#christmas cards are nice because I make One and then send it to thirty people and don't have to think about it any more than that

[blujayonthewing]

"How can I ask for my internet friends' addresses so I can send them cool mail without looking like a scary internet weirdo" -- me, never even actually sends mail to the people whose addresses I DO know

[coepiteamare]

you feel like a holiday

pairing: namjoon x female!reader genre: mostly fluff, a tinge of angst, a lot of mishaps, mall workers  warnings: language, mentions of mild burns, not using oven mitts, lapslock, a lot of mentions of falling because we’re clumsy word count: 5.8k

summary: floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. you can’t help but fall for the one temp worker who’s as clumsy as he is good looking. 

notes: merry belated holidays ellen @joontella​! it’s peppermint, finally delivering your present to you because i am an excellent procrastinator. this was inspired by my friend commenting on how the majority of holiday movie leads seem to be mall elves, so i present to you...a mall elf! in all seriousness, i hope you like it! i also wanted to add your answers to the character (about your favourite and least favourite part of the holidays) so i put those in here. 💕

the moment the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, the mall changes: it shifts from plain decorations and advertisements into a winter wonderland, with fake snow and garlands and tinsel wrapping every square inch of the mall. twinkling snowflakes hang from the ceiling, a cascade of light fragments spinning over the white, mall floor, and the railing are covered in boughs of holly and streams of glitter. it’s absolutely magical. or so every customer thinks. 

in reality, all the mall workers are contractually obligated to work after the mall closing hours, to file in through the glass doors and haul decoration after decoration out of the mall storage room, put in elbow grease to transform the mall into something vaguely resembling the north pole and distinctly looking like a christmas catalogue display, only with more glitter and more snowflakes and too much tinsel. 

you absolutely despise it. 

to be fair, working a graveyard shift to help “build the holiday magic and festive cheer” was written in the job description when you signed on for the job, in fine tiny print you skipped over as you signed your name on the bottom of the paper, forgotten and ignored in the thrill of having a job that pays more than minimum wage. of course there was a catch; there was always a catch. 

you kick a plastic reindeer, watch it clatter on to a pile of fake snow from your annoyance. jungkook, the head mall—santa’s elf, you correct yourself—snaps his head in your direction, before running over and propping up the reindeer. “oh no! are you okay, vixen?” he pats the reindeer gently, brushing off glittery cotton fluff from its body before frowning at you. “please be careful with the props! all of these are essential to the holiday magic we provide to the children and mall patrons! what would they think if they came into the mall and we only had 8 reindeers instead of all 9?” 

you blink twice, trying to bat away the sleep that’s weighing down your eyelashes and mingling with the glitter from all the ornaments. “that we have 8 reindeers.”

there’s another frown on his face, eyebrows pinching together as he opens his mouth when there’s a loud crash on your right. 

there’s a tall, broad man on the floor, tangled in tinsel and lights, next to a ladder, as another tall, broad man and a short, soft looking blonde come rushing out of the floral fantasy cafe doors. the blonde starts cackling immediately—peals of laughter slipping out of his lips as he props himself against the ladder, doubling over at the unfortunate christmas decoration accident—while the tall broad one (the one not tangled up on the floor), sighs and crouches down to try and untangle the other one. 

“i swear, i don’t even know how this happened,” you overhear tinsel boy explaining, “i was up on the ladder trying to unwrap the lights and i guess i pulled too hard? i fell over.” 

blondie cackles even louder as both of the boys give him a look: tinsel boy looks confused, a little apologetic like he’s done this before, while the other tall, broad one sends him an exasperated look. “yoongi, come help me, so we can all leave early.”

ah, to leave early. you’d like that. 

jungkook lets out a tsk and hands you a box of snowflakes to hang from the roof of santa’s workshop, deeming you high risk to the reindeers, and moves on to the next poor, tired santa’s elf who is—heaven forbid—letting the garland hang an extra inch longer than protocol. 

you shift your gaze back to your right and meet eyes with tinsel boy who’s looking right at you. a flicker of heat rushes up to your cheek, as he looks away, back to the tall broad one who’s trying to untangle him. 

“namjoon,” the broad one sighs in relief when his hands finally find the right loop, “maybe you should try the stickers.” 

“absolutely not,” blondie glares, points to the glass window of the cafe, and even from where you are, 2 stores down and 2 across, you can see the abysmal state of the stickers, air bubbles and stuck together where it’s not haphazardly slapped on to glass. “we are two stickers down and tae is going to have my head when he finds out.” his tone softens, eyes as gentle as his smile, when he sees that namjoon has deflated a little, spirit a little squashed like the tinsel around him. “maybe you can decorate the counter namjoon. i think you’d be good at that.”

namjoon brightens up, dimpled smile illuminated by the string lights dancing across his face, and hands yoongi the lights. he gives a mock salute. “yes, sir.”

you bite down your laughter as he skips into the store, nearly tripping over his shoes. at least you’re not alone in your lack of holiday decorating luck, you think as you reach your hand into the box of snowflakes and cough, a storm of dust and glitter puffing up into the air. 

god, you hate your job already. 

in all fairness, after a 5 hour shift and glitter congested lungs, the mall looks lovely, a christmas card come to life with enough lights to rival a hallmark christmas movie or those drive through holiday light tunnels. if you were a customer, you’d stand gaping at the front entrance too, breath caught in your throat at the festivities. but instead, you’re rubbing bleary eyes from the lack of sleep, back at the steps of the mall less than 6 hours after the nightmare of the graveyard shift. lethargy clings to the edges of your thoughts, smudging cohesion into a whirlpool of fatigue, so you collect what little of yourself you can and trudge your way to floral fantasy. 

floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. there’s a whisper where you live, small talks through the grapevines, about how the requirement to work there is to look like someone who’d make models cry. rumour has it every single worker has been recruited by a talent agency, only to all be turned down for reasons unknown. you believed it when you first stepped foot into the cafe, mouth agape and words lost at the sight of the pretty workers at the register, but the speculations hit you twice as hard right now, when you’re clutching on to the last bit of your sanity. 

tinsel boy is in front of you. you knew he was pretty yesterday, wrapped in twinkle and catching the light, but he’s even prettier up close, skin shimmering in soft pastels, and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually this pretty or if it’s just an optical illusion, a trick of your mind bending the light to create a pretty ringlet around his head. you almost run your mouth, almost let your mouth run without its filter. almost. 

instead, there’s a crash, an angry hiss of steam, and the distinct sound of someone yelping in pain that cuts through the fog of your wonder. blondie rushes out from the back (yoongi, you think his name was), door swinging behind him. “goddamnit namjoon, i leave you alone for thirty seconds! thirty seconds!” 

namjoon shrugs sheepishly. there’s a grimace on his face as he nurses a palm, red and angry. yoongi rushes over with a wet towel and wraps it around namjoon’s palm, another hiss seeping from namjoon’s lips. “i got-fuck-distracted by something,” he looks at you, cheeks tinged pink, and tries to put on a smile, though it resembles more of a grimace. “welcome to floral fantasy.”

yoongi follows his gaze to you too, blinks twice before a smile spreads on his mouth too. “we’re usually a lot more composed than this.”  

“i’ll take your word for it.” you laugh, remembering last night. “the place looks nice. it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job.”

the cafe, normally in theme to its name as an everblooming wonder, is decked with evergreen wreaths and red ribbons, a brilliant fantasy of lights. the wall filled with paper flowers is replaced with white and silver paper snowflakes, just as photo ready as the people inside. 

“thank you,” yoongi smirks, looking over at namjoon before pushing him towards the register. “we tried.”

“i’m sure you must be tired from last night,” you smile at namjoon. 

“you must be too. i know the mall elves had to stay even longer than we did.” he smiles, dimples blooming. “what can i get you?” 

you look at the menu over his head, the words blurring together the longer you look at them, mind too sleep deprived to focus. “i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure what’s good. what would you recommend?”

he opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck. your eyes follow the movement. “i’m actually new here. my friends own the cafe and i’m just here to help for the holiday rush.” he side eyes yoongi who’s running the coffee machine with precision and ease, grace in each movement as he fixes namjoon’s mistakes. “i feel like more of a nuisance than of help though.” 

“i understand that feeling,” you motion towards your attire, a bright splash of green, red, and white that’s as cheerful as you are tired. “i most definitely am not as perky as my job requires.” 

he laughs at your statement, a genuine bubbling laughter that tickles one out of you. there’s a sparkle in his eyes—a trick of the light, you tell yourself—as types something on to the screen. “i have just the thing for you.”

you start to fish around your bag, trying to find your card in the mess of old receipts and chewing gum, when he speaks again. “it’s on the house. my treat.” 

you furrow your brows, lips quirked. “are you allowed to do that?”

“i get free coffee everyday,” he shrugs, “and i do enough damage without caffeine in my system. consider it a gift from a fellow new mall worker, a comrades in agony.” 

you can’t help the worry that spreads across your face. “will you be making it as well?”

“god no.” “absolutely not.” namjoon and yoongi speak at once, twin looks of pain on their faces. 

namjoon holds up his palm as the printer makes a whirring noise. “i think it’s safer for all of us that yoongi makes your drink.” 

the coffee is good, coats your tongue in mint and just the right amount of bitterness. the caffeine sinks into your bloodstream, wipes the film of sleep from your eyes, and gets you through seven hours at the mall. by the end of it, your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, voice a little hoarse from the high pitch elf voice, but there’s a warmth from the coffee that lingers, settles into your bones and stays despite the frosty air that blasts a little too hard through the itchy material of your elf dress. 

you find yourself back at the doors of floral fantasy the next day, still in your bell hat and jingling shoes, less tired but sleepy nonetheless. it’s a little before the mall opens, but the doors are unlocked when you push, a little bell chime ringing through the empty store. the smell of baked goods fills the air, a cozy warmth juxtaposing the white winter wonderland theme, and you take in a deep breath, let it fill your lungs. 

“wow.” you whip around to see namjoon holding a tray of scones and muffins. “you look like you fit right into the store.”

you snort as you twirl, the pom poms twirling as your dress swirls with your turn. “i’m a christmas card come to life, the splitting image of cheer and festivities. though i can’t really say i’m quite into the look.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a ringing that permeates and breaks the moment. “oh shit,” he drops the tray down on the counter, “seokjin told me to watch the macarons. i’ll be right back” he races off, the back door swinging to the tune of his panic. 

you giggle and look at the menu properly this time, at the pretty penmanship curling across the black chalkboards. there’s candy canes and hollies drawn on the borders and tiny wreaths pinned to every corner, ribbon on the bottom, and you try to match the baked goods to the menu names when there’s a muted yelp and crash coming from behind the doors. 

“i swear to god, kim namjoon! the oven mitts are not decoration!” you hear, and you grimace, mind already picturing the damage his clumsiness has caused.  

namjoon and seokjin, you assume, come out of the backroom a few moments later, another wet towel on namjoon, on both hands instead of one this time. 

“oh,” seokjin says. “hello.” 

“hi,” you wave awkwardly. “i’m guessing this is bad timing?”

“no, it’s not,” he pulls out a medical kit and starts applying burn cream on namjoon’s hands, sending daggers every time namjoon inhales sharply in pain. “yoongi should be here in a couple of minutes if you want coffee.”

“did you like the coffee yesterday?” namjoon asks, hope sparkling in his eyes. 

“i did!” you beam back. “it was good, so i came back to see if you had any recs.” you look at the tray behind the two. “and to try a baked goods. a fellow elf told me they’re quite spectacular.”

seokjin brightens at that, perks up and puffs his chest as he finishes the final touches on the bandages on namjoon’s hands. “you heard correctly! just wait a moment!” he rushes off to the back, and it’s just the two of you again.

“you seem to be catching me at my worst, but i swear, i’m more put together than this,” namjoon chuckles, lifting his palms “how was your first shift?” 

you laugh, caressing your elbows to your body. “it was okay. a lot of happy kids, which was nice, but there were also a lot of crying ones. by the end, i was just ready to go home. i did, however, like the coffee from yesterday and figured i would come back to see if you had another recommendation, from a fellow second day-er to another. it was the one thing that got me through the shift.” 

he beams again, and it ignites a warmth in you, much like the coffee from yesterday, that spreads gently across your body, on your cheeks, on your mouth. his smile is pretty, like a warm breeze on a spring day, like cherry blossoms fluttering gently in the wind. the coffee is good, but you think the reason for the lines outside the cafe, the loyal customers, is partly due to the way the smiles here feel like love letters. 

“i have something in mind for you today,” he smiles at you as yoongi walks in, nodding at you in greeting. “just wait a moment.”

you walk out of the cafe, a coffee in one hand, box of baked goods in another, and a heart that feels a little like a snow globe, glitter and snow gently falling down after being shaken by a cute pair of dimples.

it becomes a routine of sorts: almost every shift begins with a visit to floral fantasy, even on the days namjoon isn’t working, and you build up a small friendship with everyone who works there, though it’s mostly seokjin and yoongi and namjoon you see. there always seems to be some mishap with namjoon when you walk into the store—it’s mostly limited to small things like jammed display doors, smooshed pastries as he reaches for another, and misshapen ice cream swirls—although seokjin and yoongi tell you he’s not as clumsy as he presents himself when you’re around.

“he’s actually quite brilliant,” seokjin tells you as he packs in an extra macaron in your gift box, smiling as you light up in glee. you really shouldn’t be spending your paycheck on pastries, but seokjin’s culinary training at le cordon bleu makes them a little too good, a little too addictive, and has you asking for one (or two) on the days when your shifts are a little too long to bear without coffee and sweets. “he’s double majoring in literature and philosophy, minoring in greek and latin to gain deeper understanding of the classical philosophers, and takes french in his free time. he wears himself a little too thin, if you ask me, but he likes what he does. he’s a sweetheart, even when he’s clinging to the last thread of his sanity, muttering on and on about paradoxes and something about beds.” 

“he just needs to get a better understanding of his strength,” yoongi tells you when you come in after your shift one day, over the hiss of the steamer as he makes you a cafe au lait. you don’t have the heart to tell him that you prefer your coffee sweet after remembering how his eyes lit up as he told you about his barista training, raved about coffee done correctly rather than frappes and awful starbucks beans. the resentment on his tongue made you promise yourself to never step foot in a starbucks, lest you find yourself the subject of his bitterness. “sometimes he gets a little too excited and forgets about things, like how fragile objects can be or safety concerns” he and seokjin exchange a knowing glance before he smiles down at the coffee, blank canvas coming to life as he pours in the steamed milk. in the matter of seconds, there’s a cute bear hanging on to the edge of the cup, and you gape in awe at his skills. “he means well though.” 

namjoon presents himself a little differently than his friends do when he catches you on your lunch break, keeping you company as you eat your sandwich in the cafeteria. “i don’t really know how these things keep happening, but they do. i’m a magnet for trouble like bella swan.”

you cackle out loud and, in the process, almost spit out your coffee, courtesy of namjoon. “i’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

“well, i don’t have a creepy, emotionally unhinged vampire that lusts after me, so yes, my situation is a bit better.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes all sad and tugging at heartstrings. you find yourself reaching a hand out, patting his arm. “there, there. i’m sure santa has you on the nice list despite it all. for not interacting with a god-forsaken, toxic vampire.” 

“good. i was awfully worried i was on the naughty list.” he tries to keep a straight face, hold his laughter in, but it seeps and bubbles out and his eyes crinkle into crescents. “do you not like the holidays?” you tilt your head at his question, a silent ask to elaborate. “you seem to not be in the holiday spirit when i ask you about it. unless, i’m reading incorrectly and it’s just your job you despise, which i totally understand. i love kids, but they can be hard to deal with.” 

you chew on your sandwich for a little longer than you have to, feel it go down your esophagus while the sorrow sticks in your throat. “i like christmas. it’s just a bit lonely on my own?” you put your sandwich down gingerly on to your tupperware. “i think the best part of christmas—the holidays in general, really—is spending time with family and loved ones, but i don’t get to see them very often. not since i moved for college and everyone is busy with their own lives. i love christmas dinner and celebrating together, watching the clock strike midnight on new year’s. i still send gifts to them, but it’s not the same as watching them open it, watching eyes light up and twinkle in delight as they see the stockings and rip the wrapping paper.” you stick a grin on your face, as cheerful as the one you put on for your job, but your laughter sounds weak, even to your ears, and you shift your gaze on to the sandwich in your tupperware, trying to hide your tears. there’s a comforting hand on top of yours, gently squeezing like he’s trying to pass his strength on to you. “i mean, it’s fine. post-holiday depression can’t really hit if you don’t feel the holiday cheer to begin with.”

he doesn’t say anything as you blink furiously, trying to clear out the fuzziness in your vision: he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand, a gentle reminder that he’s there and listening to what you’ve holed up and deemed too stupid to tell other people. 

“maybe this holiday season will be different,” he offers. 

there’s a flicker of hope that burns in your chest. “yeah, maybe it will be.” 

it’s a couple of days later when you step back into the cafe, having been too tired to come by after your shifts, and you’re nursing the desire to knock down every single reindeer and the stupid gingerbread house just to spite the kids. (and maybe see the look on jeon jungkook’s face, savour it slowly. god, his love for christmas cheer and order drives you mad, though you’re sure you do the same for him, every time you slip out of character when there’s a particularly nasty child in line.) you must look as exhausted as you feel because when namjoon turns around at the sound of the bell twinkling, thirty minutes before the cafe closes, he drops the tray and you watch as the pink coffee cups and pretty plates fall to the floor, shatter into pieces. 

“fuck,” namjoon looks at the floor in dismay, crouching down to collect the pieces. 

“be care-“ you start, but his voice cuts through before you can finish. 

“ow, fuck.” he staring at the rose blooming on his thumb, cut quickly filling with red. 

you grab a napkin from the counter and hand it to him, gently pulling him up and aside, out of harms way. “i don’t know if your hands will be okay by the time your stint here ends.”

he snorts at that, heading behind the counter and reaching for the medical kit again. “i’m quite resilient.”

“is it weird that i believe you and don’t at the same time?” you smile at his pout, wincing when it causes your cheeks to twinge in pain. “are you manning the store alone today?”

“i can be responsible! is that so hard to believe?” he laughs and motions to the store. “this is seokjin and yoongi’s baby. seokjin has always wanted to do something with food and yoongi’s always loved coffee, so this is their brainchild. i’m guessing they trust me enough to not burn the place down, or at least try not to.” 

he fumbles as puts a bandage on the cut and you can’t help but smile as you remember the stickers he tried to put on the cafe door. you take the broom from him when he makes his way over. “here, let me help.” he tries to protest but you move the broom out of his reach. “consider it my way of saying thank you for the great coffee recommendations.”  

namjoon’s dimples are back, shining in full force, and you start sweeping, telling yourself you’re focusing on the pieces of china and not averting the warmth of his smile because it does not feel like a sugar rush, like the warmth of the holidays you haven’t felt in a while. you feel something creep up in your throat—loneliness, sorrow, exhaustion—so you force it down and stare at the tiny pieces on the floor, watch the little fragments twinkle as you push them around with your broom. 

“are you okay?” there’s a hand on your arm and pair of warm brown eyes looking at you, concern brimming in the light. you let yourself get lost in them for a moment, let it wash over you before you respond.

“yeah,” you smile, “just tired.” 

he gently takes the broom and dustpan from your hands, and gives you his hand instead, leading you to the behind the counter and to the backroom. “i have just the thing for you.”

“am i allowed to be back here?” you quirk your head in amusement, letting him lead. “better yet, what are we doing?”

it’s strange—to the say the least—to be in a place you’re so accustomed to but have it looks so different than what you’re used to: steel and silver replacing marble and white, ovens and storage racks in place of glass displays case and chalkboards. but there’s still the same magic: the same kind of warmth and care you’re greeted with at the entrance lives in the backroom, with the ovens and fires, with the stand mixers and ingredients, with namjoon flitting around the stove. there’s a tick-tick-tick as the stove flares to life, a clang as it meets pan. 

“yoongi taught me how to make hot chocolate, back in high school, because he was so fed up with how much i loved it, how much i would ask for it.” you can feel the smile on his face, even as his back is to you as you lean against the counter. “it’s one of the few things i know how to make from scratch, albeit a little labour intensive. once you try it, there’s no going back to instant packets.” 

namjoon motions you over, handing you the whisk, and the two of you settle in to a comfortable silence as he scrapes in vanilla, sifts in some spices, adds in heavy cream and milk. it smells heavenly, lingers on the edges of his white shirt. the two of you are so close, you’re scared he can hear the vivace of your heartbeat over the whisking, so you whisk a little faster, let the cream splash on the edges until he gently takes the whisk from you. “wow, maybe you should work here. we could have you as back up if our stand mixers ever break down.” 

he pours the mixture into two orange mugs, topping it with something white and fluffy before handing one to you. “hot chocolate a la namjoon.” 

you close your eyes and let the mixture settle on your tongue, sweet and warm. it settles in your bones, distilling and coating the exhaustion and loneliness until all that’s left is the warmth of spending the moment with a loved one. the effort and time comes through. “colour me impressed.”

the smile on his face is as warm as the drink in your hands. 

the two of you bask in the silence, in the warmth, in the comfort of each other’s presence, as you sip the rest of your hot chocolates. 

there’s an unspoken rule: the closer it gets to your last day of work, the slower time moves, like it’s waiting to prolong your misery. the kids aren’t awful—they get nicer as it inches closer to christmas, too well aware their gifts depend on their behavior—but no matter how many kids you entertain, how many photos you snap, how many smiles you pinch out, nothing makes your shift go by today. you’re so close to throwing down your elf hat and walking out the door, freedom so close yet so far. 

it’s christmas eve and the mall is busier than usual, packed with folxs trying to get their last minute christmas shopping done. you can’t say the same for the santa’s workshop line: there’s a lull like no other, and while you would be grateful, jeon jungkook has been watching over everyone like a hawk, squawking at every elf to “keep up the magic!” just until 10 minutes ago when he left for lunch. you just want to go back to your apartment and settle under your covers and let yourself enjoy the measly number on your paycheck. 

“you look like you’re having the time of your life.” 

a voice comes up from behind you and you startle, relief only settling in when you see who it is. 

namjoon is holding a tray of cupcakes that looks like christmas trees, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with a fondant star, and you “ooh” over them as he laughs. “seokjin was experimenting with flavours and i figured i would bring some over to the north pole.”

you frown in mock anger as you pluck a cupcake off his tray. “it’s santa’s workshop, not the north pole. i don’t even want to think about how much more fake snow we would have to bring to call this the north pole.” you take a bite into the cupcake, moaning as the sugar hits your tongue. “these are so good.”

namjoon blinks at you, looks down at your lips and laughs with pink tinged cheeks. “you have frosting on your lips.”

“oh,” you lick your lips, “is it gone?”

 he brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, fingertip lingering a second too long as he drags it down. “all better.” 

there’s a long, awkward silence between the two of you, seconds dragging by as you fumble to string a cohesive sentence together. 

“do you-“

“it’s my-“

“you can go first,” namjoon offers. 

“it’s my last shift today, so i won’t be able to visit as often anymore.” you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, try to dampen the disappointment as you kick at the floor. “so i wanted to say thank you. for everything.”

“oh.” he doesn’t say anything else and anxiety pools in between every beat of the song that’s blasting through the mall speakers. you try to find something to fill in the conversation, anything but what you want to ask him, when you hear your coworker’s voice. 

“jeon’s making his way down!” 

“i have to go. thank you for the cupcake!” you wave the treat in your hand and start to get back into position.

