoke now? Christ, I leave you for like-like three weeks and y-you’re developing-”

Morty groans and rolls onto his side, fed up with Rick’s hypocrisy for like. The zillionth time since the man steamrolled into his life and derailed it.

The silence echoes between them, only occasionally broken up by a Rick or sometimes even a Morty in the street shouting or saying things that Morty can’t quite catch. His mind is racing a million miles a minute, and, like usual, he can’t get it to calm the fuck down .

He likes to think of his own energy as a cup. When he’s around his family the cup is about half full. When his parents are fighting-are being loud , are talking about him like he can’t understand them, when they say things like “special” and “different’ and “needs”-it spills over the edges, little trickles down the side. When he’s at school it’s definitely overflowing, his patience and the amount of energy he needs to function around people fluctuate wildly.

When he’s around Rick it’s either empty or overflowing so quickly that he’s ready to throw up from the intensity of it.

Right now it feels like that.

His breath starts to come in sharp gasps, adrenaline shooting through his body for the first time since he and Rick escaped the exploding Citadel. His eyes are on fire and his lungs aren’t working and his skin feels wrong -

Rick lays a hand on his shoulder.

It doesn’t urge him to move over or do anything other than simply rest there.

Morty feels distantly-because anything other than feeling overwhelmed is distant right now-surprised. Usually when he gets like this Rick either yells at him or offers to sedate him.

Or just leaves him alone.

But it wasn’t always like that, was it?

Morty can remember a time, when he’d just turned 13- or was it 14? It’s hard to remember a time before Rick- and his grandpa had come literally crashing back into their lives and suddenly there was someone who understood who said things to his mom like jesus what are they teaching kids there, and ye-yeah Morty’s special, bu-but you don’t have to treat him different, wow, and sure it was all condescending, sure it was just another way for him to insult someone else-

But someone had understood .

This is abusive , Rick had said a few weeks ago.

It feels like forever.

Maybe he had actually understood this time.

Or maybe, one again, Morty has been duped into believing the great lie. That a Rick could change. That his Rick is different.

Jesus, this isn’t even his Rick.

But he’s one sitting next to him and absentmindedly rubbing his thumb into Morty’s shoulder.

It’s nice. Morty closes his eyes, skin soaking up the warmth.

“I don’t regret it,” Morty says softly. He feels Rick startle next to him, but doesn’t roll over. He keeps all of his limbs interlocked together, ankles crossed, arms folded, as if he can keep himself from falling apart.

He squeezes his eyes shut and whispers. “I don’t regret it.”

(Morty wakes up halfway a few hours later when Rick picks him up. He falls back asleep a few minutes later--soothed by the rocking of Rick’s gait and his annoyed g-go back to sleep --but something in his chest settles at it.

Maybe everything’s going to be fine.)

____

Morty doesn’t really know how they did it-he thinks some Rick’s salvaged some tech from the floating remains of the Citadel and did some sci-fi shit to it or whatever-but a week after the curve thingy explodes, Rick and Morty are in a ship, headed home.

“Aw j-jeez, what are we gonna tell Mom?” Morty says, face pressed into the window. His sleep schedule, which is normally fucked, is now completely nonexistent. The ride home was supposed to be for napping, but the ever prevalent anxiety is keeping him awake.

Rick shrugs. “T-tell her whatever you w-want, Morty, I seriously d-doubt she’s gonna care.”

It stings a bit, but it’s true.

Well, maybe not as true anymore. His mom has been much sterner with Rick over dragging Morty and Summer on dangerous adventures of late, but Morty thinks it has more to do with control than actual concern.

Still, it’s doubtful they’ll get more than passing irritation for being away for a week.

A couple of minutes before they reach earth, Rick stops the ship.

He lets the engine idle for a minute, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

When the silence goes on long enough that Morty is distinctly uncomfortable , he groans and uncurls from his fetal position against the door and blinks bemusedly up at him.

“R-rick?”

“W-we should dial it back for a while,” Rick says. “Maybe go back to s-solo adventures.”

Morty clasps his hands together, twisting them into uncomfortable positions nervously. “I-I don’t know, Rick. It-it seems like wh-when we’re apart things get-they get worse.”

“Y-yeah and you almost di-died like sixty times this week, Morty, I-I don’t think you get a say in w-what’s worse,” Rick sneers.

Morty sighs and looks out the window.

“Rick,” he says, wearily and then cuts himself off.

The man in question glares down at the center console like it personally offended him. “L-look, Morty, you-you may have had a point about not-about not trusting me and-”

“Yeah, okay.”

“-and, wait what.”

“I s-said, okay ,” Morty presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I-I just-we keep doing this, Rick and I-I’m just-”

He sucks in a breath and pulls his hands away. Stares up at Rick with wide eyes and an expression that bleeds emotional vulnerability, but he doesn’t even care anymore because he just threw away every chance at freedom, at a life free from the bullshit that’s so deeply infected in everything he touches, for this man, this guy who can barely even look at him and he’s-he’s-

“I-I’m really tired, okay?” His voice is small. “Can we j-just go home?”

Rick stares at him for a minute before putting the ship back in drive.

The rest of the drive home is silent.

Beth is mad, surprise surprise, but not as mad as she could have been.

Morty lets Rick bare the brunt of it and seeks refuge in his room. It’s a mess, exactly like it was when he left, because Beth isn’t the type to come and clean up after her kids and she’s the only person who’d ever actually walk into his room, except Rick, who doesn’t give a shit.

Morty collapses in bed, intent on sleeping for the next couple of hours or days, when the door creaks open.

It’s Rick. Of course.

He scowls. “W-way to go on having m-my back, M-Moorty,” he says, rolling his eyes in irritation.

Morty rolls his eyes back. “Y-you said that s-she wouldn’t care !” he points an accusatory finger at him.

Rick glares back.

After a moment of prolonged, uncomfortable glaring, Morty looks away. Rick takes this to mean that he won or whatever, because the tension in his shoulder loosens a bit and he flops down on the end of the bed, facedown.

“J-jeez, are y-you having another crisis?” Morty mumbles, tugging the blanket up over his head.

Rick mutters something into the bedding unintelligible so Morty ignores him. Sleep is darkening the edges of his vision anyway.

