#crossed but oh boy is it a thin thread... i still choose to believe they are platonic soulmates lol but i want to see an official

[kashilascorner]

Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.

All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much

[bratdesire]

All Bark and No Bite

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Noncon, lowkey incel Tsukki, yandere ( i think?), degrading language, knifeplay, misogyny, slut shaming, brat taming, slapping, belting, mentions of blood, choking, emotional manipulation, belly bulge, overstimulation, painful orgasm, unprotected sex, general meanness, time skip spoilers?

Genre: Smut (gross)

Author’s Note: This is mean, nasty Tsukki brain rot and I had no reason at all to write this. He’s a fucking beast in this and I apologize for nothing. Hopefully someone likes it tho. As always, thank you to my betas @sempiternal-amour​, @kidwine​, @india-katsuki​!!

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Tsukishima teaches his roommate’s bratty girlfriend a lesson or two.

Please heed the warnings, it’s dark in here ;;;;

Tsukishima has hated you since he laid eyes on you. 

You personify everything that he despises, from your big bratty mouth, to your typical bitchy attitude, to your ridiculous wardrobe which must only consist of tiny crop tops and slutty skirts that barely cover your ass. 

Most of all, he hates that you never fail to give him a raging hard on anytime you’re around. But it’s really not his fault, not with the way you prance around his and Kuroo’s apartment in your tiny, indecent outfits and surely not with the sinful moans he hears you make through the thin wall between their bedrooms. He knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

You can’t not know.

He knows you’re trying to tempt him, test his resolve. He doesn’t miss the way you make sure he’s looking when you bend over in your too-short skirt, panties conveniently missing. You’re always mouthing off to him, trying to goad him into an argument, knowing Kuroo will always come to your defense.

You’re trying to push him until the thin, fraying thread that is his self-control snaps.

One day, it does.

You’re standing in the kitchen, boiling some pasta for dinner when Tsukishima unlocks the front door. Great, he thinks, he’s had a long day full of stressful negotiations for the museum and now you’re here to sour his mood even more. Usually Kuroo is there to smooth out any tension that develops between you, quickly defusing any arguments before you start full-on screaming at each other, so your conflicts have never risen above that threshold. 

But Kuroo’s not here, as Tsukishima learns from you in your annoyingly snarky tone, “Tetsu won’t be home until late tonight. He told me to tell you he said to fuck off if you bothered me.” You’re smirking, feeling superior in the belief that you’re safe from his wrath because you’re his roommate’s girlfriend and he wants so badly to wipe that smirk off your face, preferably by belting you until you bleed.

“I didn’t ask, brat,” Tsukishima sneers, narrowing his eyes at you as he passes on the way to his room. He’s trying to keep a calm, collected persona, but you just get under his skin in a way that no one else does. Usually he lets those types of comments go but he’s just so tired, so tense, and so fed up with your attitude that his bubbling anger threatens to break the surface and boil over. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out. He can tolerate your unruly behavior for at least a few hours until Kuroo gets home, he tells himself. He truthfully doesn’t care about his relationship with his roommate, Kuroo just offered him a cheap place to stay after high school graduation, but he knows that if he did hurt you he’d have to find a new place to live and that would just be a headache that he doesn’t want to deal with.

After changing out of his work clothes and putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he makes his way down the hall and back into the kitchen to make himself dinner because he sure as hell isn’t going to eat anything you make. Girls his age never know how to cook, only knowledgeable in spreading their legs for any alpha male that looks their way.

Much to Tsukishima’s irritation, you’re still in the kitchen piddling around like the clueless bitch you are, incapable of boiling a simple box of pasta without the water boiling over and making a mess of the stove. He lets out a groan of exasperation, walking over to where you’re standing in front of the stove to remove the pot from the burner.

“Can’t do anything without fucking it up can you, brat?” He growls at you, purposefully clipping your shoulder as he moves behind you to throw the ruined pasta away. He knows he’s baiting you into an argument and that you’ll take the bait, but the knowledge that Kuroo won’t be home for a while makes him want to see how far you’re willing to go without your boyfriend present.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? No wonder no one likes you,” you huff, leaning against the stove and crossing your arms. The action squishes your breasts together and he can see the faint outline of your areolas through the thin material of your shirt.

“As if I care about what a useless brat like you has to say about me.” Tsukishima scoffs and he can see your anger in the way your shoulders shake.

“You barely fucking know me, who are you to call me useless?” You push yourself off the stove and take a step closer to him.

“I know enough about you to know that you’re useless.” He can feel his resolve fraying more and more as each word leaves your bitchy mouth.

“Oh, I’m useless? Didn’t that little ginger boy you played volleyball with in high school get on the Japan National team while you work at a museum?” You’re smiling triumphantly as if you’ve won this battle of wits, but Tsukishima can rattle off insults in his sleep and this isn’t his first time putting someone in their place.

“You know Kuroo only keeps you around because you’re pretty and you’re a warm, wet hole waiting for him to fuck when he gets home.” He crosses his own arms this time, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“So you think I’m pretty?” You’re snickering at the reddening of his face and the twisting of his delicate features and it fills him with so much rage that the thread... 

Just.

Snaps.

He’s on you so fast that you can’t even blink before he has you pinned to the countertop, one hand squeezing the back of your neck and the other twisting your arm painfully behind you. Tsukishima relishes in the little yelp of pain you make when he twists your arm back farther.

“Absolutely not. Your slutty cunt is the only good thing about you and even that has probably been stretched out by all the cocks you’ve taken.” His voice is calm, collected, as if he were discussing the weather and not verbally abusing you while he has you pressed into the countertop. Your fight-or-flight response triggers and you start kicking and screaming, thrashing against him in a blind attempt to wrench yourself from his grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Fucking asshole get off of me and let me go!” The hand that’s holding your arm quickly grabs your other wrist while his other hand wrenches you upward by a painful grip in your hair. Your back is now pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, wrists restrained by his long fingers and head bent back so your eyes meet his. They’re cold, unfeeling and send a sickly chill down your spine that makes you still immediately.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet and calm down. It’ll be easier that way for the both of us.” The monotony of his voice is even more sinister in this moment where you’re completely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in horror as you feel his cock pressing against your ass and it causes you to start fighting him again, no coordination in the way your muscles move in your frantic movements. You’re screaming, just hoping somebody will hear you, somebody will come save you.

Your hopes are meaningless when you’re so small, so vulnerable. Tsukishima knows no one will come for you and he knows you’ll never be able to overpower him. You’re completely at his mercy, whether you choose to comply or not.

 “You know, even if nobody comes for me now, Tetsu will be home later and I’ll tell him everything you did to me.” You’re confident that the threat of your boyfriend will deter him from taking his abuse any further. You struggle in his grip to hold yourself a little higher so you’re more eye level with him. “He’ll kill you if he sees one hair out of place and I tell him it was you.” 

How cute, you still think you have control of this situation.

“I’ll just deny whatever you claim that I did or didn’t do. Who do you think Kuroo will believe? Me, his longtime friend from high school, or you, his whore girlfriend he met a year ago?” A smug smile tugs at his lips, knowing he’s planted a seed of doubt in your mind that Kuroo will believe you.

“Tetsu loves me! He’ll believe whatever I tell him.” He can’t tell if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“You really think Kuroo loves anything more than your tits,” he uses one hand to grope at your breasts, “or your ass,” the other hand sliding down to fondle at the supple flesh. The feeling of his long, thin fingers on your body causes you to start fighting again, but this time your arms are free so you start flailing them blindly, hoping to stun him long enough that’ll give you enough time to get away. You manage to twist around and smack him in the face and almost wriggle out of his grip but as luck would have it, you don’t get away. You won’t get away. 

Rage takes over his features, his muscles tensing and flexing. Tsukishima quickly raises his hand and brings it down across the left side of your face. It takes a moment for you to realize that he slapped you, confusion slowly morphing into an expression of sheer, unadulterated fear. The horror that dawns on you, overtaking your features, warms his heart.