“wait! y/n!” 

as soon as you turn around, there’s a giant weight on top of you, and both you and namjoon come tumbling down, back knocking against the floor. namjoon’s foot, caught on the wire, pulls out the string lights from the socket and brings a snowman to the floor. the poor snowman, in turn, knocks over the reindeers one by one, like a set of dominos, each one falling to the floor with a graceful “thump.”

you let out a groan, crushed by namjoon’s large frame. there’s something wet smudged against your cheek, and the tray that once was in his hands is now uncomfortably sandwiched between your stomachs, digging into your ribcage. 

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” namjoon scrambles to get off of you. “this keeps happening around you. are you okay?”

when you prop up your weight on your hands, you see that your elf costume is smeared with dark green frosting, the white trim matted together with pieces of the chocolate cupcake. you can’t help but laugh: it seems awfully fitting that namjoon’s fall, which marked your first shift, would laso be the highlight of your last one. 

“i’m alright. you?”

he nods, motioning towards your elf costume. “i don’t think your costume is though.”

“i kind of like it better this way,” you laugh as you start to pick up the reindeers, “it feels much more festive.” 

“i feel bad.”

he sends you an apologetic look, puppy eyes and pouty lips, and something in you says fuck it. “you were right about the hot chocolate. i tried to drink instant mix and it didn’t taste the same. you could make it up to me with another cup?”

something flashes in his eyes as he smiles. “i’ll do you one better. what are you doing tomorrow?”

you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “nothing?”

“i’m off too, if you wanted to go on a date? most of the city is going to be closed, so we could watch a movie, have dinner at my place? and i could make you hot chocolate?” he bites his lip at your silence, at the way your eyes go wide. “or not. i’m sorry; i just thou-” 

you press your lips against his and put your hands on his shoulder when he kisses you back. it’s a short kiss, sweet and gentle like he is, and it’s over all too soon (you are in public after all), but it leaves a trail of butterflies in your stomach and a dazed look in his eye. 

“a date sounds good.” you tell him as he stands up, tray in hand. 

“tomorrow then.”

you nod, the smile on your face as sweet as the frosting on your outfit, as he runs back towards floral fantasy. 

“looks like someone has holiday plans after all,” your coworker nudges you.

the smile on your face refuses to dissipate, even as your cheeks feel the tender ache. “i guess so.” 

“you know, the first time i saw you, you were wrapped in tinsel because you fell off the ladder trying to decorate the outside of floral fantasy.” you tell him on his couch, over hot chocolate. 

he chokes and sputters. “i was distracted.”

the statement sounds vaguely familiar, mind hazy from time. “by what?”

he looks at his mug of hot chocolate intently, like the surface is reflecting his answer to him. “You.”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. “I’m sorry?”

his ears and cheeks are dusted with pink, a sunset on his face. “You were so pretty that i forgot i was on a ladder, and i fell.” 

it takes all of your willpower to iron out the smile that threatens to slip through, but one look at his face--at his pretty, pouting face--and you burst out laughing, laughing even harder when he joins in.

“I’m clumsy when i get nervous,” he continues, when both your laughters simmer into giggles, “and everytime you came into the cafe, i was so nervous that i made silly mistakes like burning my hands and forgetting oven mitts. The one time you came in and i dropped the tray? The light was hitting you at the right angle and—god—it made you look like an angel.” 

you hide your grin behind your mug, take a sip before you let him know. “the coffee was good, but i mostly came in to see you.” 

his eyes light up at that, brighter than the christmas tree haphazardly wrapped behind him, and you kiss him, mouths moulding together. he tastes like goodness and hot chocolate and the warmth of the holiday season, like the thrill of opening a present that’s been under the tree for so long. 

maybe he was right. maybe this holiday season will be different. 

[tintentrinkerin]

OURANOS

Rating: Teen and up / PG-13 Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean jr./original characters Tags: 15.20 (Carry On), coda, character death, mourning sam winchester Summary: Sam mourns Dean’s death, but he carries on. For him. Word count: 1.1k

Read under the cut or on AO3

Two weeks after Dean's death.

This is Sam's new calendar now. He doesn't care if it's monday, March or Christmas. It's 14 days after Dean died. There's nothing else left for Sam. Only mourning.

*

Sometimes Miracle won't sleep in Sam's room. He would sit in front of the door to Dean's room whimpering. Sam cries silently, picks him up and carries the dog away. „I know buddy, I miss him too.“ Sam would whisper in the dark empty cold bunker that isn't home anymore.

Carrying on is hard when the person you call home is gone.

Four weeks after Dean's death.

It's not that Sam wouldn't think of suicide. He actually does constantly. There's plenty of material in the bunker to end his life. But he doesn't know where he'd end up. And life without Dean is already hard, how would eternity feel like?

* Sam stops hunting. He knew Dean wouldn't want him. He wanted Sam to fight. But definitely not to hunt. He had done this one last case because Donna had given away Dean's number. But Donna is gone. Jody is gone. Alex. Claire. Sam is the only survivor of this game.

* Sam is pretty sure that Dean would've killed himself when Sam had died in that barn. This thought hurts Sam deeply. He wants to flip a switch. Be like Dean. Go crazy. Sleep around, break things. But that's not Sam. And never will be.

Three months after Dean's death.

Sam knows people. They give him a new identity. He's Sam Campbell now. Not original but it does its deed. Charlie's magical credit card still does magic and Sam gets a new wardrobe. He thinks about applying for jobs, but so far, he doesn't know what to do with the rest of this life.

Six months after Dean's death.

Sam decides he needs therapy. He can still pay with the credit card. It's not that he wants to use it forever, but he's incapable of moving on. Damn, he isn't even able to mourn. He cries sometimes. But there's no one he can talk to. * It's Dean's birthday. Sam has no grave he can visit, no place to mourn. So he mourns in the bunker's kitchen, open bottles, stale burgers and a blackout.

Eightteen months after Dean's death.

It's Sam's birthday. He remembers Mrs. Butters.

Two years after Dean's death.

Sam leaves the bunker. He unplugs the whole thing and sends it back to sleep. He has only used his own room and the kitchen after Dean died and he's sick of being there. It makes him sad, it paralyses him. That's partly the therapy talking but he knows his therapist is right. * Sam is surprised that he gets a job. He's a ranger in a national park in the middle of nowhere. Mostly he looks for lost people, hurt people, dead people. Same for animals. He likes being outside, always moving. It keeps him busy.

*

He meets his future wife. She is nice, she is desperate and she reminds him of Amelia. She's lost her first and only child in a tragedy at a youth camp. Sam knows she's with him, because she needs someone to hold on to. And Sam is just as lost as her.

Three years after Dean's death.

When the hospital calls, Sam's in his office. She's in labor.

* She's okay with the name Dean. She knows that's the name of Sam's dead brother. She's just happy to have the baby.

Sam starts finding meaning in life again. He leaves a legacy. A legacy that should be Dean's.

Dean Junior is one year old.

Sam is pretty old for a first time father. Almost too late, his wife's friends think. He doesn't listen to the talking of the others. He's there when Dean's first word is „Da“, similar to Sam's first word when he was a toddler. „De.“ * He's a fast learner and soon he can say „Daddy“ and „Mommy“ and „Pie“.

* After the first words, Dean Junior makes his first steps. Sam tears up and it's hard to calm down.

Seeing Dean Junior grow and learn and shape into a young man, these are 18 years for Sam that go by in a blur. The life he just carries on living to make Dean happy, is making him happy.

Miracle dies two days after Dean's seventh birthday. He buries him in the backyard and paints a cross for him.

„Mirucle.“

Dean has his first crush. On his history Teacher. Mister Warren. Dean has his first girlfriend. She looks like Claire and is just as stubborn.

Dean has his first boyfriend. Ricky from art class.

When Dean turns 18, Sam decides to show him the bunker. Tell him about hunting. And finally, talk about his uncle. It's been years since Sam dared to talk about Dean Senior.

Dean Junior is first terrified. He's a gentle soul, but he surely is hunter material, Dean would say. Him and the wife get into arguments, Dean Junior enters a gothic phase. And then gets the anti possession tattoo.

„I'm one of you, dad. I'm a Winchester, I want to learn about hunting. And I want to become a man of letters.“ Sam is so proud, he has no words.

Dean Junior is twenty one.

Sam feels weird. He feels like he can't pee anymore. His sexual function decreases. It's not that he needs and wants sex that much anyway, but he starts worrying.

The doctor's find the reason.

Prostate cancer. Sam at first is horrified. But also... He's over sixty years old now. He has lived a good life. And he's ready to be back with Dean.

He gets chemo and radiotherapy. They cut out his prostate.

He survives.

Dean Junior is twenty eight.

He has built a small hunting network. It's just him and some other survivors of the fight against God. Some of the names are familiar to Sam. He marries his hunter partner Nickie.

Dean Junior is thirty two.

The cancer is back. But this time it's in Sam's bowels.

The doctors talk about relapse and metastases. They offer him chemo, radio, surgery. All that jam. But they also say, „This is stage 4a. High grade.“

Sam isn't stupid. He won't recover from that. He's in his seventies now, his kid is grown up. His wife has already passed. They would just buy him two or three months.

He denies medical procedures. He wants to die at home.

And that's what happens.

Dean Junior is supposed to celebrate his 5 years anniversary with Nickie, but they cancel their plans to be with Sam.

„It's okay to go.“

And Sam knows. It's more than okay.

Honestly, he has waited for the day he truly dies for about 35 years.

When the reaper comes to get Sam's soul, he's crying in joy. „Will you take me to Dean?“, he asks.

The reaper smiles.

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 30

Word Count: 4,482

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, giving birth

Notes: I’ve been waiting to write this one for a while. Sorry it took a bit, I’ve been struggling to write the last couple days. Hopefully that will change. Happy Reading!

Nervous Regrets Masterlist

The day after Tyler's birthday, your family and his surprised you with a baby shower. They'd taken over Jamie's house and had it decorated with pastel shades of pink and blue. There was a beautiful backdrop of sheer curtains, framed by balloons that said 'Oh Baby' on it. Over in the one corner was a giant teddy bear, holding up all the balloons looking as though he could float away. On the gift table was a huge balloon with little ones inside, written on the outside, was Baby Seguin and just seeing that made your heart melt. There were more desserts than you could count, cupcakes, cookies, chocolate-covered strawberries and so much more. It was a pregnant woman's fantasy that's for sure. There were both team pink and team blue drinks, for people to support whether you were having a boy or a girl. Everything was perfect, and the fact that both of your families, as well as your friends, were there to share it, made it even better.

Thankfully they didn't make you play too many games, but Jenna did have everyone write ideas for baby names since you and Tyler hadn't been able to agree on any. There were a few that caught your attention and you definitely put them on the list. They also played a guessing game with how big your belly was, which was embarrassing. When you finally got around to opening the gifts, there were so many cute outfits, that you couldn't wait to wear them all on the baby. Little onesies with puppies, elephants, and ducks on them. Tyler's mom got you the stroller that you and he had picked out which was perfect, as it always came with a baby carrier so now you had two. Your parents got you a deluxe pack-n-play, that had a changing area and a little bassinet area for when the baby was smaller. Of course, she prefaced the gift by saying that you could bring it when you came to visit them with the baby. Jenna and Anna got the baby a MommaRoo baby swing, that apparently was a must for baby from everything you'd read. There was a designer diaper bag from Cassidy and Candace and so many more gifts, that you were glad someone wrote them all down for you to send out Thank Yous.

 Tyler showed up at the end with Jamie, you weren't sure where the two of them had been, but he had a giant bouquet of flowers for you. They were beautiful white roses, accented with pink and blue miniature flowers. He handed them over, kissing you, and causing everyone to oh and ah.

 "So Ty, do you want a boy or girl?" Andrea, Ben Bishop's wife prodded. Your ears perked up as it was a question you really didn't know the answer to.

 "I mean obviously a little boy would be awesome so that I could teach him all about hockey and maybe be his coach someday. But like a little girl, man I would just spoil her rotten. Is there still a way to get one of each." Everyone laughed, and he wrapped his arms around you and the baby. "But seriously, I think we both just want a healthy little one, so boy or girl, it doesn't matter. Right?"

 "Took the words out of my mouth. Well, maybe not the twins part," You said with laughter in your voice. "Thank god we know it's not that."

 "Well whichever we get this time, we can always try for the other one next."

 "Trying to start the hockey team already, Seggy?" Taylor, Stephen John's girlfriend chirped him.

 "Always." The two of you went around thanking everyone for coming and for all the gifts that were brought. It was the best baby shower in the world and when most everyone had left, you showed Tyler all the gifts. Including the cute little Gucci baby shoes, you'd gotten. "Oh my god, these are so fly, our kid is going to be the coolest little one out there." Jamie and Tyler wouldn't let you touch any of the gifts as they loaded them up in the cars to take back to your place.

 His mom and sisters stayed in town to watch him play a game that night, even though he had to leave right after for a back-to-back in Nashville. He would be back the following night, but not for long before he was on the road again. It was nice to spend some time with his family. Jackie was a huge help in getting things ready for the baby. She made sure that you washed all the clothes that you just got in a laundry detergent safe for the baby and helped you get all the little details done for the nursery. You still had almost five weeks left before the baby arrived, but as Jackie said it was better to have everything ready since those last couple weeks could be trying and you might find yourself not wanting to anything but lounge around.

 Jackie and the girls were only there a couple short days, and it seemed like as soon as they left; so did Tyler. This time when he left, you both felt on edge. He hated leaving you for twelve long days, especially as it was getting late in your pregnancy. And while you would never admit it to him, you hated seeing him go. Your anxiety would get the best of you at times, when he was gone, thinking that you'd go into labor or something. You even went so far as to have Jenna stay over one night because you swore you were having contractions; turned out it was just gas and gone by the time she got there. Though god love her, she stayed the night with you.

 Tyler called you almost every moment of the day. "How are you doing today, baby?"

 "We're doing good, though I feel like the size of this house; all ten thousand square feet of it."

 "Babe, you are not as big as that. I just saw you a week ago and you're literally all baby." Tyler was right of course, but it didn't mean that your ankles weren't swollen at the end of the day or that your back wasn't hurting most of the time.

 "Maybe I gained a million pounds last week, by eating ice cream and chips for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

 He burst out laughing on the phone, for he knew you how meticulous you were about eating healthy while pregnant. Not to say that you didn't self-indulge because you did; you were just trying to make sure the baby got more nutritious foods than junk ones. "Even if you did, I'd still love you."

 "I love you too." You sighed, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes because you missed him so much. Your hormones were all over the place lately, for just last night you found yourself crying at some commercial on television. At least Cash came over then and licked away your tears then. This time you just took a deep breath and calmed yourself down. Tyler would be home in another week and everything would be fine. "So tell me about your day?" And just like that, you'd change the subject so that you were back to joking and laughing again.

 Tyler was gone for Valentine's Day but that didn't stop him from sending you extravagant gifts. There was a giant bouquet of red roses, that was delivered to you early in the morning. Then as the day went on there was a box from Venus ET Fleur of white roses that were delivered from Baby Seguin. The card attached read, 'Since I won't be here for a few more weeks; I got you the ones that will last a long time. Can't wait to meet the best Mommy in the world. Love, Baby Seguin.' You hadn't expected Tyler to send you something from the baby and his thoughtfulness overwhelmed you.

 In the afternoon, a courier brought over another package, and you were half expecting it to be more flowers. This time when you opened the box, there was another box inside that read 'CHANEL.' Tyler knew you'd had your eye on the bag since right after Christmas, but it was still a surprise that he'd boughten it for you. The last gift he sent you was hand-delivered from the jeweler Tyler used. It was around five in the evening and you knew that he would be heading for the arena for his game, but you still called to thank him. "Ty, I can't believe you did this."

 "You deserve it, baby."

 "They're too much though. You already got me all the flowers and the gorgeous bag."

 "I didn't get you all the flowers, the baby got you some too. You like them though don't you?" How could you not? They were matching earrings to the necklace that he gave you before you got engaged. Two smaller diamonds, that dropped down to a large one; they were absolutely perfect.

 "Like them? Hun, I love them." Actually, you more than loved them but didn't know how to say that. "I can't wait to wear them."

 "Well, I plan on taking you somewhere special when I get home so that you can wear them and the necklace." Knowing Tyler, he would have some elaborate dinner planned, and while you couldn't wait to wear the matching jewelry set; he didn't need to do anything more for the holiday.

 "Ty, I'd be happy just wearing them for you around the house."

 "Mmmm and nothing else, maybe?" The man was completely incorrigible, but you weren't going to say that it wasn't a good idea to welcome him home. In fact, you liked the idea so much you decided that was exactly what you were going to do.

 "Well, I do need to say thank you for all these gifts you gave me."

 "Babe, you are seriously killing me here and I have to leave, the bus is waiting."

 You sighed, not wanting to let him go, yet knowing you had to. "Well, thank you again for the earrings, and well...everything else. You've really made this Valentine's Day special, even if you can't be here. I love you, Ty."

 "I love you too (Y/N). Happy Valentine's Day! I'll talk to you after the game." Tyler's Valentine's Day did not go as well as yours, as the Stars ended up losing the game.

 Two days later you were in the doctor's office, for your weekly checkup. You were at thirty-seven weeks and as with all your appointments, they started off with doing all your measurements. They also did a swab test to check if you had Group B Strep, which would mean that you would need antibiotics when you went into labor. The doctor went over the difference between Braxton-Hicks and actual labor pains, though she emphasized to call into the office if you weren't sure. She went on to tell you that you were about ten percent effaced, which meant that your cervix was just preparing for the birth and should put you at your due date. After all your tests came back good, they told you they would see you in a week and possibly do an ultrasound then to double-check that the baby was in the right position.

 You headed home, planning on watching Tyler's game and then waiting for him to get home, well maybe you'd nap in between that time. Who were you kidding; you knew you'd fall asleep the moment the game was done. You settled on the couch with the dogs and some takeout, but things didn't go well again for the Stars. They lost their second straight game, and you knew Tyler would be disappointed in the way that he played. Throwing on one of the x-large t-shirts you'd been wearing you headed into the bedroom to get a quick nap so that you'd be awake when he came home.

 It was a little after two in the morning when Tyler snuck into bed with you. So much for being awake when he got here. "Sorry babe, I didn't mean to wake you." His hands immediately went to the baby, so that he could caress the little one inside you; then he went and kissed you. "I missed you, two."

 "We missed you too. This stretch was way too long."

 "I know baby. At least this is the last long one we have; all the others are six days at the longest." Tyler scooted closer to you now, that he'd greeted his child. "How was the doctor's today?"

 You hadn't got a chance to talk to him before the game, as he was an hour ahead of you and already at the arena by the time you were done. "Everything's perfect. The doctor said the baby is fine and their head is in the right position. They will probably do an ultrasound next week."

 "Oh good, then I'll be here for it." His hands were skating up and down your back and he stifled a yawn.

 "Tired, hun?"

 "Yeah, these last two losses were tough."

 You ran your fingers through his curls, lightly scratching his scalp. "Let's go to sleep then."

 "Mmhmm," And you could tell that he was half asleep, so you closed your eyes, in hopes of falling back asleep. However, the longer you laid there, the more uncomfortable you felt, which was a horrible side effect of pregnancy. It seemed like you felt this way more, and more with each day. After several minutes of listening to Tyler snore, you decided to roll over to see if that would help.

 Exactly forty-two minutes later, and you knew this because you'd looked at the clock about every six minutes; you were still awake more miserable than before. There was no point in tossing and turning and waking Tyler up. It took some effort, but you got out of bed and headed into the living room, Cash following you. He'd been attached to your hip lately, not that it was unusual, for he'd been that way since you and Tyler got back together. It just seemed the past couple of days he never left your side, which included when you went to the bathroom. Maybe he realized that you'd been upset with Tyler being gone so long; Cash seemed to pick up on everything happening with you.

 You turned the television on and made yourself as comfortable as possible on the couch, your not so little dog beside you. There was absolutely nothing on, so you switched to Netflix, rubbing your belly as you browsed for something to watch. Your heartburn was really killing you tonight, and you vowed to yourself you were never getting takeout from that barbeque place again until you delivered the baby. After contemplating a bunch of shows, you threw on the Crown in hopes that some history would put you to sleep. Which thankfully it did have you nodding off, but not for long as that indigestion was annoying you again.

 It was now five-thirty in the morning, and you were pretty sure that you were not going to be getting any sleep. So you went and adjusted some things in the nursey. You'd been doing this a lot recently. Changing where the clothes went or moving the hooded towels into a different drawer. Finally satisfied where everything was for at least the next hour, you decided to relax a bit in the rocking chair, maybe the sway would put you to sleep. Though when you looked at your phone and it said six-forty-five, you got up and headed into the kitchen.

 Ginger tea had helped a few times when your heartburn was pretty bad, so you thought you'd try that route again. Taking the teapot out, you headed over to the sink to fill it with water; when it started. You couldn't quite describe it, but it was almost a shifting in your body as if the baby dropped and you screamed. "AAAAHHHHHH!" The pot crashing into the sink as pain shot through your body. Your hands gripped the sink, and it wasn't until your feet were wet that you realized your water had broke.

 Tyler had heard you yell, and ran out to the kitchen. "Babe, what's wrong?" It was all in a rush and you couldn't quite hear him as your body didn't even feel like your own at the moment. Something was wrong, something was definitely wrong. "(Y/N) talk to me!" But you couldn't, as another pain hit you. It was like you were splitting in two and you felt your vagina tear. You were having the baby and you were having it now. By the time Tyler got around to your side, he realized you were in labor, though you were pretty sure he didn't know to what extent.

 You inhaled deeply, trying to get the pain somewhat under control so you could speak. "Ty, call 9-1-1." Reaching down between your legs, you felt it. It was the baby's head just inches from coming into this world. "The baby is coming NOW!"

 "What? No, we have to get to the hospital. I'll get the…"

 "Tyler, we don't have time." And you grabbed his shoulder with one hand, as you tried to keep your child in with the other. "I can feel the head."

 "Fuck, where's the…" And he grabbed the cordless you had in the kitchen, while you prayed that the baby would just stay inside you a bit longer. Your cell phone was on the counter, and you called Jenna as she had planned to film the whole thing, though that's not why you needed her now. She was your backup coach and right now, Tyler needed to pay attention to the 9-1-1 operator but you needed someone to help you through this.

 The minute she answered you started rambling. "Jenna, the baby's coming. I mean like…" Another pain coursed through you. "Like now. I mean I'm gonna have the baby in my fucking kitchen. I can feel the head and…"

 "Ok, ok. You need to breathe (Y/N) come on you can do this." And you could hear shuffling in the background. "Jamie get up, the baby's coming. We're on our way, I'm gonna stay on the phone with you. Now just listen to my voice. Breathe in, that's it. Now breathe out. That's great (Y/N)."

 Tyler was in the background then. "The ambulance is on their way, they'll be here in less than 10 minutes."

 "I don't think we have that long."

 "Mr. Seguin," the operator's voice interrupted. "I need you to have your wife lie down, and I need you to get some clean towels or sheets."

 "I can't deliver this baby. Do you understand? I play hockey. I'm not a doctor." He was breathless and completely panicked just as you were.

 "Tyler look at me!" You yelled at him to grab his focus as you dropped down to the floor. "Go into the laundry room, there are clean sheets there and towels."

 "(Y/N), Jamie and I are in the car. We'll be there in two minutes." Jamie lived only about eight blocks away from Tyler, so her being here at that time would happen. You'd joked about Jamie delivering the baby when you were in Mexico, but it looked like that may actually happen. A small chuckle escaped your lips at the thought. "(Y/N) are you ok?"