Before he completely passes out, the door creaks open again.

Everything fades as Beth and Rick start talking.

____

Morty doesn’t think they’re ever going to talk about what happened.

Rick clearly doesn’t care about the other Morty- why would he?- but it’s very clear that he’s upset about....something.

If Morty was to garner a guess it’s because Morty could have left with him.

And he almost had.

He should have.

But no, he hadn’t in the end. He’d chosen to pull Rick up and follow him out of there, instead of taking a deal no other Morty had been offered. And Rick was either mad that he hadn’t or mad that he almost had , and Morty didn’t know how to apologize for either.

It was almost easier in that week when they were stuck on the Citadel because then Rick could take out his ire on other Ricks and Morties or throw all of his energy into solving their predicament.

Now there’s just Morty and the rest of his dysfunctional family.

A whole lot of not talking about it and arguing about other things goes around for a while, with Summer trying to break up the tension by forcing them to go on adventures with her or Beth demanding in hissed whispers that Rick figure it how or whatever because I’m not finding us another therapist.

Morty basically tries to ignore everyone.

Until one night, he’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling because insomnia’s a fucking bitch, when he realizes…

Why should he have to avoid Rick?

Why did they have to avoid each other in the first place?

“Y-you know wh-what? The other M-Morty was right, you’re a big fucking baby!” Morty says, bursting into the garage.

Rick looks over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked.

“First-first y-you leave and then you come back and s-suddenly everything’s m-my fault j-just because y-you’re mad that you were wrong about something! It-it isn’t my fault that you figured out y-you’re toxic and don’t know wh-what to do about it!”

Rick looks irritated. “Morty-” he begins, voice already a sneer.

“No, I’m talking right now!” Morty points at him.

Rick crosses his arms and waits.

“I-I don’t regret it, but I should, shouldn’t I? B-because you’re always gonna be a dick and I’m always gonna just be h-here.” Morty swallows, fight suddenly draining out of him. “It’s never gonna change, huh.”

Rick sighs and puts down whatever he was working on. “Look, M-Morty-”

Morty groans, running his hands through his hair. “This blows, can w-we-can we stop? Lets-lets just go watch some interdimensional cable or something.”

Rick drags a hand over his face and looks as tired as Morty feels. “S-so that’s it? We-we’re both fucked up and we’re just gonna go watch tv? Real-real healthy, Morty.”

“Y-yeah, you really can’t call me out on that.” He turns on his heel and makes for the door. Rick catches him before he reaches it.

There’s a pause. Morty doesn’t pull away and Rick doesn’t let go. He just frowns down at Morty for a moment, brow furrowed, that same look in his eyes as that night on the roof. Curious. Analytical.

Then,

“Your mom’s already pissed at us, I-I’m not gonna wake her up.”

Morty blinks. He had maybe forgotten that it was 4am on a Sunday night. “Oh y-yeah.”

Rick’s hand tightens on his shoulder. “But w-we could go out for ice cream.”

Getting ice cream at 4am on a Sunday night isn’t much better than staying up watching tv, but at least Beth wouldn’t lose her shit with them.

Morty smiles. It’s more real and less tired than it’s felt the past couple of months-years even, if he’s being honest.

“Okay,” he says, allowing himself to be herded toward the spaceship.

Once inside, he clicks his seatbelt on and lets his body relax to the sound of the terrible noises the engine makes when it turns over. Rick backs them out and takes off, looking far more at ease than Morty’s seen in a while.

He wishes this could last.

It’s not going to. Of course it’s not. Rick will do something fucked up and Morty will either walk away for a while or continue to be addicted to making the man happy. Their own fucked up little abuse cycle, fueled by shared and separate traumas that neither will admit to, let alone work on.

And still, even knowing-even knowing the shape of the rest of his life, he can’t bring himself to say he made the wrong choice.

He doesn’t regret it.

He can’t bring himself to, because he would go literally insane with it. How could he go on knowing that he threw away the best chance at happiness he’d ever been given?

Morty leans back in the passenger seat and lets Rick’s ramblings and the ambient sounds of the ship wash over him.

It’s the closest thing to peace he has.

____

[xmalereader]

The Mandalorian X Dark fey! Male reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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Summary: Reader is a dark fey who has been staying with Din and the child for awhile now. They land on a planet that’s covered in snow and it seems to affect the dark fey a bit which worries Din.

Warnings: Pure fluff

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Din sighs as he enters the razor crest, a bag slung over his shoulder as the child’s pod follows close behind him. The two have been in town, buying material that would be needed in the near future since they do tend to get into a lot of trouble now that bounties are after them.

Closing the doors behind him he makes sure to take the kid out of the pod and set him down as he goes around the ship, putting things away that he had just gotten from the shops. It’s been a long day and a very cold one too. The storms were getting worse and they won’t be able to get off planet until they have calmed down or it could damage the ship.

Din wasn’t very worried about the ship since he could easily fix it back up and move on like normal. What really worried him was y/n.

The three had arrived two weeks ago and y/n had fallen—from what you can say, ill.

Din is still new to y/n’s kind and doesn’t know much about them since they have slowly gone extinct. But he does know that seeing a fey curling under the bed sheets with its wings wrapped around them—isn’t a good sign.

A small coo brings him out of his thoughts as he looks over to see the child standing in front of his bedroom door. Sighing, he walks over and opens the door for the kid who happily walks inside to see y/n still curled under the blankets.

Din can’t help but frown under the helmet as he too enters the room. “Y/n.” He says softly, catching the feys attention as he closed the door behind him. The room was lightly dimmed and he could spot the feys large black horns as he slowly climbs out from under the sheets to reveal his slightly pale face.

The Mandalorian approaches the bed and sits on the edge, removing his gloves as he reaches up to gently stroke his cheek with the back of his hand. The fey flinched away and whines. “You’re cold.”

“I just came from town, it’s still snowing outside so we won’t be able to leave yet.” Said din as he lowers his hand and puts the gloves back on.

Y/n can’t help but look down in sadness. “Din it’s been 2 weeks...I don’t know if I’ll be able to last a little longer.”

