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yoonia · 1 year ago

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Chance Encounter | 06

⟶ Title | Chance Encounter

⟶ Summary | Sometimes your fangirling can cause you a lot of problems. Add alcohol and your clumsy thumb into the mix, followed by waking up to an accidental DM getting sent on Instagram, and your life changes forever. The entire mess leads you to an odd form of friendship with the man who you had always admired. But what happens when your two worlds collide, blurring the lines between reality and dreams? Will you be able to return to your real-life once this is over?

⟶ Author's note | It's finally here! After a long wait, I have finally returned with this story. I think this would be the perfect time to reveal the reason why I haven't been updating this series in a while and that is...*drum roll*...because google docs lost the entire files for the rest of the chapters lol I'm back, though, and I have every intention to finish this series because I still have a ton of ideas to share featuring this amazing man. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Six

“Are you guys still at the mall? Seriously, did you have to take so long to pick your—bathing suit?”

Pressing your hand on your mouth, you muffle the sound of your laughter while Christian continues fuming on the other side of the call. “Bathing suit? Damn, you sound older than Momo’s Dad,” you almost choke as you tease him, unable to stop yourself from laughing.

“Okay, bikini, swimsuit, whatever,” he says, grumbling on the phone, causing you to laugh harder.

“It’s not that we lost track of time because of the bikinis,” you answer him with your voice lowered, not wanting to draw any more attention from the people roaming around you when you had already drawn enough eyes on you just by giggling to yourself. Having people glancing your way is already making you feel uncomfortable enough, even more so when it feels like you are hiding a big secret from the world and you have an irrational fear of getting caught growing on you.

Speaking to Christian like this makes you feel that way. It feels like you are keeping an important secret from the world. Although you have to admit that this is exactly what he is—a wonderful secret that you want to keep to yourself for a bit longer.

Thinking about this puts a smile on your face. One that stays with you when you cheerfully add, “We just had a little detour while shopping, that’s all. We’ll be back on track and finish things up in no time.”

Just as you are saying these words to him, you cast a glance towards the other side of the store where you currently are. There, you see Momo leaning over one of the glass showcases lined inside the store with rapt attention, eyes glowing over the collection of expensive branded watches lined up properly on display. Right beside her, Em is basically doing the same, and it is almost comical to see their expressions mirroring one another, with the bright lights coming out of the glass display reflecting on their faces to make them shine. And neither of them is even bothered by it, too mesmerised by the flashy collection that they have been eyeing on.

“Is ‘detour’ a code word for saying that you guys are getting carried away at the mall? You’re not trying to buy everything you see on display, are you?” Christian speaks on the phone again, and you are forced to stifle your laughter as you listen to what he is saying. Even without seeing him, you can already picture his pouty face and the curious frown that he normally gives you when he is trying to understand something that he couldn’t get a good grasp on, which often happens when you share some of the things that you do when you are not with him. You turn to look at the watch counter, watching silently as Momo is helping Em choose between a couple of watches that the storekeeper has personally picked out for them.

“No, it’s an actual detour. We sort of encountered some kind of—distraction.” A smile comes to your face when you recall what had happened. To remember the reason why you and Momo had ended up in the exclusive watch store with Em, the last person on earth that you would expect to be hanging out with.

It was quite awkward at first to have Em join your shopping date, when you barely knew anything about her except for what you have learned through the few cordial encounters you had with her, especially after the cryptic comment she made about the gift she is looking for.

But you are thankful that you had Momo here with you today, as she managed to defuse the situation, knowing exactly well about your habit to overthink and worry about the things that you don’t fully understand. Once Momo jumped in to break the ice, you finally gained enough information to not be as wary as you were when you first met Em earlier.

“What kind of gift are you thinking of getting?” Momo asked her while the three of you were browsing through the shops and did some window shopping before making any decisions about where to go, and Em—having no knowledge of the turmoil happening in your head at that moment—nonchalantly answered,

“Something that would give a nice message as a congratulatory and send-off gift.”

Momo stole a glance your way then before asking. “Send-off? Is it for a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Em said, looking at the two of you with a bashful smile that told you more than any spoken word could. “He’s a really special friend of mine who is moving to the States sometime next month. He got this terrific offer that would allow him to make more music, which is basically a huge upgrade to what he’s been doing here lately,” she explained, then she turned to you with a request, “He’s also a good friend of Rome. I mean, Christian. Since they’ve been spending time together quite often lately, would it be okay if I ask you not to say anything to Ian when you see him? I don’t want to spoil the surprise too soon. We’ll be leaving for the States together once the date is set, but my friends and I are planning to have a send-off party the weekend before. I’m thinking of giving the gift to him then.”

The smile that came to your face was almost spontaneous. The relief that you felt must have been palpable, yet you couldn’t get yourself to reel it in. Though you did manage to control your composure when you promised her, “Your secret is safe with me,” while you tried to qualm the feeling of guilt for having suspected the relationship that she has with Christian.

On the phone, Christian gives you a sarcastic scoff and says, “Riiiight—”

“It’s not what you think, I promise.”

“No, I get it. Those discount sale offers can be quite intriguing,” he says, obviously having the wrong assumption about what you are truly up to. You wish you could explain, yet this is just another secret that you would have to keep from him. At least until the end of the month, when Em would finally be able to reveal her surprise gift for her special friend. “Look, just go ahead and have fun with your friend. You deserve it,” Christian adds, though his voice sounds lighter, no more of his feigned annoyance is heard. In its place, you can hear his smile, which only draws your own to appear.

“Thank you,” you say to him. “Aren’t you supposed to be busy right now?”

“Yeah, I’m in the middle of a break, but we’re getting back into it in a minute,” he says, already sounding a bit distracted just as the noises behind him start growing a bit louder. “Call me when you’re back. Maybe, you know, you can give me a little preview—”

Knowing where this is heading, you quickly cut him off before he could say the words, “Goodbye, Ian.”

He chuckles on the phone. “See you later, baby,” he says, before ending the call, all while your heart is racing so violently in your chest for the endearment that he had just given you. Immediately, your face grows hot, and your mind seems to be swirling up to the air with the joy blooming inside you.

Still feeling as if you are on cloud nine, you almost miss it when Momo turns to call you over, “I think we’ve found the perfect one. Come here and take a look at this, try to see if you like it too.”

Putting your phone away, you rush towards your best friend and your new shopping companion, Em, who appears just as giddy and excited as Momo is to show what they have found. Seeing their combined reactions, you cannot help but share the same sentiment, and it adds a bit of pep to your footsteps as you come to join them in finding the perfect gift for Em’s secret crush.

“How about this one?” Em asks you as she shows you yet another pair of bikinis that seems a bit too revealing compared to what you are used to. You make no comment about her choice of outfit as she hands the delicate pair to you, choosing to take a good look at the piece to appreciate her genuine effort in helping you to find the piece that might fit your taste more.

Ever since the three of you came into the store, both Em and Momo have been assisting you to find the perfect pair for you to buy, as they took notice of your indecisiveness right away. Everything you are seeing in the store has been lovely that it is making it impossible for you to choose, yet the two girls have only been of little help to you. Because when Em keeps choosing the most revealing and extremely daring ones she could find in the store which makes your face burn each time you try to imagine yourself wearing them, Momo has been choosing the ones with the brightest colours and flashy frills that you would never be able to wear without getting your face burning in embarrassment.

This time, however, the piece that you are holding in your hand seems to have caught your eye. It is a solid coffee-coloured triangle set with beaded strings, and a halter top that covers just a bit more skin compared to the previous ones she showed you. The piece sure looks like a major upgrade from the small black piece that she showed you earlier with the top which barely covered your boobs and the thin strip bottom, and while it looks revealing, it seems a bit more appropriate to wear at Momo’s house this weekend—where some or any of her family members might be present—compared to the other ones she has shown you so far.

“You know what? This one actually looks quite nice,” you say to her, acknowledging her taste in style and suddenly believing that you might actually look good in something that seems quite daring.

Your comment seems to please her as her face instantly brightens. And for some reason, it makes you just as happy to see her getting excited for you. This new feeling is quite—odd. Not more than an hour ago, the air of awkwardness that was present had made it hard for you to start a conversation with her without Momo’s help. You cannot deny that the underlying doubt that you felt about her relationship with Christian had made you feel inferior while being around her. Added with the way she looks and dresses and how she wears her confidence so openly, something that is quite the opposite if compared to you.

But that feeling is no longer present now when you have finally gotten to know her a bit better, and once you got to see her bubbly personality that seems to fit your and Momo’s energy perfectly.

Once that bridge has been crossed, you begin to see and understand why she is able to get along with Christian and his friend group. The more you spend time with her, the more you are able to see how kind and friendly Em really is. And that despite her pristine appearance, she could be quite—clumsy.

Much like you are.

Perhaps knowing that you aren’t completely different from one another has been the reason why you are beginning to feel comfortable hanging out with her without anyone else’s helping you.

“Great! I knew you’d like it. The set comes with a cover-up too,” she says, plucking the thin piece of coverup from the rack that appears to be a part of the set for you to try on. “Here, try them all on together and see if it’s something you’d like. Oh, and try the black one too,” she insists, quickly snatching the similar set in black before handing them to you along with the coffee one. She looks at the sets you are now holding and sighs dramatically. “I still think the previous one was hotter, though.”

“Oh, no,” you quickly say to her, shaking your head when you recall the one she mentioned. “The black one you picked for me was not a bikini top, those were nipple patches.”

Your comment makes her laugh. “Yeah, I admit, those were more daring than the rest. But I have a couple of them at home and they’re really comfortable. And I bet you’d look really good in them.”

You almost grimace as you try to picture yourself wearing those tiny things, though you hide it the best you could, knowing that Em has rocked those types of bikinis perfectly and is evidently loving them to bits. You know this because she has shown you a few photos of her wearing them from her social media, and you have to admit, she does look good wearing all the daring pieces you saw that you almost feel envious of her confidence.

Em leaves you be as you make your way to the fitting room at the back of the store, only to suddenly return before you can get there so she can slip a couple of new items into your arms to add to the pile that you are about to try on.

“Here, try on these too while you’re at it. Can’t hurt to know how they would look on you, can it?” she says, while you only roll your eyes and laugh at her.

“Fine, if it makes you happy.”

Sliding into one of the vacant booths, you finally get to take a look at what you have gotten with you so far. Aside from the two complete sets that Em got you earlier, you also find the black top which you classified as nipple patches among the pile. This one is adorned with gold chains tying the top up to hang around your neck, making it look a bit more classy compared to the ones that Em initially found when she first started helping you.

Shaking your head and chuckling at Em’s sneaky antics, you put the tiny thing away to have a look at the others. Other than a new pair that looks similar to the black and coffee sets that you liked earlier, you find another bikini set which Em managed to slip in. This one looks just as revealing as the other ones, if not just a bit more, with a brighter colour that makes them pop in your eyes. You hold up the red halter bikini top which comes together with a thong-like bottom that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Although, there is a sheer long skirt that comes with the pair, what seems to be a coverup that looks to be sufficient enough to cover the bottom half if you need it.

Surprisingly, you find yourself liking this piece as well. Just when you are pressing the pieces against your body just to imagine how it would look on you, you hear a knock at the door before Momo speaks to you from the other side.

“Em told me that you’re in here. So, have you finally found something you like?” she teases, while you can only shake your head and laugh.

You look down at your stash with a sigh. “Will you be patient? Perfection takes time.”

A scoff is heard from your best friend, and you can almost imagine her rolling her eyes at you. “Or you’re just being too picky. Hurry up and try them on, then come out here so we can see it. Em already approved the ones I picked.”

You smile at your reflection in the mirror when you recall Momo slipping into a fitting booth with an arm full of bright-coloured bikini sets. “Why should I show you mine if I didn’t get to see what you’re buying?”

“You’ll get to see them later when we’re paying for them. I only want to see yours to make sure you’ll look hot in my jacuzzi,” she says, making you laugh.

“Okay, let me try these on. Now leave me alone.”

You hear nothing from Momo other than a simple, “Okay,” and you start choosing the ones you want to see yourself in. Surprisingly drawn towards the red bikini set, you immediately pick that one to try first. While you can never possibly imagine yourself wearing it this weekend, you want to see if it would be something that you could wear sometime in the future.

The thin fabric feels like silk on your skin, but they are surprisingly comfortable. You are originally not one to wear something this revealing, always have been choosing the modest ones whenever you could, yet you can definitely see yourself in this set even if it may not happen for a while.

“Which one are you trying on now?” you hear Momo asking, and you absentmindedly answer her while admiring your own reflection, turning left and right to see yourself from every angle, making sure that the piece actually works for you before you can buy it.

“It’s the red one that Em found for me.”

“Really?” you can hear Em squealing from outside, excited to hear that you are trying out the piece that she seems to like. It makes you stop to hear her voice, realising that she is also out there, crowding the front of your booth with Momo.

“Seriously? Are you guys actually standing out there together waiting for me to show these?”

“We just want to see them,” Momo whines, while Em chimes in curiously,

“So? How do they look? Do you like them? Don’t they look gorgeous?”

They actually do look gorgeous, and it makes you look more appealing while wearing them. You feel the sudden urge and excitement to show them, especially Em, just to make her happy to see you trying this on. Yet, thinking about stepping out of the booth right this minute makes you feel a bit insecure.

“Um—do I have to step out and show you guys? They’re really—well, I feel exposed,” you hesitantly admit, feeling every bit self-conscious about stepping out of this booth.

It is one thing to wear this on a beach or while you are lounging in a fancy jacuzzi. It is another thing to be flaunting it around while being in the middle of a mall. With strangers around you to see. Momo seems to get this when you hear her snickering from the other side of the door.

“Then take pictures of them and send them to me so we can have a look.”

“Ooh, good idea!” Taking out your phone, you start taking pictures of yourself. Posing right in front of the mirror, you find the best angles that would be able to show the set that you are wearing, before covering your bottom half with the sheer skirt and taking photos of yourself wearing the complete set as well. “Hang on, let me try out the others before sending them to you.”

You barely hear Momo’s response as you quickly change out of the first bikini set, then repeat everything again as you try out the other two which you liked earlier—the coffee and black ones that you would feel more confident to wear. Feeling cold, you rush to quickly send all the pictures, adding a short comment for the coffee-coloured one in the message, ‘I’m getting this one for the weekend.’

Once you are done, you place your phone aside and change back into your clothes as you wait for Momo’s reaction to the pictures you sent. When you hear nothing from them, you simply figure that they might be still looking through the photos and think nothing of it and focus on sorting out the pieces you tried on before taking them with you.

But then Momo calls out to you from outside, getting you confused when she asks, “What’s taking you so long? Did you take the pictures yet?”

You stop in the middle of tidying yourself up. “What do you mean? I sent them all to you already.”

“Really? I’m getting nothing on my phone though.”

Wondering what the hell went wrong, you pick up the phone to see what happened with the messages you sent her. Only to have your stomach dropping once you open your message app, finally realising what you have done. Because you already did send out the messages and the pictures, except that you had not been messaging Momo the entire time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you curse at yourself when you see Christian’s name and his profile picture on top of the message thread. Panicking, you quickly begin deleting all the photos, even though deep down, you know that it would be no use. Minutes have gone by since they were sent out, and while Christian would often take a while to check on his phone whenever he is busy, you can already see that he had seen the pictures already, even if it had only been mere seconds before you started deleting them.

A sharp gasp and a desperate cry leave your lips as you drop down to the floor, feeling like your legs are giving up on you, drawing Momo’s concern when she can hear everything from outside.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Covering your face with your palms, you groan defeatedly before answering, “Nothing’s wrong. Just give me a minute.”

With a deep breath, you pick up your cell phone again to call Christian, who answers the call within the first ring, confirming your suspicions that he has been holding his phone the entire time to witness your shenanigans. The photos showing off the outfits you were trying on wouldn’t be such a big deal if you hadn’t been showing that much skin, or the funny and sultry poses you did to show off the sets which were originally meant for your best friend, or the fact that you have not even been dating this man for more than a day for you to be showing him—all of these things together.

“Did you open the text message? Please tell me you didn’t get it,” you immediately question him even before he could finish saying hello.

“Mhhmm—” is the only response he is giving you.

“That wasn’t supposed to be for you,” you continue blabbering, hoping for any slight chance that he might have not seen them and you had been quick enough to delete them before he could. “I’m so sorry. I was too shy to come out and show them to Momo when she asked to take a look so I took the photos for her instead.”

“Mhhmm—”

“What does that mean? Oh my God, you’ve seen them,” you worriedly question his lack of response and groan deeply when you realise what had happened. Though knowing that he had no doubt seen the photos only makes you grow more concerned about other things. “Oh no, you’re still working, aren’t you? Did anyone else see it? Is someone there with you?”