 "No…yes. I don't even know anymore." Just then another contraction hit, and you did your best the breath through it while trying not push. "Tyler!" What was taking him so long, the laundry room was literally two rooms away; he should've been back by now.

 "What where is Tyler? He should be there with you." Jenna yelled through the phone.

 "Here. Towels." It was all you could eek out as you concentrated on keeping the baby inside you for a little bit longer. Tyler finally appeared, with a stack of towels and sheets, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder.

 "I'm here." He placed the linens on the counter, then spread one of the sheets out. "They said to lay on this." Once he was done, he basically picked you up, only to set you back down on the cloth.

 Now both calls were on speaker, but it was the operator who spoke next. "The ambulance is five minutes out. How are you doing Mrs. Seguin?"

 "I don't know if I can wait that long. I feel another…" And then you were groaning as yet another contraction spasmed through your body.

 "Breathe, baby." Tyler's voice cut through the pain and you tried to focus on him rather than the urge to push. "Just a little bit longer ok. You are so strong, baby." His hand grabbed yours, as you grimaced.

 "Mr. Seguin…Mr. Seguin…I'm going to need you to look and see where the baby is at." This from the operator again, as you finally registered that they were speaking to the two of you.

 "I don't think I can move my hand though." You'd had it placed there willing the baby to stay put, there was no way you were moving it until there was a licensed professional here.

 "I know your scared…(Y/N). I am too, but you can do this."

 Just then the door burst open, Jenna running inside. "The ambulance is right down the street, we could see the lights. Jamie is flagging them down now." She took in the sight and her face went completely white as a ghost. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

 "Jenna, that is not helping," Tyler said through clenched teeth.

 She shook herself and then dropped her phone on the counter as she rushed forward. "Right, what can I do?"

 "We need to see exactly where the baby's at. Will you let us do that (Y/N)?" Tyler was speaking to you in a soothing voice, almost as if you were a child that he was coaxing into taking their medicine.

 "Come on (Y/N)," Jenna added. "We can do this together. Just let me take a quick look, like a second."

 "Ok…but I still have panties on." You knew they would have to come off, but that would happen when the paramedics got here. You could actually hear the sirens now.

 Tyler reached up into a draw and pulled out a knife, and before you could say anything he was tearing the one side of the underwear. "Babe, we have to do this. This little one is going to want out any minute." You knew he was right and you just nodded, as he stretched to the other side then did the same thing. He tossed the knife into the sink, then grabbed your hand. Jenna was between your legs ready to see where the baby was positioned. "Ok babe, on the count of three, ready? One…two…" And then he was shifting your hand before you knew what was happening.

 "Ok yeah, the baby is definitely right there." You quickly snatched your hand back and placed it back on top of your vagina.

 "Not until, the paramedics get here." You insisted and then groaned as another contraction hit you.

 "Deep breath in," Tyler told you. "And out." Making a 'hee, hee, hee' sound, then 'hoo' just as you learned in Lamaze class. He did it again and you felt somewhat better. "Good job baby. You're doing so great."

 Jamie came in through the open door then. "The paramedics are…wow ok."

 Just then two ambulance workers came rushing into the house, shoving Jamie aside, Jenna moved from her spot as well to give them room, while Tyler remained at your side. "Mrs. Seguin, I see we're going to have a baby tonight here in your kitchen huh?" He was trying to be jovial and take the edge off, but you could only manage a terrified look at his words. "Don't worry, this isn't my first delivery. Now, how about you let me take a look." You moved your hand then which was covered in blood and fluid, yet Tyler still took it and laced his finger with yours. "Yup, so you probably feel like you want to push right?"

 "Yes."

 "Ok, well the next time the contraction comes, that's what I want you to do." His voice was calm like he was not in your kitchen, getting ready to deliver your child and that this was an everyday occurrence. "Mr. Seguin, how about you move behind your wife, to support her back. And could you," he looked at Jenna. "Come next to (Y/N) here and hold this leg." Another paramedic entered then from outside, a bag of stuff attached to him, while the other grabbed your free leg.

 You felt Tyler's voice before you heard it, his warm breath touching your ear. "You're so brave, baby. I can't believe how strong you're being. Just a little bit longer and our baby will be here." You were leaning heavily into his chest now, but had a death grip on both of his hands. "I'm right here with you babe."

 The contraction hit just then, your abdomen constricting with so much pain it was like a tidal wave was pulling you under, though you had to fight through so that you could push. "Ok now's the time, Mrs. Seguin." You leaned forward grunting with effort, Tyler telling you breathing techniques the entire time. "Good, good," the paramedic urged. "I have the head, now just one more push to get the shoulders."

 "Come on babe, one more. You can do it." His face was pressed up against the side of yours, as he helped you through the final push. You knew deep down that if you could just get through this one last part, you would be holding your baby in no time. Bearing down, you concentrated on getting the baby out. As the shoulders passed through your opening, you knew that you'd finally brought your little one into the world.

 "Congratulations, it's a boy." The paramedic told you, tears flowing freely from your eyes.

 You'd watched enough birthing videos and medical shows to know that once the baby was born the child usually cried, however yours wasn't, and suddenly you were even more panicked than before. "Why isn't he crying?" And you leaned further up so that you could see what was going on with your son, but the man had his back turned and now the paramedic that had been holding your leg scooted over to help him. "Is he ok?" And you looked back at Tyler, the terror in his face mirrored your own. This couldn't be happening not now, not after everything you'd gone through tonight to get him here.

[allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup]

Love is History

*taps mic* is this thing on? (I stole that from Obama. He was still in office last time I posted my writing). 

So fun thing I did - write an angsty sequel to Love is Fiction. If you’ve never read it, it just got over 300 notes this past week. I figured it was time to dust this off from my drafts and complete it. 

I hope you like it and my voice sounds similiar to the last election year when I put this out. Honestly I’m so different now and I think this captures the changes I’ve gone through and the way I view relationships now opposed to four years ago. 

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters.

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing.

She thought she’d never write their break up.

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US.

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment.

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/-

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed.

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas.

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga.

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind.

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay.

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find.

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to.

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy.

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.”

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name.

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/- “Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week.

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand.

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days.

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth?

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months.

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid.

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him.

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut.

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence.

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment.

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.”

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place.

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth.

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart. Finally, an email came in.

Emma, I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart. Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop.

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention?

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.” She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing.

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. Are you up? It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word.

-/- She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it.

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.”

-/- He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. “Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness.

“Killian...”

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it.

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil.

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps.

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book.

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end.

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold.

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love.

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other.

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters. 

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing. 

She thought she’d never write their break up. 

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US. 

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment. 

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/- 

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed. 

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas. 

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

 -/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga. 

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind. 

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay. 

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find. 

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face. 

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again. 

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to. 

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her. 

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career. 

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy. 

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal. 

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?” 

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden. 

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.” 

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.” 

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name. 

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later. 

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/-

“Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today. 

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR. 

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week. 

“We had a meeting at 2:30.” 

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly. 

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand. 

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle. 

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days. 

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called. 

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off. 

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth? 

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months. 

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him. 

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid. 

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him. 

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut. 

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence. 

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating. 

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?” 

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?” 

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about. 

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment. 

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged. 

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye. 

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness. 

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break. 

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion. 

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received. 

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall. 

She is less. 

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before. 

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone. 

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.” 

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place. 

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do. 

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.” 

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth. 

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart.

Finally, an email came in.

Emma,

I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart.

Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is? 

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.” 

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.” 

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop. 

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention? 

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

 “Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.” 

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way. 

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay? 

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove. 

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly. 

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it. 

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.”

She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs. 

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing. 

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured. 

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history. 

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.” 

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. 

Are you up?

It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man. 

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.” 

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door? 

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart. 

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it? 

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.” 

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word. 

-/-

She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word. 

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it. 

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.” 

-/-

He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. 

“Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous. 

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.” 

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness. 

“Killian...” 

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.” 

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls. 

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it. 

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil. 

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his. 

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand. 

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. 

Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps. 

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear. 

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before. 

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book. 

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’ 

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end. 

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold. 

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love. 

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other. 

[sstrongstyle]

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Adam Cole x OC, mentions of Seth Rollins x OC 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After nearly a decade of being the golden girl of WWE, Adaline Marin wants out. Their ring was no longer home, haunted by her first love and upon reaching her thirties, the face behind "Aspen Glory" wonders if the passion she once had was still ablaze. Instead, she gets sent down to NXT to join the Undisputed Era. The next three hundred and sixty-five days, all captured by cameras for the history books, become a year of revival, reinvention, and realization with her legacy at stake and a new flame from the past emerging. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: All characters are referred to by their real life names (for the most part)

CHAPTER TWO.

June 7th, 2019

There was always something about Florida that Adaline hated. It reminded her of her days stuck down in developmental, rotting away in that ugly FCW warehouse with a princess gimmick that got her nowhere. Realizing that this was her new home, as one of the currently most decorated talent in WWE's women's division, was like a punch to the gut. It wasn't supposed to be a downgrade, considering the heights that NXT had reached in recent times, but it sure as hell felt like that. Passing by new, unknown faces in the Performance Centre, who gawked at her veteran presence, made it feel like that. Young female talent coming up to her and telling her how much of an inspiration she was to them starting their careers felt like that.

"Yeah, it hurts a bit, but you have to look at the bigger picture." Mattias was the first one to welcome Adaline to NXT with open arms. "It's a fresh start and in all honesty, I trust the suits down here more than the suits up on top." Earlier in the day, he decided to play tour guide and show her around the main backstage area of the Full Sail taping location.

Adaline rolled her eyes. "They all suck." She tried her best to hide her disdain from day one, but being around Matt allowed her to let her guard down. He, of course, went through the same thing when Tyler Breeze was sent packing back to Winter Park after years on the main roster. However, she didn't expect such a twinkling look in his eyes, a hint of happiness in them, considering he was fresh off Takeover XXV on a title match.

Every NXT alumni spoke so fondly of their time down in the black and gold brand. Maybe a part of her always wondered what it would have been like to stay in Florida a little longer in 2012, instead of taking a cannonball into the formation of The Shield. It seemed like Adaline no longer had to wonder on what could've been.

Nothing felt right. She was wearing a stuffy formal outfit, or as close to formal as Adaline Marin could get. Wide legged dress pants and a strappy crop top, if Adaline wasn't going to pay her respects to Vincent Kennedy McMahon himself, there was no way she was going to force herself into anything "professional." In a way, it was almost her method of showing Hunter just how pissed off she was.

She was three months removed from main eventing Wrestlemania and out of nowhere, she's down at the PC with kids who don't know how to perform a suplex.

"Listen, you may be a little pissed off—" was the first thing that left his mouth and Adaline couldn't help but snort.

The last stop on Matt's tour was Hunter's office, where Adaline was schedule for an early morning meeting with him. It was about nine o'clock and she had barely escaped running into any of the other talent. Her debut was supposed to be kept under wraps and while it didn't hurt for a few people on the roster to learn about it, Adaline herself didn't want it to be spread around so soon.

Hunter gave her a pointed look. "We have big plans for you here."

"I sure hope so, because so did a certain other company." The shit eating grin on Adaline's face was more than a little disrespectful, but he wasn't even fazed. Her statement was nothing less than the truth. It was inevitable that other promotions came knocking on her door and had been planning to do so, as the expiry date of her time with WWE had been on the mind of many for months leading up to it.

"You won't regret re-signing, Adaline," he said, choosing to ignore her statement.

Adaline wanted to believe that she wasn't making a mistake, but after months off television and headaches surrounding her contract negotiations, a part of her thinks that she simply re-signed out of annoyance. They saw how well she did when she left for two years and they were afraid that Adaline was going to go and do the same with the three letter A named company looming over their nightmares. WWE was persistent and they promised her everything she wanted and more—only, she wasn't told that it was going to be at Full Sail University.

She forced herself to smile a bit. "Why so?" Adaline was hoping that she would find out what the meeting was for, sooner rather than later. After all, she'd yet to receive word of anything from the creative team and it felt like she was completely in the dark.

A soft whine indicated that Hunter's door was being creaked open. His eyes brightened at the new presence and the corner of his lips twitched upwards. Hunter then turned back to Adaline.

"This is why."

Slowly rotating her body, she raised an eyebrow at the sight. The four members of The Undisputed Era. Austin, Kyle, Bobby, and Christopher. None of them seemed to expect her either, as they stared back in confusion. It took Adaline a moment to put two and two together and when she did, the wind was knocked right out of her.

Nobody could argue with the facts: The Undisputed Era was one of the best things to come out of NXT in recent times. That was definitely saying something, considering the immense talent rumbling at the core of the brand and the stars that have shone after walking away from the shadows of Full Sail. But, that was the thing. Adaline wanted nothing to do with it or NXT. Her own words echoed in her head, what she had relayed to Trinity following her contract negotiations and hearing of the plans they had for her.

"I'm not some young upstart. My career isn't hanging on by a thread, scraping by for a second chance. I didn't just claw out of the indies, looking to prove myself under the bright lights. I've been here, Trin, and I don't need NXT. They surely don't need me."

This was also what she had sent Hunter over email, which he promptly ignored and instead sent her schedule for the week. He intentionally left out anything from the creative team and the upcoming plans for the taping. Looking at the mischievous glint in the King of King's eyes, Adaline realized why.

The first person to greet her was Kyle, whose lips immediately stretched out into a wide grin. "Addie!" He stepped forward and scooped her up from her seat into a bear hug.

For a moment, all of the irritation in Adaline's body washed away and she even let the giggle bubbling at the base of her throat escape. It'd been so long since she'd seen Kyle's goofy smile and his ginger hair. An old friend that she hadn't seen in a long time, even if they both technically worked under the same company. He was like unexpected sunshine after a week of clouds and her heart was wide open for it.

A second body joined Kyle's embrace and she didn't have to look up to know that it was Christopher.

Christopher had been in Adaline's life from very beginning. He was the one that yelled at her the loudest when she was a rookie at the ROH Dojo. When Colby couldn't join her on the west coast, Chris was her road buddy to every PWG show. He hosted her goodbye party when she signed with FCW in 2011 and kept in touch with her up until he finally joined WWE years later.

"No. Way." Christopher started, eyes wide.

She pulled away from the hug and proceeded to walk over to the other two members of Undisputed. Adaline politely greeted Bobby, pulling him into a quick hug. The two weren't as well acquainted, as their paths only briefly crossed in between Adaline leaving WWE and Bobby entering it. He was always nice to her, though, and she only ever heard good things about him through their many mutual friends. The world of wrestling was small and the same social circle ran throughout, no matter the promotion or country.

Then, there was Austin.

She always thought that his smile lit up an entire room, the way his eyes turned up to project nothing but pure angelic energy. He was dressed casually, in basketball shorts and a zip up—as the rest of the group was, it seemed like they had just arrived to the Full Sail arena—but, he made it look too good. Long hair pulled into a bun, so that his clear blue eyes were on full display. Austin was another man that Adaline shared many mutual friends with and their careers had surely intertwined countless of times on different wrestling promotion cards.

That was all Austin was supposed to be, until Japan happened. Very few words were exchanged between the two ever since, even after Austin's explosive Brooklyn debut in 2017 and Adaline's return six months later at the Rumble. They didn't talk unless they needed to, like when they awkwardly exchanged pleasantries at the last company Christmas party.

She nearly forgot about Hunter, who was pleased with what he was seeing. He leaned back into his leather chair, hands clasped together.

He said, "I'm guessing that we're all acquainted with Adaline?"

"Who isn't?" Kyle answered, with a small smirk playing on his face and a side eye towards Austin. The statement held more weight than what was at the surface and Adaline caught on to it, sending him a glare. Someone knew about their history.

Austin cleared his throat. "Hey," he finally greeted her, though his eyes shifted elsewhere, as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world except for that office.

She felt the exact same, but she managed to force a soft small. Keep it professional, realize where they were and why they were there. Her focus shifted to that and her anger towards NXT settled, even just for the slightest amount.

Interrupting them, Hunter grinned. "Good. Because she will be your fifth member of the Undisputed Era."

Adaline had obviously seen that one coming, but hearing it out loud, letting the actual words hit her, felt like she was being drowned. The boys, however, didn't seem to have a clue as to why they were being called in to the big boss man's office. Excitement flashed upon their faces, with the exception of Austin's shocked expression. Eyebrows raised, he contrasted greatly with Kyle's whooping and fist pumping in the air.

"No way," Bobby said, laughing in disbelief.

"Starting this week, Aspen Glory is a member of the NXT roster," Hunter began to explain. "We have very big plans for you five, a definite future in the title picture. We want the WWE Universe to take UE seriously and that starts with gold hanging off of all of your shoulders. What's a bigger statement than all of you dominating each of the title scenes?"

For the first time since the ink dried on her brand new contract, Adaline wanted to feel excited. However, she could feel Austin's looming presence behind her and it equipped her with an uneasy anchor in her stomach, along with the restlessness already settled down there. "You're putting titles on all of us?" Adaline managed to distract herself, sputtering out what she thought she had heard from Hunter.

"That's the plan—" The way all of the four men before Adaline crumbled into complete happiness made her heart wrench. "—for now. Nothing is certain here, but everyone has high hopes."

"Nothing is certain, huh?" Adaline mumbled under her breath, but no one heard her.

Hunter looked at her. "Hey, Marin?" he said. "We didn't fight for you for no reason. You weren't on the main event at Mania for no reason. That also means that you're not here for no reason."

Eventually, the five were excused from Hunter's office, leaving them to face each other outside in the hallway. Kyle was basically bouncing off the walls, Chris grinning from ear to ear, a fired up energy radiating off of Bobby, and Austin. . .well, he didn't look as upset as Adaline would have expected from him. She on the other hand, didn't know how to feel. She was with some of her closest friends in the world and she was just essentially promised a title run. But, being apart of a stable again? Being with Austin?

"Lunch on me, tomorrow. There's no other way to welcome Addie to Undisputed," Christopher announced.

Austin cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, we have to go film some stuff for the Network now." He checked the time on his phone.

If this was how the next months, year, whatever it was going to be, were going to go with Austin, Adaline was sure she was going to end up smashing a steel chair against her head.

"Right. I have another meeting to get to, so. . ." she bit her lip, looking at her shoes.

Bobby grinned. "You're getting added to the official Undisputed group chat."

"She's gonna get sick of your dad memes, man," Kyle remarked, causing the entire group to chuckle.

They began walking together, out into another corridor. The atmosphere wasn't awkward and the tension was slightly alleviated.

"You settled down in the city, yet? I can't believe you didn't say anything," Christopher said, arms crossed.

"Not really, I was planning to do the rest of my packing today," she replied. "I was told to stay quiet about it. And, honestly, it hasn't really sunk in yet." This was said, as she passed by an enormous NXT banner hanging from the top of a doorframe and her eyes remained fixated on it.

Bobby said, "Then, tomorrow's a good day to catch up, since today's so busy. We'll probably get the scripts for the taping by then, too, so we can work stuff out and bounce around some ideas."

They all stopped at the end of the hallway, with Adaline and the men about to go their separate ways.

Adaline opened her mouth, unsure of what to say for a moment, before she pressed her lips together in a smile. "I know a lot of stuff has been going around about me and what I want." There was no way she was going to let the boys think that she didn't want to be with them, but it was inevitable with how high-profiled her negotiations had been and the heat she'd gotten backstage for complaining about being taken off TV. "But, in all honesty, I'm excited for this. I didn't expect it, but I know that it's only going to go uphill from here." She let it slowly spill out, unsure of how to word her thoughts. Her qualms with NXT were still present, but she didn't want it to bring down her new group.

"Hey, I'd be pissed if I were you, too, Ms. Main Event," Austin piped up and she was taken aback by it, not expecting him to talk any more than he had to. "But, you'll like this place. Trust me."

"We'll make sure of it," Christopher nudged her.

The five exchanged their goodbyes for the day, promising to stay in contact and that lunch details would be forwarded to Adaline. She felt a little bad, wondering if her addition to the group threw off any creative plans they had in mind, but they seemed open enough to having her join. She watched them begin to walk away and she, too, turned around.

The day had only begun and it already felt like a whirlwind. There were still dozens of boxes waiting for her to be unpacked in her new Orlando home and she groaned at the thought. Adaline just had to get through one more meeting and she could escape Full Sail, where there were already roster members beginning to arrive to film content for tomorrow's tapings. She wanted to flop onto her bed, the only thing she had set up, because tomorrow was a full day with a trip to the back to the PC and getting settled with the guys. She wished she had someone to help her, but even Trinity in Pensacola was hours away.

That's when it begun to sink in. Adaline was completely alone. Sure, she had friends living in the area, but they were constantly scattered all over the country for RAW and Smackdown loops. The only familiar faces were Matt and Curtis, along with some other friends that she had yet to see, but they weren't family in the sense that some of her other friends were. That's who they became when Adaline exhausted herself, immersed in road life for the past decade.

"Uh, Adaline?"

She spun around, surprised once again by Austin, as he jogged towards her. The rest of the group was gone and he returned on his own. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Listen, I know we didn't really leave on the best foot in Japan and it's messed things up ever since I got here." Austin scratched the back of his neck. "But, since you're kind of stuck with me for who knows how long, it's probably best that we bury everything. For everything that happened, I'm sorry. Are we good?"

Adaline's eyes were wide. "Really?" She couldn't believe that stubborn Austin, the guy who never really was mature enough to own his mistakes out loud, went out of his way to clear the air. He would be the type of guy to beat around the bush or make up for things through his actions, but to apologize out loud?

"Really." He smiled, eyes turning up in the way that Adaline once fell for. That thought got stuck in her throat and she almost wanted to cry, but she blinked the emotions away hard enough. "You got us, Marin. It's been tough for you the past while, but the boys and I got your back."

Then, she began to realize that, maybe, she wasn't all alone. She didn't have to be unless she let herself. Adaline froze for a moment, before sticking out her hand. Austin, with a pleased expression on his face, took it and shook it gently, warmth radiating off of him.

"We're good."

[bechloeislegit]

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2019

DAY 22 - CALENDAR GIRL CHRISTMAS

Prompt comes from a Tumblr post by user rejection-isnt-failure: Chloe gets a very special Christmas gift in the mail. Suddenly, everything she knows gets turned upside down. Set after PP3. Not sure this is what you were looking for, but this is where my mind went.

It was the Monday before Thanksgiving and Beca Mitchell was nearing completion of her first solo album. She had been in L.A. for almost a year

One of her best friends, Stacie, was in L.A. to celebrate Thanksgiving with her parents. Today, Stacie and her daughter, Bella, was hanging out with Beca while Beca did a photoshoot for the cover of her album.

"I can't believe the studio thinks I need to look like this on the cover of my album," Beca said, looking at her outfit.

"You look hot, Beca," Stacie said as she rocked Bella in her arms.

"It's just not me," Beca said, pulling the front of her shirt up to get rid of the ample cleavage that was on display. "I don't dress like this on the regular. It's like putting a lie on my album. Plus, why do all these outfits show off my boobs."

"They're great boobs," Stacie said. "Plus, sex sells." Stacie reached over to pull the front of Beca's shirt back down to display more cleavage. "You want to sell the album, so the cover should be hot to draw people to it."

"Why can't they buy it because they like my music?" Beca asked. "And not because they almost get to see my boobs."

"These pictures are going to have every man and woman wanting a piece of Beca Mitchell."

"Every woman?' Beca asked with a raised brow. "I can think of one who would disagree with that."

"If she doesn't," Stacie said. "She's more messed up than I thought."

"She's not messed up," Beca said. "She's just in love with someone who isn't me."

"Why are you still defending her?" Stacie asked.