Din was a bit curious as to what would happen if he stayed out longer in the cold. “What happens if you stay longer?” He questions, wanting to know.

Y/n looks down and sees the child holding his hand with his tiny fingers, snuggling up against it as he coos and blinks up at him with a gummy smile. “I fall into hibernation, I fall into a deep sleep that usually last for a couple of months.” He explains to Din. “I saw it happen to my elders once...they spent to much time in the cold that they fell into a deep hibernation.” He bites his lip and pulls the kid onto his lap. “Sometimes they can last up to a year and that frightens me because I don’t want to go through that.” He mumbled out as he pulls the covers close to his cold body.

Din felt frightened, afraid for the first time ever as he listens to y/n explain as to what would happen to him if he continues to stay in the cold weather. “Can we slow it down?” He blurts out as y/n softly shrugs. “I think so? I mean I’ve been locked up in here for days and with some blankets, my wings keep me warm but I still feel cold sometimes.” He tells him as the Mandalorian stands up from the bed and walks towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m heading back to town and buying more blankets to keep you warm.” Said din.

Y/n shakes his head rapidly. “Din we need to credits for fuel and food! Don’t waste it on me I can manage with just the one I have right now!”

“No, you’ll feeeze and fall into hibernation. Who knows how much longer we’re going to be stuck here and the storm hasn’t died down yet.” Din stands over him as y/n cowers away into the blankets, curling up under them as he pulls the child to his chest.

Din lets a sigh from his lips. “I just want you to get better.” He walks over and grabs the blanket, tucking him in. Hopping that it’ll keep him warm for the next couple of hours that he’ll be out. “I’ll be quick, the kid has already eaten so we won’t be a bother—“ he points a gloved finger at the Fey. “You stay here. Don’t move, you understand?”

The fey slowly nods. “Got it.” He whispers back.

“Good.” Din gives him a firm nod as he turns to child that is snuggled up against y/n, trying to give him some warmth. “I’ll be back.” He says again before officially leaving this time.

He makes sure to close up the razor crest after he steps out, giving the ship one last look before nodding to himself and heading back to town. It was a long trip so hopefully he can make it back before sun down, he can’t leave y/n and the kid alone for too long.

Back at the razor crest, the young fey was still curled up in bed. Letting out a small shiver as his wings shift around him, trying to keep him warm as he whimpers in fear. He was tired and felt weak, he hasn’t eaten in the last couple of days due to him not feeling hunger. He was too anxious, afraid that if he moved too much he’d instantly fall into a coma.

Instead he allowed Din to hand feed him. It made him feel childish on having to reply on the Mandalorian but the two have helped each other a lot that it seemed normal and Din didn’t seem to mind.

Y/n whines as his hands grip the blankets close, shifting around in the bed causes the child to perk up from its hidden spot. It’s large ears fall back as he too worries for the young fey. The child coos and looks around the room, spotting Dins clean clothes stored away by a corner causes an idea to spark inside the child.

He walks over to the pile and takes one of the shirts, waddling back to y/n as he climbs the bed. Struggling a little as he pulls the shirt forward and places it on top of y/n’s horn since they seem to be the most revealing.

Y/n gasps in surprise as he peaks out from under the covers. Smiling softly as he watches the child climb around him, trying to use dins shirt to cover up both of his horns. “Dins not going to be happy once he sees this.” He says as the child chirps happily at his semi successful task.

It doesn’t take long for the child to go and grab another shirt. Only to come back and use it to cover up y/n’s wings.

Y/n watches the child struggle to put the shirt over him which causes him to chuckle softly. “Thank you..” he whispers out as his eyes slowly start to get heavy. The tiredness was catching up to him and he knows that he won’t be able to hold back anymore.

He stops fighting the tired feeling and allows his body to relax. His wings slowly go limp and his eyes start to close.

It doesn’t take Din long for him to come back, holding a bag over a shoulder that held a few blankets that’ll hopefully keep y/n warm for the next couple days.

As he enters the crest he makes sure to close up the doors and head down the hall towards his bedroom where he’s last seen the kid and the fey. A small shiver runs down his back as he shakes his head and tries to ignore the feeling. Right now his focus was on y/n.

Upon entering the room he stops in his steps and takes in the scene. The child was babbling away to a covered up y/n, not only was he covered up in a blanket but also covered up in his shirts. “Did you do this?” He asks the child, tilting his head to the side as the child gives him a grin and pats y/n’s head softly as if saying. ‘Yes, I did this!’

Din chuckles and sets the bag down. “Well at least he’s warm.” He walks over only to notice the dark feys body looking limp. Awhile back he was able to tell how tense and cold he was and now he wasn’t moving nor shivering.

“Y/n?” He whispers out.

Not getting a response back causes him to freak out, stepping forward he places a hand on y/n’s shoulder and gives him a small shake. “Hey! Y/n wake up.” He continues to try and wake him up. “Please don’t be asleep forever.” He begs.

Turning around he grabs the bag of blankets and pulls them out. He drapes them over y/n’s body, hopping that it’ll help him get better or at least wake up.

“Come on.” Din mutters to hismelf as he grabs another blanket to put over y/n. It only takes awhile for the fey to slowly wake up, hearing Dins soft murmuring causes him to glance up at the Mandalorian. “Din...” he mumbles out as he reaches out to take ahold of his gloved hand.

Din gasps at the touch, looking down to see y/n finally awake causes him to sigh in relief. “You’re awake...”

Y/n rasies a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You told me that you could end up in a deep hibernation if not kept warm and I came back to see you sleeping and I panicked. Not really knowing what to do—I started to cover you up.” He explains, gesturing at the blankets that were covered over the fey.

Y/n does notice the blankets and smiles softly. “I’m sorry that I worried you...the child used your clothes to keep me warm and I just—felt nice being warm again that I couldn’t help but fall asleep.” He whispers to the Mandalorian.

The fey knows how worried the Mandalorian can get. The two have been traveling together for a very long time. Mando couldn’t help become soft and protective around the child and y/n.

“I noticed.” Din turns towards the child who was sitting next y/n’s head. His ears moved upward as in questioning them as to why they were giving him strange looks. Y/n chuckles and says, “he just wanted to help, also he tells really good stories too.” He reaches out to poke the child’s nose, earning them a small giggle in return as the child takes ahold of his finger.