Christian chuckles softly on the phone. “Yes, I’m still at work. Don’t worry, Dabin had just stepped out of the room when I opened your text.”

“Okay—” you softly answer, though your voice fades to a muffled groan as you sit back against the booth and hug your folded legs as if it can help you hide from the world, which is clearly not missed by Christian.

“What’s wrong? You sound funny.”

Sighing, you refuse to raise your head as you answer, “Nothing. Just trying to figure out how to bury myself so I would stop feeling embarrassed.”

While you are busy covering your burning face, you can almost hear the smile on his face when Christian speaks again, “I guess I have to get used to this, huh?”

“To what? What do you mean?”

Chuckling softly, he answers you with a teasing voice, “Getting stray messages coming in when least expected. I don’t mind it, though.”

Burying your face deeper into your folded knees, you let out another groan. “Please stop. God, I wish I was at least drunk.” Thinking of how often this has happened between the two of you, you can only sigh to yourself. How could you have forgotten that you have been messaging constantly with Christian while you were out the whole day? “Fucking stupid. I should’ve paid more attention.”

Your comment makes him laugh, though he quickly tries to console you by saying, “Hey, it’s fine. The messages are gone on my part too. I was just about to ask you about them when you finally noticed and they started disappearing.”

“Thank God I was quick enough, though,” you say with a sigh. “I’m sorry again. Please forget that this happened.”

You hear him chuckling softly on the phone. “Forget? Hah—Now, that would be a bit hard to do,” he teases, making you smile. It is quite funny how easily he makes you feel calmer, when you were so close to crying over your own stupidity merely moments ago.

“Ian, please.”

“I’m just teasing you, baby. Don’t worry about it, okay? Besides, no one else had seen them and they’re no longer on my phone. Although, I wish I had saved them—”

Your cheeks have been growing warm with how gentle he is when speaking to you and calling you with this new endearment that he has chosen for you, but that quickly changes with his teasing that you roll your eyes. “Really?”

He laughs. “I’m joking, baby. I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, I can always keep them in my memory—” he says, while humming softly as if he is closing his eyes to recall the photos again, “—or wait for a chance to have you showing them yourself for a private preview.”

“Hah, we’ll see about that, Mister,” you scoff at him, making him laugh. But as you find yourself feeling better and feeling less like an utter idiot, you cannot help but whisper to him, “Thank you, Ian.”

“Anytime. Now go on and continue shopping with your friend. Don’t mind me while I’m here trying to work and not think about those photos. I’m going to be dealing with a ton of stuff here anyway, so I probably won’t remember any of them by the end of the day,” he says, drawing a smile to your face. You feel grateful for the way he is able to help you qualm your trepidation and dread simply with his gentle voice and comforting words.

Yet, in a typical fashion of his, Christian reminds you of his mischievous ways as he teases you for the last time before ending the call, “Hey, babe? I think I liked the red one the best on you.”

Past the entire shenanigans happening during your shopping spree, followed by the busy week where you had to go through classes and assignments while Christian was keeping up with work, the weekend finally comes.

There was nobody home when you arrived at Momo’s house in the morning, as her family members were mostly out for the weekend, so you and Momo got to enjoy the entire house to yourselves and hang out in the new jacuzzi for as long as you like. While lounging in the hot water during the afternoon, the two of you talk about the day you spent at the mall. You share with her your apprehensions about Em and how your feelings changed after spending time with her and getting to see what kind of person Em truly was. Then Momo shares her curiosity about the secret crush that Em harbours and who it might have been directed to.

“Could it be Dabin?” she curiously asks you after chugging down her cold beer, while you shake your head.

“Not sure. She only said that it was one of Ian’s music producer friends, and Dabin has a lot of projects coming up with Ian so I don’t think it would make sense for him to leave,” you tell her, to which Momo groans softly.

“Yeah, that would be hard to figure out then cause we know Christian has a ton of friends, and I doubt you’ve met every single one of them already.”

Hearing this makes you smile. “You’re right, he does have a lot of friends and connections.”

“Speaking of Ian,” she suddenly says, turning to you with a sly grin on her face. “Are you excited about tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, and you immediately feel your nerves spiking when you are reminded about what is happening tonight. After having only met Christian in person twice the entire week and only during classes, with both of you being so busy with your daily schedules, he finally called to propose taking you out on a date once he is done with his project this week. Once you found out that Momo has another plan tonight after hanging out with you, both you and Christian agreed to set the date for tonight, once he is done with the day and after Momo drops you back at your place when she leaves at sunset.

“I’m more nervous than excited, to be honest,” you admit to her, while Momo waves her hand at you.

“It’s fine. Everything’s going to be just fine,” she says, consoling you in her own way. “You’ve gone out with him before, so it’s going to be nothing different than those times, right?”

You ponder about it for a moment, and it only makes you frown just to think about seeing him tonight.

Because, no, absolutely not. It wouldn’t be anything like the times you shared with him previously.

Because this time, it would be a date. A real date. Not just a simple meet-up at the coffee place like the times you had to meet him after class to discuss about the class assignments, or when you came with him to the work party, or the night you joined him and his friends for drinks. This is different. It would be just the two of you—no friends, no assignments, no other people around that he has to meet up with as he is handling his business. It would be just you and Christian doing whatever it is that he has planned for you.

“I don’t think there’s anything for you to worry about, though. The guy likes you, and you like him too. I’m sure things will be great. Just like how it’s always been. Both of you are similar in a way, so I’m sure he’ll make it comfortable for you instead of making things awkward for a first date.”

You rest your back against the side of the jacuzzi, with the hot water bubbling against your sides, massaging your toned muscles and rubbing away the tension you have in your body. You relish the pleasure you are getting while taking in what Momo is saying. She wasn’t completely wrong. Things with Christian have been flowing so easily. You have always been so comfortable when you are near him, while he seems to have always been able to sense your mood, always keeping up with your pace instead of going about things in a more rushed and lavish way.

Perhaps the only thing that makes you worried is the fact that things have also been proceeding the way you had never once thought they would. How everything that is happening now feels like a dream, and there is a deep fear haunting you that once you are with him, once everything between the two of you changes to a new direction, you would be forced to wake up and face reality, to see that nothing is as beautiful as what your mind keeps telling you to see.

Just like what happened back then with—

Shaking away your worries, you tell yourself that things are different now. Things have to be different. Because you have no idea how you would be able to deal with it if things turn the other way around once again.

“You know what? Maybe you’re right. I’m worrying too much,” you finally say to Momo, making her smile with relief, not realising that you have also been consoling yourself by saying this.

“Good. That’s the spirit. Just enjoy everything and have fun with him. I’ll help you get ready if you want to and we’ll make sure you’ll be knocking him off of his feet once he sees you tonight.”

Closing your eyes, you try to relax and give in to the comforting warmth around you, trying not to overthink and let your agitation takes over when you are supposed to be having a good time. Both now, as you are lounging in this fancy jacuzzi without having to spend a single penny, and later, when you are about to see the man who has always managed to cause your heartbeat to race wildly in your chest.

You remain in the hot tub only for a while later, stepping out just as both of you start feeling more relaxed and you are ready to continue the lazy afternoon pampering each other and relaxing on her cozy pool-house. It isn’t until sunset when you are finally ready to leave, with Momo dropping you off before she heads out to where she needs to be.

“Remember—” she says, once you stepped out of her car, “Don’t be so nervous and relax, enjoy your night with him. You won’t be able to have a good time if you’re worrying too much.”

“I know. Thanks, babe,” you answer her gratefully, somehow finding yourself believing in your own words this time.

“Anytime,” she says, before quickly adding, “Oh, and wear something sexy!”

“Goodbye, Momo,” is all you say to her as you shut the car door close, and you soon watch her car rolling out of the parking lot, leaving you all on your own to get ready for your first night out with your new boyfriend.

[06.58 PM] From Christian: I’ll pick you up around eight. Will that be okay?

[07.03 PM] To Christian: I’ll be waiting ;)

[07.04 PM] From Christian: I can’t wait to see you :)

Just when you had thought you were ready for your fateful first date, the text that Christian sent you only makes you feel on the edge. Once again, you feel tense. The tension that you feel as you are reading his texts may not be as daunting as it was before, when your imagination kept running wild and your insecurities kept taking over with still many hours left before the date happens, yet it doesn’t mean that you are not nervous enough about tonight.

The thought of meeting up and being alone with him tonight seems nerve-racking. But just like how you managed to get over your worries earlier, you keep repeating the same comforting words in your head like a spell as you continue getting yourself ready to see him.

Everything is going to be okay.

You continue reminding yourself of this as time continues to pass. The clock is ticking, your heartbeat keeps racing, and your feet would not stop pacing each time you try to relax. You can barely able to get yourself together with nothing distracting your running thoughts, but by the time eight o’clock rolls around, you have gathered up enough composure to stop pacing around your living room and pulling at your dress as you wait for him to arrive. The long trails of discarded clothes that you left behind in your bedroom when you couldn’t decide what to wear would have to wait until you return home. Right now, all you can think of is how you are going to keep it together once he is here.

A knock comes at the door, and it makes your heart do funny things even before you get to see him in person. After giving yourself a brief pep talk while shaking your trembling hands to make them calm, you finally open the door. Your heart begins doing that funny thing again, skipping a beat and rushing at the sight of Christian standing right in front of the door, waiting for you, wearing his dashing smile on his face while being surrounded by an air of confidence that makes you look at him in awe.

Stunned speechless, you say nothing to him, giving him a chance to take the sight of you in. His eyes trail down on you with an appreciative look. Going from your face to your dress, and it makes your skin grow warm under his perusing gaze. Seeing that you are still unable to speak, a smile expands so subtly on his face as he greets you first, “Hey.”

“H-hey,” you stammer in response, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“You look great,” he says, making your cheeks burn even hotter.

“Thanks,” you chuckle softly. “You too.”

Christian laughs softly at this. “Are you ready? I have an Uber ride waiting for us downstairs. I hope you don’t mind. I figured if we were both going to have drinks afterwards—”

You look up to him as he speaks and feel an instant sense of relief. Because it suddenly becomes quite obvious to you that he might be just as nervous as you currently are when you notice him rushing as he speaks, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands when he keeps slipping them in and out of his pockets or running them through his immaculate hair.

“I’m set to go. Thanks for thinking ahead,” you quickly reassure him before he could continue with his rambling, and a visible look of relief appears on his face.

“After you,” he says as he steps aside to let you join him once you have your jacket and purse with you, locking the door behind you as you leave for the night.

It is a warm night, so the two of you decide to have the ride drop you off a block away from your destination so you can enjoy the short walk there, with the sight of the city’s main river accompanying your walk. As you walk side by side with him, his hand entwined gently with yours to keep you by his side and the conversation flowing slowly as you talk about your day, you find yourself steadily getting more and more comfortable. The tension that has been following you the whole day soon fades, while the familiar ease that you have often felt when you are with him starts coming back to you.

It doesn’t take long before you finally reach the restaurant that he had chosen for tonight’s date. Situated right at the end of the boardwalk that you have been walking on and not too far from the clear river is a quaint pizza place, partly hidden from the main road but still open to the view around the neighbourhood to allow you to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere around you. He finds a table for two outside, quite a distance away from the sidewalk that you can have your own space without having to worry about the passing crowd. A soft tune of music is playing from the restaurant, giving you a pleasant welcome as you both begin perusing the menu.

He makes a suggestion to order their signature dish, the cheese pizza, which you are completely fine with, while you choose the appetiser and one of their pasta plates to share between you two. As he hasn’t been drinking alcohol as often lately, Christian chooses a glass of their special draft beer to taste and a bottle of soda to go with his dinner, while you order a glass of cheap wine that costs nearly the same as his orders.

This is all happening so fluidly—how you talk about the menu without worry and choosing what the two of you would like to have and share—that it feels almost natural to do something like this. There is no hint of awkwardness existing between you, helping you to forget that you are on an actual date instead of casually hanging out with him, even if the feeling lasts just for a brief moment.

Your stomach has been in knots since you left home with him. While the short walk here and the conversation that was shared from then until this moment have helped a little to put you at ease, he would constantly bring back the tension either with his gestures or by being particularly flirty. Each time his fingers come brushing gently against your hand, sparks instantly start flying in the air around you. Your skin would tingle when you are talking to him and he leans closer to listen with rapt attention, and your chest would feel tight when his eyes are looking deeply into yours.

And then he reminds you the reason why you have always been so captivated with him and how you began to harbour a deep crush on him, as he shares with you about everything that he has been up to lately—of the long hours he spent filming with his crew and the long nights he spent working on post-production, and also about how he is slowly diving back into making his music again. It is the moment you look into his eyes when the flutter in your chest returns, when you get to see the clear sight of his love and passion for what he does, the look that is so captivating to see that you are once again lost for words.

The waiter returns to your table just then, setting down the drinks that Christian ordered before pouring the red wine into your glass. Once he is done, Christian leans forward to get closer.

“So—how about you? You said this week has been busy for you,” he inquires so suddenly, sounding genuinely curious to know what you have been up to this week while he has been busy with his own thing and you haven’t seen each other after attending his last class.

“Oh, just the usual,” you answer with a shrug. You tell him everything about the classes you went to this week and all the mundane things you would usually do during the day. But then as you begin sharing with him about your assignments, and the exciting things you do during your part-time job in the night, your excitement grows. He should be able to notice it from the tone of your voice, or the way you keep twirling the wine glass in your hand as you speak. Either way, there seems to be no way Christian would miss the way you are enjoying these things, as he keeps his eyes on you the entire time, looking deeply at you as he listens, taking in everything you are sharing with him.

“Speaking of your work—” you hum, suddenly recalling the day you joined him during filming. “I kind of missed being in that environment, to be able to see you work and see how you handle things in the set. Your crew seems so fun to work with too.”

Hearing this makes him smile. “You’re right. I’m lucky to be working with a group of talented people. Working with them has been fun,” he says, before he suddenly tilts his head and you see him getting curious about something.

“You know, I’ve been wondering—” he starts as he leans closer over the table to gently ask you, “How did you get here?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You…picked me up. At home,” you answer him, feigning innocence, even if you have quite an inkling of what he is trying to ask.

“I’m not talking about being here,” he chuckles softly. “How did you end up studying film production? Have you always been so interested in making videos and movies?”

You bite your lips. Not feeling sure how to answer him at first. “It’s quite a long story,” you finally tell him. “And a part of it might be a bit embarrassing to share.”

Christian gives you a reassuring smile. “I got time. And I won’t laugh, I promise.”

Sipping your wine slowly, you try to decide where to begin. Once you gather enough courage, you finally admit to him softly, “Actually, I could probably say that I got interested to dive deeper into this because of you.”

Christian’s eyes grow wide in shock, obviously not prepared enough to hear this. “What—?”

Chuckling softly, you begin to tell him everything. “When I started college, I knew I was either going to study art or film, but I have to admit that I had no direction to know where to go. I’ve always loved movies and old films, and I loved the artistry behind creating music videos. I’ve also been drawn to documentary videos for a long time, but I never knew if I would be able to take up the challenge to dive into that world. And then I remember stumbling upon your videos during that time—” you stop briefly as you recall finding his raw videos before his crew grew into what is known today, but it was seeing him sharing those raw videos and making the process behind them seem like such a fun thing to do that got you so drawn into the entire process and finally getting to love it as well.

“I tried to see if I would like it, so I started by learning and doing photography while saving up to buy my own camera set. Then you started sharing your travel videos and your post-production process online, and it got me interested in learning more about photography and film. And I was right about it being so much fun. I found the kind of challenge I was looking for in film major.” You stop for a brief moment and cannot help but smile as you recall those days when you finally had your mind set on it. “Let me just say that switching from art major to film production was the best decision I’ve ever made in life.”

You turn to smile at him just then, realising that you finally get the chance to do the one thing that you have always wanted to do. That you finally get to do what you had always imagined you would be once you meet him in person. “Thank you for inspiring me, by the way,” you say to him with a grateful smile, before adding playfully, “And if it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t end up taking the post-production course to finally meet you in person.”

Christian has been in such awe as he listens to your story that he seems to be lost for words. You feel worried that you might have been oversharing with him and that you are making him uncomfortable with your confession. A part of you is relieved that you get to say all of this instead of keeping them to yourself, but another part of you is afraid that he might feel burdened by the admiration you have for him, and you are worried that it might only push him away.

But seeing him getting flustered makes you feel intrigued, curious to know how he feels about what you had just said to him. Clearing his throat, he rubs a palm over his lips to cover his bashful smile, though you can still see the crimson shade materialising on his skin.