“If you’re not going to behave and continue to be a brat, I’m going to treat you how a brat should be treated.” He drags you, kicking and screaming, down the hall to his bedroom. He wishes you’d shut the fuck up, but that’ll be taken care of soon enough.

Kuroo thinks you’re his sweet, innocent girlfriend but Tsukishima knows better, knows what you really are. You’re a mouthy, bratty whore who needs to learn her place and he’ll be the one to remind you what you are.

Once you’re in his bedroom he turns and uses one hand to lock the door. How pathetically weak you are that he only needs one hand to restrain you. He digs around with one arm underneath his bed, slowly getting frustrated before he finally grabs what he’s looking for.

Handcuffs.

He grabs your arm and fastens a cuff to your wrist, tightening them just enough so the cold, hard metal digs into your flesh. It only takes a few moments of your incessant struggling for redness to bloom across the skin of your wrists and Tsukishima can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“What kind of sick fuck just has a pair of handcuffs lying around?” You’re scared, he can hear it in the way your voice shakes, but you’re trying to act tough and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Tsukishima hauls your body over to his bed, forcing you to follow him if you want to prevent fracturing your wrist. He forces you onto the mattress, body bouncing with the impact. With the other cuff in hand, he fastens it to his headboard.

“The kind that’s going to beat your bratty ass into submission before I fuck your stupid cunt.” He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your flimsy, tiny shorts and pulls them down your legs. You start thrashing harder, trying to slow the movements of his hands but your efforts are futile. 

“Stop! What the fuck do you think you’re doing a-asshole!?” You’re on the verge of tears, eyes welling up, bottom lip trembling. You shut your legs as tight as you can in an attempt to impede his quest to remove what’s left of your clothing, but you both know that won’t stop him.

Your entire body stills then seizes up when you see the glint of a box cutter blade in Tsukishima’s hand.

“W-What’re you planning on doing with that?” Your wide, terrified eyes are trained on the blade as he waves it around in the air.

“Stop your whining, I’m not going to cut you with it. It’s just to make removing your clothes easier.” He’s looking at you like a parent would look at a child that was throwing a fit, exasperated and tired of your nonsense. “Hold still and I’ll make this quick. I don’t want to get blood on my sheets just as much as you don’t want to get cut.”

You’re cowering from him, trying to scramble away from him despite the handcuffs anchoring you in place. You gasp when you feel the sharp edge of the blade against your hip, not daring to take another breath. Tsukishima slices through both sides of the little bits of string you call panties, revelling in the way your body trembles underneath him. Another long cut is made down the front of your shirt, the box cutter making quick work of the fabric, and his suspicions are confirmed that you’re not wearing a bra. Of course a whore like you wouldn’t be wearing one.

He admires the enticing curve of your breasts, the way your nipples are hardening in the cool air of his room. Your cheeks are wet with fresh, salty tears and you’re sniveling pathetically. He’s almost tempted to tell you that you’re beautiful like this, tied up and naked, crying, but you don’t deserve his praise. 

“Turn over, face down ass up. If I have to tell you a second time, I have no problems carving you up with this blade.” The threat has you scrambling onto your hands and knees, the action hindered by your restraints but you manage to turn over and present your ass to him.

Tsukishima unbuckles his belt, sliding it through the loops of his jeans. He takes it in his hand and folds it in half, inspecting its structural integrity to ensure he won’t destroy it as he whips you with it. The belt is real black leather, heavy in his palm and he knows it’ll make pretty welts on your skin.

“Now, it’s time to beat all of that sass and attitude out of you.” 

There’s no warning, no pretense before he starts viciously whipping you with his belt and you’re already screaming. If you hadn’t been so difficult, he might have warmed you up beforehand but he doesn’t mind. Your struggle was like foreplay, a little taste before the main course and it has his cock is straining against his pants. 

Every broken cry that leaves your throat sends arousal down his spine and he thinks he 

should’ve done this sooner. 

He would have if he had known how delicious your screams were.

The blonde is relentless, the impact of the belt never lessening, if anything, the smacks become even more ruthless. Your ass is an angry red and he can see some of the skin beginning to split, fresh, warm blood bubbling to the surface around your deeper wounds.

“P-Please stop, it hurts so much. I can’t take it anymore!” You’re fully sobbing now, tears and snot dripping down your face. “I’ll do a-anything,” you choke out between cries, your voice hoarse from overuse.

“Look at you, bawling hysterically from a few licks with my belt. You really are all bark and no bite. How pathetic,” he sneers.

“Tsukkiiiiii! Please, stop. I’ll do whatever you want as long as you stop hurting me.” The way you say his name is harsh and grating against his ears, but he overlooks it in favor of taking what you’ve been dangling in front of his face all this time.

The sound of Tsukishima’s pants hitting the ground makes you stiffen on the bed, slowly and apprehensively turning your head to look at him. Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see his cock: thick, hard, and leaking precum.

When you feel the dip of the bed underneath his weight, you start shaking and hyperventilating at the realization that this is really going to happen. “You… You’re really going to do this.” You sound so small, so defeated and his chest swells with pride because he did that—he smothered that blazing fire inside you with little more than a few flicks of his wrist.

“Yeah, and there’s nothing you can do about it so just lie there and take it,” he says as he lines himself up against your slit. When he notices the copious amounts of slick drooling out of your quivering pussy, the man can’t help but laugh at your expense. “Are you actually fucking wet from this? Does being fucked against your will turn you on this much?”

Your cheeks burn with shame and disgust because you are wet from Tsukishima’s abuse. It’s wrong, you know that, but your traitorous body doesn’t even feel like your own as it reacts to his touch. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the thrusting of your hips to try to catch the head of his cock each time it slots against the tight ring of muscle around your entrance.

“I always knew you were a cock hungry slut. You don't care whose cock is inside this filthy pussy as long as you’re getting fucked, do you?”

You don’t respond, tears welling up in your eyes and leaving watery trails down your cheeks. He’s right. You asked for this—if you hadn’t tempted him, you wouldn’t be handcuffed to Tsukishima’s bed, waiting for him to defile you. 

“I asked you a question,” Tsukishima snarls, fisting your hair in your hand and delivering a sharp spank to your ass. “Tell me how much of a disgusting whore you are.”

“I-I’m a—hiccup—dirty slut that loves t-to get fucked,” you stutter, the words like acid, foul and caustic on your tongue. “All I w-want is a cock inside me.”

“At least you know your place. Now let’s see if this slutty hole of yours is worth anything.” Tsukishima finally thrusts inside you, meeting some resistance from how unprepared you are, but he just pushes harder.

Your walls spasm and clench to try to adjust to his length, but you feel like you’re going to split in half. He’s much bigger than any other man you’ve slept with, stretching and filling you so full your stomach bulges where the tip of his cock is pressed against your cervix.

You scream and writhe on the bed in an attempt to get away from the hard, throbbing length painfully probing your delicate insides, but it’s futile with the handcuffs keeping you firmly shackled to the bed.

“Urgh, shit, for a used hole, you’re so fucking tight. I’m d-definitely going to cum from this.” The blonde takes a sharp breath through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t want to cum so soon. He can’t cum so soon when he’s waited for this for months.

“P-Please, not inside… I-I’m not on birth control,” you plead softly, hoping he’ll at least spare you the humiliation of having to clean his cum out from inside you.

“Tch, you think I give a shit about that? I’m gonna cum deep inside this pussy, ruin you for Kuroo and any man that’s sorry enough to want to fuck you.” He speaks low, muttering to himself but just loud enough for you to hear.

Despite the aching of your heart each time he speaks, you can feel your pussy begin to give as he fucks into you with abandon, his hips smacking loudly against yours. The sharp burning in your core slowly fades to pleasure as Tsukishima’s cock presses against that little spongy spot inside you that makes you cry out. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds to try to muffle the noise, but it’s no use. He heard you and it just gives him more reason to taunt you.