Din smiles at the two and leans forward to press his beskar helmet against y/n’s forehead. “I’m glad everything is fine.” He says as y/n leans forward too, connecting with eachother. “I’ll be okay, these blanket will keep me warm enough and thank you for buying them.” He added as he feels his feathers ruffle underneath the blankets, feeling the nice warmth feeling again as he sighs in relief.

“Will get off this planet soon. The storm will clear in less than few more days.” Said Din as he sits on the bed and picks up the child, setting him on his lap as the child coos at the two. “For now just rest—but don’t sleep too much or else I’ll think your in hibernation.” Y/n could feel Dins glare from behind the beskar.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here. Alive and awake.”

[analviel]

Tim's origin but with a little more SPICE:

It's been weeks since Tim started following Batman. When he began, it was with a determination to help right a wrong, to help his heroes in some way during this trying times.

Who'd have thought that seeing your city's hero repeatedly beat up petty criminals to pulps was a traumatizing experience for a thirteen year old. What courage he'd gained to do something, had been steadily chipped away and Tim is now in an impasse.

Taking pictures. Documenting the man's decent. And, if he was honest with himself.... well, it's looking more and more like evidence.

Evidence against Batman.

Oh my god.

Tim is both a stalker and a clean-up crew simultaneously, he feels like. But rather feeling good at being helpful to heroes, this feels more akin to helping cover up. Even though he isn't.

If anything, calling ambulances to report Batman's victims is the opposite. Tim feels acutely aware of how Batman's ledger is filling up. Records being taken and, therefore, evidence piling up.

It's all evidence, everything is, if you use it the right way. That's what Tim has learned following Batman's cases -not that it's ever under his name seeing as he is a vigilante and finding which ones have his style is detective work in itself.

This time though, it's different.

Oh god it's different, Tim feels himself panicking, wondering what was different that was making him even more vicious than he usually already is.

Not his parent's death anniversary. Or their anniversary. Not Harvey's turning either.

Way too soon to be Jason's death anniversary. Not his birthday either.

Tim wracked his mind trying to figure out what made this petty car jacker special. Different. Worse.

Tim press his back on the filthy rooftop, hands over his mouth, blinking tears from his eyes, listening to a stranger beg mercy from a.... hero? A criminal disguised as a hero? A villain disguised as a hero?

A grieving man.

Later, Tim will wonder what he could've done better; many things.

If he'd just moved immediately after Batman left, if his legs would've stopped shaking sooner, if he swallowed his bile, if he. Just. Moved.

If he hadn't waited seconds and then minutes after hearing the silence, then maybe...

The man is dead.

Or, he's dying.

Tim had called the ambulance, stumbled his way down the fire exit, and discovered the man fading.

Tim was too shocked to have the mind to exit the premises before the medics arrived.

He shouldn't have been.

He KNEW Batman was getting worse and worse. He didn't stop earlier, hadn't given up the mantle when his son died, he's not going to do it now. There was only one way to go now from there. Down.

Worse and worse until it's the worst.

They got the man back again.

Tim curls up in his seat in the ambulance. Watching.

Tim curls up in his seat in the hospital, barred from the operating room. Listening.

The man flatlined two more times -three all in all-, that's what he'd gathered from hushed whispers he can barely hear in the natural bustle of a hospital. 'Three times the charm' they say. Tim wonders in what way, in this case. Someone gives him a hot cocoa together with the blanket he'd been wrapped in by the first responders.

Someone's going to ask him questions, they say. They're just late a bit, they say.

Typical.

Tim would be gone before anyone arrives. If nothing else, his parents finding out about any of this, is enough to knock some sense into him. He doesn't know them that well, but at the very least, anyone even remotely sane would be Displeased with a capital D.

So he knows he shouldn't have, but he needed to go home. And he needed to see him before or he's not getting any sleep.

Tim sneaks into the room, sees the man attached to tubes and a heart monitor. He's alive. Barely. But he is.

Tim goes home and can't sleep.

The next day, he visits.

He doesn't even attempt the front desk and just walks in as if he'd just gone out for some air five minutes ago. He's sweating cold sweat the whole time.

He's not lying, he tells himself. He can't lie if no one's asking. It's fine. Everything's fine.

Except everything, you know.

Tim is shocked to find the man conscious. He almost runs back out but the man calls out a faint 'hey'.

He can't talk much, too damaged to do so. He doesn't ask Tim's name or what the hell he's doing there. Just asked him to pray for him.

Tim has never prayed a day in his life. He looks it up on Waynet.

Anxiously glancing at the door as he reads and recites as instructed.

Then the man talks about a sick brother. An overworked sister. If he can check up on them, please.

Tim has no idea why he'd ask a kid that, a stranger to boot, but he figures thirteen year olds from Crime Alley were just a different breed. It was nice watching and admiring from afar, but Tim can't imagine doing any of the death defying stunts Jason did on the regular.

Tim can't help repeating his name in his head though. His and his sister and brother.

He checks on them and returns to tell the man that they were alive and Tim also just signed them up for weekly groceries and medicine from his not inconsiderable allowance. No matter what walk of life you are, Tim at least knows that unsolicited help are usually unsolicited for a reason so he's not going to push. Much.

He was already there, you can't expect him not to do anything.

The man died.

They're trying to revive him again.

Tim can't bring himself to stay.

(To wait until the name Derek is written beside a time and date in one of those medical bracelets he'd never thought to ask the name of.)

But he makes a silent promise.

He's going to stop this.

Tim is going to do something.

Naturally, as any law-abiding thirteen year old, by 'doing something' his first thoughts are calling the authorities to sic them on Wayne manor with all the photos, and now evidence, he'd collected through the years.

Yeah, Tim chickened out.

Because reviewing all the photos, Batman is crying.

Crying while he beat up young men who are older brothers, but crying. Batman is broken.

In the past, if someone or something in Gotham is broken, you know Batman and Robin will be on it.

Robin has been shattered and Batman is broken. Who will be 'on it' this time? When the heroes need heroes, who will be there to catch them?

So. Yeah.