"I'm not defending her," Beca said. "She didn't know how I felt about her and that's on me. Do I love her? Yes, I do. But I never told her so I can't blame her for being with someone else. Someone who could tell her how they felt about her."

"Well, you're the only one who's not mad at her," Stacie said. "Brey is still livid. Chloe ran off with Chicago and has ignored us since. She doesn't answer calls or respond to texts. We're supposed to be family and you don't do that to family."

"We exchange texts now and then," Beca said. "She always asks about the Bellas."

"Why doesn't she answer us instead of asking you about us?" Stacie asked. "We left countless messages for her."

"In any of your messages, did you ever apologize to her?" Beca asked. "I mean, you all yelled at her and told her she was stupid for staying; stupid for leaving everything behind for some guy she just met. You all know how insecure she was about taking seven years to graduate from Barden and calling her stupid just added more to her insecurities. It's no wonder she cut off all contact after you all ganged up on her. And I can't blame her; I'd have done the same thing if you treated me that way."

"She doesn't deserve you, you know," Stacie said. "You're too good for her."

"She's still one of my best friends," Beca said. "I've accepted that's all I'll be, why can't you?"

Stacie shrugged as she had no real answer to Beca's question.

"Miss Mitchell," a voice called out. "We're ready for you."

"I'll be right there," Beca said. She looked at Stacie. "Are you coming out with me?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Stacie said.

Beca checked her outfit once more and led the way to, Jason, the photographer.

"Beca," Jason said. "You look amazing. We'll take a few shots of you in this outfit and then we'll need you to change. I believe we have four outfits to get through?"

Beca nodded and the photographer smiled. "Good. Let's get started."

Stacie stood off to the side as she watched Beca being photographed. She chuckled as Beca grimaced and the photographer tried to get some decent shots.

Stacie's smile fell as she thought about what Beca had said about Chloe. Maybe Beca was right. They did treat Chloe pretty shitty at the time and hadn't apologized. No one has reached out to her after the initial attempts almost a year ago. And, Chloe hasn't contacted them, but she could understand why she hadn't. If Beca can be okay with Chloe staying behind to be with Chicago, why can't they?

Stacie knows Brey misses her best friend. Maybe it was time to reach out and try and repair the Bellas' relationship with Chloe. After all, they are supposed to be family and Bellas for life.

"What a little cutie," a woman said, startling Stacie out of her thoughts. "How old?"

"Oh, um, she'll be a year next month," Stacie said.

"She's adorable," the woman said.

"Thank you," Stacie said. She looked at the woman as an idea suddenly popped into her head. "Do you work with the photographer?"

"I'm Jason's assistant, Dana Wells," the woman said.

"It's nice to meet you," Stacie said. "I'm Stacie Conrad, Beca's best friend. And I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"I'll do my best," Dana said, checking to see how the photo shoot was going before turning back to Stacie. "So, tell me what you need my help with."

Stacie and Dana continued to talk until the photographer told Beca to change into the next outfit.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

A week later, Stacie was back in Atlanta with Aubrey. Stacie told Aubrey about her conversation with Beca bout Chloe. Aubrey agreed that maybe it was time to contact Chloe and apologize so they could get their friend back.

Stacie also told Aubrey her idea and how the photographer's assistant helped her with it. They both agreed they should put the plan into action. Stacie pulled out her phone and placed a call to Beca.

"Hey, Beca," Stacie said when Beca answered.

"Hey, Stacie," Beca said. "What's up?"

"Brey and I were talking about Chloe," Stacie said. "And we want to apologize to her. Do you have her address? We want to send her an invitation to our Bellas Christmas Party. We know it will be short notice, but we thought that would be a perfect way to get her to visit."

"I think that's a great idea," Beca said. "Do you want me to text her about it? Give her a heads up so she has time to make plans and flight arrangements."

"Um, yeah," Stacie said. "But can I get her address anyway? We want to send her a Christmas card to let her know we're serious about wanting her back in our lives."

"Oh, okay," Beca said. "Hang on."

Beca went through her desk to find Chloe's address.

"What's happening?" Aubrey asked.

Stacie filled her in on what Beca had said and was waiting for Beca to find Chloe's address.

"Here it is," Beca said.

"I'm ready," Stacie responded.

Beca gave Stacie the address and Stacie thanked her.

"I'll text Chloe when we're done here," Beca said. "I'll let you know when I hear back from her."

A few minutes later, Beca ended the call with Stacie. She pulled up her text thread with Chloe and started typing.

Beca: Hey, Chloe. I have something to talk to you about. Can you call me? It's too long to put in a text. But, if you don't want to talk to me, I can send a text.

Beca knew that Spain was about nine hours ahead of L.A. so it was around nine-thirty at night there. She wasn't expecting to hear from Chloe until much later that night L.A. time or even the next day.

Twenty minutes later, Beca's phone rang and she was surprised to see Chloe's name on the caller ID.

"Chloe?" Beca asked as she answered the call.

"Yeah, Becs, it's me," Chloe said. "Um, how are you?"

"I'm good," Beca said, smiling. "How are you?"

"Same," Chloe said. "So, um, what's up? What did you want to talk to me about? I have to admit I was surprised you wanted me to call instead of just calling me."

"Yeah, I thought I'd let you decide if you wanted to talk to me or not," Beca said. "We've only been texting and I, uh." Beca took a deep breath and let it out. "I know I wasn't very supportive of your decision to stay in Spain. I was surprised that it was because of some guy. It's not like you to-. No, no, I'm not doing that. I miss you, Chloe, and I'm not going to say something that will have you ignore me, too."

Chloe doesn't say anything for a moment and Beca starts to panic. "Um, Chlo? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," Chloe said softly. "I let my hurt feelings keep me from my best friends; my family. It's just-" Chloe sighed. "I thought they would have been happy for me, you know?"

"I get it, Chloe," Beca said. "I do. It's just the way it all went down. No one was expecting it and I'm sorry if I made you feel bad about it."

"Thank you," Chloe said. She sniffled and said, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh," Beca said. "Right. Well, Stacie and Aubrey are extending an olive branch and want to invite you to a Bellas Christmas party they are having. It will be a reunion with all the Bellas and they want you there."

"Why didn't they invite me themselves?" Chloe asked.

"Well, you haven't been answering calls or texts from them," Beca said. "So, I told them I'd invite you so you had more time to consider it and make plans. The party is on Christmas Eve and everyone will be in Atlanta the day before and will be staying a few days after. What do you say, Chlo?"

"I don't think I can, Beca," Chloe said. "I was hoping to go home to spend Christmas with my family in Tampa, but I don't have the money."

"Oh," Beca said disheartened. "Um, I understand. I'll let Stacie know. So, do you think maybe we can talk again? I, uh, I miss our talks; I miss talking to you."

"I'd like that," Chloe said. "I miss talking to you, too. I should go; it's getting late here and I have to be up early in the morning."

"Oh, sure," Beca said. "Uh, give Chicago my best, and I'll talk to you soon."

"Definitely," Chloe said before ending the call.

Beca sighed and sat back on her sofa.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

It was an hour later before Beca called Stacie.

"Hey, Beca!" Stacie answered enthusiastically. "You'll never believe what happened."

"What?" Beca asked.

"Chloe texted Brey," Stacie said.

"She did?"

"Yep," Stacie said. "She said she had talked to you and then apologized for not responding to calls and texts. She also said she'd like to talk to Brey sometime if Brey wanted that."

"That's great," Beca said. "Did she tell Brey she couldn't make it for Christmas?"

"Yeah," Stacie said. "We're both disappointed but at least she's reaching out. Brey wanted to call her but it's really late in Spain so I think they made some plans to call tomorrow so it's a decent hour for both."

"That's good to hear," Beca said.

"Thank you, Beca," Stacie said. "Brey won't say it, but having Chloe reach out and want to talk to her has brightened her day immensely."

"Great," Beca said with a laugh. "I guess this means I can take back her Christmas gift."

"Honestly, I think you could and she wouldn't care one bit," Stacie said with a laugh.

"I'll talk to you later, Stace," Beca said. "Give Aubrey my best."

"Will do," Stacie said.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

A week before Christmas, Chicago was getting ready to leave for work. He opened the door to find the postman holding out their mail plus a package for Chloe.

"Thank you," Chicago said as he took the mail. "Chloe, there's a package for you."

Chicago quickly sorted through the mail and put Chloe's mail and package in one hand while he threw his mail on the small table by the door.

Chloe walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Chicago said as he handed Chloe her mail and package. "I'll see you later, I have to go."

"Okay," Chloe said.

Chloe took the package and sat on the sofa. She threw the mail on the table and ripped the outer wrapping off her package; an envelope fell out. She picked up the envelope and slit it open, pulling out a letter.

"Dear Chloe,

Brey and I are sorry you won't be able to make it to our Bellas Christmas reunion. We know the girls miss you almost as much as we do. But, probably not as much as a certain Bella (and you know who we're talking about).

We know you are with Chicago and we respect your choice. But, we also know that you didn't know you had another option to choose from. Beca was going to confess her feelings to you but was a few minutes too late. Instead of finding you to make her confession, she found you kissing Chicago.

Enclosed is a Christmas gift from us to you. Just look at it and I'm sure you'll figure out what to do.

Hope to see or talk to you soon. We do miss you, Chloe.

Stacie"

Chloe tossed the letter down on the table and picked up the wrapped gift. She held it in her hands before ripping the paper away.

"Oh, um, wow!" Chloe muttered when a picture of Beca in a red plaid shirt, and all but two buttons undone, came into view. She always loved seeing Beca in those plaid shirts.

Chloe flipped a page and realized it was a calendar and all the photos were of Beca. She flipped through each month, biting her lip when Beca looked hotter and hotter in each one. Some of the outfits did not look like something Beca would wear, but she did look good in them.

"Oh, my God," Chloe said and swallowed when December's photo was of Beca wearing a black blazer and what looked like nothing underneath. She was sitting on a stool, her bare legs crossed and one high-heeled shoe hanging from her toes. It oozed sexuality.

Chloe closed the calendar and then opened it back to December again. She closed it and threw it on the table.

Chloe ran both hands through her hair and looked down at Beca staring up at her from the cover of the calendar. Chloe fidgeted in her seat and ran her hands up and down her thighs. She reached for the calendar again, only to pull her hand away.

She bit her lip and whimpered slightly as she thought about some of the outfits Beca was wearing.

"What is happening to me?" Chloe thought to herself.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

The next day, Chloe couldn't stay away from the calendar. She'd hide it away and like a magnet, it kept drawing her to it. She'd open it and slowly go through each month, biting her lip and feeling herself getting somewhat sexually frustrated. Her frustration was heightened when she got to December. There was something about that picture and the playful look on Beca's face, combined with that outfit. Oh, my God!

Chloe was seriously considering taking care of herself when she heard Chicago's keys in the door. She threw the calendar in the drawer and covered it with some of her clothes. She closed the drawer and ran out to greet Chicago.

Chloe threw herself into Chicago's arms and kissed him passionately.

"Chloe," Chicago said pulling his mouth from hers. "What are you doing?"

"I need you," Chloe growled.

"Chloe, stop," Chicago said. "I don't know what is causing you to be this way, but you need to stop. I already told you I wasn't going to do the friends with benefits thing with you. I have a girlfriend and doing this will just make things worse."

Chloe got an embarrassed look on her face. She backed away from Chicago with her hand to her mouth.

"I, I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that," Chloe said before turning and rushing into her bedroom.

Chicago let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled himself together and went to the kitchen to get something to drink.

Chloe threw herself on her bed and let out a shaky breath. She knew what she did was wrong but she was so worked up that she couldn't help herself. Truth be told, she was still worked up so she gathered a change of clothes and went into the bathroom to take a shower. A cold shower.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Things weren't any better for Chloe the next day. She managed to stay away from the calendar but she had the hottest photos memorized and kept daydreaming about Beca being there with her. She no longer had a song as her lady jam; Beca's pictures were all she needed.

Chloe doesn't embarrass easily, but she found herself blushing when she heard Chicago come home just after she had finished taking care of herself while thinking of Beca. She rushed into the bathroom to wash her hands. She came out and could hear Chicago in the kitchen; it sounded like he was making dinner. She returned to her room and flopped back on her bed.

As soon as dinner was ready, Chicago knocked on Chloe's door.

"Hey, Chloe," Chicago called through the door. "I made some pasta and it's ready if you're hungry."

"I'll be right out," Chloe called back.

Chicago went back to the kitchen and set the table. Chloe came out a few minutes later.

"Thanks for making dinner," Chloe said as she sat down.

"No problem," Chicago said.

Chicago and Chloe ate without speaking. Chicago broke the silence first.

"So, do you want to talk about why you attacked me yesterday as soon as I walked in the door?"

"Oh, God," Chloe said. "I'm so embarrassed and so sorry I did that. Stacie and Aubrey sent me a Chrismas present and it kind of turned me on."

"What was it?" Chicago asked with a laugh.

"A calendar," Chloe said. "Of Beca and she looked hot."

"Oh," Chicago said, grinning. "Can I see it?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"No, you perv," Chloe said, slapping his arm and causing him to laugh.

"That hot, huh?"

"Yes, it was that hot," Chloe said.

"Are you going to go for it when you get home?" Chicago asked. "Tell Beca how you feel."

"I want to," Chloe said. "Stacie's note said that Beca was going to confess that she had feelings for me, but, I, uh, I kissed you first."

"Sorry," Chicago said with sincerity, but couldn't help the smile that came to his face. "It was a hell of a kiss though."

"It was," Chloe said. "I need you to know that I'm not sorry for our time together. I am sorry that it didn't work out the way I thought it would."

"I am too," Chicago said. "But, you were honest with me and I got a really great friend from it. So, when do you plan to tell Beca everything?"

"When I see her," Chloe said. "I just wish I knew when that would be."

Chicago wiped his mouth and got up. "I think I can help with that," he said as he walked to the table by the door. He had an envelope in his hand when he got back to the table.

"Here," Chicago said as he handed the envelope to Chloe. "Merry Christmas."

Chloe took the envelope and opened it. She pulled out what was inside and looked at it; she gasped.

"Chicago," Chloe said surprised. "You got me a ticket to Tampa?"

"I know you've been saving up so you could go home, but haven't saved enough yet," Chicago said. "And I also know that you want to see the Bellas again, so I got you a ticket home so you can be there for Christmas. It's one way by the way."

Chloe smiled at that and said, "You know I love you, right?"

"I know. And, I love you, too."

"So, you won't be mad if I exchanged this for a ticket to Atlanta?"

"We can do that right now," Chicago said, grabbing his laptop from the counter and sitting back down at the table.

Chloe got up and hugged the man. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Chicago said.

Chicago quickly did some checking and was able to change the ticket to Atlanta. "Done. You now fly out to Atlanta in three days. I'll help you box up your stuff you're not taking with you and ship it to your mom's for you."

"You're a good guy," Chloe said. "And I'm glad we can walk away from this as friends." Chloe grinned and added, "I bet your girlfriend won't be too upset to see me go."

Chicago laughed. "The one-way ticket was her idea."

Chloe let out a laugh as she sat back down to finish dinner.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Chloe nervously bounced her leg up and down as they got closer to Atlanta. She had already been en route for over fourteen hours, and she had been too keyed up to sleep for more than a couple of hours.

The captain made an announcement about descending and landing soon. Chloe only half heard what was said. All she could think about was seeing Aubrey, Stacie, and Bellas.

"Who am I kidding?" Chloe thought. "I'm scared to death to see Beca. What if Stacie was wrong? What if Beca only likes me as a friend?"

While Chloe was lost in her thoughts, passengers were already blocking the aisles and exiting the plane. Chloe remained in her seat until there were only a few passengers left.

Chloe slowly made her way off the plane. She dragged her carryon behind her and got on the escalator heading down to the baggage claim. She felt as if someone was staring at her and as she lifted her head, her eyes locked on those of her best friend, Aubrey. Tears filled Chloe's eyes as she continued to maintain eye contact.

Chloe ran straight into Aubrey's arms as soon as she cleared the escalator. She dropped her bag as her arms moved to pull Aubrey into a hug. The two friends stood, holding each other, mumbling, "I'm sorry" and "I miss you."

After a few minutes, Aubrey pulled back, wiping her tears, and looked at Chloe. "You look amazing, Chloe."

"You're not looking so bad yourself, Brey," Chloe said, wiping her tears as well.

"Let's get your bags," Aubrey said.

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

The next morning, Stacie was pacing back and forth in the kitchen while holding Bella.

"Babe, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Aubrey said from the counter where she was cutting up fruit and putting together platters for the Christmas Eve brunch.

"I want to see Chloe," Stacie said. "It's been so long."

"I know," Aubrey said. "But it was a long journey for her to get here and she didn't get any sleep on the plane. Let her be and you can wake her up around eleven before the girls start arriving for brunch."

"Fine," Stacie said and stopped pacing. She put Bella in her high chair and asked, "What can I do to help with brunch?"

Aubrey and Stacie had been working together for two hours when Chloe appeared in the kitchen.

"Chloe!" Stacie squealed, running over to hug the half-asleep redhead.

"It's good to see you, Stacie," Chloe mumbled against Stacie's shoulder. Chloe pulled back from the hug and looked past Stacie. "Bella!"

Chloe hurried over to the young child. "You are so adorable! Oh, my gosh, you guys. She is just the cutest. Can I hold her?"

"Sure," Aubrey said.

Chloe took Bella out of her chair and put her on her hip. She kissed Bella's forehead.

"Hey, Chloe, I'm sorry I haven't apologized for being such a bitch to you," Stacie said. "It was unfair of me, of us, to dump on you for staying behind with Chicago. Brey told me you guys broke up. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Chloe said. "I understand. Let's just forget it and move on. I've missed you and the girls so much."

The doorbell rang and Stacie and Aubrey looked at each other.

"It's only ten," Stacie said. "Someone's super early. I'll get it."

Stacie left to answer the door and Chloe asked Aubrey if there was coffee.

"Beca," Stacie said, answering the door. "You're early. Why are you early? You're never early."

"I have a birthday present for Bella and wanted to give it to her before it got too crazy," Beca said.

"Her birthday isn't for a week," Stacie said.

"I know but I won't be here," Beca said. "I'll have to get back to L.A. for New Year's Eve. Where's Aubrey?"

"Um, she is in the kitchen," Stacie said. "Before you go in there, I have to tell you something."

"What?"

Stacie told Beca about getting some of the photos from her album cover photoshoot and making them into a calendar and sending it to Chloe.

"Why would you do that?" Beca asked as she stormed into the kitchen. "Aubrey, did you know about this calendar that Stacie sent to-. Oh! Um, Chloe, I thought you couldn't make it."

"My plans changed," Chloe said, bouncing Bella on her hip.

"I'll take Bella," Stacie said. "You two might want to talk and catch up."

"Thanks, Stacie," Beca said, glaring at her.

"Oh, wait here," Chloe said and rushed out of the kitchen.

"Was she talking to me?" Beca asked.

"I think she was," Stacie said.

"Why didn't you tell me she was here?" Beca asked.

"She wanted to surprise you and the girls," Aubrey answered.

"Where's Chicago?" Beca asked.

"It's in Illinois," Stacie said, laughing.

"Haha," Beca deadpanned.

"He's still in Spain," Aubrey answered, slapping Stacie's arm.

"What happened?"

"We broke up about six months ago," Chloe said, having heard the last part of the conversation. "It's okay. It was mutual. We both had feelings for someone else. We're friends now."

"Oh," Beca said. "Friends."

"Yeah," Chloe said. "Friends. Like you and Jesse after you broke up. We still care about each other but there's nothing romantic there."

"So, who's the new person you have feelings for?" Stacie asked, smirking.

"Well, it's not really a new person, per se," Chloe said. "This should answer the question," Chloe said, holding out the calendar for Beca to see.

"Stacie!" Beca said, flipping through the calendar. "Why would you send this to her?"

"I'm glad she did," Chloe said. "My memories of you were fading just a bit, but these photos brought them back and for that, I will be forever grateful. They're really hot!"

"I, uh, I don't understand," Beca said. "You, um, you liked the pictures."

"Mm-hmm," Chloe said, moving to stand in front of Beca. "Actually, I liked who was in the pictures. And I have to say, seeing the real thing is even hotter."

"Oh, um," Beca cleared her throat and blushed.

"So, I'm not going back to Spain," Chloe said, offhandedly. "I'll probably move back in with my folks in Tampa until I find a job or something."

Stacie and Aubrey were smiling and shaking their heads at Beca's obliviousness.

"Really?" Beca squeaked out.

"Yes," Chloe said. "But, before I make a decision I was wondering if you still had the outfit you wore for December? I'd love to see you recreate that photo for me. It's my new lady jam."

Stacie snorted and turned her head into Aubrey's shoulder to keep from laughing out loud at Beca's reaction.

"Your lady jam?" Beca said, confused. "But that's when you-. Oh!

Chloe got a predatory look on her face and moved closer to Beca. "I heard a rumor that you might like me."

"You did?" Beca said, looking over at Stacie and Aubrey before turning her eyes back to Chloe.

"I did," Chloe said, now standing so that she and Beca were almost nose-to-nose. "I hope it's true because I really, really like you."

"Really?" Beca squeaked out and tried to step back, but was up against the counter and couldn't.

"Really, really," Chloe said and pressed her lips to Beca's.

A moan or whimper escaped from Beca but she pulled Chloe closer and deepened the kiss. The kiss ended and Beca swallowed and looked around before looking at Chloe again.

Beca smiled and leaned in to kiss Chloe again. Chloe pulled out of the kiss and stepped back a few inches.

"So, Beca Mitchell, would you want to go out with me sometime?" Chloe asked.

"What are you doing New Year's Eve?" Beca asked. "And how do you feel about coming to L.A. to celebrate with me?"

Stacie and Aubrey's mouths fell open; it was a bold move on Beca's part.

"I'd love to spend New Year's Eve with you in L.A.," Chloe said and gave Beca a quick peck on the lips.

"Oh, my God, you two," Stacie said rushing to pull them both into a hug. "This is so exciting. I'm so happy for you!"

"Thanks, Stacie," Chloe said and winked at Stacie, adding, "And thanks for sending the calendar."

Beca rolled her eyes and blushed. Chloe laughed and pulled her into another quick kiss.

"I should go shower and get dressed," Chloe said. "Before the girls get here."

Chloe started out of the kitchen when Beca smiled and asked, "Need some help?"

Stacie grabbed Beca by the back of the shirt. "Oh, no, you don't. You can help us get ready for the girls to arrive."

They could hear Chloe laughing as she continued toward the guest room.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Beca said, pulling out an envelope out of her purse. "This is for Bella's birthday."

Stacie took the envelope and opened it. "Beca? What is this?"

"I started a college fund for her," Beca said. "I figure it's never too early to start, right? And I put your names on the account so you can manage it."

Aubrey looked over Stacie's shoulder. "Beca, that's very generous of you. Thank you."

~ Day 22 of 2019's 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases ~

Several hours later, the Bellas were sitting around the living room, much like they did when they were still at Barden.

Chloe was snuggled up to Beca with her head on Beca's shoulder. Emily was sitting on the floor in front of Chloe, leaning against her legs. Flo and Fat Amy were playing bartender. CR was sitting on the floor, holding Bella who had fallen asleep. Jessica and Ashley were sharing a chair. And Stacie was sitting on Aubrey's lap in the other chair.

"So, Chloe," Fat Amy said. "What are you and Beca now?"

"Um, we're dating?" Chloe said, looking at Beca.

"I prefer something a little more exclusive, like girlfriends," Beca said, causing Chloe to pull her into a hug and kiss her.