“Ah, I found it, did I?” the man asks as he hits the spot again and again, making you clench around him as the fluttering of your cunt tells him that you’re close to orgasm. “What a dumb slut you are, about to cream on my cock as I ravage your pussy.”

How utterly fucking humiliating. You’re going to cum on his cock and you didn’t even want this, not with him.

A particularly rough thrust into your g-spot sends electricity down your spine, down your body, and sends you careening over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream. Your sensitive cunt clamps down onto Tsukishima’s cock like a vice, but his ruthless pace doesn’t stop or slow as you shake and convulse underneath him. 

It isn’t like any typical orgasm you’ve had, which are usually blissful and warm, flooding your body with pleasure that makes your limbs heavy and your head fuzzy. No, this is almost painful, as if your orgasm was ripped out of you by force. 

All of your muscles contract as hard as they can and several seconds pass before they relax, your body shaking all the while. As it hits it feels as if a bucket of ice water was poured over your head, shocking and jarring, and you want to claw your way out of your own skin it's all so intense.

Once the last of the aftershocks leave you, you slump forward on the bed, boneless, chest heaving with every breath. You’re too exhausted to hold yourself up as Tsukishima keeps fucking into your overstimulated cunt, taking no regard for you or your body as he chases his own climax. 

You’re whining, gasping, hands fisted into the sheets to try to keep yourself grounded as electricity shoots through you with each thrust. 

“Too muuuch, ‘s too much,” you slur, but it only falls on deaf ears.  

The blonde pulls almost all the way out before shoving himself back inside the tight, wet heat of your cunt, and pushing against your cervix so hard you think he’s trying to fuck that hole too. You’re so fuck drunk that your eyes cross and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, strings of drool staining the mattress.

“Hey,” he calls out, yanking your hair backwards so you’re arched back towards him. “Don’t pass out; I’m gonna cum soon, so tighten up.”

You’re barely conscious by the time his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, his own peak just on the horizon. His grip on your flesh is bruising, no doubt leaving purple marks in the shape of his fingers. The pistoning of his hips gets even faster, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside this slutty little pussy and you’re going to take it all,” Tsukishima groans, digging his long fingers into your hips as he fucks into you.

All you can do is whine and mewl as he buries himself to the hilt, cursing and groaning as he shoots thick, warm spurts of cum into your sore, quivering womb. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your sweaty back as he catches his breath.

Some time passes before he withdraws and you twitch and gasp, the barest stimulation too much for your abused cunt. You try to curl in on yourself to go to sleep, but Tsukishima grabs your ankle and drags your limp body toward the edge of the bed.

“You really think we’re done here? Not even close. I’m not stopping until I’ve soiled every single one of your filthy holes.”

[imagine-loki]

The Bitch of Daggers

TITLE: The Bitch of Daggers  CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Four  AUTHOR:  i-would-kneel-for-loki ORIGINAL IMAGINE:  Imagine there being someone else like Loki in the Avengers and them meeting, that could never go wrong, could it? RATING: NOTES/WARNINGS: Feel free to give me your ideas on the story and if there’s anything I should improve or write, would love to hear your thoughts! :) 

“Loki for fuck’s sake what are you doing?” I was incredulous. It had been a week since I joined and had been spending most my time with Loki since he was the most fun and less busy than all. We pulled some pranks that weren’t well received and that got us an earful from Cap and the Director.

“So Tony goes to see Pepper for two hours every day at 7 in the night, and during that time Bruce takes a coffee break while watching a movie in the living room. Rhodey is always sleeping at this time, meaning we can act without getting caught.” Loki began explaining his plan, he was bored so decided to prank the science bros. “We will go in and set the magical thin thread that will alarm me once they cross it. Then I’ll have the dead looking illusions rise from the ground. Do you understand?”

“Uh huh.” I nodded, unsure about all this. Though his scheming was great and I certainly admired it, I was not looking forward to their reactions that I was more than certain were going to be rage-filled. He rose his eyebrow, catching onto my sceptical tone. “But what if they get really pissed? Like, really really mad? You know? What if we get like, grounded or something?”

He sighed irritated, rolling his eyes and turning to look at Tony who was on his way to the lab. “Trust me gæludýr, if that occurs, it will be worth it.” He chuckled with a smirk. God, does he look beautiful, he looks so young and carefree, eyes glowing with mischief. I had only agreed to this because I wanted to see him smile, causing chaos and mischief seemed to always brighten up his days.

“Wait what?” I asked bemused. “What did you just call me?” But he completely ignored me, smirking he went back to his couch and resumed reading his book. I let it slide, sat on the other end of the couch and continued reading my book.

Time had passed and sure enough, at 7 PM, we saw Tony walk to the elevator, and Bruce came out 5 minutes after him. We left the library quietly, looking around to make sure that we wouldn’t get caught. We made our way to the lab, scanning the place to make sure no one was here and placed the thread. “God they’re gonna go fucking ballistics over this.” I muttered amusingly. Loki only laughed, clearly happy with his plan, he seemed right at that moment, as if he was where he belonged. Perhaps he was.

After finishing we went back to the library. Two hours later, screams and curses rang through the floor, I looked at Loki to see him grinning like a madman, happy. Seconds passed when suddenly we heard, “LOKI AND OCÉANE, YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.” Tony was enraged. We got shit for it from mainly Cap and Fury, Bruce was scarred for life, he had also hulked out from the intense fear that coursed through him the moment he saw dead bloodied bodies floating around the lab.

“It’s simple fun elskan, no need to get worried.” He smirked. He has to stop calling me names I don’t understand, this was the second time in a row. “Do not tell me you don’t enjoy annoying them?”

“Oh I do, believe me. But what if Fury denies I see Flora because of this?” I whined stomping my foot. He looked up with furrowed eyebrows, his face studying me. “You know what? It’s almost midnight, I’m gonna go take a bath, see ya.”

I had just got out of the shower and was wearing panties and a bra when Loki charged in, completely oblivious and unaware of the term privacy. He looked at me and stopped in his place, looked me up and down then licked his lips, “Well what a sight for sore eyes.” His eyes darkened.

“What do you want horn boy?” I said with an eyeroll. As I was getting a shirt from my drawer, a hand snaked around my waist and pushed me against a wall. Loki was towering over me, his breathing heavy and body pressed against mine. “Loki,” I said shakily, “What are you doing? Get off.” But I didn’t make an effort to pull him off and he took that chance by taking my hands into one of his and pinning them above me, his right knee between my legs, rubbing me. He dipped his head in the crook of my neck and began leaving open-mouthed kisses.

All sense had disappeared when I felt his soft lips against me. “Do you truly want me to get off you?” He whispered in my ear, his voice like sin and silk. He rubbed harder against me and I gasped, rolling my head to the side when he began the assault on my neck again. I began breathing hard and whimpering when he suddenly pulled back, letting go of me and taking two steps away, a large grin on his face when he saw my hands still over my head. “Stark wanted me to get you down for dinner.” With a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and a lick of his lips, he walked out, leaving me wide eyed and panting. That little bitch.

I went down to the living room after wearing pyjamas then sat next to Loki and Peter on the couch, Scott came over right when I did, “What do you guys want?” He had an awkward father smile.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked with a smile. Scott was one of the sweetest in the team, he always took on the role of the father, especially with me. At first, I found it annoying and amusing, but now it’s become rather endearing. He handed me a leaflet and I skimmed through it, “Pizza please.” I then looked up at Loki and threw him the brochure, making him scowl at me, “Your turn to choose Loki,” then flashed him a toothy grin.

“Sushi for me.” He didn’t even look at the paper, then handed it to Scott. I was surprised he didn’t fling it at him, but then again Scott was always nice to him, I guess he didn’t find a reason to be rude.