Plan B, is to give Batman time to recover. Preferably without Batman. Batman is justice and vengeance and the violence the police can't deal out. Violence for the greater good, but violence. That can easily go overboard, as he'd repeatedly witnessed.

There used to be less violence and more talking. When Batman had a Robin to be mindful of.

Tim needed Bruce to quit Batman.

Somehow without inadvertently burning down Gotham with supervillains let loose. Maybe a vacation. Tim can... convince him to go on a hiatus. There are times when the dark night go one JL missions and the Bats seems to have a system to prevent spikes in crime activities.

Mostly involving Batgirl, Robin, and -to a much lesser extent- Nightwing.

Batgirl is out of commission in what he suspects might be related to Barbara Gordon's injury, though he hasn't had time to confirm it.

Robin is... well.

Nightwing is MIA.

..... Tim will deal with it when the time comes.

The time doesn't come because... well, simply put, no one answered the door. Probably thinking it's more paparazzi -he'd seen the hordes and then regular pesters- so yeah, Tim understands. It's fine.

It's fine.

..... really, it is.

Tim does NOT visit the hospital.

He deactivates the program he'd spent the better part of the day before researching and copy pasting codes that would've sent a timer of five minutes from when activated that, if he didn't regularly enter the code, would automatically send all his pictures to every major news outlet in the entire country.

Clearly, Tim can't do this on his own. In fact, he's been getting a feeling that he shouldn't do this on his own.

Okay.

So if he was Dick Grayson, where would he retreat to grieve his little brother's sudden death.

......... how much is the bus fair again. Would a hundred be enough?

He'll bike it.

For the road trip pack, he's thinking a bag of lays. He'll stab it to get the air out and to be able to fit more in the bag.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tim close the door behind him, relaxing in the car seat with a sigh. Working in a company was exactly how he'd thought it'd be as a kid.

Something he'd rather not be doing. When was the last time he'd held a camera? Even just his phone camera? That doesn't involve recording evidence in the mask.

"Where to, Mr. Drake-Wayne?"

"Ermmgrgfdbcfb..."

"The penthouse then, after a short driveway. Red Robin or Burger King?"

"Yum."

"Yes sir."

Tim gathers just enough energy to lift his head to look at car mirror, "Thanks Derek. You're the only one who ever understands me."

"I'm sure Mr. Grayson would disagree."

"Disagree all he wants. He gave me the wrong donut once."

[voiceless-terror]

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity. 

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern. 

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships. 

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long. 

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely. 

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack. 

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow. 

“Aw, you love it.” 

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go. 

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who. 

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears. 

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

[lanuvolanera]

Sept 19th - Cofession

Chapter 1

My first ever fanfic, lads, be nice and enjoy.

---------

Coming out of Casper High mid afternoon, Danny and Tucker made their way down the school steps. Students trickled out the front doors in small groups and split their own ways as the duo began their trek to Fenton works.

"Man, I'm glad Sam didn't come today." Danny said, grasping his backpack strap slung over his shoulder.

"I know, right? She would've been miserable." Tucker replied, pocketing his PDA with a light frown on his face.

The day went well. Steady, in fact. They seemed to have kept off of Dash's radar and stayed on Mr Lancer's good side with the English assignment. Not to mention that it was pizza day at the cafeteria, the only good thing that the cooks knew how to make. Yeah, today wasn't so bad, it just felt empty without Sam by their side.

"She should be feeling better by tomorrow, right?"

"Honestly, I think she'll take the rest of the week off. If it wasn't for that ghost..."

"Oh god, don't remind me, I still feel awful." Danny said with a look of mild horror, still traumatised from the night before.

A pause in their conversation prompted more memories from last night.

Phantom, two feet above the ground, felt paralysed as he looked on and watched as Tucker ducked undercover from the ectoblasts firing in all directions from what looked like a regular bedsheet type ghost, only this one was different, this one screeched and wailed and gnawed it's black teeth, blood dripping from its mouth, staining its torso.

"We'll give her a call tonight, see how she's doing." Tucker said, dragging Danny out of his thoughts.

"Or we could head over, see how she's doing in person?"

"Or we could leave her be and let her rest."

Danny didn't like that idea, he was worried and felt guilty and ashamed that he couldn't prevent her injury. As minor as it was, she couldn't find the strength to come to school the next day, when he'd hoped to apologise again and ask how she's doing again and to offer her anything she needs again. He made his mind up right then.

"I'll fly over tonight then, when everyone's gone to bed."

"Sure, don't forget to bring her homework and tell her you love her."

"What?" Danny gasped in shock, a deep red blush covering his cheeks.

"Nothing." Tucker looked away with a sheepish grin and quickly changed the topic.

"We still need to do some research about last night's ghost, I've downloaded some pdf's which I'll send to you and Sam to see if there are other ways to dispell it if the thermos didn't work."

They turn the corner and can see the large Fenton works sign in the distance, two blocks away.

"Race you." Danny smirked, and sprinted off before Tucker had a chance to realise what was happening.

With a loud "hey!" from Tucker in the background, Danny slowed as he neared the steps to his front door and tried the handle, locked. Hmm, his parents are out, Jazz would still be at school studying in the library, looks like he and Tucker have the house to themselves. Danny pulls out his keys and unlocks the door just as Tucker catches up out of breath.

"That's cheating, you had a head start." He pants.

"Come on, the computer in the lab is free, go down and fire it up while I get some coffee brewing."

"Sounds like a plan."

-------------‐-------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Danny flew Tucker back to his house.

They soared through the night sky, clear and full of stars, street lamps illuminating the buildings below them, his best friends arm slung over phantoms shoulders.

"Look, all I'm saying is if we go back tomorrow, what if we make things worse, pissed it off even more. If its trapped there like we think, what harm will it do if we leave it alone?"

"It's different though, what if when we found it there, we let it loose?"

"If we did then don't you think we would've seen it again by now?"

"I don't want to chance it, we need to find a way to deal with it permanently."

"Don't tell me you're going back there by yourself."

"No, I'm going to Sam's, like I said."

"You'd better."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Once he'd said his goodbyes to Tucker, and reassured him he wasn't going to do something wreckless, Danny took off into the air once more and set course for Sam's House.