“You’re flattering me too much that I have no idea what to say,” he says with a nervous chuckle. Noticing your silence as you are waiting for his response, and perhaps noticing how shy and tense you seem to be feeling, Christian scoots his chair closer until he is within inches of you and reaches for your hand, once again igniting the sparks between you as he takes your smaller hands between his larger ones.

“But I’m glad that finding my videos was what led you to me,” he gently says as he rubs his fingers against yours. “Or else, we probably wouldn’t be sitting together like this tonight, and I wouldn’t get to know your amazing personality and talent.”

This time, you are the one who is flustering in the middle of what was supposed to be an innocent conversation. With his hand on yours, his deep eyes looking intently into yours, and his presence being so close, you are not only feeling sparks rising between you, but also heat simmering in the air that you start feeling a different kind of tension. The kind that gets your chest filled with delicate flutters and your body growing warm.

The food arrives, granting a short moment of reprieve from the rolling tension as he finally leans away and the two of you soon dive into the beautiful meal while the conversation between you lightens.

“So,” he says while eyeing you expectantly as he slowly devours his food. “Tell me more about your, um—little adventure at the mall.”

You immediately laugh at this. “There is nothing more to share. If any, I think I may have already overshared with you by accidentally sending you those photos.”

Christian softly chuckles, and he glances at you with a sly look dancing in his gaze. “I have no regrets of it happening,” he says, while you can only shake your head.

“I’m sure you don’t,” you taunt him in return.

Despite playing along, he probably suspects that you are still feeling uncomfortable about the mishap that happened that day. He reaches across the table to once again cover your hands with his. “Don’t worry, nobody else saw those photos, I promise. And you deleted them from both devices already so you won’t be able to find those photos anywhere on my phone, I’m sure,” he says, reassuring you. Though it is hard to feel immediately relieved when you see the playful grin growing on his face soon after. “Lucky for me, I have quite a good memory, so I won’t have to look for them again to remember everything. Like the coffee-coloured one that you said you were buy—ow! I’m kidding!”

Rubbing his upper arm which had just become the victim of your reflexed slapping, Christian laughs, pleased to see your reaction. You tease each other a while longer while you continue enjoying your meal, with his hand occasionally reaching out to you at every chance he gets, from brushing against yours to entwining his fingers between yours whenever he likes it.

When casting your gaze down on your joined hands, your heartbeat would start racing rapidly. Everything still feels like a dream that you want to pinch your skin so badly to see if you would wake up from this, yet you can still feel his warmth through your entwined fingers, letting you know that this moment is real.

Then you would look up to see his face, to see his smile from up close and listen to his voice as he chats with you, and you realise that he is real.

Instead of allowing your nerves to take over and have yourself be intimidated by his presence, you choose to savour this moment. Because the more you open yourself to him, and the longer you are together with this man, you finally realise that the infatuation that you feel growing between you isn’t simply a figment of your imagination. That it is truly there, and it is just as real as the two of you, present and blooming steadily even without any of you realising it.

Once dinner is done, Christian takes you to another walk just to have more time with you. This time, he chooses to make a stop at the small dessert spot not too far from your place and start from there.

You can feel his eyes on you while you are slowly licking at your ice cream, savouring the taste and this serene moment you have together as you walk on the side of the street, with nobody paying attention to any of you.

“Have you been enjoying the night so far?” Christian suddenly asks you once you arrive at your place and he is now walking you to your door.

“Do you hear me complaining?” you question him, drawing a smile to his face. “I had fun. I think it was the most fun I’ve had in a while, to be honest.”

Chuckling softly, Christian nods his head. “Same with me. I always love being with you,” he admits slowly. “You always make me feel—” he sighs, as if having trouble finding the right words to say. “Comfortable with myself, if I have to describe it with words, and that’s not even half of it.”

Soon enough, you are standing right in front of your door, with your hands entwined and he is not showing any sign of letting you go. Deep down, you also feel like you are not ready to part ways with him. Your chest feels heavy as you are not ready for the night to end this soon.

So you turn to him, smiling as you nervously ask him, “Do you want to come in?”

His smile grows, and there is something showing in his gaze that looks quite unfamiliar to you when he says, “I would love to.”

He follows you as you walk into your warm home, still with your hands interlaced with one another. The moment the door is closed right behind him, Christian reaches out to you and pulls you to him, before he finally does the one thing he seems to have wanted to do all night long, as he soon leans down, capturing your lips in his to a deep, long kiss that takes your breath away.

And the heat that has been simmering between you the entire night erupts into flame.

#kvanity #christian yu scenarios #christian yu x reader #christian yu fanfic #christian yu fluff #christian yu smut #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian scenario #yu barom x reader #yu barom scenarios #khh scenarios #khh fanfic #khh smut #dpr ian #christian yu

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eclipsejynx-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Kist Day 2024 - Cigarette Break.

I, personally, hate to brag, but I wrote 7 pages (if you put it on Google docs).

i'm not really obsessed with this, I don't like how their personalities came out, but then again I knew about Kist day literally yesterday at 7pm so- enjoy!

This is also my first writing on this blog, so yippee!^^

Summary - Dust and Killer never got along together. So when they both wake up in the middle of the night and run into each other, the have a cigarette break. However, will either of them reveal why they were up?

TW - Killer x Dust, cigarettes / smoking, hallucinations (Dust's Papyrus), bloodlust / L.V. high, mentions of attempted murder, g a y

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Killer and Dust were two sides of the same coin; Dust was calm and quiet, never speaking too much, always caught up in his head. He was never caught twice slacking in his work, because though he may hide it well, he was always wary of those around him. Killer was loud, never thinking twice about what he said or did. It was safe to say he was arrogant with his spot as Nightmare’s right-hand after Cross left. He was never concerned about his actions’ consequences. Of course, that led to ‘punishments’ from Nightmare, but he never learned his lesson.

It was late at night, around four in the morning, when Dust woke up from a restless slumber. The voices he heard were more violence-craved than usual, causing him to panic and wake up in distress. It wasn’t anything unusual compared to the countless times he woke up with his magic on with summoned bones. He remembered one specific day vividly. He summoned bones in his sleep that attacked a wall and damaged most of his room. Killer and Horror rushed in and he almost killed them with a gaster blaster. Nightmare came just before it hit them and made a wall to protect them. Nightmare focused his energy towards Dust, or so he’d been told, to divert the negativity away from him to feed off. He remembered waking up in a panic and jolting up from his bed, only to be met with Nightmare scolding him for waking up everyone. He didn’t care too much about the insults, the yelling, or the punishment for not eating for a week and gaining the harder missions. What truly pissed him off was the grin Killer was wearing the whole time while he saw him being chastised. He clenched his fists while glaring, but Killer’s smirk just widened at the sight. It was clear he enjoyed the scenario in front of him, and he didn’t give a damn that Dust was in trouble. He wished Nightmare didn’t block the gaster blaster from Killer’s stupid target soul. That was the day when he declared he officially hated Killer.

His footsteps patted against the wooden staircase as he descended from the third floor to the second. When Nightmare first recruited him, he was easily lost through the twisted labyrinth of the castle. He remembers when he first met Killer outside of Nightmare, he was aimlessly walking around the castle, trying to get a feel of the layout. Killer approached him and, without warning, started teasing his clothing, saying he looked just like Sans. It ticked him off, and Killer could tell. Did that make him stop? No. If anything, Killer just got more persistent. When Dust didn’t react to the insults as much, Killer randomly threw a knife towards him. A fight broke out until Nightmare came and separated them. The whole situation just made his hatred for him grow.

Thinking about Killer made Dust more stressed. It always bothered him how nonchalant Killer was about the whole situation. He took his hood and pulled it further down his head, feeling self-conscious about his face, his identity. He was never comfortable knowing those other versions of himself, so carefree and happy, could’ve been him.

‘Feeling down, Sans?’ Dust sighed at the familiar voice.

“Go away, Papy. I can’t right now,” Dust said deeply, determined to ignore the voices and their pleas for bloodlust.

‘But Sans,’ complained Papyrus, his bodiless figure swirling around Dust, ‘I feel that you feel what I feel! I know you feel the urge-’

“No is no. It’s late.” Dust pushed himself forward, forcing himself to drown out his decapitated brother’s head.

His brother was pissed off. ‘Sans! Now isn’t the time to joke around you lazy skeleton! You’re L.V. is rising, I know it!’ Sans Dust didn’t respond. ‘Who knows?’ Papyrus said, getting closer to Dust’s face. ‘Maybe you could just kill some of your friends-’

“Not my friends,” Dust interrupted again, turning away from his dead brother. “They’re my… teammates, I guess.” Papyrus sighed, floating beside his brother as they stalked the corridors.

The walls were an ashy gray, giving the illusion of being trapped in a void. The only light source was the full Moon shining light through the giant windows on the walls. Dust tried to ignore Papyrus’s nagging by focusing on the other sounds and sights in the castle. However, it was painfully quiet tonight, and nothing interesting in the castle beside him and his brother’s head.

‘It’s pathetic,’ said Papyrus, continuing with his speech. ‘You’ve worked here for… how long? Months? Years? And yet you all hate each other. Isn’t it embarrassing?’

Dust sighed. “I don’t hate Horror. Just Killer and Nightmare.”

‘That just makes him an easy target!’ Papyrus exclaimed, trying to get his point across. Dust looked at Papyrus like he was crazy. Papyrus huffed and corrected himself. ‘Killer’s an easy target, not Nightmare. Killer doesn’t like us either, so it wouldn’t be shocking if you attempted it, anyway. He’s just an emotionless oddity and a loyal dog. We can take him!’ Sighing, Dust just accepted he wouldn’t get out of this conversation no matter how hard he tried to ignore him. ‘When has he ever done anything for us, huh? He hates you. He’s always mocking you, your personality, your traits, everything.’ Papyrus floated in front of him and stared him dead in the eyes. ‘If anything, you should just do it now. It’s not like he’ll be missed, anyways.’ Papyrus scoffed.

“Please, stop,” Dust pleaded. He looked down at the floor, avoiding the gaze of his dead brother as he continued walking the halls.

‘Unless, of course, you’re growing sof-’

“Dust!” A voice echoed through the hallways, snapping Dust out of his trance. Dust perked up and looked around. Papyrus wasn’t in front of him anymore. Unfortunately, what was in front of him was a skeleton with gray shorts with a white stripe, a black, sleeveless shirt, a messy red target in front of his chest, and black tears falling from his eyes in messy strokes.

“Killer,” Dust replied, nodding his head as a greeting. His tone was quiet, not wanting to talk longer than needed. After all, he spent most of the day arguing with him.

Grinning as usual, Killer approached him. “So, watcha up-” Killer started speaking, but Dust was walking past him, attempting to leave the conversation. However, Killer wasn’t much for social cues and turned around to follow. “Geez, rude much?” As if he wasn’t the rudest person Dust met since Papyrus.

“I’m not in the mood,” Dust admitted.

Killer huffed. “Well, that attitude isn’t gonna bring you anywhere.” When Dust didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and walked beside him. The two roamed the hallway. “So, what are you up for anyway? Unless you’re in a depressive episode as usual, then that would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Killer snickered slightly, but Dust remained quiet. The only noise that filled the air was the sound of trees rustling in the distance, the leaves shaking in the wind. Killer’s grin fell into a frown. It was always hard to tell what Dust was feeling. His hood always cast a large shadow on his face, covering most of his expressions.

“You’re always so boring,” Killer said, his void-like eyes narrowing. “Also weird, but we’re also murderers, so that makes sense, doesn’t it?” It’s not like he was expecting a response. Killer gave an exaggerated groan, flailing his arms up. “You’re so quiet. I don’t like this silence.”

“Well,” Dust argued, “I do.”

“That’s because you’re boring.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dust, deciding he had enough of Killer and his annoying antics, took a sharp corner to a balcony. Maybe he’ll finally have some peace around here.

The night outside was peaceful and quiet, shades of blue, all blurred together like someone took a brush and mixed a bunch of watercolors. The stars were like speckles of paint splattered randomly around the sky, making intricate patterns. The balcony on this floor had a beautiful view, but the balcony itself wasn’t as nice. It was made of gray concrete, just like the rest of the castle, but slightly cracked and chipped. Dust was surprised that it hadn’t collapsed yet.

Dust sighed heavily and leaned on the railing. A nice breath of fresh air was just what he needed. He shoved a hand in his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes.

“Y’know-” Killer started behind him- “those aren’t very healthy.”

“We’re skeletons.” Dust took out a cigarette and flicked the tip. In an instant, the cigarette’s tip lit up with a blue flame. “We don’t have lungs.” Dust put the cigarette in his mouth and slightly relaxed at the familiar feeling of nicotine. Killer huffed but didn’t say anything. Dust was grateful for it.

The two stayed out on the balcony, surrounded by a calming silence. Dust was confused about how Killer could stay so quiet, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t want the fragile silence to shatter the moment he started asking questions. Without saying a word, Killer stood beside Dust, staring into the sky. The wind was a gentle breeze, barely moving Dust’s hood. It was quiet. Too quiet that he could’ve forgotten Killer was there.

Dust couldn’t help himself and mentioned. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Killer chuckled. “What? Worried about me?” There it was. Dust scoffed and blew out a puff of smoke, not even looking in his direction. Killer chuckled. “Can’t take a joke?”

“Not if that joke comes out of your mouth,” Dust shot back, regretting speaking.

Killer frowned and leaned a bit closer to Dust. “Aww~ Did I piss off the emo?” Dust groaned and took a few steps farther from Killer. Snickering, Killer moved closer, trying to get into his personal space. “C’mon! You know I was joking, don’t cha’?” Killer raised his ‘eyebrows’ expectantly, trying to look into Dust’s face.

Instead of responding, Dust took a puff of his cigarette. Maybe if he ignored Killer long enough, he’ll back down. Killer’s smile slightly fell. “... Right.” Noticing the behavior change, Dust glanced toward Killer’s soul and noticed it was shaking slightly. This wouldn’t be unusual when he was fighting, and the opponent was close to him. He’s seen it happen with Outer and Color. Seeing his soul like this in the middle of the night was weird.

Sighing, Dust finally caved in. “Why are you up?” Killer tore his gaze away from the stars and looked at Dust, shocked that he responded.

“Oh, uh… just, couldn’t sleep,” he replied.

Dust hummed, looking down below from the balcony’s view. “Do you want one?” Dust held out the cigarette pack, gesturing for Killer to take it. Killer looked at it before gently taking it out of Dust’s hands. It was almost like he was afraid it would crumble under his touch.

“I don’t have a lighter,” Killer said dryly, holding it back to Dust. “And I don’t smoke.”

“Well,” Dust said, taking a cigarette from the box and flicking the tip, making it light up, “you don’t need one.” Dust smiled, his grin sly as a fox and devilish as a wolf. He handed it to Killer as he eyed the cigarette suspiciously. After carefully taking the cigarette from Dust’s white-gloved hands, he plopped it in his mouth.

Killer looked out into the sky. “Thanks,” he said quietly, still curious about why Dust offered him the cigarette. Dust nodded in a way of saying ‘You’re welcome’ and looked out to the sky with him.

The silence was comforting for Dust. Killer’s foot was tapping the ground rhythmically, making small noises. Of course, it bothered Dust slightly, but he forced himself to ignore it.

“You never answered me,” Killer reminded, trying to fill the void of noise. He took the cigarette out his mouth.“Why are you still awake?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“I did answer!” Killer was a bit annoyed at Dust hiding things.

“You did,” Dust said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s the truth.” Killer opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t think of anything. Dust could see right through him.

“Pshh, whatever.” Killer put the cigarette back in his mouth, frowning slightly. Dust looked at Killer, his gaze going towards his target soul. “Fine, fine,” Killer said, noticing Dust staring. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and spoke. “It’s just because of this stupid nightmare.” Dust looked up and stared at Killer.

Before bursting out laughing.

Killer groaned. “It’s not funny!” Still, Dust cackled, his cigarette dropping on the balcony. “Dust! You’re making me regret this!” Dust’s laughter slowed down, but he kept snickering. Killer sighed as his soul started to shake and vibrate a bit more. “It’s not that funny.”

“I think it’s funny that you’re so worked up over nothing.”

“Seriously?! I preferred you when you were quiet, Dust.”

“I thought you hated silence,” Dust said, chuckling. He stomped on his cigarette. “Besides, it’s pretty funny.”

“It’s not.” Killer put his cigarette in his mouth and looked away from Dust, crossing his arms over his chest. Dust rolled his eyes, not that Killer could see it, and walked a bit closer to Killer.

“If it makes you feel better, I woke up cause of voices.”

Killer took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at Dust, confused. “Voices?” Killer questioned. “So, voices are less crazy than a bad dream?”

“Don’t make me punch you.”