“What about you Pete?” I turned to Peter who was busy building Legos with Ned, his best friend. He looked up confused, oblivious to our conversation. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh uh, I’ll have pizza.” Scott smiled with a nod, muttering ‘okay’ before leaving.

During dinner Loki sat opposite me, and as soon as we all sat down, he nudged my leg with his under the table, gesturing to Thor with his head, making me look at the latter wondering just what the trickster was up to.

The God of Thunder had ordered chicken wings, so when he went to pick up another piece, it flew from his hand and around the room. I burst out laughing at Thor’s shocked expression, a few others also laughed, but the bulky man soon turned angry. “LOKI!” He bellowed, “STOP WITH THE TRICKS.” But Loki was having none of it, he kept his little display of magic until he was satisfied with the amount of laughter that erupted from the table. When he put it back down in front of his brother, he turned and winked at me, causing me to chuckle even more. “Lady Océane!” Thor called out with his booming voice, making me look at him again, “How are you settling in?”

“I’m actually settling in pretty well,” I replied honestly with a grin, “I’ve enjoyed the last couple of days, it’s like a little family here.”

“Well that’s good to hear, we’re glad you’re enjoying it.” Cap said with a smile. “Nick Fury called this morning. Said he wanted you to see him first thing tomorrow morning.” I nodded.

“I’m glad we haven’t had missions this week. It’s good to have peace.” Tony added.

“Big mood Tony.” Cap said with a serious face followed by a sigh. I choked on my slice of pizza with laughter, Peter who sat beside me chuckled. Tony turned to him with a look of disbelief and anger.

“Peter we’ve talked about this.” Peter and I laughed at Tony’s amused but furious face. “Anyway, Poseidon, do you have battle armour?”

“Poseidon?” I raised an eyebrow. “And no, I usually just wear black clothes, any type of black clothes.” I ate another pizza slice. “Hey Cap?” Steve turned to me, “Did Fury say what he sought me out for?”

“Uh yeah, something about your little sister.” I was shocked, and apparently it was obvious on my face because Loki gave me a concerned look, but I gave him a small smile to reassure him.

After dinner, Loki and I were in the library when I quietly asked. “So I was wondering, if Fury allows me to visit Flora tomorrow, would you uh- would you like to… accompany me?” I looked up at his face to try and gauge his expression, he was shocked and I immediately feared the awaited rejection. “You don’t have to though, it’s okay. I was merely pondering, I’m sorry, forget I asked.”

“No it’s okay I- I would love to.” He had a small warm smile, and I flashed him one right back, ecstatic that he agreed.

[lesbianaglaya]

Please elaborate on that The Idiot essay

Okay anon, ask and ye shall receive. Here is my manifesto on why I love The Idiot (1868-1869). Homoeroticism and me crying over Bakhtin under the cut.

Okay from here on out let me just warn you that there will be discussion of epilepsy, sexual abuse, violence against women, murder, and suicide. I never claimed it wasn’t a messed up story.

Let me start off by saying, this is not a good novel. It was written as a desperate cash grab by Dostoevsky after he and his wife Anna had had to move to Switzerland for financial reasons (they were rather continually in debt due to Dostoevsky’s gambling problem. In fact, they’d met when Fyodor hired Anna as a stenographer to help him write down The Gambler, the completion of which he’d bet all his rights to his published works on).  The four separate parts are only loosely linked by narrative threads, things don’t follow the course you would expect from a work of literature, and the protagonist of the novel’s literal schtick is that he was supposed to be “a perfectly beautiful man”. Which, yeah, great in theory but in reality people don’t want perfect protagonists. The morals of the novel tend towards Dostoevsky’s own often troubling views of religion and morality, and it is a distinctly 19th century work.

And yet, it’s still one of my favourite things I’ve ever read. Not only are there some truly insane homoerotic moments in here, but there are some brilliant moments of play with narrative voice, society novel-esque shenanigans, questions about the nature of goodness and what that really means, and, of course, one really hot moment where a woman slaps a guy who’s being a dick in the face with a riding crop.

The loose plot of the novel is that Prince Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin, the eponymous idiot (and a holy fool, or as Dostoevsky once described him, “Prince Christ”), is returning to Russia from a period of many years in Switzerland being treated for epilepsy. On the train into Petersburg he meets Rogozhin, a young man who has just inherited an enormous fortune after the death of his father. They begin talking, and Rogozhin confides in Myshkin about his love for (read: obsession with) a girl known as Nastasya Filipovna. (This seems weird doesn’t it? Just confessing your major life problems to this weird guy sitting next to you on the train? Yea that’s just what people do around Myshkin). Upon arriving in Petersburg, Myshkin goes to meet with his distant relations, the Epanchins, to get to know them and form a family connection. The rest of the novel is these characters cycling through various love (?) plots, more random inheritances, people dying of consumption, going to stay in the country for a while Just Because, and other stereotypical 19th century novel things.

What makes it unique is that each character is their own person with their own thoughts, experiences and world views and the novel is these views interacting and clashing, or as Bakhtin puts it “a plurality of consciousness, with equal rights and each with its own world”. The characters are not there to help prove any thesis or idea; instead the thesis of the novel is how these characters differing views interact with each other. Myshkin is the lens of this, making it a picture of how each different character (or world view) reacts to his inherent goodness.

Of course, that’s all very... meta. Fun to discuss, but it doesn’t necessarily make the book fun to read. That’s where Nastasya Filipovna comes in.

Nastasya Filipovna, the girl that Rogoshin is “in love with” is a young woman who was born to nobility but orphaned and then sexually abused and turned into a concubine by her guardian Totsky. At the beginning of the novel she has escaped the control of Totsky and is in the incredibly tenuous situation of being provided an income from him for not completely destroying his reputation. A marriage has been arranged by Totsky (so that he won't have to worry about her any more) between her and this one asshole Ganya, but she has not agreed to it yet and has said she will announce her decision at her name day party.

At said name day party is where things get Crazy. She goes ham, mocking Ganya (who she knows hates her) for selling himself for the money promised in marrying her, verbally torturing Totsky, and generally saying fuck you to everyone while also tossing in a good amount of self hatred. Myshkin (whom she invited after meeting him once earlier that day for like five seconds seriously just role with it) declares quite earnestly that he thinks she is a good person and if she likes he’ll marry her amd also that he just inherited a fuck ton of money. Nastya is taken aback, and agrees to marry Myshkin. Then Rogozhin shows up (drunk, with the lads) and we find out Nastya has been planning all this. She tells Myshkin that she can’t actually marry him because he’s too innocent and she believes herself to be awful, and then asks Rogozhin for the money he promised her. Rogozhin hands over 100,000 rubles and Nastasya proceeds to toss them in the fire, tell Ganya that they’re his if he’ll reach in to get them out, and then leaves her own party with Rogozhin!!! I said this novel was batshit!!!!

Nastya through out the novel continues to be The Best Character, writing homoerotic letters to Aglaya Epanchina, who I FIRMLY choose to see as a lesbian, smoking cigars, and of course, upon hearing a man say of her “Here you simply need a whip, there’s no other way with this creature”, in return “she rushed to a young man completely unknown to her who was standing two steps away and holding a thin, braided riding crop, tore it out of his hand, and struck the offender accross the face as hard as she could”.  Iconique. Of course, her story ends tragically but we’ll get into that later.

To quickly touch on Aglaya Epanchina, because I love her, she is one of the daughters of the Epanchin family, she and Myshkin almost get married, and she ends the novel by running off with a foreigner and becoming (horrified whisper) Catholic. Anyway she and Nastya have a brief but horribly gay dicourse where Nastya confesses her love (platonic of course. That is definitely how I, a lesbian, read this) for Aglaya and Aglaya refuses to believe her. Aglaya says she wants to marry Myshkin specifically because then she wouldn’t have to be a wife and a mother and could pursue what she wants and continue to learn. Also at one point Aglaya adopts a hedgehog. That’s Lesbianism Baybee. Her ending is supposed to be tragic but I choose to believe that her marriage is a lavender marriage and she and her gay husband are having wild fun around Europe. Let me have this.