With a backpack full with his thermos, his laptop, his phone, both his and Sam's maths homework, a couple of pens, pencils, markers and 2 cans of Sam's favorite soda, Danny sped across the rooftops when a blue puff of cold air burst it's way past his lips.

"Of course, I thought it was too quiet tonight."

Taking a quick glance of his surroundings, there was nothing to be seen in the empty streets. A brief pause, his breath held in his lungs, then glass crashing from a shop window a few blocks down caught Danny's attention.

Cackling laughter and bursts of light flashed from the window, Danny wasted no time reaching the building, turning himself intangible and flew through the ceiling.

"Oh, come on! What the hell are you doing here? In a pet store of all places?"

....

----------------------------------------------------------------

Danny finally arrived at his destination. Peaking through the window to find Sam laying on her bed, light from her laptop illuminating her face, in her black pyjamas and a cast on her leg.

He knocked on the glass, and smiled as Sam startled.

Waving him in, he floated through the glass and landed with a soft thump on the plush carpet, and settled on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Danny said with concern in his voice.

"Fine. Hey, you need to sign my cast." Sam says with a playful smirk. Danny half expected her to be more upset about being injured, or at least, as upset as he is.

After the escape from the warehouse the night before, with Sam cradled in his arms and Tucker following not too far behind, all Danny could think was this was all his fault. Sam got injured because of him, because he was too late, too late to swoop in and protect her from the falling scaffolding from the ghost fight, that cost her her ability to run to safety. He's the hero, isn't he? And he couldn't save her from something as simple as falling debris? What kind of hero-

"Danny-"

Sam could see the distraught look on Danny's face and he caught himself looking down at her cast. It could've been a lot worse, but still.

Danny looks up at her, he needs to confess.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry you got hurt, I should've been more careful-"

"Hey, don't worry about it, these things happen, right? It could've been a lot worse."

"I know, I keep telling myself that, but still-"

"But still, we need to figure out a way to get rid of that ghost, I've been doing some research on this specific type of ghost and I've read through the files Tucker sent me, and I think I have a good idea on what we're working with."

Sam brings the laptop closer and turns it around for Danny to see pages upon the screen filled with information from different historic and religious sites.

"Does it say anything about why the thermos didn't work?" He asked playfully. Of course, the Fenton thermos only being a recent invention, there wouldn't be any information that hasn't been put online by the Fentons themselves indicating its presence in the ghost hunting community across the globe. Sure, there have been other containment methods but for this particular ghost, the best method would be to remove it from this plane entirely instead of just bottling it up.

Other pages on the screen suggest cleansing treatments of the haunted area using a mixture of herbs, minerals and rituals, witchcraft. If that could work, maybe the Fentons have other means of ghost study to pursue, if they believed in that sort of thing, of course.

"Hoestly, this stuff is giving me a headache, I need a break."

"Good thing I have just what you need." Danny says, reaching for his backpack.

He pulls out his own laptop, the 2 cans of soda and their homework, which Sam gives a mild look of disgust.

"Great."

"You don't look at all enthused." Danny says with a cheeky smile, and pops open his can, passing the other one over to Sam who takes it gratefully.

A small awkward pause later and Sam has to snap Danny back to reality again.

"Look, I know you think this is your fault, so here's my obligatory I'm-not-a-damsel-in-distress talk, we're a team, we'll sort this out, and we can forget about it."

"It's not just that, I don't know, it's just that- I don't think I'll be able to forget about it. There's something about this ghost, it's terrifying." Danny says, setting his can aside.

"I know, ugly too." Sam smiles as Danny looks up, he remembers what Tucker said to him earlier.

Tell her you love her.

"I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you, I couldn't imagine my life without you."

At this, Sam sits up and puts her can on her bedside table. They're face to face with each other now.

"I couldn't imagine my life without you either, and you're right, that ghost is terrifying, even more of a reason to fight it."

Tell her.

"This ghost fight seems to be putting things into perspective."

You love her.

"I know what you mean."

They don't know when they got closer, or when they started leaning in.

Danny lightly brushes his fingers across her cheek, tilting her head just so, and presses his lips to hers.

It's a little awkward at first, spending a few seconds in that position. Then someone, or maybe both, adjust their lips, and oh.

Oh wow.

The sensation is amazing, sparks running down their spines and they readjust again, and again.

Their arms begin to wrap around each other and oh god, they're actually making out, kissing. They don't even realise they've fallen onto their sides on the bed, eyes squeezed shut applying and reapplying firm presses of their lips together.

They stay that way for a few moments, or is it lifetimes, when a tune came from the bedside table.

They pull apart, dazed red faces inches from each other, before Sam sits up and grabs her phone.

"It's Tucker."

She answers.

"Hey, Sam, I know you're busy recovering and all and I know it's late but I think I have a lead."

"That's great, what've you got?"

"I've found a review online about a book at the town hall library, if we can get it checked out tomorrow we might be able to find a way to exorcise this ghost."

Sam and Danny look at each other with hope.

"What's the title?"

"Ghost hunting for dummies."

"Be serious."

"I'll make you laugh one day, I swear."

"Tucker."

"It's called 'witchcraft untold', there are only 2 copies in town, the other is at the 'Skulk and Lurke'. The review made it sound like a work of fiction, and maybe it is, who knows? But I think it's worth checking out."

Sam makes a mental note of the title. There are a few books she's planning on checking out, some including cultural and religious beliefs on the undead, magic and pagan rituals, and scientific findings surrounding ghosts. If this book Tucker mentioned is as promising as it sounds, things could be looking up.

"I've been meaning to go to the 'Skulk and Lurke' tomorrow anyway, so I'll keep an eye out for it."

"Thats great, we'll talk more later, get some rest."

" I will do, see you later, Tuck."

"See you, and say hi to Danny for me!"

Click.

They glance at each other, and Danny moves to stand up.

"I should get going, um..."

"Yeah, you're gonna need some rest too if we're gonna face this ghost tomorrow night."

"We?"

"Yeah?"

"No."

"What?"

Danny couldn't believe he had to say this.

"Sam, you're injured, there's no way I'm letting you come along..."

"You're not 'letting' me do anything, I'm going. We still need to figure out a plan before then anyway, when I get a chance to check out that book."