“But you love me!” Killer gasped dramatically. “Are you saying our relationship was forged upon lies?!”

“What relationship? You mean you being an ass to me and me dealing with it?”

“If anything,” Killer started, smirking, “that’s the peak of friendship.” Dust scoffed and looked away, not wanting to hear it. “Oh, c’mon Dust! We’ve known each other for over a year! You should know by now that if I annoy you, it means love.” Killer put the cigarette in his mouth and made a heart shape with his hands, smiling childishly.

Dust sighed. “Yeah, right.” He took the cigarette out of Killer’s mouth and put it in his own. “But that’s not my love language.”

Killer, taken aback at the sudden snatching of his cigarette, looked at Dust with wide eyes. His mouth was slightly opened as he stared at Dust smoking the cigarette that used to be his. Dust snickered, his voice deep and gravelly. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“I- You-” Killer stammered, not being able to process what just happened. “You- You practically kissed me!”

Dust looked at Killer like he was crazy, not like anyone could tell. “It’s just a cigarette. Not like we’re making out right now.”

Thoughts still jumbled up, Killer tried to speak against him. “Yeah, but- I mean-”

“If you think this is intimate, then it’s clear you’ve never dated someone before.” Dust took out the cigarette and blew a puff of smoke into Killer’s face. Killer coughed and waved a hand in front of his face, the smell burning his ‘nose’. “You always have a big mouth. It’s weird seeing you so speechless and silent.”

“Well,” Killer started, clearing his throat, “maybe I want to be quiet for a change.”

“That’s laughable.” Dust leaned on the railing once again, the smoke from his cigarette floating into the air.

Killer looked at Dust with a strange expression. Dust side glanced at it. His head was hung lower than usual, and his hands were messing with the bottom of his shirt.

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out, making Dust turn his head completely. When Dust looked at Killer, his cheeks were slightly red. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I’m not completely sorry, I just…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. “I mean I’m sorry for always… jabbing, at your back, and… The- The dream I had, that’s why.” Killer looked at Dust. When he didn’t make any movements or signs of reaction, he looked back down. “The dream was that you went crazy and killed me. You were on an L.V. high or something and a gaster blaster hit me.”

“That’s why your soul was weird?” Killer looked at Dust, offended, but nodded anyway. “Hm.”

Killer waited patiently for any other response, but none came. When he looked back at Dust, he just saw him smoking like nothing happened. “... That’s it? No ‘I forgive you’ or ‘In hell I’ll forgive you’? Nothing?”

Dust looked slowly back to Killer before looking out into the sky again. “It’s almost dawn,” he said. “We must’ve been here for around two hours now, huh.”

“I-”

“And here you are, worrying about some dumb dream.” Dust looked at Killer. Though his face was completely covered by his hood, Killer could feel there was no malice in his words. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now.” Well… Dust is Dust.

“But you do, don’t you?” Killer looked at Dust like he was stupid. “I’ve always been a pain to you, since…” He thought. “Well, since I met you! I’ve always insulted you, your appearance.”

“Especially my appearance.”

“Heck,” Killer said, ignoring Dust’s interruption, “remember that one time when I gave you a mental breakdown because I took down your hood?”

“Ah.” Dust felt the memory rushing back to him. Killer was poking at his hood too much and eventually pulled it off. It’s where his fear of letting people near him comes from. “Like it was yesterday.”

“So- So why?! Seriously, how-”

Dust grabbed him by his collar and yanked him towards him. Killer was now directly in front of Dust. So close that he could faintly make out his appearance. “Because we’re teammates. I may hate it sometimes… Most of the time, but we’re stuck together. We don’t have to be friends for me to not want to kill you.”

“I beg to differ.”

“K i l l e r .”

“Alright, alright!” Killer shoved Dust’s hand off of his collar and quickly backed away. “Geez, you’re scary.”

“My L.V. is 20,” Dust confirmed. “You should be scared. I could kill you right here, right now, and Nightmare would just replace you with another timeline.” Killer looked at Dust with fear. Dust’s eyes started to glow as his purple magic started to surround his aura.

Dust could hear Papyrus whispering in his ear.

“You’ve insulted me the moment I got here, and you’ve continued with it ever since. You’ve humiliated me, agitated me, and I could make your death anything but swift and painless.” Dust started to approach Killer until his back was against the railing. Another step and Killer would fall over the edge.”

Papyrus’s whispers grew louder.

“But I won’t.”

Papyrus’s whispers faded away into the wind. Killer looked at Dust, his fear replaced with confusion.

“The reason I’m up is because Papy wanted me to kill you. His whispers were loud. Louder than usual.”

Killer looked at Dust, and after so long, he felt an emotion.

“I got up and went out of my room because they hurt. I was scared I would’ve killed you like last time. Remember that day when I almost killed you with a gaster blaster in my sleep? That was him when I was on an L.V. high. I couldn’t control it.”

Killer felt pity.

“I just hate how emotionless you are. You’re always so loud and obnoxious, you never care about consequences. But I do. It also pissed me off how you didn’t care when I got punishments like it was amusing.”

Killer felt shocked.

“But that day, despite how annoying you are, that could’ve gotten you killed, okay? One day I won’t be able to control myself and you’ll get killed. I can feel it. Papyrus almost made me kill you. Yet, you didn’t think much of it.”

Killer felt grateful.

“That scares- Are you even listening to me? I thought I was having a moment with-”

Killer felt loved.

Killer gave a giddy smile and lunged at Dust, hugging him tightly. His arms were wrapped around Dust’s waist as he twirled around in circles on the balcony, laughing in euphoria. Dust yelped in surprise, but Killer didn’t care much. “Killer-! Put me down-” But Killer didn’t dare let go of Dust. He kept spinning around with Dust in his arms.

After a few minutes, Killer set down Dust on the balcony. Dust latched onto Killer’s arm for a bit, feeling dizzy. “S-Sorry, Dust.” Killer laughed awkwardly, helping Dust stand up straight. “I just… I don’t really know.”

“It’s… fine?” Dust was honestly really confused. That was strange.

“Sorry, again. I didn’t mean to be so… emotionless. I don’t really control it-”

“I’m sorry,” Dust said, cutting off Killer. “I know it’s not your fault. We all have… issues, don’t we?”

Killer snorted. “Issues? More like trauma caused by a human child.” Dust sighed. The emotions problem wasn’t going away any time soon, but he’s dealt with it for a year. He’ll live, for the most part. Killer grabbed Dust’s gloves hands in his own, the fabric feeling cold. “But… Thank you. For- For forgiving me.”

“Forgiving… That’s a bit far.” Dust tensed up slightly at the sudden contact, but didn’t move. “It’s more like… a mutual love-hate relationship?”

Killer gave a small gasp. “You love me?”

Dust rolled his eyes and pulled his hands out of Killer’s grasp. “Do not misinterpret my words, Killer.” Killer’s smile turned into a frown. Dust scoffed. “You’re not pulling the puppy eye’s card. It won’t work.”

Killer’s frown turned into a sly smile. “Aww, I thought my puppy face was cute! Disappointing.”

Sighing, Dust took out his cigarette and tossed it over the balcony. Killer frowned. “Hey! What’s the point in taking my cigarette if you’re just gonna throw it away?”

“To be fair, it was mine first.”

“Still-” Before he could say another word, Dust grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him forward. Dust’s lips met with Killer’s in a lustful, rough kiss.

The moment felt surreal. For Killer, at least. Killer gasped through the kiss as his arms slowly wrapped around Dust’s waist, careful not to overstep boundaries. Once his arms were completely around Dust’s waist, he pulled him closer so their bodies were together and close. Dust’s hands guided themselves, tracing over Killer’s neck before wrapping around to put more force into the kiss. Their mouths moved in sync, the taste of cigarettes lingering in their mouths in a burning sensation. Killer felt hungry for the affection and love he longed for, but never received. Dust wanted comfort and reassurance, knowing he wouldn’t lose control from a high.

They both struggled with LOVE.

As Dust tried to pull away, Killer kept pushing forward, not wanting the moment to end. Dust gave a light laugh as Killer’s lips drowned it out.

The two made out on the balcony until the first peak of dawn, the golden bursts of sunlight shining on their faces. Still, they didn’t care. They just stood there in each other’s embrace.

When they finally let go, they stared at each other; Killer’s black eyes shining in the light, and Dust’s face visible, his eyes a crimson red and neon blue. Killer finally spoke. “Did… did you really just kiss me?” He was shocked, but a cheeky grin slowly spread onto his face.

Dust rolled his eyes. “Surprised I didn’t throw up.”

“Doesn’t answer the question, Dust Bunny.”

“I don’t know,” Dust admitted, pulling down his hood to reveal his face even more. Killer blushed when he saw his face more clearly. Every inch of his face was beautiful to him. “I think you have to kiss me again to find out.”So they both stood on the balcony and kissed again, this time full of passion and L.O.V.E. love.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

oopsie daisy, almost forgot about the ending part-

so, yeah! that's it- It's cute I guess, but I never like what I make so I have to say I hate it- lol. hope you enjoyed! this was a nice one- took me two days, too- thanks to my friend who gave me the idea <3

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gingerbreadmonsters · 10 months ago

Text

something strange

or: who you gonna call?

gn!reader, warnings for mild innuendo and discussion of death, halloween hijinks except it’s literally spring, oopsie. hello, operator? there’s something weird, and it - well, it’s not looking great… it’s time for yet another weirdo DAMN crew AU! cheers as always to agent of the google docs surveillance state @zozo-01 who keeps figuring out when i’m working on this at 4am, and to all the gang on discord who have tolerated the frankly disturbingly-morbid questions that it’s prompted. please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle - don't worry, we'll reattach those for you at the end of the ride. dear having a dose of a freaky ghost (or five) in just over 13,600 words.

Every day's a school day, or so you're told.

For most people, that's more of a figurative thing. For you, you've been going to school basically non-stop since you were three years old or something, so it's pretty literal.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, you suppose. Teaching at DAMN is pretty good, the faculty and students are nice enough, and it pays… well, it pays. More than your last job, though that's not really saying much, and enough to afford the mortgage on this new house you've moved into.

It’s weird. You’d heard nothing but terrible things about the housing market in California lately, and Dahlia was no exception - it still isn’t, if you’re honest. Rent is extortionate, but even that barely matters when there’s hardly anything available in the first place.

You'd been so surprised when you'd seen it online. A proper, two-bedroom detached house, with a garden and a garage and everything, going for a lot less than the - admittedly-few - other houses nearby. How had nobody snapped it up already? Pleasantly surprised, you'd called the estate agent to see about putting in an offer, and you'd barely been able to get the words out before she'd set you up with an appointment the next day.

She'd been… cagey, is probably the best way to put it. Reluctant to tell you why it was so cheap. She couldn't stall forever, though - you remember the resigned, slightly apologetic look on her face as she took a deep breath, before plastering on a grin and telling you what was going on.

Now then, she'd said. I know it's unpleasant, but I'm required by law to disclose to you that, within the last three years, a number of previous tenants sadly passed away on the property.

You’d certainly been surprised, but she’d clearly just wanted to get this conversation over with, and just breezed on. As far as we understand, none of the tenants were affiliated with each other, and only two of the deaths were directly caused by an issue with the property - some minor faulty wiring, and one of the older sections of the roof was damaged during a storm and collapsed unexpectedly. It’s since been repaired, though, so no need to worry!

Somehow, the worst part about that sentence wasn’t the news that someone had been crushed to death in the house you were trying to buy, but was instead the cheery smile with which she delivered the news, like she thought you’d be delighted. Are all real estate agents in California like this?

How many, exactly? Were there any before that? you’d asked, and she hadn’t quite been able to hide her grimace. And how did they die? Should I be concerned about the local area?

Unfortunately for her, you’d been reading up on the sorts of laws that estate agents like her have to follow in California. No matter what, they have to tell you if anyone died in the house in the last three years - but if you ask for more information about it, or about any other deaths from before then, they’re legally required to tell you the truth about that as well.

Well, I don’t mean to alarm you… Nervously, she’d clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, before turning back to you. The four tenants before you all passed away on the property - not under suspicious circumstances, of course. Just… you know. These things happen.

Yes, you’d said flatly. Obviously.

Three out of the four were accidental - one was the result of a fall, one was the aforementioned issue with the roof, and I believe the other was due to an electrical fault. The fourth was the most recent - an altercation with an intruder during a break-in - but we’ve been assured by the local police department that this sort of thing is highly unusual for the area, and is very unlikely to happen again.

As she spoke, you’d felt a horrible feeling of resignation settle in your stomach. Of course the one place you can actually afford to buy is the one where tenants keep dying inexplicably.

How old were they, would you say?

Some more clicking, and if her expression had been anything to go by, a spreadsheet that was loading a lot slower than it should. It looks like… yeah, it looks like most were in their mid-twenties, or thereabouts.

Perfect. Of course they were. Were they living alone?

She’d clearly been dreading the question, gritted teeth forced into a smile. I believe so, yes. The implied like you will be hangs heavy in the air between you, and her eyes dart momentarily back to her screen before flicking back to yours.

Great. Everything about it had been great. A new city, a new job, living alone in a literal, actual death trap of a house. What could possibly go wrong?

Well then, you’d said, crossing your fingers behind your back. I have a good feeling about this.

For the first few weeks, things had been more or less normal - you’d been a little on edge, but nothing especially deadly had happened to you. No wardrobes falling on you, no rugs pulled out from underneath you, no invisible gas leaking into your lungs. In fact, it had been a perfectly ordinary house. If you were more suspicious, you might even say it was too ordinary. But that would be a silly thing to say, and you’re not, so you don’t.

Just a normal person, moving into a normal house. What could be simpler?

The start of term is a blur, and all too soon you’re so caught up in the semester that you barely have the energy to drag yourself upstairs to bed when you get home, let alone worry about anything else. Introducing yourself to your new coworkers, meeting your new classes, sorting through lesson plans and worksheets and your stupid fucking institutional login, being reset for the fifth time in as many days because apparently the IT department here is just as overworked and underpaid as anywhere else and if you have to go and beg them to reset your password again you’re going to-

Wait, it’s nearly the end of the semester already? What?

Finals season at DAMN is a particularly vicious mistress, it seems, and you've been going out of your mind trying to stay on top of all your work. One of the other Water Elemental professors went on maternity leave a month into the semester, so you've been forced to take over her class for the rest of the year - and you can safely say that you're never doing this again.

Twice as many lectures, twice as many emails, twice as much chasing students for late assignments. Right now, basically your whole day is taken up with running practicals, and your evenings are nothing but marking, marking, marking.

Yeah. That’s all that happens in the evenings. You don’t have time to think about anything else at all, nothing whatsoever, because there’s nothing else to think about.

You don’t think about the odd sounds from downstairs while you’re trying to sleep, muffled whispers of what could almost be conversation, echoing quietly in the hallway. You don’t think about the fact that you definitely turned the TV off before you left the house, and how it definitely wasn’t turned to the news when you did. You especially don’t think about how the plants in the garden never seem to need watering, or how the shelves never seem to get dusty, or how the curtains in the living room always seem to be open in the morning, even though you’re sure you closed them before you went to bed.

The doors that open and close on their own - well, it’s just a bit draughty, isn’t it? The strange chill in the air that seems to linger in certain places in the house, no matter how much you turn up the heating - well, all these old houses have their quirks, don’t they? That faint, blurry figure that you could have sworn you saw ducking past you in the mirror, disappearing so quickly that it can’t have really been there at all - and when you turn, there’s nothing behind you but air…

Condensation on the mirror before you’ve even had your shower, the sweet scent of a perfume you don’t wear. You’re going out of your mind.

You’ve started spending more time at work, waking up even earlier than before and going home even later. Organising lesson plans, sorting through papers, picking up extra invigilation, desperate to spend as long as you can at the university - anything, to get you out of that house. Practically the only thing you do at home now is sleep, and even that’s not for very long before you’re dashing out the door again in the morning. You’ll get breakfast on the way. Maybe if you’re not there as often, whatever it is will just… go away?

Only that doesn’t happen - if anything, it’s the complete opposite. The whole place feels strangely uneasy now, like the house itself is on edge, watching you. Something in the corner of your eye, the feeling of something breathing that surely shouldn’t be able to. Something tense and creeping in the air, stretching and stretching, ready to snap.

Fitful dreams, sleepless nights, keys jangling in your hand. Is it still paranoia if your house is really haunted?

It all comes to a head on - well, to be honest, you’re not so sure what day it is. Wednesday, maybe? Thursday? Whatever the case, you’ve been running on practically empty for longer than you should have been, and you’re really starting to feel it now.