Now for what you’ve all been waiting for — more homoeroticism.

Myshkin and Rogoshin’s dynamic is, like, fully insane. After their first meeting on the train, Rogozhin says to Myshkin “Prince, I don’t know why I’ve come to love you. . . . Come and see me, Prince. We’ll take those wretched gaiters off you; I’ll dress you in a top-notch marten coat; I’ll have the best of tailcoats made for you, a white waistcoat, or whatever you like; I’ll stuff your pockets with money”. Slow down lover boy you met this man five minutes ago and you’re already trying to sugar daddy him?? It only gets worse from here.

Part II of the novel picks up six months after the name day party. Rogozhin and Myshkin have in the intervening time “often happened to spend long hours together, and there had even been several moments during their meetings that had left an all too memorable imprint upon their hearts”. Yeah. It’s also said that Rogozhin is jealous of Myshkin maybe holding some of Nastya’s affection but like. It just reads a lot like Rogozhin is torn between Nastya and Myshkin, which he is in a way because being in love with friends with Myshkin and Nastya  (lavender) marrying Myshkin (that’s not an exaggeration it’s basically out right stated that if Myshkin and Nastya married they would not have sex), would mean giving up the weird destructive obsession he and Nastya have with each other. This is supposed to imply coming to Jesus. I take it as accepting your homosexuality because Dostoevsky is dead and I can do what I want.

So Myshkin shows up at Rogozhin’s house and things are a bit awkward (Rogozhin has maybe been stalking Myshkin??) His “affectionate” smile is described “as if something had been broken, and try as he might, he was unable to glue it back together.” Anyway.

They begin actually talking and oh boy. I’ll just present these without comment.

“I’ve come to bring you peace, because you, too, are dear to me. I love you very much Parfyon. And now I’ll go and never come again. Farewell.” “‘Stay with me a little’ Parfyon said quietly, without getting up from his place and leaning his head on his right hand, ‘I haven’t seen you in a very long time.’”

“When you’re not in front of me, I feel spite for you Lev Nikolaevich. . . . Now you haven’t sat with me a quarter of an hour and all my spite is gone, and I love you like before. Stay with me a little . . .’”

“Nobody’s asking our opinion. It got decided without us. And we love differently too.”

“I didn’t want to come here! I wanted to forget everything here, tear it out of my heart!”

Not to mention the jealousy Rogozhin has for the perceived relationship between Myshkin and Nastya. Hmmmm. Anyway after all That, Rogozhin insists that he and Myshkin trade crosses, his golden one for Myshkin’s tin one.

And THEN Rogozhin proceeds to stop Myshkin from leaving again, and takes him to get his mother’s blessing, which is the same thing he did with Nastasya!!!!!! I feel insane.

After this Myshkin returns to his hotel but then Rogozhin follows him and um. Tries to stab him. With the knife that’s been built up as a phallic symbol through the whole novel. But then Myshkin falls into an epileptic fit and Rogozhin flees. Like this is deeply fucked up but What The Hell am I supposed to be thinking rn??

Anyway the next time they meet it’s in the countryside and Myshkin has fully forgiven him for the murder attempt. Indeed “struck by Rogozhin’s sudden appearance, the prince was unable to collect his thoughts for sometime, and a painful sensation rose again in his heart.”

Rogoshin has apparently not forgiven himself for trying to kill Myshkin, to which Myshkin responds “all that you went through that day I now know as well as I know my own self. What you were imagining did not and could not exist.” *jenny slate scream*

Myshkin proceeds to invite Rogozhin home with him, saying “I have some wine, we’ll drink wine, you must wish me something I myself don’t know how to wish for now, and it’s precisely you who must wish it, and I’ll wish you your fullest happiness. Or else give me back my cross! You didn’t even send it back to me the next day! You’re wearing it? Wearing it even now?” and THEN he says “I don’t want to meet my new life without you because my new life has begun! Don’t you know that my new life begins today?” and then they head home together.

Okay skipping over a bunch of stuff because 1) I havent read the novel in a year and while i know there’s more stuff in there I don’t know exactly where and I don’t want to be flipping pages for another hour and 2) this is already insanely long so. For context in the intervening time Rogozhin and Nastya do end up getting married (which everyone including the two of them kind of agree that it’s just a way for them both to kill each other/basically comit suicide. Fun!). So that’s exactly what happens, and Myshkin runs to their house, arriving too late and finding that Rogozhin has stabbed Nastya and she is dead. Thus ensues a scene that makes me so insane I cant... look here just take this:

“‘So let her lie here now, next to us, next to me and you...’

‘Yes, yes!’ the prince agreed warmly.”

And

“‘I’ll make up the bed and you can lie down... and I’ll lie down with you... and we’ll listen... because I don’t know yet man... I don’t know everything yet, man, so I’m telling you about it ahead of time, so you’ll know all about it ahead of time...’”

And

“But two people could not lie on the sofa, and he absolutely wanted to make up beds now side by side, and that way why, with great effort, he now dragged pillows of various sizesfrom both sofas all the way across the room, right up to the opening in the curtain. The bed got made up anyhow; he went over to the prince, took him tenderly and rapturously by the arm, got him to his feet, and led him to the bed”

And

“[Rogozhin was] laying the prince down on the left, better, pillows, himself on the right”

And

“‘What did you use? A knife? That same one?’

‘That same one’”

And

“The prince would reach out his trembling hand to him and quietly touch his head, his hair, stroke it and stroke his cheeks... there was nothing more he could do! . . . and pressed his face to the pale and motionless face of Rogozhin; tears flowed from his eyes onto Rogozhin’s cheeks”

And

“He quietly hastened to pass his trembling hand over his hair and cheeks, as if caressing and soothing him”

And then the cops show up and there’s a brief epilogue talking about how everything is terrible now and Myshkin goes back to Switzerland because he’s incoherent with grief. Insane.

So there’s also a lot in this novel about what is actually good, and how people react when confronted with goodness, etc. etc. but this is five pages in google docs and I need to. Stop. Anyway if you made it to the end cheers this novel is awful and insane and I love it. Dostoevsky do not interact I hate your crusty ass even if your prose makes me feel things.

[childofthenight2035]

Emergency Contact

A/N: omfg I've been working on this since June I hate myself so much but anyway this was requested by @tydontstop​ here you go I may not be done yet~

yay it’s my birthday

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Flatmate!AU

Pairing: Jackson Wang x gn!Reader

Summary: When you found a new flatmate, neither of you knew that you’ve been passing by each other by the finest thread.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: mentions of death, coma, car accidents, depression

-

The hospital receptionist’s face fell when she caught sight of Jackson walking in. Her face twisted in pity, but the boisterous arrival didn’t seem to notice.

“Good morning, Yeeun-ssi!” He greeted cheerfully, sliding his visitor’s pass across the front desk. “I ran late yesterday so I couldn’t make it.”

Yeeun seemed to be holding in an ocean of sorrow as she pushed the card back to him. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, sorry? For wh-“ He fell silent, gazing at Yeeun, who couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “No,” he breathed out. “That can’t be.”

“I tried calling you yesterday, sir,” she pleaded. “If only it was just a day later…” She shook her head sadly. Fate was cruel.

Could I have said goodbye? Jackson thought.

“How did he…?”

“They…they pulled the plug.”

-

You opened your eyes to the jarring sound of your alarm, wishing more than anything else that you were dreaming and it wasn’t yet morning. But no. When did things ever go your way? Blindly reaching out, you smashed the snooze button.

Groaning, you pushed away covers that weren’t even there. In the heat, you had kicked off the thin blanket you draped over yourself anyway—again.