The air surrounding them starts to tense.

"How am I supposed to fight this ghost and protect you at the same time? Or have you already forgotten about last night?"

"Excuse me? Have you forgotten what I said only ten minutes ago? I'm not letting you go off and play hero all by yourself!"

"That is not-"

"Save it. I can take care of myself."

"Fine, I'll call you in the morning."

"Fine."

And with that, Danny turns towards the window and lifts off, phases through, and rises into the night sky.

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Light in the Dark

Summary: Avoiding Bucky seemed to be the thing to do after the two of you broke up, until a mission gone wrong shows you how much you have to lose.  Pairing; Bucky x Reader Word Count: 2415 Warnings: Language, angst, canon typical gun violence, GSW, blood.  Square Filled: Post-Breakup AU for @marvelfluffbingo.  Square Filled: Second gif within the fic (Y2) for @buckybarnesbingo. [Rating: Teen/Mature]  A/N: I feel like I maybe ended another fic with a similar line? Anyway, don’t call me out, ha. Happy Reading!

GIF Source

“So, ending it. That’s what you want?”

Tears were brimming in her eyes and the lump in her throat stopped her from answering Bucky’s question. She sniffed, hoping it would stop her emotions from falling down her cheeks. One blink though, and she was betrayed. 

“It’s not what I want, Buck.” Her tone was bordering on pleading. “But you and I don’t want the same things. I want to move forward, you want to stay stuck. You won’t open up to me, you haven’t touched me in weeks — and I’m not even talking about sex. You won’t hold my hand, won’t stand within two feet of me.”

He pressed his lips to a thin line and sighed. He started with a measured tone, partial words stumbling out until he got so frustrated at his inability to form a sentence, he let out a loud growl and pounded on the table nearby. 

“You don’t get it! All right? You don’t know the things that are still in my head, you don’t know how much fear I live in, every mother fucking day, that I’m going to lose it and hurt you.” He squeezed his eyes shut, raking a vibranium hand through his hair. “This is more than you can handle, Y/N. There are days when — when I don’t wanna talk and you think things are worse than ever. That’s not always the case. Some days I just need the quiet. Everything in my head is so loud — that’s not the point. The point is, I’m not good for you.”

Her tears came to an abrupt stop. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I don’t have demons of my own? You think the things that I have done, the lives I have taken, don’t haunt me in my sleep? At every waking moment? I see their faces, every time I close my eyes. You are not the only one with blood on your hands, Bucky Barnes.” She stood and clenched her fists at her sides. “If you think that I’m one of those agents who was bred into this because my parents were in the first wave of S.H.I.E.L.D agents, who can handle all of this and then sleep at night like it’s nothing, you don’t know me at all.”

She stepped up to him and took his face in her hands before kissing him softly. She wiped her taste away with her thumb before taking a step back. 

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

For weeks after the split, they avoided each other at all costs. If she rounded a corner and saw Bucky coming her way, she backtracked and took the long way around. If Bucky was headed to the common room but heard her singing along to the radio before he made it there, he turned on his heel and got what he needed elsewhere. Every now and then, he could bribe someone into getting what he needed, but the whole crew was running thin on that arrangement. 

“You could talk to her, you know,” Sam suggested. 

Steve nodded his agreement. “At least work out a schedule of who can be where and when. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, but hey, at least then you two can have a more normal life and the rest of us can stop making money off of your awkward situation. Besides, it’s been … how long has it been? Surely long enough for you two to be adults about the situation.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come to me and say what she needed to say.”

Nat came into the room and sighed. “Not necessarily, Barnes. I’ve talked to Y/N about it and she doesn’t want to be in your way anymore than you want to be in hers. To be honest, I’m not so sure that this break-up is really worth the trouble when the two of you could just talk it out and work through your problems.”

“We wanted different things,” Bucky mumbled, “and that hasn’t changed. What I want hasn’t changed.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Her. You want her, stupid. The rest of it is called compromise. You should look it up sometime. Y/N can stop moping around, you can come back from the dim place. Everyone can be back to their normal lives.”

“The dim place?” Sam repeated. 

“Yeah, you know. Not the dark place. He’s been in the dark place. This sucks but it’s not as bad as the dark place.”

“Makes sense,” Steve commented; Bucky looked to him for confirmation that his best friend agreed with Nat. “Hey, it’s not bad advice. I mean, she's also the one who told me to ask out the chick in accounting with a lip piercing.”

Nat punched Steve playfully in the shoulder. “Hey, she was nice!”

They all laughed about the idea of a freshly-thawed Steve dating a girl with a lip piercing; Bucky had to admit, it was nice to have the attention off of him and Y/N and on to a different subject. 

Attention rescue team; emergency extraction call received. Departure in three minutes and counting. Rescue team; extraction mission imminent. Three minutes and counting. 

FRIDAY’s voice pulled most of them from a steady — or not-so-steady — sleep and into action mode. A team raced for the quinjet, in uniform and ready for a debriefing as the jet took off.  

“Secretary of State was abducted by a Russian militia organization. Our job is to go in, extract, get him home. I’m waiting now for reports on what kind of arms they have on the ground,” Tony informed as he set their destination into the navigation system. 

Y/N buckled in and let out a deep breath. Flying was something she was getting more used to, but she did better when she knew the flight was coming. Several minutes into the flight, her tension was redirected from a few bumps of turbulence to the unexpected hand on her shoulder. 

“You doing okay?” Bucky asked. 

She pulled her shoulder from his touch. “Yeah, fine. I’m always fine.”

He smirked just a little. "I know you are, but the flying …”

“I’m great, Sergeant Barnes. Just peachy.”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line and he sat back in his seat. Y/N kept her eyes forward, her expression stoic, even as Tony took the jet higher. Her jaw was clenched though, giving away her nerves. Bucky decided the best thing to do would be to keep an eye on her; be supportive from a distance. 

The mission started out well enough. They located the Secretary easily — too easily, really. Nat, Wanda, and Clint went ahead of the group to keep the path clear back to the quinjet; Tony and Rhodey were on either side of the Secretary; Y/N and Steve were right behind him; Bucky brought up the rear. 