"I knew it!" Emily squealed.

Chloe ended the kiss and said, "Girlfriend? I like it."

"You're her lobster," Jessica said and everyone laughed.

"Merry Christmas, my lobster," Beca said, smiling as she kissed Chloe.

"Merry Christmas, my lobster," Chloe said, smiling into the kiss.

[k-llama-llama]

The Fall P.1

Monsta X AU: 8th member

Zoey x Monsta X

Monsta X deals with some unwelcome visitors.

A/N: I’m an evil person and I’m sorry.

Requests are CLOSED…but your feedback is still super important to me.

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

Zoey balanced the final business card in her tower of cards, raising her hands in success when it didn’t fall over.

“It’s official, I’m a prodigy.” She announced.

“It took you an hour to do that.” Minhyuk reminded her. “Don’t get too excited.”

“Well I’m sorry, I chose to pass the time doing something productive instead of staring out the window.”

“Children.” Shownu warned tiredly. 

Zoey rolled her eyes. “We’re all bored, Nunu, can we just go home.”

He raised his eyebrows at the nickname. “We have a meeting at two.”

“You said it was at noon.” Kihyun whined. “So we’ve been here since eleven-thirty.”

“And you won’t even let up go get food.” Hyungwon complained. “Fooooood.”

“Food after the meeting.” Shownu promised. “I’m buying.”

“Funny.” Zoey blew her cards down. “You thought you had a choice.”

The door to the meeting room opened and they all sat up straight, expecting their manager to walk in. Instead, it was the new receptionist from the lobby.

“Can we help you?” Jooheon asked kindly.

“Ah, yes. There are some people here to see you.” She said quietly.

“People?” Changkyun asked. “Are the managers here early?”

“No, your parents.” She corrected him.

“My parents?” He asked incredulously.

“Sorry, not yours.” The woman seemed nervous. “Ah, miss Zoey, it’s your parents.”

Zoey’s eyes went wide.

Wonho stiffened next to her. “I thought we had it on file that they were not to contact her. Or did you not read it.”

“Oppa.” Zoey warned him not to be mean to the woman.

“I did...read it, I mean.” The woman knotted her hands together and looked down. “But, ahhh, your father was creating a bit of a scene and we wanted to ask you before we called the police to have them escorted off the premises.”

“Call them.” Shownu and Kihyun said together.

“Wait.” Zoey looked up. “Send them up.”

“What?” Jooheon demanded. “You want to talk to them?”

She snorted. “No. But I might as well so that they’ll leave me alone for another three years. You can tell them to come up.”

The woman disappeared quickly, likely trying to escape Wonho’s glare.

Zoey rested her head on the table and started rebuilding her castle of cards.

“Why are you acting so calm?” Jooheon asked. “Your parents are on their way up.”

“When was even the last time you saw them?” Hyungwon asked. “Shouldn’t you be stressed?”

“The last time I saw them, oh tall one.” Zoey carefully leaned the cards against each other. “Was out first Christmas as a group, when they kicked me out of the house.”

“And you aren’t at all worried that this is the first time you’ve seen them since?” Changkyun asked.

Zoey shook her head. “I’m over it. I’ll let them say whatever it is they want to say, and then I don’t have to see them again.”

There was a knock on the door, and they looked up as the receptionist peeked back in. “Your parents.”

“Let them in.”

She stepped aside and let Zoey’s parents step into the room.

They hadn’t changed in the three years since she’d last seen them. They still looked as severe as ever, though there was a slight nervousness to them now that Zoey had never seen before. It slowly dawned on her that they didn’t know what to expect anymore. She’d grown without them for the past few years, and they had no idea if she would listen to them anymore.

“Mom. Dad.” She nodded. “How nice of you to visit.”

“Soo-ji.” Her father nodded.

“We were going to be in town, and we haven’t seen you in a while.” Her mother added. “Could we...could we maybe speak alone.”

“No.” Zoey said simply. “But you can sit.”

They carefully took the seats at the end of the table, close to Hyungwon and Minhyuk, both of whom looked mildly disgusted.

“What can I do for you, oh darling parents?” Zoey never looked away from her card house.

Her father nodded to her mother, who began speaking. “We’ve seen you in the news a lot recently, and we started to realize that we’ve missed a lot of your life.”

“Translation,” Zoey smirked. “I finally accomplished something so now I’m worth your time.”

“Soo-Ji!” Her father snapped.

“Don’t yell at her!” Shownu snapped right back. 

“He’s serious.” Kihyun glared at her father. “We’ll call security.”

“On your own parents?” Her father asked incredulously.

Zoey shrugged. “Can you guys just get to the point. We have a meeting to go to.” She said the words that her parents had said to her a thousand times, over every birthday and holiday, as an excuse as to why they couldn’t spend any time with her. Her mother seemed to wince.

“You have a boyfriend now.” Her father said. “We saw it in the news.”

“I do.” She gave a tight-lipped smile. “His name is Seungcheol, not that it’s any of your business.”

“And is he...a nice boy?” Her mother asked hopefully.

Zoey shrugged. “Wonho gave him the okay. And I like him. So there are all the opinions that matter.”

“You’re all going on a world tour soon, you must be excited.” Her mother appealed hopefully to the boys.

“We are.” Kihyun said. “Have you ever been to one of our concerts?”

There was silence, as everyone knew the answer.

“Look, Mom, Dad, I don’t mean to be rude. But we all know you’re trying to half-ass giving a crap about my life because I’m less of an embarrassment now. So please tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me, and leave before you make things worse.”

“We were hoping that you could help us out.” Her father said finally.

“How?” Wonho glared at them. “Why would you ever think she would do something to help you?”

“Oppa.” Zoey warned. “What do you need help with?”

“We’re...ah.” Her mother looked at her clasped hands. “Money is a little tight right now.”

“You’re asking her for money?” Jooheon snorted. “You have got to be kidding.”

Zoey tilted her head. “I thought you rented out my room. How could money possibly be an issue?”

“You know, a good daughter would support her parents when they ask.” Her father gave her a dirty look.

“A good father would support his daughter without her having to ask.” Zoey retorted. “So tell me what you really need to money for.”

“Your father’s company is having a business conference. In Cancun.” Her mother told her.

“A vacation?” Zoey rolled her eyes. “You want me to pay for your vacation so you can look better at work?”

“It is a work trip.” Her father said, sounding strained.

“If it’s that important, I’m sure your company will help you.” Zoey replied. “I’m not giving you any money.”

“What are you going to do with it then, it’s not like you have anyone else.” Her mother abandoned all pretence of civility, glaring at her openly.

Shownu went to stand up, but Zoey held up a hand to stop him. “My family, mom, is right here. And funnily enough, they don’t ask me for money.”

“If you let us walk out the door, we won’t be coming back.” Her father warned. 

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

“You’re an ungrateful little brat, you know that?”

“I’m getting security.” Minhyuk shot to his feet.

“Minhyuk.” Zoey called to him. “Wait.”

She turned to her parents. “You can walk out of here on your own, or we can have you escorted out. Your choice.”

Her mother stood grabbing her purse. “We’re leaving.” She pulled her husband to her feet. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m doing alright.” Zoey smiled. “Have a good life, parents. See you in another three years?”

“Not likely.” Her father stormed out of the room, her mother close behind him.

Zoey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I need some air.”

“Zo!” Wonho reached for her. “Are you okay.”

“I need some air.” She repeated.

She stood and left the room, heading for the stairwell and assuming her parents had taken the elevator. At the top of the stairs, she paused, leaning her head against the wall.

Her parents were gone. She’s held it together in front of them, but it was hard for her to process the finality of what had just happened.

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of hands shoving her back, before she tumbled down the stairs.

And everything went black.

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part twenty-seven

Okay...you all seemed to really despise that cliff hanger, so here’s another. Love you xx.

Christmas Eve is not spent with the usual party that Sherlock and John have. It is instead spent at John and Mary’s place with Lestrade, all four of them helping to review all of the files Mycroft handed over.

           Lestrade had the security footage looked through and the cab did indeed go out of London, but it’s almost impossible to know where it went after. The connection on your phone must be shut off because they’ve tried tracking it and nothing will come up.

           They’re losing their patience. And wondering if they’re running out of time.

           John tries not to think about it. Whatever it is at this point, he’s trying not to think about it. He’s at least said a few words, though. To Mary and Lestrade. He’s had to act as Sherlock’s mouth because Sherlock, on the other hand, is not taking this well at all.

           He’s been completely silent. “Thinking,” as he’d tell John. But he’s not just thinking. He’s worrying. For the first time in Sherlock Holmes’s life, he’s worried.

           “Don’t get involved,” his brother always tells him. But it’s too late, so what’s the use now of trying not to be involved? He’s involved and he hates it and now you’re in danger. There’s nothing else he can do.

~~~

Slowly, you blink your eyes open. Consciousness has been fighting to win for the past hour and it’s only just now won the battle over slumber.

           Your first instinct is to rub at your neck, which is sore. You go to move your hand, only to realize it’s tied down.

           You sigh. “For fuck’s sake.”

           “Ooh, glad you’re awake,” a voice somewhere in the darkness says. “Let’s get some light in here.”

You hear a click, and light floods the room, sending a piercing headache through your skull. “God, I hate being drugged.”

“I thought you were an addict?”

“Not anymore, Gidon,” you snap. You look over him, dusting off your deduction shoes. Sherlock used to practice with you, until he had a fit and stopped talking to you. “You’ve changed.”

He tilts his head. “How so?”

“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Enlighten me,” he hums.

“You’ve gotten rather old. Remind me, wasn’t the rule that no God was supposed to live past the age of thirty-six?”

He chuckles. “I don’t have any rules.”

“You are with The Congregation, aren’t you?”

“Not anymore,” he sings. “Not since it was burned to the ground.”

You narrow your eyes, shifting your weight. Your shoulders are aching. You’ve been tied here for a while, a few hours at least. You squeeze your hands together, thinking of something to say while simultaneously thinking about how to get out of these binds.

“Six days that Tony was in London,” you murmur. “Six weeks later and Allen met the same fate with six bullets—”

“Yes, but tell me, how long has it been since I got to you?”

You stop trying to escape and begin thinking it over in your head. “S…” You pause in shock. “Seven months. You broke the pattern.”

           “Very good.”

           “Why?”

           He turns and begins pacing, seeming genuinely troubled by your question. “Patterns are boring, patterns are primary school.”

           You nearly roll your eyes. “Yet you’re following the story of the Bible.”

           He stops walking. “It’s not a story,” he says seriously. “It’s history. It is meant to be repeated.”

           It’s really not, you think, but you don’t bother saying it aloud. He’s only going to argue and you’re extremely exhausted at the moment.

           “Besides, I knew you’d pick it up.”

           “The pattern?”

           “Everything,” he stops walking, looking a little dazed. “After all, you were the best insider we ever had.” He pauses. “Are you working for Sherlock Holmes now?”

           “I do not work for Sherlock Holmes.”

           “Oh, something different then,” Gidon nods in understanding.

           “What are you talking about?”

           “I saw you on the news,” Gidon says quietly. “The way your face changed when they asked if you were his girlfriend. You haven’t changed in that respect. Never wanting to be tied down.”

           “I didn’t want to be tied down to you,” you spat.

           “Yes, but you were surprisingly okay with being tied down to Tony,” Gidon smiles. “Very sorry about that one, by the way. Oh, and Allen. I had to get your attention somehow.”

           “Well, you’ve got my attention now,” you smile sweetly, half from annoyance and half because you’ve managed to slip one of your hands free. “What do you want to say to me?”

           “I may not be part of The Congregation any longer, but I do have some of the same beliefs,” he pauses. “It is Christmas Eve. Tonight, at midnight, it will become Christmas.”

           It’s Christmas Eve already?

He pauses again, this time so a sweet, sinister smile can stretch across his lips. “The birth of a God is on the horizon.”

           A chill goes down your spine. Mary Josephine. You need to find her before he tries anything. But you can’t mention her right now. He’d only use it against you. You know how he works. You know how you need to play your cards.

You swallow thickly, going along with his strange beliefs for the moment. “So, that means you have to die, then?”

           “No,” he says, much to your surprise. “It just means a God has to die.”

           “That would be you.”

           “No,” he says again. “That will be you.”

~~~

“Sherlock, you need to eat something. You haven’t eaten in two days,” Mary urges, but Sherlock waves her away. She sets the plate down in front of him loudly. “Eat. Don’t make me force feed you.”

           She storms away, her anger not entirely directed at him as much as it is this entire situation – though his silence hasn’t helped any either.

           John watches the encounter with a sigh, waiting until Mary has left the room to ask. “Are you alright?”

           “Are you?” Not surprising at all that when Sherlock Holmes doesn’t speak, the one person he will speak to is John Watson.

           “No, Sherlock, I’m not,” John admits. “But there’s nothing in these files that Mycroft hasn’t told us,” he slams the paper down on his lap. “And I’m about to lose my mind because I’m so worried, so humor me. How are you doing?”

           Truth be told, Sherlock Holmes was doing alright up until that moment. He was worried, sure, but he was thinking, running over where you could be. He knows he can find you before it’s too late. He isn’t worried about that.

           Or he wasn’t. Until he got one frightening text.