It was only morning, but you could already feel the humidity beginning to cling to your skin. How you wished you could fall back onto the mattress and drift off. The silence of the apartment reminded you of another thing, however—the poster you had drawn up the previous night: an advertisement for a flatmate. You really needed some noise and movement to distract you, especially after last month. Why did Dahyun have to move out?

The alarm began beeping again.

You had to get to work.

.

Saturdays at the library were always a sort of hassle. There were more children and their misinformed parents over the weekend than any other day. Of course there were some absolute darlings who loved to read and could sit for hours on end with their noses in a book or two. But on the other hand…

You sighed as you pushed open the door of the public library, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Before you could make it to the counter where you would be stationed for the day, you were stopped abruptly by a rather raucous child dashing across your path.

…On the other hand, those darlings always had siblings that had no interest in developing the skill of reading at all. Little rascals who came there only by force and chose to make as much noise as they could get away with.

You pursed your lips, staring distastefully at the runaway before walking swiftly over to the bulletin board. Slipping the notice for a flatmate out of your pocket, you pinned it to the board, then plopped down at the counter, depositing your backpack under the desk.

“Good morning, Y/N!” your co-worker Daniel chirped.

“Good morning, Daniel,” you replied dully, scooting your chair subtly away from him. You really didn’t have his energy at the moment. You loved the guy, but it was a little grieving to hear about his girlfriend twenty-four seven. To your relief, someone approached him at that moment, pulling his attention off of you.

There were quite the number of high schoolers despite it being a weekend, you noticed. Ah. There’s a reading room that the high schoolers are doing today, huh?  Your gaze swept around the seating area to your left. A familiar face caught your eye.

What’s Jinyoung sunbae doing over here? Is he reading to the kids, too? He was sitting with someone you couldn’t see because their back was to you. They seemed to be in some sort of deep discussion.  You weren’t worried. Anyone who came to the library with Park Jinyoung was sure to be just as much of a bookworm.

“Y/N!” You jumped at your supervisor’s voice, tearing your eyes away from your senior and looking up. Your supervisor tilted her head toward a cart full of books. “Be a dear and put these back, won’t you? I’ll man the desk for a bit.”

You bit back a curse, choosing instead to nod and leap up. You’d have to dodge some more kids but at least you could get away from Daniel’s overwhelming energy and rude ‘I-have-a-late-fee-but-I-have-no-intention-of-paying-it-off-quietly-I’d-rather-annoy-you-for-a-solid-ten-minutes-before-doing-just-that’ people.

.

“Jackson, I swear to every god there is, if you don’t find a place to live by the end of the weekend, I’m kicking you out. You can sleep on the streets.” Jackson flinched a little at Jinyoung’s sharp threat, but still pouted to lessen the impact—in vain; Jinyoung hadn’t even glanced up from his book to say all that. Some people didn’t even need eye contact to be intimidating.

“In this heat? Why, Jinyoungieee,” Jackson whined, dragging out his name. No effect. Park gae didn’t move. “Where will I go?”

“If you hadn’t dropped out, you could be staying at the dorms—legally,” Jinyoung remarked. “I’m not risking any more trouble sneaking you in.” Before Jackson could whine his name again, he continued. “Where’s JB hyung? Aren’t you always with him?”

Jackson chewed on the inside of his cheek, wondering how much he should tell Jinyoungie—or rather, wondering how much he already knew. “Uhh…we kinda stopped talking to each other for a while…”

This made Jinyoung look up from the page he was reading, eyes narrowing. “You fought?”

Jackson twitched his shoulders. “Not exactly. Just…” Thankfully, Jinyoung didn’t force him to elaborate, only shooting him a look that said he would definitely be interrogated about it later. “And then hyung went to Japan, remember?”

“But he came back.” Jinyoung was biting his lip in confusion. Funny how anything related to JB hyung made him a million times more attentive.

“He did. But…”

“Now you feel awkward going and begging for living space when you haven’t contacted him in so long?”

Jackson scratched the back of his neck. How the heck does Jinyoungie talk so accurately? “Sure. You could put it that way.”

Jinyoung sighed, sitting up and closing his book. “Do you really think JB hyung feels that way? I know he’s scary when he’s mad, but he still cares about you, hyung. Go and see him. It’ll be fine.”

“But hyung’s so busy and he doesn’t have that much room…and he has his cats…”

Jinyoung tilted his head, thinking. “Well. That’s true. Then what are you going to do?” Jackson could only shrug in defeat, staring around the library without seeing what he was looking at—a staff member putting books back on the shelves…kids running around…Jinyoungie picking at the corner of his book mindlessly…general peace.

Wordlessly, Jinyoung stood to check out the book he had been reading. Jackson followed.

“Hello again, Jinyoung hyung!” the boy at the counter said brightly.

“Hey, Daniel. How are your classes going?”

Jackson totally zoned out on the interaction between the two. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped out in the first place, he thought. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d gone imagining the life he could have led until he felt Jinyoung smacking his arm hard.

“Jackson!” he exclaimed, more forcefully, pointing to something. The bulletin board. More specifically, an ad pinned to the board.

An ad for a flatmate. Not too far from here.

“Seems like your lucky day, huh?” Jinyoung clapped him on the shoulder, taking a picture of it at the same time. “Go there today. You really don’t have much of an option.”

Jackson groaned.

“Fine.”

-

The doorbell ringing brought you out of your stupor. Hastily placing the photograph back on your bedside table and wiping your face off with a nearby towel, you made your way to the front door.

Now, you had seen nearly everyone who came by your place looking absolutely wrecked, but it still took you aback every time. You eyed the panting young man who stood outside your door in pity. Perhaps he thought he would have a few more seconds to catch his breath. You wondered how long he had been standing there before he rang the bell.

Fuck the standard questions. “Are you okay?”

He raised a hand and nodded, drawing one last breath and stabling himself. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“It’s quite a climb, isn’t it?”

He nodded. A beat passed in silence and then he seemed to remember why exactly he had rung your bell. “Ah!” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone. “Is this…?”

He turned it around, showing you the screen. You squinted at it, taking the phone in your hand. It was a chat in which someone had sent him the picture of your poster and a message under it—‘pls make a good impression for once’. You pressed your lips together to stifle your amusement—and then you saw the contact who had sent him the text.

“JYP?” You yelped, looking at the man in front of you in awe. “You know JYP?” He snatched his phone back in embarrassment.

“I—That’s a friend,” he said hastily. “He goes to SIU. I just call him that because he has the same name.”

That sounded familiar. “Wait, Park Jinyoung? You’re friends with him?”

Jackson hesitated. “Yeah…you know him?”

You smiled. “I go to SIU, too. He’s my senior. Who doesn’t know him?”

“Oh…that’s cool!” he replied, his face brightening. “I’ll definitely bring him around—if you accept me as your flatmate?”

Ah, so that’s what’s happening here. You crossed your arms, fighting a smile. “Are you already bribing me? I can’t believe you. I already have half a mind to not let you live here.”

His smile fell. “What? Whyy?” He didn’t hide the whine that escaped him.

Aw, that’s cute. “I’m kidding. If you’re a friend of Jinyoung sunbae, I’m guessing you’re a good guy.”

He frowned. “I’m sure that should be the other way, but it’s fine. I’m not arguing. Kinda desperate, here. Do you want me to, like, call Jinyoungie for you? To “affirm my credibility” or whatever?” He made air quotations.

You laughed it off, gesturing that he didn’t need to. He seems like a good guy. Maybe I won’t have to search any longer.

“I’m Jackson, by the way,” he suddenly spoke, looking sheepish. “Forgot to introduce myself.”

“Ah. I’m Y/N. And I’m desperate, too.” You sighed, blowing your hair off your face. “Do you know how glad I am that I rejected the guy who showed up before you? What a douchebag.”

A look of concern flashed across his face. “Someone came before me? Did he, like, try to hurt you or something? You’re okay?”