Head pounding, you shut your eyes as you lean over the coffee maker. One for now, and one in your flask for later - oh, and you’ve run out of energy drinks in your office, so you’ll have to get a few out of the fridge to take with you.

Stressed at work, stressed at home, and barely sleeping in between. You’ve been forced to live on barely anything but coffee and energy drinks for almost a week now, just to keep yourself upright, and you think… um, you think it might be…

Fuck, your head is spinning. Just a minute, and you’ll be fine. It’s fine. Your laptop’s upstairs by your bed, so you’ve just got to grab that, and then you can be off to work. Just - just wait for the walls to stop moving, alright? You’ll only be a second…

The coffee’s slightly too hot as you gulp it down, and you hiss as it burns your tongue, scorching the inside of your mouth - something cold, you want something cold, make it stop it hurts it hurts - cracking, fizzing, oh, that’s nice, it’s cold, it’s cold - wait, what is it?

Oh, that’s bad. You look down at the half-empty can in your hand, lovely and cold from the fridge, condensation dripping slowly down the metal. Oops. That can’t be good for you.

Now that you’ve opened it, you might as well finish it. You won’t be able to carry an open can with you and it’ll go all weird if you just leave it out. What a waste!

Sip by sip, you gradually empty the can. Why does your stomach feel so weird? That’s not fun. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remember…?

Laptop, you need to get your laptop. Upstairs. Right.

Well, if your heart explodes, your heart explodes. Giggling to yourself as you stumble past the front door and up the stairs, you imagine the look on that stupid estate agent’s face when she realises what’s happened - shit, they’ll have to put the price down even further, won’t they? That’ll be a hell of a hard sell. Yeah, they all died in mysterious accidents, all very strange and creepy, no idea how it happened - oh, except the last one. That one died of coffee disease when their blood turned into caffeine and their brain caught fire. Tragic.

It’s all fine. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Smiling, you grab your laptop case from the bedside table, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of you. Don't even think about it.

Don't think about the way you’re tripping over your own feet as you narrowly miss bumping into the bed, clinging to the doorframe to keep yourself upright. Don't think about the rushing, racing headache that's building in your skull as you drag yourself back down the corridor, that restless pressure in your chest that won't stop growing as you fumble for the bannister. Don't think about the dizzy, blurry world that shudders around you, the strange lightness in your mind as something gives way, the floor that suddenly isn't there beneath you-

STOP!

the horrible sound of your body as it falters and falls, the terrifying space under your feet where the stairs should be

I don't know, they just - I just - oh, God…

the aftertaste of adrenaline flooding through your blood, bitter and strange

Don't just fucking stand there!

as your heart chokes on its own frantic rhythm

Get out of - here, I can do it-

and there's somebody there

What are you even going to do?

and the world goes black

Don't ask.

and everything

disappears.

You don’t wake up for a while.

Shit, your head hurts.

Slowly, you start to feel something on your face, something cold and hard that’s pressing uncomfortably against your cheek. What is that?

You reach up, and - oh. It’s the floor.

Still too lightheaded to sit up, you gradually come back to consciousness in fits and starts, lazy thoughts swimming through your heavy head. You’re lying in the corridor on your side, staring at the skirting board - which is looking a bit grubby, now that you really look at it - and your laptop case is on the floor by the bedroom door a few feet away. The zip is open, and you can see about half of the actual laptop peeking out.

Thankfully, it looks okay. You’re not sure you could deal with having to buy a new one right now, especially with all the work you’ve got to-

Panicked, you jolt upright, one hand coming up to clutch at your skull as it feels like it’s on fire. You’ve got work!

Wait, what’s the time - how late are you? God, you really couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall down the fucking stairs, could you? You’ll have to call the office and tell them what’s happened, that you’re so, so, sorry, that if they can just get someone to cover your second period lecture you should be in by then…

Hold on.

Confused, you look down. Yeah, that’s what you thought - you’re sitting on the floor, sprawled out in the hallway and facing the wall. There’s nothing around you except your laptop case, and your bedroom door is open.

This isn’t right. How are you looking at your upstairs bedroom door, when you’re sure you fell down the stairs?

And that’s only the first thing - now that you really look, of course you’re not downstairs. The stairs go right down by the front door, but there are no shoes on the ground or coats hanging on the wall. Your laptop case must have been open when you dropped it, but the laptop itself is still inside - surely it would have fallen out when it slid down the stairs, or at least be in much worse shape than it is now?

You’re so confused by the whole thing that it doesn’t even occur to you that, besides the throbbing ache in your head, you’re not actually in any pain. Your heart has slowed back down to normal so you don’t feel quite so sick, and you can’t even feel any bruises or soreness from where you must have hit the ground. It’s as if you’d just… decided to lie down.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because you don’t notice it. You slowly pick yourself back up and stagger into your bedroom, reaching for the glass of water that sits on your bedside table, and the telltale fizzle of healing magic that was left on your tongue disappears without a trace.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The ladies at the front office are very kind when you call to let them know you might be a bit late, but you hadn’t been unconscious for as long as you thought. You only end up missing half of the first period, after all, and even your headache gradually disappears over the course of the day.

The idea of going to the hospital does occur to you - you did lose consciousness, after all - but you decide against it. You feel fine, and it was probably just your body telling you to cut back on the caffeine for a little while. The winning combination of coffee and a can of whatever-it-was probably wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach.

Ironically, if you had a student who this happened to, you’d probably have dragged them halfway to A&E yourself by now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, you can’t pretend that everything’s normal once you’ve finally arrived - your department head comes in at lunchtime to find you ankle deep in a pile of second-year practical write-ups, and all but kicks you out of your office so you can go home early and recover. For my sake, if anything, she says with a grin, although you know she’s only half-joking. Think of my reputation - I can’t let my newest lecturer spend more time here than I do, can I?

It’s certainly very kind of her, probably more so than you deserve, and before you know it you’ve been unceremoniously booted out of the building and onto the quad. Looks like it’s hometime, then.

The bus is warm, but not too crowded, so you’re lucky enough to get a seat by the window. There are worse things to do than watch the world go by on your way back home, and the nice view makes the trip go faster - in no time at all, you’re getting off again.

It’s so bizarre, going home in the middle of the day. Normally it’s long been dark by the time you get back, and everything looks so different in the light that you almost walk straight past your street entirely. Has the house on the opposite side of the road always had those flowers in the front garden? Or has it just always been too dark for you to notice them?

Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you have a horrible feeling that you don’t really know anything about this place. What really happens here in Dahlia? How much of it have you actually seen, that isn’t the inside of a university building?

Unsettled, you unlock the door and step inside, shutting the door behind you with a sigh. Home at last. You’ll have to-

I swear, if you-

Wait, was that the door?

Hold on. What was that sound…?

You listen for a second, but you can’t hear anything unusual. Huh. Must have been nothing.

In any case, now that you’re home, you’re really starting to feel that tiredness creeping in. With a sigh of relief, you toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, before sliding your bag off your shoulder and dropping your keys into th-

There’s no way. It’s, like, lunchtime or something, right?

Okay, this is really starting to get weird now. You could have sworn you heard someone, muffled and ever-so-quiet underneath the noise of your keys falling into the bowl that you normally keep them in.

Is there someone else here? There can’t be, surely. You peer around the hallway, looking for any sign that someone might have broken in, but you don’t see anything weird - although it’s not like you really know what you’d be looking for. The door was locked when you came in, and you know that when you left for work, all the windows were shut and the back door was locked too.

Besides, everyone said this part of the city was pretty safe, didn’t they?

(Okay, so the last tenant did die horribly when someone broke in a few months ago, but something, something, never strikes twice or whatever.)

Your aura flickers as you try to reach out and see if you can feel something there, but there’s nothing at all. No sign of anyone, empowered or otherwise, and nothing out of the ordinary happening with the ambient magic in the house.

To tell the truth, you’d been surprised at how strong it was when you moved in. At least one of the previous tenants must have been magical, and really powerful - this house is full of magic left behind, traces of a forgotten aura, echoing softly in the walls and floors. It happens to most places where empowered people live or work, so it’s not like you’re not used to it, but even so… wow. It’s very strong.

Gingerly, you creep across the hallway and nudge the door to the living room just slightly open, before holding your breath and peeking inside.

And… there’s nothing there.

Just your boring, ordinary living room.

You check all the other rooms just to make sure, but they’re exactly the same. Nothing out of place, everything just as you’d left it. Nothing missing, nothing moved, nothing weird at all. There’s no trace of an intruder, and you’re starting to feel a bit silly, really. Surely you’re just imagining things, right?

Well, that or you’re hearing voices. God, all that caffeine really has fucked you up.

Perhaps a nap might be in order, now that you think about it. Yeah, a nap would be good. You’re getting tired just thinking about it - falling asleep, not having to worry about anything, relaxing after all the bizarre things that have been happening to you today. It sounds wonderful.

Quickly, you change into your pyjamas and get into bed, getting a glass of water from the kitchen before you go upstairs - you briefly consider having a shower beforehand, but you’re too sleepy to bother. Your bed is warm and soft and quiet, and that’s what matters right now.

Oh, it’s so nice. No more headache, no more confusion. The duvet is thick and comfy as you pull it around you, and just like that, you’re asleep almost immediately.

While you’re sleeping, do you dream?

I don’t get it. Why come back so soon?

Maybe it’s a timetabling thing? For finals? Like, an exam got cancelled so they didn’t have to stay? But it really could be anything - it’s always a miserable time for everyone, even the staff, so who even knows what it was…

Yeah, that’s true.

Do you think it’ll be back to normal tomorrow?

We’ll just have to wait and see. Hopefully we don’t get another scare like earlier.

Oh my God, that was fucking terrifying… I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Again!

Is that what happened? I thought it - oh, yeah, I guess it sort of counts. But it’s not like anyone can see us, anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter.

Well… But, like, it’s still kind of stressful though, don’t you think?

A bit, I guess. But you could probably say we’ve had worse.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair enough.

…No, you probably don’t.

When you wake up, it’s nighttime, weak moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains and falling across the floor. Mm, it’s so nice and warm under the covers. What’s the time? Everything feels weird.

Blearily, you reach for your phone - it’s about eight o’clock. Shit. Has it really been that long? You’d only meant to be asleep for a few hours, not the whole rest of the day…

Ah, whatever. You must have needed it. And anyway, you can’t really be bothered to try and think about work now - whatever you were going to do, you’ll just deal with it tomorrow. Maybe you’ll go downstairs and have a little something for dinner, and then relax a bit more before going to bed properly.

You rub your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up to sitting, swinging your legs over the side of the bed with a groan. Getting up is the worst. The glass of water on your bedside table is nice, though, and you gulp down about half of it while you get used to being upright again.

…Is it just you, or can you hear something coming from the next room?

Nope, nope, you’re not doing this again - it was nothing last time, and it’s probably nothing again. You’re just a little bit on edge. Perfectly understandable. You’re going to get up and go out of your room, and walk over to the stairs. Then you’re going to go down the stairs, and go to the kitchen to make some dinner, and absolutely nothing strange is going to happen while you do it.

With that in mind, you stand up and walk towards the door with a lot more confidence than you feel, although it’s slightly undermined when you have to backtrack a few steps in because you forgot to pick up your phone. But with that in hand, you pull the bedroom door open and step out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be-

“Ah!”

It’s not. Oh, fuck, it’s really, really not.

There’s a shadow in the corridor - your breath freezes as you see it, a paralysing chill slicing down your spine. Floorboards creaking quietly, the faintest sound of breathing. Something moving, just inside the doorway to the guest bedroom down the hall.

There’s someone else in the house.

The door is slightly open, letting you see just a tiny bit inside the room, and you stare in shock as you catch a glimpse of a definitely-there, definitely-real hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at the doorframe. Whoever it belongs to, the angle makes it look like they’re leaning against the wall - the hand trembles slightly as it clutches at the wood, clumsy and frantic, nails scratching at the paint.

Terrified, you’re frozen to the floor as the hand slips down a fraction, and the arm it’s attached to knocks the side of the door. The hinges creak faintly as the door slowly swings open, only to reveal-

“Mmm…”

Wait, what?

Okay, you realise that you screwed up with the whole caffeine thing earlier. And you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. And you just woke up from a nap. So all in all, you’re probably not operating at full capacity right now. But even so, even with all that going on, you have to admit that you really weren’t expecting to see a couple very enthusiastically making out against the wall of your guest bedroom.

The two of them are utterly lost in each other and totally ignoring you - in fact, it doesn’t even look like they’ve noticed you standing here at all. If your brain could stop bluescreening, you’d almost be offended.

The - um, demon? Is that really a demon? You’ve only ever seen a few from afar, mostly on campus, but the distinctive flavour of magic that soaks into your aura even from here is a dead giveaway - the demon presses himself against the human-looking one as he kisses them, horns knocking softly against the wall above their head as he leans over them. The human clings to his shoulders in return, and you watch as a hand that you now recognise slides down the demon’s chest to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

They’re also both very, very hot. Woah.

(Look, it’s been a while, okay? And anyway, it’s just an observation. An idle, ordinary observation. It’s not your fault that they look… fuck, they look really good. Like, really good.)

The human sighs softly as the demon nudges their head to the side with the tip of his tail, kissing avidly across their jaw and down their throat. Are those fangs? Does he have fangs? Because it certainly looks like it from here - the human’s eyelids flutter as he nips sweetly at their skin, only for their gaze to fall on-

“Mm - mmm!” The human splutters as they finally notice you, eyes going wide and hands clutching frantically at the demon’s back as they try to nudge him away. Is it fear or surprise? “It - baby, baby, there - there’s s-”

“Yeah - mhm, I-”

The demon shushes them breathlessly, chasing their lips with a quiet whine, one arm locking tight around their middle to keep them close as his other hand cups the back of their head, presumably to protect them from hitting their head against the wall. “They can’t see, deviant, ‘s okay-”

“You - mm, fuck! - Gav, they’re right - they’re right there!”

Somewhat belatedly, you realise that you’ve just been kind of standing there and staring at these two - with a start, you stumble backwards a step and drop your gaze to the floorboards in embarrassment. Should you be embarrassed? You’re a little bit embarrassed.

(It’s kind of rude to stare at people who are making out. Although, it’s also kind of rude to break into someone else’s house and start making out against the wall while the owner of the house is trying to sleep in the next room, so maybe you’re even.)

You scramble hastily for words, half-formed syllables spilling out of your mouth, but you have no idea what to say - what can you say in a situation like this? How do you - what do you - where do you even begin?

Luckily, the demon speaks up before you can make too much of a fool of yourself - you notice that he’s stepped slightly in front of the human, tail coiling around their calf in a way that you can only describe as deeply, deliberately possessive. Does he think you’re going to… to do what? Hurt them?

“I suppose we ought to explain…?”

He sounds a bit surprised, which is unexpected, considering that this is the weirdest break-in on Earth, and also that this isn’t his house. Aren’t you the one who should be surprised?

“I think they’re in the living room,” says the human in a total non-sequitur, gently extricating themselves from the demon’s tail and backing away towards the end of the corridor. “I’ll go and get them.”

“No - no, we’ll come down,” the demon calls back to them as they disappear downstairs. “I think our new friend might want to sit down for this.”

You don’t really have a chance to protest, utterly lost in shock - numbly, you follow the demon as he beckons you over, with a smile that looks easy, but you’re sure it’s taking a lot more effort than he’d like.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says conversationally, gesturing towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you.”

He motions again towards the stairs, but you’re too dazed to really get what he means - with a good-natured sigh, he takes a step in front of you and starts walking backwards down the stairs, one hand drifting just slightly above the bannister as the other keeps urging you forwards. “And you might be…?”

Oh - oh, that’s what he wants! You wouldn’t say that the jumble of syllables that falls out of your mouth is exactly your name, but it’s close enough, and he nods in acquiescence.

“Well, then. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

There’s a funny sort of smile in his voice when he says that, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it might be. And anyway, what does he mean by finally?

The demon - Gavin, what a strange name for a demon, you’ll have to remember that - he turns when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and you see that the door to the living room is open now. You can hear a sort of whispered argument going on in there, between what sounds like two or three people, but you can’t see wh-

“Um, yeah - yeah, I’ll just go and get something from the - fuck! - sorry, sorry, I’m just - oh my God!”

Totally stunned, all you can do is watch as a man comes hurrying out of the living room towards you, talking at lightning speed over his shoulder and almost tripping over Gavin’s tail before the demon whips it out of the way just in time. He stumbles forwards as he tries to get his balance back, grabbing the end of the bannister to keep himself upright - you catch a glimpse of something silver around his neck, tucked into his shirt, before you’re suddenly face-to-face with a very large pair of glasses, and the very flustered-looking man who’s right behind them.