Vatican Cameos. –GD

~~~

You had worried about this, about you being the one to die. You’ve worried about it since the day you and John argued about it. Sure, you worried about it before, but that day was the tipping point of it all.

           “You are not immortal!” John bellows, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You’re not bulletproof, and you’re not a bloody God!”

           “You think I don’t know that?” You yell in return. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I know I’m not a damn God, but neither is he, John! I just need to be on the same level of thought he is, for Christ’s sake. It makes this easier.”

           “Easier?” He scoffs. “How does that make it easier?”

           “Because I’ve spent my entire life wondering if the next day would be my last,” you mutter, quietly this time, your anger calming down. “And I’ll be damned if I get taken down by some religious arsehole with a God complex, alright? I know how he works. Just let me handle it.”

           But how ironic it is that Gidon is going to be your demise.

           “By the way,” Gidon adds nonchalantly, “I sent your little pet a text message.”

           Sherlock. He thinks Sherlock is your pet? People normally assume John is Sherlock’s pet, or that you’re the pet, but never Sherlock.

“What did you tell him?”

           “That you’re going to die,” Gidon smiles sweetly. “It is nice. Years of planning after you and Mycroft destroyed my entire family, and now I finally have gotten to you. It took me months to find you, you know.”

           That was the point. You didn’t want to be found.

           “You never stayed in one place for too long, did you? And then suddenly you got to London and something changed. Oh, I know,” he chuckles. “You met another man exactly like the one you left behind. You have a type, you know, it’s really quite obvious.”

           You glare at him, trying to show as much irritation as you can. You don’t have time to worry about what Gidon thinks your type is, either. You know he feeds off of it, so as long as he sees you being unnerved by him, he’ll continue.

           As he’s going on another rant, you manage to slip your other hand free. You freeze, holding tightly to the rope that once tied your arms back. If it falls, you’re dead. You’re already basically dead, but you’re trying not to think about that. Even if you are dead, you’re going to go down fighting.

           You hold your breath as Gidon walks around your chair, his words now gone. He’s silent. For the first time in probably an hour, he’s silent.

           “One thing you should know, Y/N, is that I know you better than anyone else,” he murmurs. “I knew you at your lowest, and that’s when you really get to know someone, when you know all their deepest, darkest secrets. It’s all revealed at rock bottom. And that’s where I met you. So,” he stops behind you, and you can feel the cold sweat on the back of your neck, your heart pounding in your chest. “If you think I didn’t realize you’d slipped out of the rope, you are mistaken.”

           A sharp pain seizes your neck, your body going rigid, just like in the cab.

           “Do not think you can outsmart me,” he hisses, yanking your arms.

You whimper when he pulls too hard, tying your hands back together. You’re losing consciousness by the second, so it’s useless when you try to fight, but you can’t help it. You squirm in the chair, trying your hardest to knock him away, until he pulls hard once more, a loud pop coming from your shoulder.

You scream then, the pain white hot and blinding, mixed with your vision blurring as your brain tries to fight to stay awake.

Gidon steps in front of you, shaking his head as he grabs your chin, making you look at him. He slaps you harshly across the face, knocking you into the darkness.

[wordswithkittywitch]

Donner, Blizten, and Pooka

The traditional host for Billy and Zoë, DeviantArt, is being recalcitrant, so I’m posting it directly to my tumblr this year. If AO3 had a spot for original work, I’d use that just because I love how straightforward their system is. I should look for a better platform, I guess. But for now, this year’s is hosted on tumblr. (I don’t know why I never say Zoë and Billy. I guess it’s just that I’ve been saying their names in alphabetical order since 2002, and I’m not likely to start now.) This is actually an idea I've had since the first year I starting writing these, and I'm so glad I've finally done something with it.

This year’s story has a few instances of gruesome imagery, but no major triggers behind the obvious “character death”, as you know at least one character, be it recurring or otherwise, is going to be a dead one.

With no further ado, enjoy 2019′s addition to the Billy and Zoë universe.

(4940 words, 9 pages, several horror elements. Because it’s a freaken horror story.) Recomended audio accompaniment.

           Donner, Blitzen and Pooka

No, this isn’t the same story as last year, just the same exposition

          Billy and Zoë were always said to be good kids, not getting in fights, making the sports teams, honor roll, debate team, cheer squad, chorus and band. Both moderately popular jacks-of-all-trades, they managed to make prom king and queen even though they were just friends, and got scholarships to the same college. Billy played sports year round, but managed to talk about other things, mainly debating, singing or playing clarinet. Well, not when he was doing those things, as they involved his mouth. He had a tall, muscular build, his features seemingly mismatched. He had soccer legs and basketball feet, baseball arms on a football torso, which his head was thankfully not too small for, his white blond hair contrasting with his cheeks, which were always red for some reason, be it anger, embarrassment, or chill. Zoë’s body, however, seemed more perfectly constructed. Her complexion was warm and comforting like a cup of cocoa and she had shiny black hair, large brown eyes, long willowy arms and legs rippling with muscles and small, athletic breasts that did not get in the way when she cheered, played the flute, lacrosse, tennis or cricket. Both frequently smiled, especially when the life-long friends found out they were going to college together.

         It was a bright, cold day, one of those days in mid-December when there’s finally what to Billy’s mind counted as an “adequate” amount of snow. It was just so hard for him to really get into the spirit of things when the weather looked less like a Christmas card and more like a whole lot of dead plants stuck together with asphalt. Why someone who went for a jog through the woods every morning before class was so excited about five inches of snow was beyond even Zoë’s understanding and also Billy’s ability to explain. The cold air just felt so… crunchy on his lungs. It sounded bizarre, even to Billy, but once he’d been going long enough that he didn’t feel too cold, running in the snow was so refreshing.

         So, despite the fact that his cheeks looked like the entire cheer squad had slapped the shit out of him and there wasn’t exactly what one might call feeling in his fingers, Billy was in a very good mood. He turned away from the main road and jogged into what was charitably called the cross-country trail by the college track team. It kept the name mainly because very few people were wiling to reassess it. There was nothing quite like going over broken ground to get the blood pumping, Billy thought. He was immediately greeted by the smell of pine and the crunch of unbroken snow under his feet. He took it from the fact he couldn’t hear water trickling that the river had finally frozen over. He couldn’t see it from the trail, but from his previous morning jogs he knew that it ran parallel to the trail for about half a mile.

         Some people asked him, and quite rightly, when exactly a first-year college student had found them time for a morning jog, but it was early in Billy’s athletic career when he learned how to have the “Why am I doing this? It’s way too cold out. It’s way too early. I hate every choice that led me to jogging in the snow.” during the first ten minutes of the jog itself instead of for a twenty minute block beforehand, so that saved a lot of time. It was all a matter of dedication and mind over matter. Also, he had dropped his 8:00 AM ethics lecture within the first month, so that gave him plenty of time. He could drop one course if it gave him enough energy for his other classes, this college had a notoriously high freshman drop-out rate, and Billy refused to be just another fresher who dropped off the face of the earth.

         It was nice to have a jog into the thin strip of forest that the college seemed have bought to be a pleasant stripe of green forty feet in the background of the models in their early thirties wearing backpacks that came around about once a year to pose for photos that would make the college look more fun-loving and ethnically diverse on the website. It was one of the few places on campus that was far enough away from the Laundromat basement to not smell heavily of dollar-store Febreze knockoffs. Even on days when he had to substitute his morning job for an afternoon jog, because after all, no amount of Red Bull can hide the fact an all-nighter was all that stood between Billy and a “incomplete” assignment, especially not if you were the teacher’s aide who had to read the damn thing; Billy almost never saw any other students or faculty on his jogs. Unless, of course, you counted the caretaker’s distressingly fat Maine Coon a part of the faculty, but Billy had only encountered one student who was willing to argue Timmers worked for the college, and that person was a third-year law student who had just smoked a bag of marijuana so large Billy honestly wondered if it was now available at Costco.

         The fact of the matter was that Billy had never seen another human walking the cross-country trail at eight in the morning, so when a slender figure stepped out from between the trees Billy let out a manly exclamation of surprise that he would insist did not sound remotely like a three-year-old girl stepping on the tail of a cat of the same age. Fortunately, that slim figure was Zoë, and she’d been friends with him long enough that there was no point in trying to fake having dignity in that moment.

         “Zoë!” Billy exclaimed, deeper than his previous scream but still high enough that he took a moment to cough and compose himself before he continued, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

         “I don’t want to hurt you,” Zoë said urgently, which is never a good way to start a conversation. She held out her hands in that position people usually only take if they’re trying to calm down someone who is on the verge of throwing a fit or if they’re pretending to tame a flock of velociraptors.

         “You look like hell,” said Billy, which was true. She was still wearing the outfit she had been the night before, but appeared to have taken her morning shower anyway. Water dripped miserably out of her sweatshirt and dribbled down her leggings, her long black hair plastered to her face in a single black, tattered sheet. Her makeup ran down her face in long black streams that made her eyes look large and hollow, and heavy brown stripes that showed thin strips of bluish-pale skin between them.

         Despite knowing as little about makeup as he could manage, Billy was aware that Zoë was not exactly a beauty vlogger and her usual approach to makeup involved pulling random tubes of liquid out of her coat pockets and saying things like, “Oh shit. I’ll just blend it out I guess.” or “Or don’t look at me! Don’t look at my eyes, I hate this, I guess I’m just catwoman now!” or “I guess that’s what blotting is for.” Somehow seeing it running off her face made it look more dramatic and distorting to her features, rather than “I’m a woman performing a musical recital and if I do not rub something on my face it will appear from where the audience is sitting that I have rubbed something on my face, but in a way I do not want.” That was definitely not the effect it was creating now; now it looked like something had tried to rub her face off her head.

         Billy thought that he could see faint white etching of frost forming on her hands and up her neck, but he was fairly sure that was an optical illusion caused by the thin light through the branches and the part of his sock that melted snow had now soaked through sending a “it’s too cold out here to be alive” message every few seconds.

         “Billy.” Zoë said urgently. She stumbled forward, her legs seemingly unwilling to bend properly. Her hand grasped his shoulder, so cold he inhaled sharply with pain. It was like the mere touch of her skin on the fabric of his sweatshirt was actively stabbing him through to the bone with knives so cold his flesh stuck to the blade like lips on cold metal. She looked into his eyes and he shuddered again. There was something wrong with her eyes, they looked concave, like the eyes on fish that has no business being still sold as edible at that age.

         With apparent effort, Zoë forced out another four words. Though the phrase was short, each word was spoken with the slow intensity of someone fighting both the urge to scream in someone’s face and the urge to collapse with exhaustion. Billy was far too distressed by the state of his friend to notice that, as thin and breathy as her voice was, she didn’t inhale before speaking.

         “Leave the reindeer alone.”

         Startled and not yet getting a concept out of what Zoë had just said, Billy pulled away from her instinctively. He tried to parse out a meaning from her statement, but with only half of a mind on the subject, as the rest of his mind was taken up by worrying about what Zoë had done to get in that condition, it seemed meaningless.

         “What happened to you?” Billy asked, trying to fight his urge to recoil and losing. Zoë simply shook her head and began to back away. Okay, she was clearly not in a state to discuss it, maybe once she had warmed up and was in a safe place and dry clothes he, or maybe a therapist, could get her to talk about what had happened. Billy didn’t like the idea of that, he was bad at giving emotional support and would much rather hurt whoever hurt his friend. To be honest, he didn’t have any experience fighting someone physically, but he was very big and muscular and thought he had pretty good odds beating up someone if he had to. After all, he was motivated, and more importantly, he was eighteen, and eighteen year olds have an inflated concept of their ability to come out on top in a fight.

         Someone had hurt his best friend and he needed her well enough to tell him who it was before he beat the tar out of them. That meant getting her inside immediately. She probably already had hypothermia, based on the fact it was late December and she was dripping wet.

         “Let’s get you inside.” said Billy, taking a cautious step towards Zoë. She drew further back, stepping over a fallen branch without taking her eyes off of Billy. He put up his hands as unthreateningly as possible.

         “You’re going to be okay.” he insisted, moving closer. Zoë shook her head, she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, but god what was wrong with her eyes? Every time Billy tried to make eye contact with her, he felt something deep inside himself forcing him to look away before he figured out what he was looking away from.

         “Leave the reindeer alone.” Zoë repeated, her voice low and urgent. Billy lifted his hand, and much quicker than he would have expected, she spun around and walked briskly back into the woods. He broke off into a run after her. Cross-country it was. While it seemed that every branch in the forest was trying to high-five his face, Zoë moved forward quickly without appearing to be impeded by the woods at in the least. Branches cracked loudly as he pushed by them, snow crunched beneath his soaking wet sneakers, his breath came in long ragged gasps as he ran. Strangely, it seemed like the only noises in the forest were the ones Billy was making himself.

         “Zoë!” Billy cried out, not expecting her to react but desperately wanting a noise to blot out the awful silence around him. She didn’t appear to hear him at all, and she certainly didn’t call back. Zoë made no sound. Not even the woods made a sound, no birds chirping or squirrels chittering threats to animals fifty times their size, no distant sounds of other students waking up in the campus just beyond the trees.

         Billy had no idea how she managed to walk that fast, but at least it meant she was doing better than she looked like, he wouldn’t have expected someone who looked as bad as she did to be able to walk at all. He should have caught up to her by now, Billy thought, pressing on with a fresh gust of effort, but she seemed to only get further away the more he ran. He ignored the pain and the wet and the branches lashing out at him, not daring to take his eyes off of Zoë least he lose sight of her. She was getting harder to follow, her wet gray sweatshirt blending into the shadows between the trees. She moved silently behind a tree and failed to emerge from the other side. Billy blinked furiously and forced himself forward a few more yards, as his mind argued between the two ideas that if she stopped behind that tree, he could catch up, and the fact that tree was too young and thin to hide a toaster behind it, much less a teenage girl. He grabbed onto the tree when he reached it, more to stop himself from falling facelong into the snow than anything else.

         Bent over double, face red as plastic holly, Billy gave up on catching Zoë and tried to catch his breath instead. He was fast enough on the sports field, but he knew that in a footrace Zoë could overtake him nine times out of ten. The tenth time Billy wasn’t sure if Zoë was just sick of being asked to a rematch and let him win one. She was shorter, but had much longer strides than he did. Billy pressed his eyes closed and cursed himself internally for not thinking of this sooner. No one went off the trail in these woods, she could run as fast as she could, but her footprints would still lead Billy to wherever she stopped.

         He opened his eyes but didn’t straighten up. He looked at the snow. Billy wasn’t much of a tracker, but he could tell the difference between four inches of untouched snow and snow someone had just walked through. He was so sure she had been standing just here when he lost sight of her, that this was the tree she had darted behind. He glared at the tree accusingly, as if it were the tree’s fault that he lost track of her. Taking a deep breath, Billy drew up to his full height and looked around. Behind him, there was a distinct path he had been crashing along as he chased her, but aside from that Billy had no indication of where he was. He inhaled deeply, and the cold air was like daggers on his heaving lungs. How could he had been enjoying the weather less than half an hour ago? It was less than half an hour, wasn’t it? How long had he been running through the woods? He might not have been used to running between trees but he was still exhausted. He even didn’t feel this tired at the end of a football match, so how long had he been in the woods? He looked around, trying to remember which way the shadows were falling when he started his run, less to guess at how long he’d been out there and more to see if he’d gotten turned around. He must have done, Billy reasoned, as the woods weren’t that deep. It was just a strip of young trees between the quad and the river, wasn’t it? He should have been able to see at least one of them from any point in the woods.

         Finally, Billy’s eyes fell on something other than glittering white snow and twisted branches. In the snow, not far from him, the trees thinned enough that there was what should have been another stretch of unbroken snow. But this snow had fresh tracks left in it. Sadly, he could tell in a moment that these were the tracks of an animal, not Zoë, but they were so odd that for a moment, Zoë flew from his mind. They were large, but delicate and round, cleft in the middle like a deer but with two dots behind them. Part of Billy thought that they looked a little like rabbit ears with little round eyes under them, but he had as little experience with rabbits as with deer.

         The strange thing about the prints is that they started in the very center of the clearing and moved out into the deeper woods, like some giant hand had placed the animal delicately in the center of the clearing and let it wander away. Billy put that thought out of his mind, because it was ridiculous, it was creeping him out, and if the animal had held still while the snow started to fall that could have covered its tracks. Probably. Not that it had snowed in the past week, but Billy put this out of his mind and moved closer to the tracks.

         These tracks were broad and easy to follow, even with him churning up the snow beside them as he traced their path. He asked himself why he was following these tracks when Zoë was clearly in danger of something, but he found himself reluctant to give up on them and look for signs of someone who hadn’t left any tracks he could follow until this point. There was a movement at the edge of his vision, and Billy began moving towards it before he fully looked up. Maybe these tracks had lead him to Zoë after all. There was something grey moving between the trees, and his heart shot up in his chest with hope, failing to quiet down appropriately when he saw whatever it was it was far too large to be Zoë. And whatever it was, it was moving towards him.

         Billy held still for a moment, not daring to move lest whatever it was spook as easily as Zoë did. Maybe it was her, after all, and she was just much closer than he thought she was. No. It was coming out of the trees now, it was looking at him, and it was clearly what left the hoofmarks.

         As he had been conscious the past few years, Billy was aware of the movie Frozen and was able to think “Yeah, I guess that looks like the reindeer owned by dude who people keep saying I look like, so I guess that’s what reindeer look like.” despite the fact a small part of him had until this point always pictured reindeer as looking more like Bambi than Sven. Whatever it was, it was wearing a bright red bridle so it was clearly tame. Also, he rationalized, a wild animal wouldn’t be happily trotting up to a human it had never seen before.

         “Hey.” said Billy weakly, holding up his hand and immediately feeling stupid for doing so. The reindeer cocked its head and trotted forward a few more steps.

         “I, uh, don’t have anything…” Billy said quickly, patting down his pockets. A reindeer with a bridle walking up to a random human was definitely something that had broken out of a petting zoo. That would account for why the red bridle covered in round brass bells.

         “I know.”

         Billy blinked hard and cocked his head. The reindeer looked down at him. Billy had really not expected reindeers to be this big, but that didn’t account for where the voice came from.

         “Who’s there?” asked Billy, looking around.

         “I am.” said the reindeer. Billy hadn’t caught its mouth moving but that was definitely where the sound was coming from. He took in the bizarre appearance of the enormous creature. It’s antlers seemed to branch up forever into the trees, its thick creamy-white mane shook gently with every breath. Thick white and brown fur covered powerful muscles and the smell coming off of it was like nothing Billy had ever experienced. Because he was watching it so closely, he could see the dark, furry lips form the words, “You’ve lost your friend.”

         It wasn’t a question.

         Mind racing, Billy desperately tried to figure out what the appropriate thing to do in this situation was. Either he was losing his mind, in which case what he did next didn’t really matter, or a reindeer was talking to him.

         “Do you know where Zoë is?” Billy asked carefully. The animal smiled. It’s mouth wasn’t suited for it, and there was something very odd about the teeth.

         “I can take you to her.” the reindeer replied.

         This was weird. There was no getting around that. He had just found a talking reindeer in woods that were much, much bigger than they were on the outside, but the important thing was that Zoë was still missing.

         “I promise,” the reindeer said slowly, with a warm and husky voice. Billy couldn’t quite understand how the animal’s lips were forming English sentences, but they were definitely moving in time with the speech. Tentatively, Billy reached forward and touched the animal’s head. Warmth immediately flooded into his hand, and the reindeer rubbed against it affectionately. It reminded Billy how cold he was, and suddenly all he wanted was to bury himself in the animal’s fur and start feeling his fingers again.

         “I promise to bring you to Zoë.” the reindeer repeated. Billy flexed his cold fingers. If he was this cold, then Zoë, soaking wet and turning blue, needed help now. The last doubt out of his mind, Billy moved to the reindeer’s side and tried to figure out the fastest way to get up it. Steeling himself, he took a firm hold of the red bridle and swung his weight up on the animal’s back with all his might. He got a leg over and pulled himself into a balance, and it seemed to him that the reindeer flexed its muscles to settle him more firmly astride itself. Warmth flooded up into Billy from the thick, shaggy fur.

         For a moment, there was nothing but the stillness of the woods and the ragged warm fur beneath Billy’s hands. Neither of them moved. Then, he heard the animal’s voice again.

         “Dear god, you are stupid.” said the reindeer.

         Before Billy had fully registered what the reindeer had said, the thick, warm fur wriggled around his hands like maggots eating a corpse and tightened onto every part of him it could grab. Like thick cords, the fur wrapped itself around his fingers, his wrists, and up his arms. A sickening thought crushed the air out Billy’s lungs: This was not a reindeer. Billy knew almost nothing about reindeer but this was not a reindeer and it never had been one.

         The reindeer arched this neck back and laughed, its mouth opening at entirely the wrong angle and showing entirely the wrong set of teeth. It was as if someone had transplanted a wolf’s mouth into a reindeer’s head, but did it wrong so that the mouth could open up to an obtuse angle. A long, horrible tongue rolled past the fangs and writhed in the air like a dying snake as the creature snarled out a sickening noise that was slightly an agonised screech but mostly a cruel laugh.

         Billy became aware of the fact he was screaming and probably had been since the fur moved. The creature’s laughter rang through the icy woods, echoing and shattering icicles off the trees. The animal reared, and Billy hoped for a moment it would throw him off but the fur moved like snakes, rooting him firmly to the spot.

         Then it ran.

         Ice-encased branches whipped across his face, but could not dislodge him even when he pulled with the force. The forest was still morning-bright, the sunlight cracking through the branches and casting a thousand periwinkle-blue shadows dancing around the snow like dying spiders. The not-a-deer’s hooves passed over the landscape, sending a flurry of snow in its wake.

         Before them, the woods appeared to finally thin. They were reaching the edge of the woods, and a last gasp of hope awoke in Billy’s chest. If they got out of the woods, would the not-a-deer let him go? Was that it’s plan all along? Sunlight danced on the ice, and Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what the thing’s destination was. He threw himself as hard to the left as he could, but something… momentum? The twisting fur? The sheer will of the creature? Righted him again. There was nothing Billy could do.

         They were heading right for the river.

With a leap, the not-a-deer broke out of the woods, hanging in the air for a moment, the icy surface of the river sparkling beneath them like a delicate spun glass sheet.

         “The ice!” Billy screamed. “It won’t hold us!” But even as he wailed these words, Billy knew that was exactly the idea. The crash of hooves meeting ice was enormous, but even that was drowned out by the sickly crack of the ice’s surface giving way. Billy’s last scream was cut off as the water hit him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, all he felt was the water shredding icy cold through his whole body, it felt like even his heart forgot to beat.

         Billy knew he was going to die. He would probably drown before he froze to death, and all that was left to do was decide if he was going to die with his eyes closed or not. It was the only choice he had left in this world. Billy forced his eyes open against the icy water. At what he saw, he almost wished he hadn’t.

         Zoë’s body floated unfettered mere yards away from him. Her eyes were closed, her skin was discolored, and her hair floated around her face like smoke. Blood cut red streamers in the water from where something with a large mouth and sharp teeth had removed a chunk of her leg. But still, he could see it was just a taste missing. This was where the thing took it’s meals. This was not a dinner table, this was a larder. This was were the thing brought it’s meat to eat slowly over the long, cold winter.

         There was something else in the water, something small and moving towards him. It didn’t swim, it didn’t float, it merely stood upright in the water, pulled ever closer to Billy by some unseen force. It was also Zoë. But it was Zoë as he saw her in the woods before this all started. She was underwater with him, but water dripped off her heavily, tears rolled down her cheeks from her sunken, lifeless eyes. Billy knew no sound could carry through water, so when he heard Zoë speak, he knew she wasn’t using her mouth to do it.

         “I told you.” said Zoë’s ghost, her voice trembling. “I told you.”

         Billy couldn’t respond, his lungs full of water, but his last thought as the cold and the water and the shock drained what little life was left in him, was this:

         I found Zoë after all. I found her.

         Above the surface, the ice rocked gently and slowed in its movements. The world was quiet, but after a few moments, one finch let out a tentative twitter. The silence of the wood was broken. The thing had fed once again. A few more animals dared to start moving. What appeared to be a small clump of leaves stood up and stretched its back. Timmers shook snow out of his fluffy mane and trotted delicately to the edge of the river. Humans were so horribly predictable: they see an animal and automatically assume it’s there for their benefit. Timmers had long since stopped trying to warn the students about the pooka himself, no amount of purring around their ankles or hissing and charging from the woods or growling ominously at the river seemed to do any good. Every human who had gone to the river had met the pooka and every human who met the pooka were drowned by it.

         Timmers thought that this time, leading a real human with a real voice, even if they were a ghost at the moment, to the next victim would have some effect. The plan had almost worked perfectly: the ghost had spoken to her friend, the human was warned, and he still jumped on the reindeer the first chance he got. Timmers stretched out his body in the feline equivalent of a sigh of resignation and turned back to the caretaker’s cottage, where a tin of good wet food and an army blanket twisted into a turban-like affair waited for him in front of the electric heater, Timmers’ salary for his important work on campus, even if no one bothered to listen to him.

         There was just no helping humans.

[kairi-chan]

Red Rose

A/N: Written for my favorite girl’s birthday, and Sakura Week! Have some SasuSaku with a side of BoruSara.

Genre: Romance/ Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Summary:  Real world AU. It’s Sakura’s birthday, and Sasuke just wants to spend a day with his wife. However, things don’t always go according to plan.

Beta read by: @levadia