And he’s already concerned about me. I really really hope he doesn’t end up an asshole.

“I’m perfectly fine. Let’s talk splitting rent.”

.

“That’s the last of it,” Jackson announced.

You stood aside as his friend (Namjoon, was it?) dumped the two boxes he was carrying onto the floor, utterly exhausted. You couldn’t blame him. The two had been walking up and down the four flights of stairs with Jackson’s possessions all morning. You had helped, of course. But they weren’t used to climbing four floors.

“That better be the last, you jerk,” Namjoon spat. “When you said, ‘let’s hang out’, I didn’t think you meant this.” He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

“I’ll pay you back for this, man.” Jackson patted his shoulder. “Let me buy you meat tonight.” His friend looked suspiciously at him but relented. You bowed him out.

To be honest, you hadn’t realized how short Jackson was compared to a lot of other people until Namjoon was standing beside him. Although you supposed Namjoon was just a giant. But still.

“I’m so tired,” Jackson whined, flopping down onto his mattress.

“Good,” you retorted, kneeling down to face him. “When you’re tired, you listen better. There is a rule in this household: you’re not allowed in my room.”

Jackson gasped, exaggerating his reaction. “Are you a dictator now? Rules? Will I be chucked into jail if I don’t obey? Do I have to go into hiding?”

You rolled your eyes. “I literally only said you weren’t allowed in my room at any cost. Isn’t that a reasonable request? You can make your own rules, too. No one’s stopping you.”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “You can come into my room, I don’t really mind. Nothing in here anyway.” He turned his eyes on you, narrowing them. “What are you hiding? Please don’t tell me you’re harbouring a fugitive in there.”

“Oh my gosh, no.” You stood up again. “I just want my privacy. My old flatmate respected it, so I expect you to as well. Okay? I’ll respect yours if you respect mine.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m just kidding. Are you always so uptight?” You frowned at the goofy expression on his face. “I promise I won’t go into your room.” He seemed sincere enough.

Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad…

.

“JACKSON!” you shouted, pounding on the wall that divided your bedroom from his. “KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN!” If the volume went down at all, you couldn’t tell. Weary from lack of sleep for the past week or so, you rolled over and squinted at the time on your phone.

“Three thirty-four,” you muttered furiously. “THREE THIRTY-FOUR!”

And then the doorbell rang. And it rang again.

“Nobody ever does anything in this house,” you said loudly while forcing yourself up off the bed, half-hoping Jackson would hear it. But of course he wouldn’t. The amount of noise that was emanating from his room made sure of that.

The ringing became quite insistent and when you yanked the door open, wondering who on earth it wouldn’t be, you came face to face with Mr. Ok, the next-door neighbor. A tall man in his thirties, you had always found him quite the character—and you would’ve thought his pajamas and bedhead looked cute if it wasn’t for the expression of pure murder on his face.

“Oh…Mr. Ok,” you greeted with a hesitant bow.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” he nearly spat, hands balling into fists that you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use if he snapped. “Don’t you know we’re all trying to sleep?”

You winced. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ok, I’ve been trying to get Jackson to quiet down for a while, but he’s not listening—“

“Where is he?” He growled, stepping inside without invitation. You jumped at the chance of getting Mr. Ok himself to threaten Jackson. You led him gleefully to your flatmate’s door. After pounding on it for a solid minute, in which the noise levels dropped completely, the door opened to reveal Jackson lazily yawning—clearly expecting you to be standing there. His features rapidly rearranged themselves to a politer expression.

“Ah, hyung!” he exclaimed. “What a surprise!”

Hyung? you questioned wordlessly. Since when has he become so chummy with Mr. Ok?

“Surprise, huh?” Mr. Ok hissed, eyes daggers. “What the hell are you doing, making so much noise?” It seemed to be rhetorical, because he didn’t give Jackson a chance to answer. “I have to get up at six, as do many people in this establishment. A lot of them have to go to work, or school, and a lot of them have families to take care of. I’m aware you have no such commitments—perks of being unemployed, I suppose—“ Jackson’s face twisted slightly. “—but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to do whatever you want. When you live in close proximity with a lot of people, you have to learn to be considerate of others. Forget others, you live with a flatmate. At least be considerate to them!”

Jackson didn’t answer. You assumed he was still stinging over the ‘unemployed’ comment.

Mr. Ok didn’t even try to soothe his harsh words before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He must have been tolerating it for longer than he let on.

You crossed your arms and smiled smugly at your flatmate. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

And just like that, his meek façade vanished, to be replaced by a pout. “But I wanted to finish the drama! I need the theatre effect to watch it, otherwise it’s just boring!”

You threw your hands up in the air and groaned, deciding it would be better for your health to just lock the door and then yourself in your bedroom.

Jackson was a mistake. One that you sorely regretted.

In the barely two months that you two began living together, you had learned one thing: Jackson was a force that was very much unstoppable. You would get burned if you so much as dared to try.

You could make a list—hell, you could write a book about the things he did that pissed you off. Was it your problem? Maybe. But it was clear enough that Jackson had certainly never learned how to adjust with people who weren’t on the same energy level as him.

He was loud. Point made. He was boisterous, always moving around, practically bouncing from room to room. You often restrained from asking him what gave him the right to look so damn happy. Perhaps you were just jealous. Your classes had begun again, and while you were working your ass off and burning the midnight oil just to keep your grades up, Mr. Unemployed seemed to be having the time of his life. Where did he even get the money to pay his rent off?

More than once, or even eight times, you had walked into the bathroom to find water literally everywhere—on the toilet seat, around the sink, on the floor, even on the walls. You couldn’t possibly imagine what he was even doing that made the entire damn place wet. He played music at night, loudly, with no regard for your wellbeing and the neighbours’. The nights he came home tipsy were even worse. And now he was watching a drama, it seemed. In full theatre mode.

The one rule you had—of him not being allowed to enter your room—had now expanded into a full three-page document, taped to the wall between your bedrooms.

You remembered how concerned he was about making a good impression in the first couple of weeks. He had even brought his friend Park Jinyoung around to meet you, as promised. Now you understood the pity in his eyes that day. He’d known things would get worse. You still got embarrassed when he sought you out in the cafeteria to ask how you were and if Jackson was giving you a hard time.

Maybe you should take Jinyoung sunbae up on that offer he made.

.

The breaking point came soon after.

It was a Thursday night and you’d just finished an essay due the day after, one that you’d been working on for the past week. So you were already running on barely three hours on sleep a day. It was past midnight, and Jackson still wasn’t home. He was probably lying drunk somewhere. As much as you wished you could just go to sleep and leave him to his own devices, you knew damn well that if he did show up, he would likely leave the door wide open and drool all over the couch.

You weren’t about to get robbed just because of Jackson’s bad decisions.

After calling him yet again and hearing no dial tone, you tossed your phone onto the dining table and waited with your head in your arms.

.

“I’m not drunk, Markipooh!” A loud exclamation, followed by someone shushing the voice sounded outside your door.

You swung it open, looking pissed enough for Mark—Jackson’s go-to designated driver and body hauler—to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You know I can’t control Jackson.”

“I’m not drunk, though?” Said man slurred, collapsing into a chair.

“Thanks, Mark.” You sighed bitterly. “Go home.”

As the door closed, Jackson lifted his head and repeated, “I’m not drunk, though.”

“Oh, really?” you snapped, raising your voice. “Then listen to this: I’m not your fucking servant or something, just waiting for my master to come home so I can attend to you! I’m a student and I have a shit ton of work to do and just because you are so useless you can’t find a job doesn’t mean I have to suffer for it!”

Fury dashed across his face. Seizing the first thing he saw on the table, he threw it with all his might at the wall behind you, where it shattered and fell sadly to the floor. You tensed, fear coursing through you, trembling as he came closer.

“Fucking shut up, I already have a headache.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but the stench of alcohol. His door slammed.

Silence.

You slid to the floor, stunned. How could things have gone so wrong?