(Oh, for the love of - did anyone break into your house who isn’t ridiculously pretty? What sort of home invader beauty pageant did these people all come from?)

“Shit.”

Both of you stare at each other for a confused second, unblinking, before the strange man jerks backwards away from you, hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as he starts to ramble.

“I mean, um, sorry! Not to, like, call you - not you, obviously - that would be rude, and - and I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just, you know…”

“Smooth,” murmurs Gavin behind him, leaning against the wall and not even trying to hide his grin. “Now do one of those pick-up lines we practised.”

The man shuts his eyes like he’s trying to stave off a headache, taking what’s clearly a blood-pressure-lowering deep breath. “Please, please fuck off.”

Gavin shrugs, blowing him an unapologetic kiss and waving at you with the tip of his tail, before disappearing through the door to the living room with a cackle.

“Whatever you say, Lasky!”

“Oh, not again-!”

He turns to you, almost pleadingly, and he looks so comically weary that you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. “It’s Lasko, not Lasky, he does this every time and I…”

“It’s - um, it’s alright,” you reply, and give him your nicest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lasko.”

He blinks owlishly at you for a second, like he’s not sure what to say, before smiling back at you. “Nice to… uh, nice to meet you too!”

Idly, you notice that his hand has come up to fiddle with the chain of his necklace, although the actual pendant is hidden under his shirt. It must be pretty sizeable, though, because you can just about see the shape of it through the material - a kind of sphere, or a round-ish chunk of some gemstone, maybe?

“I was just going to get some water for - well, for you, actually, just ‘cause Hux said he thought it might be nice? Like, obviously it’s a lot to get used to, and if you’re holding a drink then you don’t have to, um - you know, when you don’t know what to do with your hands? Or if you don’t know what to say, then you’ve got something to do, and anyway, it’s just kind of nice to… to, uh…”

Lasky - nope, Lasko, it’s Lasko - trails off, apparently only just noticing that he’s blocking the bottom of the stairs, and hurriedly sidesteps out of the way to let you past. “You can go in, by the way! I’ll just be a minute.”

Before you have a chance to say anything, he disappears off towards the kitchen, white ankle socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor, and all you can think is that you’ve never heard of a burglar who took off his shoes when he broke into the house.

Well, you might as well do what he says…?

Timidly, you creep up to the living room door and peer around the doorframe, dreading what you’ll find. These people all seem very nice, but what the hell are they doing here, anyway? Are they going to do something to you? How long have they been planning this? You couldn’t run, even if you tried - if they’ve got a demon on their side, you’d barely be able to get out the front door before they’d catch you again.

Being brave, you’ve got to be brave. Whatever they want, just give it to them, and maybe they’ll go away.

“Hey, uh… you okay?”

You jolt as another man pops into view, leaning into your field of vision from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He waves, and his smile is awfully sweet as he motions for you to come into the room.

“You can stay there if you want, but, like… it’s your house, right?” he laughs, not unkindly. “You can go wherever you like, dude, we won’t stop you.”

He sits back upright from where he was leaning over as you walk nervously into the room, and you notice that there’s another man sitting next to him on the sofa. It’s hard to tell, seeing as they’re sitting down, but this one looks slightly shorter than the first, flicking his dark hair out of his face and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

(Fucking hell, they’re literally all so beautiful. Do the cast of Vogue normally spend their free time breaking and entering, or are you just really lucky?)

“Damien,” the shorter man says, standing up and walking around the coffee table with one hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Well, he’s certainly cutting to the chase, isn’t he? Fair enough. You introduce yourself in turn as you shake his hand, but you can’t help but think there’s something… something odd about the feeling of his skin. He’s not cold, per se, but it’s something like that - a strange feeling that runs down your spine like ice water, like your mind can’t place it but your body instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right.

In any case, he sits back down and the man next to him lifts a hand in greeting, looking slightly embarrassed that Damien beat him to the punch.

“Ah, I’m Huxley,” he says, “but Hux is fine, if that’s better for you.”

Damien rolls his eyes with unmistakable fondness, which is a bizarre choice for a home invader. “You can just say which one you prefer, you know. It’s your name.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Huxley shrugs, and you can tell they’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “I don’t really mind, you know? Like, whichever one you say, I still know what you mean, ‘cause it’s all still me. And anyway, if I changed my mind, I’d just say later.”

He grins, sharp and painfully handsome, and turns his head to look past Damien over to the loveseat, where you belatedly realise Gavin and his human, um, friend from before are sprawled out across the cushions.

“Besides, I feel like there’s worse culprits, y’know?”

Damien drops his head in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on Freelancer.”

Apparently-Freelancer lifts a lazy middle finger in his direction. “It gets the point across, doesn’t it?”

“There’s got to be more to a name than just gets the point across,” he moans. “Just because you happen to be a Freelancer doesn't mean that's all you are.”

They huff, turning their face away haughtily. “It’s a name if I say it's a name.”

“It's literally a nickname! You have a different name! That we know and also call you!”

Freelancer’s eyes narrow wickedly. “Want me to choose a different nickname?”

Gavin lifts his head interestedly from where he’s draped across their lap. “I might have some suggestions-”

“No!” shrieks Damien, and the temperature in the room unexpectedly spikes as he flops backwards against the sofa cushions, decidedly not looking over at the loveseat. “God, no, we already hear enough of those when you’re-”

“Jesus,” Lasko mutters as he comes in through the door behind you, silently passing you a glass of water and motioning for you to sit down in the one empty armchair that's opposite the sofa. “Sorry about them. It happens a lot.”

You nod noncommittally as you sit down, watching it all with a sort of vague detachment as he goes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Huxley. The three of them are facing you across the coffee table, with Gavin and Freelancer occupying the loveseat on the right, and something about the way they’re all looking at you is strangely… interrogative? Like you’re here for the world’s weirdest job interview or something - like they’re trying to get the measure of you.

It’s quite awkward, to be honest. You take a sip of your water, feeling oddly grateful for Lasko’s foresight about not having to wonder what to do with your hands.

“Okay, look.”

Damien breaks the ice, leaning forward slightly as he looks seriously at you. “This is going to sound kind of - kind of unusual. And we get that. But it’s true, and you deserve to know, so we’ll just… we’ll just say it, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath. Huxley quietly holds out his hand, palm up, and Damien takes it.

“When you bought this place, they told you about the previous owners, right?”

You nod, remembering that uncomfortable meeting with the estate agent. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re, um…” Damien’s gaze slides to the side, uncomfortable, before returning to you. “You’re looking at them, I’m afraid.”

Sorry, you’re what?

He gives you a second to process that, not that a second is nearly enough, and carries on. “All of us owned this house before you. Whenever they said anything about previous occupants, or ex-tenants, or whatever bullshit word they used - they were talking about us.”

“You’re joking,” you manage to force out, incredulous. “But you - she said you - she said-”

“That we died?” says Gavin, with a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. No, no - that’s impossible!”

Your mind reels in confusion at this utterly bizarre story, trying to make sense of it all. So what - so they’re all dead, then? Like, ghosts or something? That can’t be right - the closest thing you’ve ever heard of to that were Shades, and they definitely aren’t Shades.

There’s no magic in the world that can reanimate the dead. For as long as humans have had magic, they’ve tried and tried, but it just doesn’t work. So what the hell are these people playing at?

(And anyway, didn’t the woman at the estate agency say there were four ex-tenants? How can there suddenly be five of them?)

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re joking. This has to be a joke.”

“I said the same thing,” Lasko says mournfully, looking down at the floor. “If it is a joke, it looks like it’s on us.”

“You’re magical, right?”

Freelancer’s voice is quiet, but something about it is strangely urgent. “You can feel other people’s auras, can’t you?”

“Yes…?” you reply, unsure of what they’re getting at. “What about it?”

“We are, too,” they say, and a flame dances to life in their palm. “So shouldn’t you be able to feel us?”

Reflexively, your aura ripples around you as you search for what you know must be right in front of you - they’re doing magic right now, so surely you’ll be able to feel something…?

Nothing. Not them, not anyone else. It’s as if nobody’s there at all - only that insistent thrum of magic that flows through the bones of this house, that you remember thinking was unusually strong. Those noises you couldn’t explain, things in strange places that shouldn’t have been able to move. You’ve never had to water the plants once.

Was this what that feeling was all along? Were they what you were feeling?

You don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t be possible.

“I don’t get it,” you mumble, feeling awfully small and scared. “I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Then we’ll explain it a different way,” says Huxley, with so much patience that you could almost cry. “Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He starts to stand up like he’s going to come over to you, but there’s not really any room on the chair next to you, so he just sort of awkwardly sits back down again. “Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Lasko?”

Lasko waves, an awkward little half-gesture. “Hi.”

You take another sip of your water - it’s slightly lukewarm now, but it’s still comforting.

“I was - well, I was first,” he says, trembling fingers tugging at his necklace chain again. “I used to work at DAMN, like you, and I ended up renting this place - I remember thinking it was unusually cheap, but I needed somewhere to live, right?”

He laughs, slightly shakily. “I guess it must have been a problem with the electrics, or something, ‘cause I’m sure it wasn’t me. But I was in the, um - I was in the bath, and I remember the lights flickering like there was a storm, or something? It felt odd, like something in the air, and there must have been a power surge…”

A horrible feeling blossoms in the pit of your stomach when you realise what he’s saying - he must see it on your face, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t really know how it actually happened…? I mean, I think it was a heart attack, or it stopped my heart or something like that, but I - I guess I normally just say I got electrocuted. It’s - uh, I mean, I don’t have to explain it a lot, but it’s easier than saying the whole thing, I think.”

Dimly, you recall the estate agent’s voice in your head. An electrical fault.

“Afterwards, the rental company didn’t want the place anymore,” Lasko says, surprisingly cheerily. “You can’t really blame them, though.”

“I think you can,” grumbles Freelancer. “They did kill you.”

Lasko shrugs. “How were they supposed to know?”

“They sold you a house that zapped you to death!”

“They rented me a house that zapped me to death,” Lasko fires back, waving a hand in Freelancer’s direction as they stick their tongue out at him. “It’s probably different.”

Damien rolls his eyes - you’re getting the distinct impression he does that a lot - and elbows Huxley lightly in the side. “For the love of God, please distract them.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, and turns to you. “I used to be a student at DAMN, and I needed somewhere to live after the semester ended, right? Like, my lease was up, and I didn't really know what I was gonna do - you know what it's like.”

“You were at DAMN?” you ask, surprised. “What were you studying?”

“Oh, uh, Earth Elemental Studies,” Huxley replies, with a melancholy smile. “I had a teaching gig lined up for after graduation, but… you know.”

He gestures down at himself and shrugs. Lasko looks away.

“I ended up renting this place after Lasko had his, uh, accident - they said everything had been fixed, but I guess they didn't get it all…? The weather in Dahlia isn't normally so bad, so I must've just been unlucky with the storm. You know how the ceiling in the kitchen is a different colour to the walls? Like it's been repaired recently?”

Oh, you have a bad feeling about this. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “It, uh… well, it wasn't like that before I moved in.”

Fucking hell. When she said there has been an issue with the roof she’d been putting it mildly.

Huxley must see your horrified expression, quickly cutting back in. “Don’t worry about it, dude - it didn't hurt that bad, not for long. It was pretty quick, when you think about it.”

“I mean, most people don't like thinking about it at all,” Damien murmurs under his breath. “We’re not exactly in the majority here.”

Huxley tips his head to the side in acquiescence. “It was a while ago. Gotta get over this kind of shit eventually.”

Gavin’s jaw drops. “You're over it?”

“Well, no…” he replies. “But it'll probably happen at some point, yeah?”

Freelancer, half-buried underneath their human-blanket (demon-blanket?) over on the loveseat, blinks in apparent wonder. “Hux, you're my hero.”

Huxley grins. “Don't let Gav hear you saying that.”

“Oh, he's not listening,” they scoff, tipping Gavin’s face up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you, darling?”

Gavin shakes his head, eyes closed and wearing a wide, lazy smile. “Didn't hear a thing.”

Damien sighs fondly at their antics, gaze all soft and sticky, before turning back to you. “In any case, I was the next one. Moved in a few weeks after the storm, when they said everything was fixed. When they were telling you about us, did anyone mention a fall?”

You’d been kind of preoccupied by the more unusual deaths, so you don't really remember if the lady did or not, but it sounds about right. “I think so…?”

“Then there's not much more to say.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I was rushing, and I slipped - it's my own fault, really. I’d overslept and I thought I was going to be late for a lecture, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. You know how slippery the stairs can get.”

You wince. “They’re pretty bad, yeah.”

“You'd have thought they'd at least put some carpet down or something after I died, but apparently not,” Damien grumbles. “First they had to dig Hux out from under whatever cheap roofing shit they had before, then five minutes later we were all watching some poor contractor scrubbing my goddamned blood out of the floorboards, because it would have been too fucking expensive to replace it all - do they just like having to scrape their tenants off the floor, or something? Because that's what would have happened to you earlier if we hadn't done anything, for fuck’s sake…”

He looks up sharply when he says that, like he's just remembered something. “Oh, um - yeah, that was us. Sorry about that. But also, like, the espresso-Monster thing you drank probably wasn’t the best breakfast.”

This morning. All those things that didn't add up. Falling down the stairs, and landing at the top of them. That was them?

“How did it…” You're not quite sure how to put it. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, you can thank Lasko for that,” he replies. “He managed to slow you down enough that Gavin was able to heal you without anything being too serious.”

You look over at Lasko, nervously waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll ward off any sort of thanks. “It was just luck, that's all! I just, you know - I was in the right place at the right time, and I - well, the whole air thing is kind of easy for me, so it wasn't even that complicated or anything - I mean, not that it wasn't important, obviously, but-”

“Lasko.”

“Yes?”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Nervously, he smiles back, with an charmingly-awkward little thumbs up. “Not, uh, no problem.”

“If you’re trying to join us, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Damien quips, blackly. “Dying like that isn't fun, believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say. “Next time, I’ll just let the caffeine poison me all by itself.”

He nods approvingly, the hint of a held-back smile brightening his handsome face. “See, now you’re getting it.”

Idly, you lift the glass to your mouth, only to realise that - wait, it’s empty? No, it can’t be. When did you drink all of that? How bizarre. Hearing about people dying must be thirsty work. Quietly, you put it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Freelancer.”

“Mm?” Freelancer looks up, distracted from whatever sweet nothings Gavin seems to be mumbling into their neck. “What?”

Damien tips his head slightly in your direction. “You’re up to bat, I’m afraid.”

“Already? That was quick.” With a little bit of fidgeting, they push themselves up to sit facing you, one hand holding Gavin’s, and the other around his back as he sits sideways with his legs across their lap.

“So, it’s… it’s not the nicest thing,” they say, eyes darting away before sliding back to meet yours. “And it probably isn’t going to make a huge amount of sense, just ‘cause when the - actually, that reminds me - did they say something about a break-in? And - and a trespasser?”

The most recent. Altercation with an intruder. Highly unusual. Shouldn’t happen again.

You look down. “They did, yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly true,” Freelancer says, “although it’s not the full thing. The unempowered police had to come and investigate, and that was the best they could come up with, so that’s what the estate agent will have told you.”

“Was it magical, then?” you ask, slightly hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” they reply hesitantly. “I’d only just moved here to come to DAMN. I was humanborn, so I didn’t really know a whole lot about magic, but I had a - well, there was an… uh…”

Nervously, they look at Gavin - he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and they swallow.

“I heard about DAMN from a friend, so I thought it would be good to come and try and learn some, like, actual magic, right? And Gavin and I met here, just after I moved - it’s kind of a long story, but he ended up basically moving in here as well after a while. So that’s why we - well, that’s how we’re, uh, here. Together.”

Their leg bounces as they tap their heel against the floor, over and over. You’re not getting the feeling that this story is going to end well.

“There was a… a problem,” they mumble, after a little pause. “A friend of ours was being chased by a demon - a different demon, a really strong one, who we didn’t know. He was hurt, so he came here for help - but the demon chasing him followed him here.”

Attacked? By a demon? God, what sort of city is this? If this is the sort of thing that’s happening here, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you don’t go out much.

Freelancer continues, gaze now fixed firmly on their feet. “He attacked us - and our friend. There was no time to do anything, so we - we did what we could, but…”

Gavin’s tail wraps and unwraps around Freelancer’s wrist, winding around their arm first one way, then the other.

“This demon, he was… powerful,” he says, carefully. “He was old - much older than me, and it wasn’t exactly like we could have seen him coming. We were lucky to do as much as we did.”

Silently, Lasko picks up your glass from the coffee table, and walks out of the living room.

“Our friend got away, at least,” Freelancer says, through what you think is meant to be a smile. “And we did sort-of win - Gavin managed to knock him out, and took him to the Department. He’s probably in a prison somewhere, now.”