Today, she turns thirty-eight. Yet whenever he would set his dark eyes on her, he always does a double take, and think she’s only twenty-three. Her beauty and youthful appearance never changed, like her courage and strength, it never wavered.

The sun was rising a little too high for his liking. He usually rose with the sun, in favor of meditating. But not today. Today, he wanted to be with her for as long as she would have him.

Gingerly, he moved a lock of her pink hair away from her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She shifted and her long lashes fluttered. “Sasuke-kun,” she whispered, without really opening her eyes.

“Happy birthday.”

Her lips curled up in a smile, and slowly, she opened her green eyes. She snuggled closer to him.

He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her closer. “Let’s have breakfast in the garden. I had the servants prepare it under your favorite cherry blossom tree.”

She hummed. “That sounds nice, but I can’t.”

He pulled away, his lips dipping lightly to a frown. He had this day planned for months. “Why not?”

She shifted her gaze up to face him. “I have patients today, waiting for me at my clinic.”

“Take a day off,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “Just because you did, doesn’t mean I should, too.”

He pouted at his wife and pulled her closer, snuggling at her neck, effectively hiding his face.

She laughed again. “Stop being such a spoiled baby!”

Sasuke scowled. “Alright, fine. But I’m going with you to your clinic.”

Sakura blinked a few times. Sasuke was a very busy man. He almost never interfered with her work, because he firmly believed that he did not want to bother her in any way. With that kind of thinking, Sakura did the same. They always lived their own worlds when it came to their careers. This whole business of him coming with her to her clinic was a bit of a shock for her. “Alright,” she said slowly. A wide grin started to form on her lips. “I’m sure my patients would just love to have you.”

Sakura was sitting in front of her dresser when her husband approached her and presented her with a single red rose. She looked at him through the mirror, a soft smile on her face.

“Every year, you get me one of these,” she said sentimentally.

“And I will keep giving you one on your birthday for the rest of my life.” He smiled.  “It’s more than just tradition to me.”

She turned to face him and accepted the rose. He swooped down and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. He pulled away and presented her with a small red box. “Sarada wanted me to give you this.”

Her eyes lit up. She almost forgot. Her daughter was coming back from boarding school later in the afternoon, to join her and her husband for her birthday dinner. She took the box and opened it. There was a single platinum clip, with a Sakura pattern engraved on it. At the very edge sat the Uchiha clan’s crest. The craftsmanship was impeccable. A wide grin grew on her face.

“Is this…” she looked at her husband to explain.

He smirked. “I bet she convinced Sai to sell it to her commission free.”

Sakura giggled. Sai was a famous artist, he recently tried his hand into designing jewelry. “How thoughtful of her,” she said lovingly. She picked up the clip, and cut the stem of the red rose her husband gave her. She then entwined it with the clip and slipped it into her hair. She looked at the mirror to inspect her handiwork. The left side of her hair was swept back with the clip, holding the rose in place.

Sasuke leaned down to look at her through the mirror. The red rose complimented her beauty even more.

He walked through the white hospital walls, his steps even and measured. He walked right next to his wife, who was being greeted left and right by various hospital staff.

“Doctor Uchiha!” A young nurse greeted. “Happy birthday!”

She smiled kindly and bowed a bit. “Thank you.”

The nurse smiled and nodded at Sasuke with a dreamy smile before walking away.

“Always the popular one.” Sasuke smirked.

Sakura feigned hurt. “I’m nowhere near as popular as you, darling.”

He glared at her for the quip, without any real malice. She stuck her tongue out at him playfully in return. He hid his smile, and landed his dark eyes at the door to her clinic.

There was a long line of patients waiting at the right side of the door, sitting and waiting. On the left side, it looked like the Yamanaka flower shop decided to change residence. There were bouquets of flowers, and presents stacked on top of the chairs.

Sakura’s green eyes widened. Her secretary came out of the clinic to greet them. “Good morning, Doctor Haruno. Happy birthday!” She smiled cheerily.  “Mr. Uchiha,” she shifted her gaze to him, her smile growing a little wider. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Sasuke only nodded in acknowledgement. He was far too distracted by all the flowers and presents waiting for Sakura.

“Good morning, Yuki.” Sakura smiled. She shifted her gaze to the left side of her clinic’s door. “Are these for me?”

Yuki nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. There’s more inside. Mr. Uzumaki’s flowers were taking up most of the space, so I had to move some of them out. He also sent a cake over.”  

She raised her brow. “Naruto?” She followed her secretary inside her clinic, and that’s when she saw it. It was the largest display of Sunflowers she had ever seen. It sat on the top of her secretary’s desk, taking up all the space. There was a bright orange card sitting in the middle. She took it and read the scratchy handwriting aloud.

“Happy birthday, Sakura-chan! Don’t let that bastard get you down for not throwing you a party today. I planned one for you tomorrow night. Hope you like the flowers. Hima helped me pick them out from Ino’s shop. Enjoy the cake, too. Hinata baked that just for you! See ya tomorrow. Love, Naruto.”

Sasuke growled. He knew it wasn’t beneath Naruto to throw Sakura a party. The three of them were childhood friends, after all. There was a reason why Sasuke didn’t throw parties for his wife. It was because he wanted to spend time with his wife and daughter, undeterred by anyone else’s presence. It didn’t mean that his friends weren’t important. He just wanted to be selfish every now and then and have the two most important people with him.

“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” She grinned. Sakura turned around and faced her husband. “You get today, Sasuke-kun. Tomorrow,” she lifted the card and waved it at his face. “We’re going to celebrate with everyone else, okay?”

“Aa.” He was not going to defy any of her wishes today. Maybe he could try to convince her to skip it tomorrow morning, instead.

“Yuki, please send in the first patient after five minutes. I’ll just set up.”

“Yes, Dr. Uchiha!” Her gaze shifted then to Sasuke, who was just standing there at Sakura’s reception area. “Umm.” The girl fidgeted with her clipboard. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Uchiha?”

Sasuke slowly shifted his dark eyes to her. “No. I will wait for Sakura to finish her shift.”

“Ah, oh… Okay.” She stuttered. “Just make yourself comfortable, then.”

Sasuke nodded and sat down at the bench at the corner of the clinic. He pulled out a book, and started to read. From his perch, he could see Sakura talking to her patients through the glass window, Yuki’s desk, as well as the entrance to the clinic. He saw more and more people leaving presents and flowers outside, some even entering just to inform the secretary that they had left a gift.

“Please tell Dr. Uchiha I left her a gift.”

“Please send her my thanks, and to have the happiest birthday.”

“She has done so much for my father. Please tell her I am forever in her debt. Say, does she life daffodils? The Yamanaka shop owner told me likes those.”

“Can’t I please see her for just a minute? I want to hand her my gift.”

Sasuke watched silently from his seat. He knew his wife was popular, but he was still surprised that they always went out of their way to send her gifts and warm greetings on her birthday, and on Christmas. Yuki kindly turned all of their requests to see her down, explaining that she was busy and had a lot of patients to deal with. Some of them waited outside, while others simply left their gifts.

Sasuke’s presence did not go unnoticed. Sakura’s patients would stare at him, some far less discreet than most. He ignored them, and pretended not to hear.

“Look at him! He’s so handsome.”

“Is he a movie star? You know, I heard Dr. Uchiha has some popular patients.”

“Isn’t that… isn’t that Sasuke Uchiha? The CEO of Uchiha Corp?”

Sasuke’s lips pressed into a fine line. He was not in the mood to brush off any fan girls right now. He only wanted one girl’s attention for today, and he was already frustrated enough as it is that she was not giving it to him. Well, not really. But you get it.

A woman with blond hair came in. Her honey colored eyes scanned the clinic’s reception area. “Where is Sakura?” She asked Yuki firmly.

The secretary looked up from her computer and stood at attention immediately. “Dr. Senju! Dr. Uchiha is inside with a patient.”

Her eyes hardened at the secretary. “Will she finish soon?”  

“She-she should!” the girl was a nervous wreck. Sasuke smirked. He knew Tsunade had a penchant for scaring staff.

“Ah, you’re here.” Tsunade regarded him.

Sasuke stood up and nodded. “Tsunade.”

She smirked. “Waiting for her this year, I see.”

He inclined his head. “I told her to take the day off.”

The doctor snorted. “I’ve been trying to get her to go on a vacation for two years.”

They were interrupted by two teenagers who entered the clinic.

“Sarada.”

The girl with dark eyes slightly widened. She was holding a bouquet of pink roses. “Papa? What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for your mother,” he explained simply.

“Hey uncle Sasuke.” Boruto grinned. He was holding a bouquet of red carnations.  

Sasuke’s lips dipped into a slight frown as he eyed the flowers. He also didn’t like the thought of his daughter being with him. “Boruto.”

The blond’s grin was as bright as the sun. “Just wanted to stop by and drop off these flowers for Aunty Sakura.”

“Oh, everyone’s here!” Sakura padded out of her office.

All eyes turned to her, however, Sakura’s eyes instinctively gravitated towards her daughter.

“Sarada, you’re home. Welcome back!”

Sarada flung herself at her mother and hugged her tightly. “Happy birthday, mama!” She pulled away. “For you.” She presented the bouquet of pink roses and grinned. “Do you like the clip I got you?” She peeked at her mother’s hair and saw she was wearing it, along with a red rose. Her grin widened. “I’m glad you understood its intended purpose.”  

Boruto piped in. “Oh, yeah. Come to think of it, you always wear a red rose in your hair on your birthday every year, Aunty Sakura. Is that, like, for good luck or something?”

“It’s an Uchiha family tradition,” Sarada explained. “Family and close friends usually present pink roses to show appreciation.” She then eyed Sasuke carefully, a small smile on her lips. “Lovers and admirers present the female celebrant with a single red rose. It’s up to the celebrant to choose whose flower she will wear in her hair, as a sign of her reciprocating her love.”

Boruto’s blue eyes widened. At this, Sakura explained further. “Usually, it’s only done on the celebrant’s eighteenth birthday. But Sasuke-kun has been doing this every year since then, just to make sure I still love him,” she teased.

Sasuke felt his cheeks heat up. He looked away and scowled. Everyone laughed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Tsunade nodded. She shifted her gaze to her pupil. “Happy birthday, Sakura.” With that, she left the clinic.

“Mama,” Sarada spoke. “I’ll be heading out to have lunch with Boruto, and then we’re meeting up with Mitsuki. I’ll see you later for dinner?”

Sakura nodded. Boruto handed her the bouquet, and smiled. He promised he would bring Sarada home before seven. Sasuke’s body stiffened, but he chose not to speak about the matter. He had a feeling something was going on with those two, but he wanted to wait for Sarada to tell him. His eyes shifted to Sakura, who gave him a sweet smile. His eyes narrowed. He knew that look.

She giggled and handed the bouquet over to Yuki. “Darling,” she started. “I have a few more patients. After that, let’s grab some lunch?”

Sasuke nodded and sat back down on his perch. He tried his best not to think about how his wife had just embarrassed him earlier, and that his daughter may be potentially dating the dobe’s son.

The two of them went to one of Sakura’s favorite restaurants near the hospital. It was a quiet little shop that only accommodated four tables for two.

Sasuke knew that Sakura chose this restaurant today in order to give him some reprieve from her crowded clinic. She was just that thoughtful.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

Sasuke lifted his brow. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I’m apologizing that you had to wait outside my clinic all morning.” She held his hand, which was resting on top of the table. “I know you planned for us to have lunch at The Leaf today.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t tell anyone of his plans. He even made the reservation himself, just to make sure his secretary didn’t blab about it.

Sakura giggled. “I heard from Ino.”

“Tch.” He looked away. That blonde always was good at retrieving information. He forced himself to calm down and sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” He shifted his gaze to her. “I just want to spend the day with you, but it seems like I’m forced to share you with everyone else.”

Sakura blinked a few times. “Share? Sasuke-kun, you know I’m all yours.”

“It’s not that,” he replied cooly. “You’re loved and appreciated by a lot of people for very obvious reasons. I just…” He didn’t want to say it out loud. This was always a sort of insecurity for him. For years, he and Sakura had been together, and yet he always felt like she was better off with someone else who could make her happier. He was never the type to give flashy gifts, or throw grand parties for her. He doesn’t even recall ever giving her a bouquet of flowers in public.  

“I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for what I have now, darling.” She looked at his dark eyes, and he knew she was looking into his soul. She smiled warmly at him. “This is by far the best birthday ever, because I get to have you near me the whole day.”

He felt his lips tug up into a small smile, and he gave her hand a squeeze. No one ever understood him the way Sakura did.

Their food arrived, so they retracted their hands. As the server placed their food in front of them, a sly grin crept up Sakura’s face.

“Did you notice the way Boruto’s eyes lit up when Sarada explained the Red Rose tradition to him?”

Sasuke scoffed. “He probably doesn’t understand it.” He lifted the tea cup to his lips.

She chuckled. “Do you think he’ll be giving her a red rose on her eighteenth next week?”

He choked on his tea, to which Sakura laughed heartily.

A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to join Sakura week because I was travelling. But while I was travelling, all I saw were Sakura trees. I felt inspired to write a birthday fic for my favorite girl, in her man’s perspective.

I hope you liked this! Thank you so much to @levadia for quickly beta reading this for me. 

You can read more of my fics here on tumblr, or on ff.net. 

[motownfiction]

memorial day, 1983: lemonade and validation

Every year, Maggie and Mike Doyle throw a Memorial Day barbecue. They’ve been doing it since the twins were born – on one hand, to introduce more people to the babies now that the weather was warm; on the other hand, to give themselves something to do other than change diapers and jingle keys in the kids’ faces to make them laugh. Every year, they make hot dogs and hamburgers, and every year, the guest list changes just a little bit. Neighbors come and go. The kids make friends they keep and friends they lose. But in sixteen years, Jim and his family have never missed a barbecue. They wouldn’t even dream of it.

That’s what he always says on the phone, anyway.

Nobody really knows why Jim and his family make such a production about the Memorial Day barbecue. It’s really not much of a production unto itself. Maggie and Mike can work a grill like Lennon and McCartney can write a hit, but they all know it’s not about the meat. Whenever the other Doyles walk into the backyard, they all have this look in their eye. They’re thirsty for lemonade and validation.

Sadie makes that joke as she stirs the pitcher of lemonade in the garage, and poor Mike has to stifle a giggle as he tells her it isn’t very nice. She gives him a look.

“Dad,” she says. “Would it be this funny if it weren’t also a little true?”

But Mike just kisses the top of her head.

“We’re not doing this,” he says. “That’s my big brother you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, and he makes sure we all know it,” Sadie says.

“It’s true,” Sam adds and grabs a Coke out of the mini fridge. “It’s like they’re constantly drafting their Christmas card. You know, the weird one Aunt Connie sends out every year with the matching outfits and the letter where she talks about how much better her kids are than everybody else’s?”

“Sam,” Mike says, holding back another laugh. “Could you do your old man a favor and be a little bit nice?”

Sam nods and takes a long gulp of Coca-Cola.

“Sure, Dad,” he says, peeling the can away from his lips. “I’ll be real nice. As a matter of fact, when Henry asks me if I can play some Eagles, I won’t ask him if he’s interested in getting punched in the face.”

At that moment, Lucy and Will walk into the garage, each carrying a bag of ice from the party store up the block. Lucy turns a bizarre shade of pink; Will does, too, but for a different reason entirely.

“Henry’s going to be here?” Lucy asks. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “He’s here every year. What did you expect?”

Lucy shrugs as she dumps her bag of ice into a cooler. Will has a little too much fun slicing into his bag with Mike’s pocket knife.

“Well, I didn’t know,” she says. “I mean, yeah, he’s always been here before … but he’s going to be a senior, and … and seniors are different than juniors. They just are.”

“Are you OK?” Sam asks. “What’s going on?”

For the first time in all her life, Lucy doesn’t say anything. Sadie grins and claps her on the back, which makes poor Lucy want to die.

“She’s just nervous because she always liked Henry,” Sadie says.

Lucy twists out of her arm and bats her away.

“Sadie!” she says. “You’re going to do this in front of your dad?”

“I don’t think Mr. Doyle’s the one you gotta be worried about,” Will says, still holding onto the pocket knife. Mike notices and casually takes it out of his hands.

“I’m gonna go help Maggie inside,” he says and heads for the back door. “Whatever’s happening in here … I’m too old.”

He disappears, and Will faces Lucy with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“All right,” he says. “What’s she talking about?”

Lucy is even redder than she was thirty seconds ago.

“Nothing,” she says, hitting the second syllable a little too harshly. “I never … how could I have liked somebody I barely even know?”

“Don’t try to logic your way out of this!” Will says. “You know you can’t! Nobody can! If you could, you wouldn’t be dating me right now.”

Lucy bows her head. They both know it’s a little bit true.

“Look,” Lucy tries. “I never could have dated Henry. He’s like all those other self-important rich kids who think they’re better than we are just because they go to Holy Trinity. He likes the Eagles.”

“It’s a bad look,” Sam concurs from behind another sip of Coke. “And I’m a music whore, so you know how much that means coming from me.”

Will turns to him with a confused look on his face. Sam has no regrets.

“We’ll deal with that later,” Will says and turns back around to face Lucy.

“So, what are you saying?” he asks. “That Sadie’s telling the truth? That you always had a thing for Henry?”

Lucy bites her bottom lip and takes too long to answer.

“You can’t help who you’re attracted to,” she finally says, and Will throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I mean … Henry is so … organized. And – and tall!”

“I’m organized and tall!” Will says.

“You use the front seat of your car as a garbage can.”

“I’m tall!”

Lucy sighs and presses up in her shoes. She kisses Will’s lips lightly, and he still can’t hide how much he likes it.

“You know I never thought I’d date anybody,” she says. “But I’m dating you. That means something. I know you know that.”

“I know,” Will says. “I guess I just … I only ever really liked you. You can ask Sam and everything.”

Sam nods.

“It’s true,” he says. “Sometimes, it was a little weird.”

Lucy takes Will’s hands, and she can’t hide how much she likes being able to do that.

“And I only ever really liked you,” she says. “You can ask Sadie and everything.”

“It’s true,” Sadie says with a nod of her own. “Henry was just some guy she saw sometimes. You were always the real thing.”

Sam raises his can of Coke and smiles.

“Like this!” he says.

Will looks at Lucy and forces back a smile. In turn, she gives him the same look. After a few seconds, he sighs and looks up at the ceiling.

“I still don’t like the guy,” he says. “I hate him, actually.”

Lucy nods.

“And I can respect that,” she says. “I don’t really like him, either.”

Not one second of silence passes between them before they hear it.

“Hey, Uncle Jim!” Charlie’s voice calls out from beyond the garage. “Guys, Uncle Jim’s here!”

Lucy blushes again, and Will winces. They’re in for it.

[fandammit]

With sorrows to impart (9/?)

[A/N: This most recent chapter was shaping up to be longer than anticipated, so I am splitting it in two - which means you get an update a little earlier! Hopefully chapter 10 will be up Sunday/Monday (but I make no promises). Enjoy! ]

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

He reaches for her hand the minute they leave her room, his fingers automatically intertwining with hers. The tension from moments ago has dissipated somewhat, now simmering deep below a layer of anxiety on his part and practiced evasion on hers. Instead, she focuses on being a steadying force for Schneider, all easy smiles and firm grips on his hand.

He doesn’t say much as they take the elevator down to the lobby, mostly alternates between squeezing her hand tightly and glancing down at her like he’s about to say something only to breath in deeply and turn away instead.

He lets go of her hand for all of thirty seconds while they get in the car, then reaches over the middle console the moment she buckles her seatbelt and interlaces their fingers together once more.

He doesn't say anything beyond telling Silis they're ready to go, just tightens his grip on her hand and starts tapping his foot against the floor. She watches him take something out of his pocket -- a coin of some sort -- and start fiddling with it, turning it over in his fingers and rubbing alongside the edges of it.  

“What is that?” She asks after a few quiet moments, nodding towards the coin in his hand. It's too big to be any kind of denomination she's familiar with, bronze colored and heavy looking with words stamped into either side of it.

He blinks rapidly, then looks down at it, apparently surprised to find it in his hand.

He holds it up close to her.

“It's my seven year AA chip.” He hands it to her, and she studies it closely as he keeps talking. “I normally keep it in my wallet but sometimes when I'm feeling...rough, it helps to have it closer to me. Like, uh, you know -- a reminder of everything I've worked for. That if I can make it to seven years of sobriety, I can make it through anything.”

She nods and turns the coin over, reads through the words of the serenity prayer.

“And it helps?”

He nods.

“It does.” He squeezes her hand, then lifts their intertwined hands up slightly from where they're resting on the center console. “Though right now, this is helping me more.”

She smiles, then hands the chip back to him; watches as he immediately resumes running his fingers along the edges of it.

“I'm glad I can help.” She gestures to the coin. “But I'm glad you have that, too. It's good to be reminded of how strong you are.” She gives him a small smile. “It's a good reminder for me, too.”

He glances over at her, then glances down at the chip.

“You know, when I got my first year chip, my Aunt Emily came to see me in LA and gave me this really nice, handmade chip holder.” He glances over at her, a pensive look in his eyes. “There were twelve spots on it and she told me that she'd get me a new one when I got to thirteen.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “Everytime I get another chip, I put it in there and send her a picture.” He clears his throat. “It, uh, probably seems kind of stupid, but those first couple of years...sometimes it was just knowing that I wouldn't be able to send her a picture that kept me sober.”

She shakes her head.

“That's not stupid at all, Schneider.” She squeezes his hand. “I'm really glad your Aunt Emily could support you. And I'm looking forward to meeting her.”

He gives her a small smile.

“Me too.”

She asks him about his Aunt Emily then, partly because she’s curious to know about the one relative he's talked about who actually seems to care about him, and partly because talking keeps his anxiety at bay.

He at least stops jiggling his leg, which is good because it was strong enough to shake the entire back seat and she was getting a little nauseated.

She learns that his Aunt Emily is the older sister to his mom, seemingly quieter and more introverted than his mother or him, but with the same sort of steadfast loyalty that Schneider has. At least, that's her impression from the stories that Schneider tells. She's a retired high school teacher who now writes children's books, and she never fails to send a Christmas card and call him on his birthday and Thanksgiving and July 5th.

She almost asks about July 5th before she remembers the story about the celebratory drink and the alley. She feels a tenderness towards Aunt Emily despite never having met her or heard about her. She almost asks Schneider why she’d never heard about her before she realizes the answer to her own question. It's the same reason she never knew he went to AA on Wednesdays or that he’d inherited his interest in art from his mom or that his sponsor's name was Chris:

She'd never bothered to ask.  

“Also, Aunt Emily sometimes calls me Alex Mango,” Schneider says, breaking her out of her guilt encrusted thoughts.

“I'm sorry, what?” She asks, sure that she's misheard him. “Alex Mango?”

Schneider grins.

“When Mom was pregnant with me, she didn't want anyone to know the sex of the baby, so for a while they would just refer to me as whatever size fruit I was at the time. Kiwi, apple, tomato, you know.”

She smiles.

“Babies are mango sized for a while, depending on the size of the mango.”

He nods.

“Yeah and it's Aunt Emily's favorite fruit, so she just liked calling me that.”

“And Alex?”

Schneider shrugs.

“Once I stopped being fruit sized and just became baby sized, she figured I should be given a name. And since she still didn’t know if I was gonna be a boy or a girl, she just picked a gender neutral name.”

Penelope nods, grinning.

“So, Alex Mango.”

He chuckles.

“Yeah, Alex Mango. Father hated it, which I think is part of the reason she kept using it even after I was born.”

It's not a bad reason to do so, she thinks -- especially given everything she knows about Schneider's father.  

“Well, I obviously am a big fan of the name Alex and mango is the undisputed best fruit, so I feel like your aunt and I already have something in common there.” She leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, because she doesn't necessarily think it's smart to look at him too closely when she starts talking again. “And we both care about you a lot, so there's another thing.”

He lets out a sound that's halfway between a chuckle and a sigh, then tips his head down to rest it on hers.

"It's weird to hear you say that.” He clears his throat. “Good weird, though. Weird in the best possible way.”

She exhales sharply and shakes her head, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder.  

“I’m sorry, Schneider.” She chews on the corner of her lip.

“Wait, why are you sorry?”

She lifts her head from his shoulder and looks at him.

“Because it shouldn't be -- weird to hear me say that, I mean.” She tilts her head to the side and lifts her shoulder. “But it is, and I'm sorry about that.”

“No, it's fine. It's more than fine, actually.” He draws his brows together and pulls his teeth over his lips. “I'm sorry, Pen. I didn't mean weird as in weird. I mean -- .”

“Schneider --.”

“I guess I meant weird but I didn't mean weird-bad or even weird-weird --.”

“Schneider --.”

“And I definitely didn't mean to make you feel bad, because that’s the last thing I'd ever want to do. What I really meant to say was --.”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling, then reaches over and places her hand gently on his mouth to stop him. It's certainly a different tactic than the one she'd used the last time she'd had to interrupt one of his runaway rambles; she tells herself this makes more sense given the confined space they're in and that it has nothing to do with wanting to feel the softness of his lips, but knowing that kissing him to be quiet is not the way to go about things right now. It's definitely not that at all.

And anyway, it works, too.

Schneider immediately stops talking, just stares at her intently with those bright blue eyes of his while she tries not to think about just how soft his lips feel against her fingertips.

She pulls her hand away from his mouth and rests it instead on top of their clasped hands.

“Schneider, if I felt bad it was because I deserved to.” She holds up her hand to keep him from protesting. “What I meant is that you should know how important you are to me, and if you don't, then I should try and change that.”

He looks at her intently.

“Well, you wanted to come here with me, right?”

“I did.”

“And you're still glad that you did?”

“I am.”

He nods.

“Then I know.” His mouth turns up slightly. “Just you being here lets me know.”

She squeezes his hand.

“I should say it more though.”

He tips his head and lets the small upturn of his lips relax into a full smile.

“Well, I will say that it is nice to hear it.”

He's about to say something else when the car slows to a stop.

“We've arrived,” Silis announces from the front seat.

Schneider lets out a long, steady exhale as he flexes his fingers, his head dropping down against his chest.

“You ready?” She asks, tilting her head down to she can meet his eye.

“Not really.”

She rests her hand on his cheek.

“Hey, I’m gonna be right there next to you the whole time, ok?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, leaning his face into her hand before he opens his eyes and nods.

“Ok, I'm ready.”

The lawn of the cemetery is pretty crowded -- she figures there must be a good 200 people milling around in dark clothes and quietly chatting in small groups.

She glances over at Schneider and sees him scanning the crowd, manages to catch the exact moment when he sees his Aunt Emily. She knows because his eyes light up immediately, and the buzz she can feel coming off of him shifts into anticipation instead of anxiety.

He looks over at her and smiles, a giddy, almost boyish look in his eyes that’s wholly endearing to her. He leans down and gestures to a small group of women directly in front of them.

“That’s my Aunt Emily,” he says, directing her attention to a petite woman with long, curling red hair. She’s listening intently to whatever the person next to her is saying, nodding along, though Penelope can tell that she, too, is scanning the crowd.

She watches as his Aunt Emily finds the two of them, and it’s heartwarming that she can see his aunt light up despite being as far away as they are.

She watches as she excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s in and very nearly jogs over to where they’re standing. She doesn't look especially similar to Schneider -- she's probably just  as tall as Penelope, paler than Schneider, with wide, deep set brown eyes and a square-shaped face. Though she does have that same sort of youthfulness that he does -- the one that makes her look at least a decade younger than she actually is, so that she looks like a woman in her early 60’s rather than one in her mid-70s.  