No one was quite sure where the first shots came from. The Secretary groaned and grabbed for his left shoulder as more bullets whizzed past the group. Tony and Rhodes took one arm each and flew him back to the quinjet while the rest of them went on the defensive. 

Y/N was taking a mental head count of everyone running in front of her; Nat, Wanda, Clint, Steve — check all. Where was Bucky? Emotions took over and she spoke into the comm. 

“Barnes, send back.” When no answer came, she stopped in her tracks. “Barnes! Send back!”

Still no answer. Her eyes met Steve’s for a brief second before she was turning and running the other direction, away from the rest of them. Steve was yelling behind her but she wasn’t about to stop and wait for whatever it is he had to say. As she got back to where the shooting had started, she started calling Bucky’s name. Her heart raced with frantic emotion at the million possibilities that could be keeping Bucky behind. 

A Russian militiaman was positioned over Bucky, fists flying. Bright red blood pooled under Bucky’s thighs and spurting with each heartbeat made Y/N panic that his wounds were fatal as is, without a beating on top of it. A feral yell rumbled from deep in her chest as she rushed the other man, knocking him away from Bucky and tackling him to the ground. 

Her own fists were flying now, lashing out at the man who might dare to take Bucky away from her. Somewhere in her mind, Y/N knew that getting Bucky medical attention needed to be a priority, but she couldn’t stop her anger from taking control at that moment. 

“Y/N, hey, come on! Enough!” Steve yelled, finally catching up to her. He pulled her away from the Russian, who had gone unconscious at some point. His face was bloody and mangled, but his own people would have to take care of him. 

Steve assessed Bucky’s other injuries while Y/N used her belt as a tourniquet around his leg. Between the two of them, they managed to get him back to the quinjet without much more incident; the second the were on board, Tony raised the bridge and took off. 

“What happened?” Nat questioned, helping to get Bucky laying down. She grabbed for a first aid kid and found some gauze to place over the bullet wound while Y/N threw her gloves off and took his face in her hands. 

“Bucky! Can you hear me? Look at me, Buck! You stay with us, all right? We’re going to get you back, they’re going to take care of you. But you have to fight too, you have to stay with me,” she pleaded, tears filling her eyes when his eyes met hers. “Please, Bucky. You can’t leave me like this, okay? We’ve got too many days of awkward interactions ahead of us.”

Bucky’s mouth pulled into a weak smirk as his cold, shaky hand came up to her cheek. Y/N leaned into it, still pleading quietly with him not to leave her like this. 

“Everything’s okay,” Bucky whispered, only a couple of seconds before his eyes closed and his hand fell away from her face. 

Hours passed in agony as you waited outside the medical bay for any updates on Bucky’s health. She didn’t change out of her uniform, didn’t bother to get cleaned up, only followed his gurney as far as they would let her go. After that, she found a chair and fell into it, determined not to move until she had some concrete information. 

“Here,” Nat said, nudging her with an elbow. “Water and coffee. I’ll bring you food when you can stomach it.”

Y/N took the water bottle first, downed half of it, then set it aside and sipped at the coffee. She probably did need to eat, but the very idea of food make her stomach churn. Nat stayed but didn’t speak. Y/N waited a full minute before she broke the silence. 

“He was trying.”

Nat frowned. “Bucky?”

Y/N nodded. “On the quinjet. He knew I was going to be anxious about the flight and he asked if I was okay. I blew him off. I didn’t want his sympathy because I’m still so mad at him. How could he think that I was — that I couldn’t understand where he was coming from? Maybe not to the extent that it was happening, but I’m not innocent, Nat.”  She scoffed. “And how could I not be more understanding? How could I walk away from him and not show him how much I love him. How much I need him.”

“You need each other,” Nat offered. 

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”

She sat silently with Nat for the next several hours. There was still no word, and no one would let them into the medical bay. Nat had finally convinced Y/N that she needed to shower when Dr. Cho came out to update them. Y/N bumped into Nat, she turned around so fast after hearing her name being called. 

Helen drew in a deep breath. “Bullet nicked his femoral artery, but fortunately, I think his advanced healing process saved his life. We did the rest of the surgical repairs and I believe if he can pull through the next couple of days, he should be in the clear.”

Both Nat and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief. The women hugged briefly before Y/N asked if she could see him. 

Helen smiled. “Of course; he’s been asking for you. We wanted to give him time to pull it together after the surgery.”

But Y/N only the first of Helen’s sentence. She raced into the medical bay, stopping once to ask which room Bucky was in. When she got there, she was nearly breathless. 

“Wondered if you were gonna come see me,” Bucky mumbled, giving her as much of a smile as he could manage. 

She stood next to his bed and took his vibranium hand. “Bucky, I’m so sorry …”

“Hey, you’re not the one who shot me.”

“Don’t joke,” Y/N scolded. “You know what I mean. I shouldn’t have walked away, shouldn’t have brushed you off in the jet. What if you hadn’t made it?”

Bucky squeezed her hand. "Hey, c’mon, sweetheart. I’m all right. I’ve been through worse than this.”

“But not with me so mad at you,” she whispered. “I don't want to do this anymore, Buck. I don't care how much we fight or how much we push each other away. I don't want to have the horrendously gigantic cloud lingering over me that one of us could die and you wouldn't know how much I love you.”

Bucky reached up to caress her cheek; this time, his hand was warm, steady. “I can't promise to give you everything you want right away. I still am who I am, Y/N. But I sure as hell can try.”

She leaned over to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Who you are is exactly who I fell in love with. Trying is all I ask.”

He pulled her in for another kiss. There would be plenty more to be discussed, when Bucky was fully on the mend and ready for it. The fights would come, the darker days would come. As long as neither of them gave up on each other, though, there would always be a light in the darkness. 

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @hurricanerin​ @horsesandbandsforlife​ @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​ @shynara51​ @sea040561​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xtina2191​ @gifted-burnout​ @beakami​ @heartsaved​ @fullprunerebelstatesman​ @blackwidowismyhomegirl​ @averyrogers83​ @jennmurawski13​ @connie326​ @disastersoldierbucky​

Buckvember (Not already included in AotT): @peace-love-hobbitness​  @rebekahdawkins​ @wonder-cole​