So… they won? But then how are they…?

Freelancer must see the question written across your face. “By the time Gavin got him, I’d already, um… you know. The old coffee table in here was pretty heavy, and when it hit me, it was kind of, uh - yeah. It wasn’t great.”

The thought of it turns your blood to ice. They died in here? This room? The same room you’re in right now, where they’re sitting on the loveseat like it’s nothing - this room? How can they even stand to be in here like this, after everything that’s happened?

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you manage to say, painfully aware of how hollow it must sound. “That must have been awful.”

Strangely enough, they shake their head. “Gavin got the worst of it. The rift, when he came back…”

They trail off into silence, and Gavin doesn’t say anything either. Frozen in place, unmoving - like this, they could almost be stone. Alive and undead. Sobbing but never crying, rainwater dripping down the marble.

“When we died, we became… this.”

You look over at Huxley, speaking softly. “We can’t be seen by living people, and we can’t leave this place. Touching objects - like, physical stuff like doors and books and water - it takes more effort, but it’s still okay. We can still do most magic, too, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”

You nod, slightly confused. Why is he telling you this now…?

“It happens pretty quickly,” he adds, “the whole transformation, resurrection, whatever. But it… well. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to kill a human.”

Gavin’s voice is raw and venomous, glaring at the floor, fangs bared in a bitter snarl.

“Demons last a little bit longer.”

In your mind’s eye, the horrifying scene unfolds. A human body, shattered and bloody, lifted gently from the wreckage and cradled in the fading arms of a dying demon. Gavin, tears streaming down his crumbling face, clutching the corpse of his human lover - no magic left, an immortal being surrendering to an impossible death. Freelancer, imprisoned in the silent space between sleeping and waking, screaming in terror yet doomed to go unheard. Forced to watch as Gavin’s form falters and dissolves, scattered back into the nothingness of stardust.

Of course. Five deaths, four tenants. No body left to bury.

There’s nothing you can say to that. Nothing at all.

Behind you, Lasko comes back in from the kitchen, passing you a refilled glass of water before walking back over to the sofa. It’s freezing cold in your hand, and you can’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Ow!”

Startled, all of your heads snap towards Lasko - he’s tripped over the stack of papers that you were marking last night, catching himself on the side of the loveseat and accidentally smacking face-first into Gavin’s shoulder. Freelancer jerks backwards out of the way as he hisses in surprise, jolting forwards with the unexpected weight against his back, and Damien bursts into laughter as Lasko stutters his way through a flustered apology, wrenching himself back upright and scurrying off to the sofa to hide behind Huxley.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t see it - I just tripped, and oh, I didn’t mean to hit you - are you okay? Like, I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, I don’t know how I forgot it was there - and your back, are you-”

“If you want to get your hands on me, you can just ask,” Gavin purrs over the top of him, rubbing his shoulder blade where Lasko’s face presumably impacted with the flat spade of his tail. “And yes, I’m fine, thank you. Unless you wanted to kiss it better?”

Lasko’s breath visibly stops, the poor thing, as Gavin fixes him with a smirk so ridiculously charming that you almost can’t tear your eyes away. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, wicked gaze dragging slowly down the length of Lasko’s body, painted claws catching the light as they just barely start to flirt with the hem of Freelancer’s shirt…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Huxley trying not to laugh as Lasko peeks out from over his shoulder. “Keep it together there, Gav. We’ve got an audience, y’know.”

Lasko buries his face in his hands. “Please, God, don’t-”

“Oh, Hux,” Gavin sighs plaintively, although the impish smile across his face gives him away. “Why do you think I offered?”

A quiet rustle of fabric, and underneath him, Freelancer lets out a long, slow breath that you hadn’t noticed they were holding. You, um… you can’t see the end of Gavin’s tail any more, and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know where it is.

“I’m so sorry,” Damien groans, flinging a stray sofa cushion at Gavin’s head as he gives you an apologetic look, ignoring the confused squawking from the loveseat when it accidentally hits Freelancer in the shoulder and ricochets into Gavin’s face. “You’re all dead to me.”

Huxley pats him on the shoulder. “We’re dead to everyone, babe.”

“Not helping.”

“Love you too.”

“That was so rude!” comes a gasp from your right. Amused, you look over to find an outraged Gavin, holding up the projectile cushion in one clawed hand, eyes narrowed sulkily at Damien for ruining the fun. “Don’t you think, deviant?”

Freelancer nods sagely. “Very rude.”

“He didn’t even let us finish! We could have been doing something entirely innocent.”

“We’re so nice to him, and he’s always so mean to us.”

“Spoiling our fun.”

“Getting in our way.”

“Getting in our bed-”

“Will you two stop it!” Damien hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Gavin when the demon actually hisses back at him. “I wouldn’t have to be rude if you two would stop being so - so… lascivious!”

Freelancer grins, eyes scrunched up into happy little half-moons and arms wrapped possessively around Gavin’s waist. “He thinks we’re lascivious.”

“What about tea?” interrupts Lasko, standing up suddenly and motioning behind his back for you to follow him. “We’ll have tea, that’ll be nice, does anyone want some? Good, okay, we’ll just go and make the - the, um - we’ll just go, won’t be long, back in a minute-”

You’re not sure if ghosts can get high blood pressure, but you say a silent prayer for whatever nightmare must be going on in Damien’s undead arteries. Huxley jokingly salutes the pair of you as you scramble after Lasko - shaky hands all but push you out of the door, and he pulls it swiftly shut behind him with a decisive psychokinetic flourish, muffling the enthusiastic bickering inside.

It's finally quiet again.

Just you and Lasko.

“Is it always like this?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, laughing weakly. “Basically, yeah.”

Well. Considering everything that could have gone wrong with finding out that your house is haunted and practically infested with the undead, at least the ghosts that you've got are fun ghosts.

“Kind of you to volunteer my tea for everyone,” you say breezily, motioning for Lasko to follow you into the kitchen and stifling your smile when his face turns to almost comical panic. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are - are you sure?” He wrings his hands as he trails after you, teeth digging into his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Sorry, I just - we’d be there all day otherwise, and I just wanted to distract them for a bit, but I didn’t really think about it, you know, and…”

He takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “I mean, uh, thank you.”

The kettle’s empty, so you go to fill it up at the sink while Lasko silently gets some mugs out of the cupboard, along with a handful of teaspoons and some teabags.

Too silently, in fact.

“Tea’s in the right hand drawer, by the way.”

Lasko freezes guiltily as you say it, wrist deep in the box of Earl Grey. “You know. Because I didn’t tell you, so there’s no way you could have known.”

He winces. “Sorry…”

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could be looking at.” You’re not actually that angry, all things considered, but it needs to be said. “Do I need a ghost-proof shower curtain, too?”

“What? No - God, no!” he stammers, seemingly horrified by the implication. “I swear none of us would do anything like that - we would never! We have never! No, that’d be - no!”

He shakes his head emphatically, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. “We don’t go into the bathroom when you’re there, and your bedroom is always off-limits. Promise. You can ask the others.”

“I should hope so.” Next to you, the kettle starts to steam, although it’s not quite hot enough yet. “Am I - wait, you were the first one, right?”

He nods, quietly shuffling through the tea drawer again. “Yeah.”

“Could the others see you… before? Like me?” you ask, walking over to the fridge. “Milk?”

“If that’s okay.”

Without looking, you reach in and grab the carton, before putting it down on the counter next to him. “I just don’t understand. How come I can see you now, but I couldn’t before?”

“That’s what we were talking about before you came in,” he replies. “Hux thinks it’s something to do with this morning - like, that you had some sort of near-death experience? And then that means you can see us, because we’re dead and you were nearly-dead…? I don’t know, it’s a work in progress.”

Wait, so does that mean you actually did poison yourself this morning? Or is he talking about falling down the stairs? Of course you’d accidentally manage to find a way to nearly kick the bucket twice in a single day. What a liability they all must think you are…

“The others couldn’t see like you do,” Lasko continues, oblivious to your spiralling. “Not until they were already gone. You’re the first one who’s been able to see us while you were still - actually, um, that reminds me…”

The kettle clicks, having boiled. He reaches over to get it, but you wave him away, picking it up and moving to fill up the collection of mugs - and, oddly, an entire teapot that you’re sure you’ve never seen before - he’s arranged on the countertop.

“If you wanted to leave now that you’ve heard all of - uh, all of this… well, we wouldn’t be upset. We’re not gonna, like, make you stay here or anything.”

Confused, you frown down at the mug in front of you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, ah…” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him fiddling with his necklace again. “We’re not the luckiest people in the world. None of us lasted very long in this house - and the whole ‘being undead’ thing isn’t really something we understand. Like, why us? What did we ever do? Is it the house? Is it us? Is it, like, destiny or fate or something - because it kind of brings up a whole new set of problems about the existence of life after death - and, you know, are we the only ghosts in the world, and if so then why, or are there others? Does this happen to everyone, and living people just can’t see them? We wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out before, you know…”

You put the kettle back on the stand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop for breath any time soon.

“Not that we’re going to like, do something to you! No, no, that’s - I didn’t mean we were going to kill you or anything - oh, fuck, now it just sounds like we were going to do something and now I’ve put the fucking idea in your head, and now you’re going to be all stressed about it, and, like, ‘is it cursed?’ - and it’s not cursed, I think, but we don’t know for sure because even though curses aren’t a thing like unempowered people say, none of us have been able to figure out if there’s any, uh - any magic that might be like a curse, right?

“Lasko.”

“Just, you know, magic is so unpredictable and there’s so much we don’t know, so maybe it is cursed but we just can’t recognise it because we don’t know what we’re even looking for, and Gavin’s been trying to come up with ideas, but it’s been really difficult ‘cause we didn’t want to use your computer or anything, that’s a huge breach of privacy, right? And - and we can’t leave the house to go and talk to anyone - well, really it’s the property, so we can still go out in the garden and stuff - which reminds me, I was meant to tell you about-”

“Lasko!”

You can practically see the words falling out of his mouth before he cuts himself off, the poor thing. “Mm-hmm?”

“The tea,” you say calmly, stepping back from the counter to give him room. “I don’t know how they like it.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll, um - I can do that.”

He starts sorting out the different mugs, taking teabags out of some sooner than others, adding milk and sugar and what-have-you, leaving one to the side for you and nervously chattering away.

“I’ll never understand how Gavin and Hux have it so sweet - although, I think Gavin’s like that with everything, you know? He says it’s just because he likes the taste, but Damien told me - um, you shouldn’t say I said this, but he thinks when Gavin gave himself a human form - ‘cause demons don’t have physical bodies normally, right? Well, Damien thinks he accidentally got his body addicted to sugar or something like that, because - oh, I don't know, something, something, pleasure centres or pleasure receptors, whatever - it probably lit up a similar part of his brain to the bit that he associated with eating, and being full - wait, did he say he was an incubus? Because he is, he definitely is - oh, we probably should have mentioned that…”

Slowly, Lasko’s voice settles into the back of your mind as you make your tea, head too full of everything else he’s said to really be listening. It’s not on purpose. You’ve just got a lot to think about.

Yes, he makes a good point about the house, and the strange coincidences that have happened here. Yes, he makes a good point about what might happen to you if you choose to stay. Yes, he makes a good point about how you’ll have to actually accept the undeniable proof of the existence of life after death, and everything that means for your worldview.

Looking up, your eyes are drawn to the faint line where the ceiling and the wall meet, and the two shades of paint that don’t quite match.

Wow. In about an hour, this is going to be a magnificent existential crisis.

But those aren’t problems for now, are they? If you try and deal with all of this at once, you’re fairly sure your head is going to explode just thinking about it. All of this, all of the fucked-up undead weirdness that’s just fallen into your lap out of thin air - all of it can wait.

First, tea.

Lasko seems to have sorted out all the different cups of tea, stirring a final spoonful of sugar into the one second from the right with one hand. Luckily, he’s picked cups that are all different colours, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too hard to stop them getting mixed up.

“That one’s for Hux, then Damien’s is the jasmine, then the middle one is for Freelancer. Gavin’s is the penguin one, and then this one is for me.”

He points at them from left to right, explaining whose they are as you get a tray out of the cupboard and put it down on the counter. You’re just about to start transferring everything onto it when - oh, that’s what’s missing!

Lasko takes over, looking confused as you suddenly turn on your heel and start rifling through the cupboard by the microwave. “Are you… okay?”

“Just a second…” Where are they? You could have sworn they were just… ah, there they are. You’ll have to get some more at the supermarket when you go next. “Do you think they’ll want plates?”

Lasko’s face brightens when he sees what you’re holding, and it belatedly occurs to you that he probably hasn’t eaten much since - well, since everything. If the owner of the house can’t see you, then they’re not going to give you anything, and if you can’t leave the house, you can’t buy anything yourself. If he’s a demon, then maybe Gavin could magic something up, but didn’t Huxley say that doing magic was harder for all of them then it used to be? What’s the limit?

Besides, even if ghosts probably don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean that they can’t, right? It might not be necessary, but it might still be nice.

“Mm, probably not,” Lasko muses, but he gets a few out of the cupboard anyway as you open the packet of biscuits and put it down on the tray next to Freelancer’s tea. “I don’t think they’ll, uh, last that long.”

He moves the penguin mug slightly to make room for the teapot and an empty cup - oh, that must be the jasmine tea he was talking about. But where did he…?

“Damien used to have one like this.”

Lasko’s voice is quiet, presumably having noticed you staring in confusion at the tray. “It got taken away with all his things when Freelancer moved in, but Gavin made him a new one. The cup, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

He looks away, eyes closed. There’s not really anything you can say to that.

“If there’s…”

As you speak, you can hear the faintest sound of laughter from the other room. Presumably they’ve kissed and made up, in what you get the feeling isn’t always an entirely metaphorical sense. “If there’s anything I can get you, then you just need to ask. Anything.”

Lasko smiles down at the tray, and you don’t look at how his eyes are a little bit shinier than they were a minute ago. “Thanks.”

“Come on, then,” you say with a smile, nudging him out of the way and picking up the tray. “It’ll be stone cold in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Lasko protests, fluttering around beside you as you head back towards the living room, insisting that he doesn’t want to be rude, please please please let him carry it, it was his idea and now you’re doing all the work, oh he’s so sorry - but you don’t let him. It’s a bit heavy, but it’s not that bad, and didn’t one of them say that it’s harder to interact with physical objects now than it was when they were alive? You don’t know exactly how much harder, but you’d feel kind of bad if you made Lasko hold all the stuff when it’s not as easy for him.

Darting ahead of you down the corridor, he opens the living room door for you, and you - well, you were going to put it down on the coffee table in the middle, but it’s not actually there anymore. Instead, it’s been pushed out of the way towards the window, to make space for the sofa to be tilted a little bit more towards the TV.

Lasko, the bastard, takes advantage of your momentary surprise. You’re going to have to ask if he’s an Air Elemental or something, because you feel a suspiciously-timed air current rushing past your arm and almost pushing the tray towards him, letting him lift it deftly out of your hands and carry it over.

Freelancer and Gavin, chastised but utterly unrepentant, appear to have commandeered most of the sofa, along with its previous occupants. Huxley idly strokes his fingers over Gavin’s horns as Freelancer flips through channels on the TV, while Damien, sitting cross-legged on the rug against the front of the sofa, pats the ground next to him when Lasko bends down to put his teapot and cup in front of him.

“Join me. I’ve been exiled.”

“We’ll call the Pope,” Lasko replies thoughtfully, “he might be able to get you excommunicated as well. Two for one.”

Damien raises an eyebrow, just barely failing to resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See, now you’re talking.”

Lasko laughs, standing back up and offering the tray to the others on the sofa. “Clever of you to move the table out of the way,” he notes dryly, as Freelancer goes to take their tea from the tray and recoils at the heat of the ceramic. “Do you want me to leave it over there until it cools down?”

Huxley nods gratefully, taking a biscuit from the packet and batting away Gavin’s tail without even looking when the incubus tries to surreptitiously steal it out of his hand. “Aw, would you? Thanks, dude.”

Now that he says it, that might actually be a good idea - you reach over to get a biscuit for yourself as well, before going round to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Freelancer while Lasko puts the tray down on the coffee table. They seem to have found a programme they like, some cooking competition show you’ve never seen, and pass the remote down to Damien with a satisfied hum so he can put it on the floor next to him.

“Is this a new series?” he asks quietly, head resting against the side of their leg. “I thought you already watched all of them.”