“Alex mango!” She exclaims, a wide, bright smile on her face, her arms thrust out in front of her.

Schneider grins in return, letting go of Penelope’s hand momentarily so he can lean down and scoop her up in a hug.

“Aunt Emily!” He wraps his arms tightly around her and squeezes hard. “It’s so great to see you.”

She lets go of him and steps back just enough so that she can cup his face in her hands.

“You too, sweetheart. I’m so glad you could make it.” She touches his glasses, the corner of her eyes softening in equal parts affection and melancholy. “You look lovely.”

He offers her a small smile, then leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“You too, Auntie Em.”

She moves her hands from his face then pats either side of her own.

“It’s that spa membership you set me up with for my birthday all those years ago.” She smiles at him, and in that smile, Penelope sees the resemblance between the two. It's warm and wide and open in that same way that makes you want to smile in return. “That,” his Aunt Emily continues with a twinkle in her eye, “and sunscreen from Korea.”

“Alright!” He says, obviously pleased. “So you finally started listening to me.”

“My darling mango, I always listen to you. It’s just a matter of separating the frivolous from the factual.”

Penelope chuckles at that, though she quickly tries to cover it up with a cough. His aunt glances over at her with a twinkle in her eye and smiles, then looks back over at Schneider.

“So, has all that time in LA robbed you of your manners or…?” She asks, tipping her head in Penelope's direction.

Schneider blinks rapidly and pulls an apologetic face in Penelope's direction before he steps back and rests his hand at the small of her back.

She's suddenly filled with an absurd feeling of anxiety at the coming introduction. Absurd, because she knows that he'll introduce her as his friend, maybe throw in the qualifier of “best” in there.

And of course there is absolutely nothing wrong or even approaching problematic with that introduction. That is, after all, what she is to him. That’s what they are to one another. That’s the reason he asked her to come with him and why she chose to say yes. It’s the truth in almost every sense of the word.

Every sense but this one: that there's been a shift in their dynamic in these last 24 hours that suddenly makes a word as simple as friend seem like a half-truth, a concept that comes up short to describing whatever it is now between them. But there’s no word for that almost, for that maybe that lies between them.

There’s no word for that space between friend and more than.  

Schneider clears his throat, breaking her free from her spiralling inner monologue. She smiles and squares her shoulders, tells herself not to look or feel -- what? Disappointed, she guesses, maybe even distressed -- when he calls her his friend. Tells herself it would be silly to do so because that’s what she is.

“Aunt Emily, this is Penelope,” he says, completely bypassing all of her unexpected anxieties and saying her name like it’s the only explanation his aunt needs. “Penelope, this is my Aunt Emily.”

She exhales the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding as she steps forward with her hand outstretched, finds herself enveloped in the arms of his aunt instead.

She’s surprised but returns the hug immediately, her arms winding around Emily’s small frame.

Emily steps back and smiles warmly, her hands lightly gripping Penelope’s arms.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Penelope,” she says in a way that makes Penelope feel like her coming here isn’t a surprise at all. “I’m sorry that it isn’t under better circumstances.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, too. I’m sorry for your loss,” she replies, and means it. Schneider may have had a fraught relationship with his mother, and she may harbor some secondhand resentment towards her because of that, but it’s obvious from just the few stories she’s heard about Emily that she and Schneider’s mother had been incredibly close.

And while she doesn’t have a sister, she thinks there must be something particularly staggering about burying your younger sister -- like God messed up and got the order wrong.

Emily smiles gently at her and squeezes her arm before letting go.

“Thank you.” She steps back then motions towards Schneider. “And thank you for coming with him. I hated to think of him having to come back here on his own.”

Penelope falls back to stand next to Schneider and smiles up at him when he immediately twines their fingers back together.

“There was no way I’d let him go through all of this on his own,” she says before turning back to face Emily.

She sees his aunt’s gaze flick down to their interlaced fingers. She wonders if Emily is going to ask about it -- God knows that if situations were reversed, if she’d brought Schneider to some family gathering with her and held his hand, any one of her tías would be intent on figuring out his entire family history, the breadth of their relationship, and a detailed plan of his intentions.

But Emily does none of that, just nods slightly -- a gesture small enough that it seems like it’s mostly to answer some silent question posed only to herself --  then smiles at them both.

“I’m glad you have one another.” She looks as though she’s about to say more when a dark-haired man in his 50’s comes up from behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing apologetically at Schneider and Penelope. “But we need your help with something real quick.”

Emily nods at him, watches him dart away before she takes a deep breath and turns back to face them.

She looks up at Schneider and for a brief second, Penelope swears she sees a look of deep guilt on the older woman's face. But maybe it's just a trick of the noonday sun because in the next moment, Emily's expression is once again a mix of warmth and sadness.

“I’ll see after the service,” she says, then reaches over to rest her hand on Schneider's bicep. “Promise me you won't leave before I can talk to you?”

Schneider furrows his brows.

“Sure, but we can also just talk at the wake if you want.”

Emily presses her lips together tightly, then gives him a close-lipped smile.

“I think...” She sighs and then shakes her head. “I’ll just find you after the service.”

[lovelyirony]

I Did This Because I Need to Pay for Netflix  (How Jen Walters Came to be Barnes’ Lawyer.)

Jennifer Walters was about to be evicted if she didn’t get a paying client. Or if she didn’t, per Trish’s suggestion, “throw that ass in a circle and finally live, Jen.” A.) Jennifer Walters couldn’t throw that ass in a circle because she had no rhythm. B.) She was living. Just on a budget. And off ramen noodle packets. Also, she cried because she realized that she needs to pay people actual money and can’t. 

So her life is going just great. The best ever life. In her second-hand “I got at the thrift store for a total of fifteen bucks” lawyer skirt-suits and her scuffed shoes that she filled in with Sharpie so they didn’t look so bad and her messy hair that was fucking boring and her stupid Instagram account that didn’t have any vacation photos or engagement photos or any photos of her having fun. Jen didn’t know why she wanted her Instagram to be better, it was kind of self-centered. But she...goddamn it. 

Trish was right. Jennifer Walters, lawyer, was not living. She was dying on the inside. 

God, she needed a job. 

She gets a job the next day as she’s checking her email. 

Jen nearly deletes it. Because the lawyers that Tony Stark contracts, also known as: the best fucking lawyers on retainer, cannot possibly be emailing her and asking to meet with her at noon for lunch to discuss a possible case. 

Jen cries as she writes an email back expressing her desire for this and pretends like she doesn’t refresh the page approximately thirty times in half an hour. 

They meet on their bill. Jen is happy because an appetizer costs more than what’s in her bank account. 

“We want you to represent someone for us,” Mrs. Guinevere says, chewing some fancy noodle or other. Jen is surprised at how laid-back they are. Jen turns towards her, directing her entire attention span to this one conversation. 

“Who is it?” Maybe it’s Black Widow or Hawkeye or even that weird guy, Ant-Man. He was a weird hero that had appeared out of...nowhere. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, ex-veteran, and formerly Winter Soldier.” 

Jen spills her wine. 

Aw shit.

She’s so stupid for taking the job. That’s the reason they’re asking her. Because no one else in their right minds would touch this case with a ten foot pole.

Well, good thing she’s desperate for money to cover rent and maybe have enough left over to buy herself some cheap wine and actually pay for Netflix for a year instead of mooching off her neighbor’s who accidentally thinks that Jen is into him, and he’s nice, but Jen...she cares more about Netflix and the ending to Orange is the New Black. (You can’t blame her, the show is good!) 

She takes the case. And everything that comes with it.

Jennifer Walters wears her glasses that are a bit crooked after Trish sat on them and her best twenty-dollar pants-suit and her kitten heels that her mom gave her last Christmas, and her hair is in a ponytail. 

As it turns out, Jen isn’t really afraid of Bucky Barnes. Mainly because she’s preoccupied with trying not to be embarrassed because she tripped and spilled water all over him and yelled “FUCK” like some kind of undistinguished woman. 

She feels awful. 

James laughs for a minute straight and she kind of hates him. But he’s also literally the worst at positive affirmation and has mentioned the fact that “I should be dead” about five times now and is always horrified when Jen snorts and says “same.” 

She gets him takeout with the new black credit card that the lawyers gave her for “business-related issues that arise or needs.” Jen deems it a need because James has never had shit takeout before, and that--that’s pretty sad. 

He’s pretty funny, when he’s not trying to convince her that he’s a terrible person. James keeps finding new ways to joke and thinks that the terrible kitten poster that says “paws up! You’re too cute!” is probably the funniest thing ever. Jen finds him to be a disaster. 

They go to court. Jen has been researching for, like, twenty hours, and has been running off coffee for the last seven of those hours. She’s wearing a brand-new business suit that is tailored and looks good and she looks kind of put together. She accidentally forgot to brush her hair and so it’s still in the messy bun she threw it up in to brush her teeth. And she stumbled in the court room and said the word “goddammit” audibly, but that’s all that has gone wrong now. 

James is a person who has genuine emotions and tears up in court. Jen thinks he’s disgustingly sad, and she hates Ross’ lawyer who keeps trying to snidely bring up the fact that Jen is barely qualified to try a case, she’s new around the joint. 

“And yet, I’ve managed to bring up evidence to counter every single one of your points, and I’m trying to help a man who was subjected to torture and human experimentation. Tell me, Ross, what was it you did to Bruce Banner again?” (So what if Jen brings up her cousin that hasn’t called her in six years because he’s in danger and kind of an Avenger? Not like she cares. Not like she hates Ross, who called Bruce “freak” and tried to murder him.) 

That shuts Ross and the lawyer up. “Now, as I was saying...” 

They win. 

They fucking win. 

Jen thinks she deserves just so many Rum and Cokes after this. Like, all of them. She’s stunned as the jury reads the verdict. 

“We find Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, formerly known as Winter Soldier, pardoned.” 

Jen spits out her water. 

It’s a picture that makes the rounds. Jen becomes a meme. 

She thought that she would get enough money to cover rent and maybe buy some cool stuff. 

Jen gets enough money to buy a house and a car and hell, Louboutin shoes. 

She’s suddenly getting clients and she loves it and she’s working and it’s all coming together and she can finally buy Trish a Christmas present even though it’s October. 

Jennifer Walters has a late night at the office. She’s tired and locks the office door and still can’t believe that the Tony Stark was emailing her about the case and sending her a congrats about the new news article.

It’s dark. 

Someone approaches her. He’s taller than her, and Jen already has her keys tucked between her fingers like Wolverine. She tries to smile, but he just looks at her with a furious expression. 

“Winter Soldier was a goddamned terrorist and you took his case? Worked to let him walk free?” Oh god, not one of these people. Jen stiffens. 

“I believed in an innocent man,” she says carefully. “He’s not Winter Soldier. That is a separate entity that Hydra brought out when it suited. James Barnes is a man who is just trying to live.” 

“No,” the man says, growing angrier. “That’s--that’s not it!” 

“Look, this doesn’t have to be complicated,” Jen says, slowly backing away. “I just want to go home.” 

She feels a shot through her stomach. 

And oh shit. This isn’t gonna be pretty. She might die. It’s late at night. 

Bruce Banner flies in for a conference. Ends up not going to it and staying in a hospital. 

He...he can’t let Jen die. Even if she gets...turned. Into someone like Hulk. She’s the Jen who teased him about playing Dungeons and Dragons and then proceeded to learn literally everything about the game just in case she ever got to play with him. Jen, who called him after everything in Harlem was said and done just to say that Hulk shouldn’t wear purple pants, they make everything look bigger. Jen, who cried because she loved the show Too Cute! and recorded it for Bruce so he could watch it. Bruce, who hadn’t called her in six years. 

She...Jen certainly isn’t boring. She’s big and green and wow I guess this is what mom meant by “blooming.” Jennifer Walters is She-Hulk. 

Hot damn. 

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

Hi! Could you do another fic with Harry and Hagrid? I love their relationship and how you write it, so I'd love to see something - especially if it has the rest of the trio in it, too. Thanks :)

Happy birthday Hagrid!

“Quick, quick! He’s on the way! Behind this tree!”

“Behind which tree? Where are you?”

“Over here! Ron! Quick! Harry, your feet are sticking out!Put them away!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll just levitate shall I?”

“There’s no need to be—ow! Whose elbow was that?”

“Not me, I don’t have any elbows.”

“I think I’ve got pine needles up my nose.”

“Could be worse, you could have pine needles up your—”

“SSH!”

The three of them stay as still as possible, peering throughthe branches of a particularly large and bushy tree as the door to the GreatHall swings open with a creak and Hagrid shuffles in backwards, puffingslightly as he carries another large Christmas tree into the room. “There shegoes,” he mutters to himself, propping it up along the far wall. “Righ’ then.Tha’s another one done. Let’s get—’ang on a moment.” They watch, collectivelyholding their breath as Hagrid strides over to the teachers’ table, mutteringabout how it wasn’t like that a moment ago.

It certainly wasn’t.

Professor McGonagall had met them at the gates after lunch,smuggling them into the school in a manner that suggested they were about aswelcome as the contraband Wheezes products that turn up everywhere. She’d led them at a rapid pace to the Entrance Hall,demanding that they duck down so as not to be seen “And cause a riot,” as theypassed the Charms classrooms, and, as Ron had muttered (very quietly) inHermione’s ear, it was hard to shake the feeling that she was about to taketwenty points from Gryffindor just for coming up with their plan.

“He’ll be back with another tree in about five minutes,”she’d informed them crisply. “And I need not remind you that you will have tobe out of here by four thirty so as to be out of the way of the house elves,who will need to set up for the evening meal.”

“Of course we will be, Professor,” Harry had assured her.

“For goodness’ sake, Potter,” she’d snapped. “I haven’t beenyour teacher for four years now. You can call me Minerva.”

He’d all but jumped to attention. “Of course, Professor. Er.I mean.”

Her lips had twitched. “Don’t worry. Your father was justthe same. Now, hurry! You don’t have long!”

“Yes, of course,” Harry had said, as Hermione doubled therate at which she was conjuring fully inflated balloons from the end of herwand and Ron gave up making sure the Happy Birthday banner was perfectly leveland just hurled sticking charms at it instead. “Is there anything else?”

“I think that was it,” she’d said, taking her leave.“Except,” she added, pausing in the doorway, “the staff and I all think thatthis is just lovely. And if we didn’t all have teaching responsibilities, we’dbe joining you.”

“We’ll send the leftover cake down to the staff room,” Ronhad promised.

“I look forward to it. I’ve heard much about your bakingability, Mr Weasley.”

Ron, flustered, had nearly dropped the cake he was easingout of the box he’d carefully carried it in. Harry places a couple of nearly wrappedgifts on next to it, whilst Hermione kept watch, and now…here they all are.

Harry glances at the other two and nods. “Surprise!” theyall shout, jumping out from behind a tree.

Hagrid laughs, happy but surprised. They sing Happy Birthdayand gesture to him to blow out the candle on the cake, which was indeed made byRon, but was also iced by Harry, and so says HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAGRID in greenicing. “Make a wish,” Hermione says cheerfully, handing him a knife to cut themall slices.

“What are yeh all doing here?” he asks, taking the knife offher.

“Top secret Auror business,” Ron says promptly. “We heardthere was a very urgent matter at Hogwarts that couldn’t possibly be left toanyone else to deal with. When in doubt, call the best Aurors in the businessout.”

“Wha’s Hermione, then?” Hagrid asks, beard twitching.

“Window dressing,” says Ron, and Harry laughs.

“I never thought so,” Hagrid says gallantly, and Hermionebeams. He cuts them slices, passes them around, and there’s a brief silencewhilst they eat Ron’s divine cake.

“Yeh know,” Hagrid says, finishing first, “yeh really shouldn’thave. Yeh shouldn’t’ve done all this for me. I know how busy yeh all are, like,and I’m not—”

“Never to busy to come back to school,” Ron says quickly. “Youknow I love school.”

“We wanted to see you,” Hermione adds at the same time. “Oh—andGinny wants you to know that, if she wasn’t playing a match in Malaysia right now, she would be here too. Withbells on, she said.”

Hagrid protests—not about Ginny, it’s clear he believes thatof her, but there is still a lingering surprise that they’ve turned up for asnatched hour, on a random Monday, a couple of weeks before Christmas, for him.

“Well, birthdays get a bit forgotten at this time of year,”Harry says, gesturing around him at the trees. Hagrid’s brought them all in, sothere are, as usual, 12 standing around the perimeter of the Great Hall. Thesmell of pine is overpowering—in a good way—but it doesn’t feel like Christmaswithout them being festooned with decorations.

Hagrid tries to protest this too, but now Harry shouts himdown properly. “Trust me,” he says. “I know what it’s like to have a forgottenbirthday.”

“S’not the same,” Hagrid says at once. “My birthday was neverignored. Me old man used to take medown the Hog’s Head every year…I could always get served, somehow. Pint a’butterbeer each, tha’s all. Nothin’ bad. And then, when he was gone, Dumbledoredid the same. Great man, Dumbledore…”

“Well, next year we’ll do the same,” Harry promises.

“You’re buying,” Ron adds, and everyone laughs. Somehow,this breaks the tension enough for them to insist he opens the presents they’vebought him. They’re just a gesture, really: Harry and Ginny have sourced a newwhittling knife—he’d complained, over the summer, Ginny had recalled, that hisown was getting a little blunt—and Ron and Hermione (via Charlie) have got hima new ethically sourced pair of dragon hide gloves that actually fit.

He thanks them all profusely, exclaiming over them, andinvites them down to his house for tea. “I’ve got some rock buns left over,” hesays, “or mebbe we could just have more of that cake…” He eyes Ron’screation, then seems to remember himself. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve all gotstuff to do. Places to go. Yeh don’t have to come to mine. It’s nice enoughthat you’ve done all this.”

“Actually,” Harry says, glancing at Ron and Hermione. Theygive almost imperceptible nods, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out amagically shrunken sack. As it appears, it grows back to its full height—at leastthree feet, and fully stuffed. He hands it to Hagrid, who looks for all theworld like a Father Christmas who’s forgotten his costume.

“Am I auditionin’?” he asks at once, beard twitching again.

“We said earlier it’s an awkward time to have a birthday,”Harry begins. “People are busy at work, trying to get things finished beforethe break.”

“Or they’re saving all their holiday for Christmas,” Ron adds.

“Not us, of course,” continues Hermione. “We’re happy to seeyou here today. But not everyone could make it.”

“You know what it’s like,” Ron says. “I mean, you’re a Professornow, and all!” Hagrid’s face—what’s visible, at least—turns pink. “You knowwhat it’s like to be busy at this time of year.”

“But a couple of people we asked to come, who couldn’t,asked if they could send you a card,” Hermione says. “And we said we’d be more thanhappy to pass them on.”

“But then, a few more people heard. And then a few more. Imean, we only let them know late last week, it wasn’t like we had this plannedfor months,” adds Ron.

“But word spreads,” Hermione nods. “The old Order crowdwanted to send you a card, the DA. Ex-students, people from Hogsmeade… We’restill trying to work out how word got around, really.”

“So we ended up,” Harry says, piping up again, “planning totake up a cake, maybe a present or two, and instead we got…well…this.” Henods towards the sack, and Hagrid gently pulls it open, taking out the top twoor three cards. There’s all sizes, big and small, thick and thin—but they’veall got his name on the front. He turns the few he’s picked up over a fewtimes, as if this will somehow change if they’re rotated enough times.

“I don’t know this many people,” he says.

“Clearly, you do,” Ron says. “Or maybe this many people knowyou, is that the same thing?”

“Either way, we should probably open them at your place,because Professor McGonagall wants us out of here in ten minutes, and I thinkthis might take longer,” Hermione puts in. “Shall I grab the cake?”

“I’ve got it,” Ron says, so instead she steps forward totake down the balloons, and Ron organises the plates.

“Are you sure…” Hagrid begins, looking at Harry, as theother two subtly busy themselves, but he trails off.

“Do you remember,” Harry says quietly, “in my first year? Myfirst week, you wrote to me and asked me to tea. That was my first piece ofpost. Aside from my school letter, it was my first piece of mail ever.” Hagrid shrugs, but it’s clear hedoes remember. “I was clearing out some of my stuff the other day—Ginny and Iare moving in together next year, once she’s back, so I thought I’d get a headstart—anyway, it’s not important. I just came across it—I’d saved it, yearsago. And I remembered I’d never got you a birthday present—”

“Yeh didn’t have to,” Hagrid says at once, and Harry waveshim off.

“But I wanted to,” Harry insists. “So I mentioned it to Ronand Hermione, and they were on board. And I asked Nev and Ginny and Luna, andall of them wanted to, but they’re all away. So they said they’d send a card,and then the Order heard about it, and most of them said they would—I’d becareful with the one from Mundungus, that’s a bit of a hazard, maybe—and then,well, I guess it’s like Hermione says. Things snowballed a bit.” He nodstowards the enormous sack.

“An’ all these people…they wanted to write to me?” Hagrid asks, and Harry pauses forall of half a second.

“Obviously.”

[yourfriendlyneighborhoodblog]

Keep In Touch

This is my gift to @thepalmtoptiger for the @aftgexchange. I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for, but I tried to include some bonding between the twins and between Wymack and Kevin. I hope you like it!

Neil was just glad he had remembered to bring a coat. When Kevin texted him his flight left thirty minutes late, Neil was already on his way to the airport. He knew he had to park his car in the parking lot because he couldn't stay in the pick up lane for that long, he knew the closest available parking spot would be too far away to not take the shuttle, and he knew people would stare at him if he waited around at baggage claim. So after making his way to the airport entrance, he stood to the side, leaned against the cold wall, and lit a cigarette. He put on his coat, but didn't bother zipping it. The sharp wind helped him stay awake as his watch displayed the time 3:28am. It wasn't until seventeen shuttles had come and gone that Kevin stepped through the automatic doors with a bag slung over each shoulder. Neil recognized the larger one as his bag of exy gear. He walked over, took the other bag, and headed for the nearest shuttle, knowing Kevin would follow him. "Where's the car?" "In the parking lot." "Why didn't you pull it around here to the front?" "Kevin I'm not going to listen to you bitch about my decisions the entire way back," Neil said in lieu of an answer. As he stepped onto the shuttle the driver said he couldn't smoke onboard. He snubbed it out with his shoe before stuffing it in his pocket. Kevin took a seat next to Neil on the already crowded vehicle, carefully positioning his legs so they weren't touching Neil’s. They rode in silence as the driver called out stop after stop until they reached the section the Maserati was parked in. After loading Kevin’s bags in the trunk, Neil cranked up the heat and got them on the road. The first few minutes stretched out in endless silence as neither of them knew what to say. For the past two years, the only times Kevin and Neil had talked was brief conversations over the phone.  Neither one was particularly keen on socializing, so the topics of discussion were not very broad. Kevin would call to chastise Neil about a risky move he had done during a game. Neil would call Kevin to debate certain plays and strategies. And recently, Kevin would call Neil and make plans to stay at his apartment for the weekend while he was in town for a game. But this was different. The atmosphere in the Maserati was anxious, almost as if every particle of artificial heat was charged with nerves. Kevin fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket, seemingly debating how to articulate something in the correct way. At last he seemed to settle on asking directly. “Will I be staying on the couch?” “It’s a one bedroom apartment,” Neil answered. “With only one bed. Unless you’re suggesting Andrew and I both share the couch, yes that’s where you’ll be sleeping.” This didn’t seem to satisfy Kevin, but not because it was a bad answer. It was unsatisfactory because it wasn’t the real question he had been trying to ask. “What about the cats?” “What?” “You have two cats don’t you?” “Yeah. What about them?” Kevin shifted in his seat. “Will they be...” he considered his word choice carefully, “problematic while I sleep?” Neil thought about this. “If you’re worried about the cats climbing all over you, I’ll keep them in our room at night. But I can’t guarantee Andrew won’t kick them out.” “Isn’t there a crate or something you can put them in?” Neil scoffed. “They’re cats, Kevin. Not vicious dogs that will bite you.” This still didn’t seem to please Kevin, but he realized Neil had a point. “Should we stop at the store on our way?” Neil eyed Kevin without turning his head. “Why would we do that?” Kevin crossed his arms with a huff. “I know your fridge is probably filled with ice cream, and I need actual food to eat while I’m here.” “We have actual food. What do you we eat every day?” “I shared a dorm with you two. I remember Andrew’s diet.” Neil smirked, remembering Kevin’s incessant complaints about the cabinets full of Andrew’s sweets. “Relax. You can just make eggs tomorrow for breakfast, and I’m pretty sure we have some leftover casserole for dinner.” Kevin was so caught off guard that he forgot to look disdainful. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat, completely turning his torso to face Neil. “I didn’t know you two cook.” “We don’t,” Neil explained while taking an exit off of the highway. “Kaitlyn made it.” “Kaitlyn as in Aaron’s wife?” “How many other Kaitlyns do you know? Yes Aaron’s wife. She made it for dinner last night. Turns out Andrew likes sweet potatoes.” Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Wait. Go back. You had dinner with Kaitlyn?” “And Aaron.” “With Andrew?” “Obviously.” Kevin chuckled under his breath. “How’d you convince him into doing that?” “I didn’t have to. It was their turn to host.” Kevin’s eyes shot open. “What do you mean?” Neil smiled. “Once a month we get together and have dinner. We take turns hosting. Although, since neither of can cook, when it’s our turn we just go to a restaurant.” “Wow.” Kevin briefly shook his head in the same manner a wet dog would. “I can’t believe the twins voluntarily have dinner together.” “It’s nice to keep in touch. Speaking of which, have you talked to Jeremy recen-“ Kevin put up a hand to cut Neil off. “Before you ask, I’ve already had a conversation with him about the Christmas card.” “And?” “Turns our it was Jean’s idea.” Neil almost swerved off the road. “What? There’s no way!” “Apparently the photographer accidentally snapped a shot of them kissing and Jean said that’s the picture they should send out. Jeremy had no objection.” Neil grinned as he readjusted his hands on the wheel. He was glad Jean was happy about his new life with the Trojans and his new boyfriend. Conversation died out for a few minutes, but the atmosphere already felt much lighter. As they drove along, Neil used the silence to think. He thought about how this was the first year Jeremy and Jean sent out a Christmas card together. He thought about how Kaitlyn always remembered to make dessert for Andrew when they came over for dinner. And he thought about how Kevin seemed to smile more in this car ride than he had his last year at PSU. “How’s Thea doing?” “Good. She’s doing good.” Looking down, Kevin fidgeted with his hands in his lap before adding, “She’s due in about three four months.” Again, Neil had to use all of his willpower not to veer into a ditch. “You got her pregnant?” “What? You act like it’s unbelievable.” “It is.” “Matt and Dan have two children.” “Matt and Dan have been married for three years.” “So?” “So, that’s about three more years than you.” “We’re not sure if we want to get married.” He stopped moving his hands and began bouncing his leg instead. “Why do we need rings to show commitment?” “Do you know the gender?” Kevin’s leg stopped moving. “We decided to be surprised.” “Name ideas?” “We haven’t decided on one for a boy,” Kevin said as he turned his head to hide a smile. “But if it’s a girl: Kayleigh.” “What about the name David?” Neil asked. Kevin snorted. “Fuck no. I think Wymack would have an aneurysm.” “How’s he doing?” “We talk everyday when we get the chance. We meet up for holidays. He’s living with Abby now.” “Really?” “Yeah. I keep telling him to tie the knot before she gets tired of managing his stress.” “That seems hypocritical,” Neil pointed out. “He said he’ll propose when I do.” And that was that. Neil took a deep breath in through his nose and released it out through his mouth. They had finally reached the housing complex. After parking along the curb, they both exited the car and walked up five flights of stairs to the apartment. Andrew was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, light spilling out from the hallway behind him. “You’re late.” “Blame Kevin,” Neil said as he walked inside. “You’re late,” Andrew said again as Kevin passed. “Blame storm warnings.” As Neil dropped his keys in a bowl on the kitchen counter, he heard Andrew shut the door as Kevin dropped his bags by the closet. It already felt more like home.