Freelancer shrugs, absentmindedly twirling Gavin’s tail between their fingers as he readjusts his legs across their lap. “We did, yeah. But this one is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passes in something of a blur - warm tea and good company and some truly ridiculous commentary on the TV that has you laughing harder than you think you have in weeks, maybe even months. After the first programme finishes and the next one is starting, Damien seems to remember that you’d never actually had that dinner you were going to make, and drags you into the kitchen to get you something a bit more substantial than a biscuit.

Gavin trails after you, too, sitting himself on the countertop next to the fridge and watching you two cook. It doesn’t seem malicious or mean - rather, his eyes follow you curiously around the room in a way that distinctly reminds you of an intrigued housecat. He seems to have magicked up a lollipop or something to amuse himself with as well, idly moving the stick back and forth in his mouth as the hard sugar clicks against his teeth.

The feline comparison apparently occurs to Damien as well, who, for some reason, quickly moves everything within about a metre of the fridge on the counter out of easy reach. At first you’re surprised, but then you see Gavin’s tail droop in mock-disappointment, hanging limply down in front of the cabinets, and you realise what’s going on.

“Don’t mind him,” he stage-whispers to you as you wait for the stove to heat up. “He’s not so bad. Freelancer just spoils him something rotten.”

Gavin sniffs haughtily, clawed fingers pulling the - apparently heart-shaped - lolly out of his mouth and sticking his red-stained tongue out at Damien. “I am very cute and sexy and worthy of spoiling.”

“What you are is in the way, genius,” Damien replies, deadpan, pointing at the cutlery drawer that Gavin’s legs are currently blocking. “Fork, please.”

You can practically see Gavin vibrating as he tries to hold back the obvious joke, in favour of reaching down and taking a metal fork from the drawer, holding it out in one hand.

“Ah, ah-”

He snatches it back when Damien reaches for it, holding out the lollipop in his other hand instead. “I got you a present.”

Damien eyes it with interest, shiny and red, and you’re not sure if you should still be watching. “What flavour?”

“Cherry.”

Damien thinks about it for a second, before opening his mouth and letting Gavin put the lolly on his tongue. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Gavin smirks lazily, and hands him the fork. “Mwah.”

Neither of them seem embarrassed afterwards, like it was something you weren’t supposed to see, or like they’d forgotten you were there. It’s… kind of pleasant, in an unexpected way. Being around people who are funny, who are friendly, who don’t seem to be uncomfortable around you. You don’t really know anyone like that in Dahlia yet, and you hadn’t realised quite how much you’d missed it until now.

It’s just the same when you go back into the living room to eat, sitting properly on the sofa this time, next to Huxley. All of them just seem so nice - a far cry from the terrifying criminals you’d thought they might have been. Just ordinary, good people. Sweet and kind and silly. The sort of people that you’ve always wanted to be friends with, but that you’ve never been good at finding.

Damien makes a joke about one of the cooking judges on the screen, and Lasko splutters as he laughs and his tea goes down the wrong way. Huxley wraps his arm around Gavin’s waist to pull him closer against his side, and Freelancer follows suit, draping themselves over Gavin’s back and gleefully making themself comfortable on his shoulder.

There’s a lot to think about, that much is clear. The reality of the situation, the fear of what might be waiting for you if you choose to stay - in a very real sense, they might very well be the death of you. But looking around at them, these people, trusting you with their secret and hoping that you’ll keep it for them, you’re struck with a new and frightening question.

Maybe it really is dangerous. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life - the end of your life. But could you do it? Could you walk away now, knowing what you know, and not regret it?

Lasko leans his head against the front of the sofa, turning his head slightly to look up at you, and gives you a tiny, bashful wave with one hand.

You wave back. He smiles, warm light reflecting softly off his glasses, and perhaps the question isn’t quite as frightening as it used to be.

masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fluff #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted dear #redacted damn polycule #redacted damn crew #redacted fic #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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lucky-clover-gazette · 6 months ago

Text

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 19

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

He found he had put himself bodily in Guymar’s way. ‘No. No one goes in.’ Anger, irrationally, blossomed. Behind him was the closed door to the tower rooms, a barrier to disaster. Guymar should know better than to barge in and make Laurent’s mood worse. Guymar should have known better than to cause Laurent’s mood in the first place.

one kiss and he’s fully down bad. like these are max levels of damen down bad-ness. it took one kiss. holy shit dude. we went from “laurent knows everything and is always planning something terrible” to “you will NOT bother my poor little meow meow while he does his silent soliloquy”

‘This time, I want it actually kept clear. I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, Captain.’ Guymar bowed and retreated. Damen found himself with his hands braced on the stone crenellation, in unconscious echoing of Laurent’s pose, the line of Laurent’s back the last thing he had seen before he had put the heel of his palm to the door. His heart was pounding. He wanted to make a barrier that protected Laurent from anyone who would intrude on him. He’d keep that perimeter clear, if it meant stalking these battlements and patrolling it himself. He knew this about Laurent. That once he gave himself time alone to think, the control returned, reason won out. The part of him that didn’t want to drop Aimeric with a punch recognised that both Jord and Aimeric had just been put through the wringer. It was a mess that needn’t have happened. If they’d just—steered clear. Friends, Laurent had said, high on the battlements. Is that what we are? Damen’s hands drew into fists. Aimeric was an inveterate troublemaker with terrible timing.

this is so ridiculous damen you have laurent brainrot it is so funny how this has unlocked primal rage and determination in you that literal flogging couldn’t

but keep your head up king, this is the chapter where you get to smash

The idea of stopping, allowing himself a moment to think, was terrible. Outside, there was nothing, just the last hours of darkness, and the long ride in the dawn.

and no more laurent to smooch >:(

‘Watch over the Prince,’ he heard himself say. ‘Anything he needs, make certain he has it. Take care of him.’ He was aware of the incongruity of the words, of his hard grip on the soldier’s arm. When he tried to stop, his grip only tightened. ‘He deserves your loyalty.’

damen said “it’s MY turn on the projection”

His time as Laurent’s Captain had been short-lived. An afternoon. An evening. In that time they’d won a battle and taken a fort. It seemed wild and improbable, a hard-edged golden piece of metal in his hand.

also they’d kissed on the mouth. leaving out a pretty essential detail there damen

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Your servants brought me to the wrong rooms.’ ‘No, they didn’t,’ said Laurent.

pffft did they just know? i’m not sure when laurent could have asked them to do it. so they must have just assumed laurent wanted him there

‘I don’t want to talk about Aimeric,’ said Laurent. ‘Or my uncle.’ Laurent began to come forward.

uh laurent i don’t think damen mentioned the regent at all. i think you’re telling yourself to stop thinking about your uncle because you would like to fuck damen without ptsd making it weird

Laurent said, ‘I know you’re planning to leave tomorrow. You’re going to cross the border, and you’re not going to come back. Say it.’ ‘I—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent—’ ‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ Damen felt the words hit, but that was subsumed in the shock of Laurent’s hand on him, a push backwards. His legs hit the bed. The world tilted, bed silks and roseate light. He felt Laurent’s knee alongside his thigh, Laurent’s hand on his chest. ‘I—don’t—’ ‘I think you do,’ said Laurent.

laurent listened to “dead girl walking” from heathers musical on the way up to the rooms in preparation for this. also i love the mixed feelings here—on one hand, hell yeah laurent, let yourself have this, but also this is fucked up for you both, and you really should talk it out, and the fact that you’re demanding his abandonment before fucking him is concerning, like you only want to fuck if you know he’s leaving anyway, but i mean why not then, if he’s leaving, and you know he wants you, and this is the last night to do it…

also laurent knows damen wants this, and he’s not actually using the slave thing here. the only way he’s using it, is calling damen on what he said earlier that evening before the kissing. cashing in on it, in a way. it’s not exactly healthy but i wouldn’t say it’s like non-consensual or anything

‘What am I doing? You are not very observant.’ ‘You’re not yourself,’ said Damen. ‘And even if you were, you don’t do anything without a dozen motives.’ Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. ‘Don’t I? I must want something.’

ooof that hit a sore spot, i think. laurent very badly wants to both lose and take control right now, and sex is a way he’s both lost and had control in the past—lost control to the regent, and had it over damen back in arles. he’s trying not to think about that, about the reasons, and damen is trying to make him think about it, and also implying that laurent can’t just do anything because it’s what he wants or feels.

‘Laurent,’ he said. ‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’ ‘Your Highness,’ said Damen, and the words twisted, wrong in his mouth. He needed to say, Don’t do this. But he couldn’t think past Laurent, improbably close. He felt each shifting inch that divided their bodies with a fluttering, illicit sensation at Laurent’s proximity. He closed his eyes against it, felt his body’s painful yearning. ‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this.’ ‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent.

“i don’t think you want me, i think you just want me to feel this” is an INSANE and deeply true line. but also, i think laurent does want damen—HIS damen, not damianos. and this is the last night he can have his damen.

and maybe laurent enjoys your reactions, damen. ever think about that?

‘You liked this too, with Ancel.’ ‘That wasn’t Ancel,’ said Damen, the words coming out, raw and honest. ‘That was all you, and you know it.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rise and fall of Laurent’s hand was like the slide of Laurent’s words, like every frustrating argument that they’d ever had, stymied, tangled up in Laurent’s voice.

great line. love how it ties the sex act to something deeper between them

Laurent held his former mood within him, constrained, and converted into something else.

horny and angry is not the ideal way for them to fuck for the first time, and for laurent to fuck for the first time since [redacted], but since when has anything been ideal for laurent (or damen, as of book 1)

He felt Laurent pulling back, pulling away, shuttering himself, trying but not quite able to manage a cool snap withdrawal. Laurent said, ‘Adequate.’

book 1: “Laurent turned to Damen. ‘Well?’ Laurent said. ‘Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?”

He’d caught Laurent’s wrist before, to hold him back from a blow, a knife strike. He held him now. He could feel the desperate urge for retreat. He could feel something else too, Laurent keeping himself apart, as though, this act being finished, he had no template for what to do. ‘Kiss me,’ he said again.

this is so good. it’s good for all the things damen knows, and all the things he doesn’t know. because he’s doing good here, even without the truth about the regent clicking. he’s helping laurent figure this out, confidently and compassionately, and showing him that he doesn’t need to retreat.

Dark-eyed, Laurent was holding himself in place as though pushing himself past a barrier, the tension in Laurent’s body still telegraphing flight, and Damen felt the shock with his whole body when Laurent’s gaze dropped to his mouth. His own eyes fell closed as he realised that Laurent was going to do this, and he held himself very still. Laurent kissed with a slight parting of his lips, as though he was unconscious of what he was asking for, and Damen kissed him back carefully, dizzy with the idea that the kiss would deepen.

see my previous comments about trauma and my appreciation for laurent as a romantic interest/lead

For a moment, looking felt like kissing, an exchange in which the distinctions of intimacy blurred.

"distinctions of intimacy blurred" is such a succinct way to summarize the way pacat writes the overall romantic arc. they do not need to be fucking to be fucking, and when they are fucking, they're doing other stuff too

It was not what Laurent had expected. He felt the slight shock of Laurent’s surprise, and the way Laurent held himself, as though confused as to why Damen wished to do this, but he felt the moment when surprise turned to something else.

“confused as to why damen wanted to do this” yeah that’s pretty typical for laurent

Damen allowed himself the minor delight of nuzzling.

fantastic line

He lifted his fingers to the tie that closed Laurent’s collar. He had been trained to do this, he knew every intricate fastening.

talk about setup and payoff...

Exposed, Laurent’s nipples were hard and puckered, the first tangible evidence of desire, and Damen felt a wild surge of gratification. His eyes lifted to Laurent’s. Laurent said, ‘Did you think I was made of stone?’ He couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure he felt at that, said, ‘Nothing you don’t want.’ ‘You think I don’t want it?’ Seeing the look in Laurent’s eyes, Damen deliberately pushed him back onto the sheets.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okay big turning point! probably the first major tell we’ve gotten of laurent being out of control of his reactions, AND he isn’t ashamed of it and asks for more!!! massive laurent (and damen) w!!!

Lifting a hand idly to the exact place above his head where Damen might have pressed it, Laurent gazed back at him through veiled lashes. ‘Like being on top, do you?’ ‘Yes.’ Never more so than at this moment. To have Laurent beneath him was heady.

they’re both having so much fun in different but complimentary ways. laurent enjoys what he’s doing to damen, damen enjoys what laurent is doing to him. they’re both getting something out of it, which i don’t think damen fully understood what he said that thing about laurent not wanting him, but wanting to make him feel. he wants it because it’s you specifically, dummy.

Despite the cool tone, he was aware of the extent to which Laurent was holding himself in place, allowing himself to be touched. Tension still glinted in Laurent’s body, like the shine on a blade edge that would slice you open at the wrong touch.

Damen let himself experience dizzily just how much he liked the idea of controlled Laurent betraying himself in salt flavoured need into his mouth. He touched it with his hand and encountered a texture like hot silk.

i like how pacat finds these ways to say what’s going on, but in a much more compelling and beautiful way than just “damen wanted to blow him” and “his dick was nice”

‘I am not going to reciprocate.’ Damen looked up. ‘What?’ Laurent said, ‘I am not going to do that to you.’ ‘And so?’ ‘Do you want me to suck your cock?’ said Laurent, precisely. ‘Because I don’t plan to. If you are proceeding on the expectation of reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that—’ This was too convoluted for bed play. Damen listened, satisfied himself that in all of this talking there was no actual objection, then simply applied his mouth.

LOVE THIS. how complicated traumatized laurent trying to deflect is just washing over damen, he doesn’t care if it’s not reciprocal, he just wants to make laurent feel good. something laurent doesn’t understand or expect because sex for him has always been about making [redacted] feel good and that’s it. and laurent’s bitchiness here is so tenderly and funny and in character. he delivered a “precise treatise on cocksucking” in book 1, of course he’d regard this like a business negotiation

For all his seeming experience, Laurent reacted like an innocent to this pleasure. He let out a soft shocked sound, and his body re-formed around the place where Damen was giving his attention. Damen held Laurent in place, hands to hips, and allowed himself to enjoy Laurent’s slight, helpless shifts and pushes, the quality of his surprise, and the hard act of repression that followed, as Laurent tried to even out his breathing.

damen associates sex with happily giving and receiving pleasure, so he’s confused/surprised by laurent’s unfamiliarity with actually getting attention and enjoying himself

Laurent was, by far, the most controlled lover Damen had ever taken to bed.

damen a lot of them were slaves. coached to make you feel like a god. just saying

And felt it stymied. As rhythm built, Laurent’s body locked down, his responses repressed. Looking up, he saw that Laurent’s hands were fists in the sheets, his eyes closed, his head turned to one side. Laurent, out on the shattered edge of pleasure, was holding himself back from climax by sheer force of his impossible will.

again i say, i’m so glad to see someone like laurent as the love interest in a romance novel, holy shit

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, ‘I . . . find it difficult to let go of control.’ ‘No kidding,’ said Damen.

:) a really nice tension-breaking way to find a little humor in it all, made even lighter by damen’s lack of awareness re: [redacted]

‘You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.’

this is the first moment where i’m just like DAMEN. truly. how are you not guessing this. i get that it’s consistent with his character to not assume the worst, but oh my god

‘You make it sound simple.’ ‘It is simple.’

The words fell into a stillness between them. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, and his cheeks were flushed as he closed his eyes, as though he wanted to block out the world. ‘I want,’ said Laurent, ‘I want it to be simple.’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘But—wasn’t it—’ ‘Will you stop talking about it.’ The words were ground out.

oh he’s trying so hard to let himself have this. probably before he feels really ready but it’s his last night with damen so!!

For all his bizarre nervy tension, Laurent was indisputably eager, physically. Damen searched his blue eyes. ‘Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek. ‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent. ‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?’ He said it quietly, and waited, as Laurent’s eyes closed again, a muscle sliding in his jaw. The idea of being fucked very clearly had Laurent out of his mind, as desire competed with some sort of convoluted mental objection that really needed, Damen thought, to be dispensed with. ‘I am letting you,’ said Laurent, the terse words pushing out. ‘Will you get on with it?’

this is so well-written, both what’s in the lines and what’s in between them. it’s a sex scene but it’s also a masterful scene of dramatic irony and characterization for them both

He watched Laurent’s face, the slight flush, the fractional changes of his expression, his eyes wide and dark. It was intensely private.

of course he's in his own head. that's laurent, for better or for worse

He felt some sense that he needed to hold onto this, to hold it tight and never let it out of his grip. You’re mine, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. Laurent didn’t belong to him; this was something he could have only once. His chest hurt.

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up. Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed so important. A kingdom, or this.

i don’t have much to add here. it’s being explained perfectly in the text. it's nice to be at this point of understanding with the characters and plot that things can come together like this, thematically, on the page.

#sam reads capri #capri #lamen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #captive prince #prince's gambit

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