With shaking hands and a pounding heart, you felt around for your phone. The screen was cracked beyond repair, glass scattered all around you. What did you expect, that it would survive being thrown against a wall with Jackson’s muscle?

Enough, you decided. Enough was enough. He has to go.

And if you cried yourself to sleep that night against the dining room wall, nobody had to know.

-

“Y/N!”

You didn’t even think that anyone would be actually calling your name. So you didn’t stop. The entire day had you fuming internally, and you didn’t think anyone deserved to hear your outburst.

“Y/N!”

You halted. Normally you would be absorbed in your phone, but today you didn’t have it. Of course you didn’t. After last night, you didn’t even think it was safe to. You turned when you sensed the person—what did you mean, person, of course it was Park Jinyoung—catch up to you. If you were in your right mind at the moment, you might be a mildly blushing mess. Who wouldn’t be? It was Park fucking Jinyoung. But now? You were five point three centimeters from losing your temper completely and you couldn’t help but resent him for being friendly with you now when two months ago, he didn’t know your name, despite being your senior.

You sighed, turning around to face him. “Yes, sunbae?”

If he was taken aback by your slight rudeness, he didn’t show it. “I tried calling Jackson yesterday and this morning, and he didn’t pick up. He okay?”

You pursed your lips. “I couldn’t care less about Jackson, sunbaenim. You know my address, if you’re so concerned, why don’t you go and see how he is?” You scoffed and made to turn away, but Jinyoung caught your arm.

“Whoa, what’s with the attitude?” He teased, pulling you along with him down the hall and into the student council’s meeting room, currently empty. “You okay? What did he do?”

A little comforted that he immediately assumed his friend did something wrong, you slumped your shoulders. “A lot happened.”

“Clearly.” He leaned against the president’s desk and folded his arms. You didn’t know if he was analyzing you or not. Your face flushed under his gaze.

“He went out and came back drunk beyond words,” you explained, irritated at the memory. “And maybe I shouldn’t have, but I yelled at him saying that I wasn’t his servant to wait or clean up after him and—” you broke off, hesitating. “I might have told him off for not having a job.”

Jinyoung winced. “He’s pretty touchy about that.”

“Yeah, I figured.” You let out a bitter sigh. “He smashed my phone.”

“Wait, what?” Jinyoung lifted himself off the desk, looking at you in disbelief. “He—he smashed your phone? Jackson Wang?” You nodded, spreading your arms out.

“That’s why I don’t have it today. The screen shattered.”

Jinyoung looked genuinely disturbed. “It’s not like Jackson to lose his temper like that.”

You didn’t want excuses made for him, even if he had been drunk. “Oh, really? Pray, do tell.”

“Y/N—”

“Why? What did I do? Am I wrong?” If your eyes were daggers, Jinyoung would be bleeding now. “Tell me, sunbaenim. Am I just a maid to him?” You bit the inside of your cheek and spoke the words you had been contemplating all night. “I want to say yes to your offer, but he’s going to get kicked out soon. The nieghbours are already blacklisting him. If they tell him to leave, I won’t be able to hold any ground by myself.”

He seemed at a loss for words, appalled by both Jackson’s and your behavior. “Listen, I’ll talk to him, okay?” He checked his watch. “You should get to class.”

What’s the point? You thought, but conceded anyway. Just before you closed the door, you heard him call your name.

“And no, Y/N,” he said, a tight smile on his lips, “you’re not wrong. Give me your phone number.”

-

You refused to return home that day, choosing to stay all night in the library—until Jinyoung met up with you and nearly begged you to go back to your apartment.

“I’ve talked to him,” he had said, “and he’s really sorry about everything that happened last night. Truth be told, he doesn’t remember some of it, but anyway, he’s sorry. Hear him out.”

You couldn’t believe you were being forced to accept whatever pathetic apology your roommate was going to give you—just because he was your roommate and you had to live with him. It just wasn’t fair.

But when you stepped in through the door, the first thing that registered was the aroma wafting to you—the smell of food. Curious, you peered around the door and saw the little table beautifully set, dishes spread out all over it. And behind them all, obediently sitting on a chair, was Jackson. Guilty smile on his face, but still.

So this is his apology, you thought, closing the door and kicking off your shoes. A food bribe.

You pursed your lips as you reluctantly approached him, slinging your bag over the back of another chair. You crossed your arms. “What’s all this?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, diverting his gaze from your harsh stare. “I…uh, I wanted to apologize for the stuff I did…last night.” He pressed his lips together. “For breaking your phone and yelling at you and...stuff.” From under the table, he brought out a small box you instantly recognized as one a phone came in. “I got you a new one.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You—wait, you got me a new phone?” Your tone did not hide your disbelief at all. “But…that’s expensive!”

“It’s my fault that yours is broken beyond repair,” he explained. “I’m obliged to do this.”

You couldn’t speak for a moment. “But…where did you get the money? I didn’t think—“

“Borrowed it from my mom,” he admitted, cheeks turning red. “I got an earful, but I had to do what I had to do.” He looked up at you pleadingly. “I’m really sorry for everything. I don’t usually lose my temper like that, I guess I was just frustrated—that’s no excuse,” he cleared hastily. “I just…I’m sorry.” He gestured to the food on the table. “I got your favourites?”

You didn’t know what to think. Jackson stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

Honestly, why does Wang look like a kicked puppy when he’s sad?

“I don’t forgive you,” you said firmly. His face fell. “But I do accept your apology.” Ignoring the sigh of relief that he let out, you sat down at the table.

“That’s good enough for now.”

“And I should apologize too,” you remarked, picking up your chopsticks. “I said some harsh things to you yesterday.”

Jackson waved it off. “No. You were right and I just didn’t want to admit it.” He sighed deeply. “I’ve started looking for a job.”

“That’s great, Jackson.” Your smile was genuine now. Looking reassured, your flatmate mimicked you and picked up his own utensils. “I’m glad.”

Jinyoung sunbae, I guess I won’t have to take up your offer after all.

.

“Yah, who the hell are you texting nowadays?”

You heard the whining voice of your flatmate before you saw him. Barely glancing up from your phone, you asked, “What happened, Jackson?”

He scoffed. “See? You’re not even looking at me when you say that. You’re always tapping away on your phone like I don’t exist here! Pay attention to me!” You let out a startled yelp when he plopped his heavy body onto your side. “I don’t think you’ve said a full two sentences to me in the past week.” When you ignored him, angling your screen away, he felt suspicious. “Who are you texting—!”

“Yah!” You attempted to grab your phone back from him in vain. Jackson suddenly sat up.

“Jinyoung sunbae?!” he shrieked. “As in my friend Park Jinyoung?” He held your phone out of reach with one hand and used his free arm to wrestle yours to the sofa seat. “What the hell are you even texting him for?”

“He’s not only your friend, Jackson,” you whined, squirming in his grasp. “He’s really nice to me at university, why can’t I talk to him? He’s my senior, too.”

You made noises of protest as he began to scroll through the messages the two of you had exchanged. Before long, he was spluttering in fury.

“What is this?” He yelped. “Hey Y/N do you want to meet up for coffee? Since when has Jin—actually never mind, since when have you two been that close?” He tossed you your phone and you took it back gratefully. “So this is why Jinyoung says he’s too busy to get food nowadays, huh?” Heat crept up your cheeks. “Are you actually blushing right now?” He howled. “Okay, I can’t take this anymore!”

Your phone began to ring. Both of your heads turned to it.

On the screen was a stupid photo of his friend and the name Jinyoung sunbae.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Jackson said lowly.

“You’re not the boss of me,” you spat in return, sliding the button to answer, pressing the speaker button simultaneously. “Hello, Jinyoung!”

“Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” came his voice from the speaker. “Are you busy? You didn’t answer my message.”

You giggled at the expression on Jackson’s face. “No, my flatmate was just being annoying.”

“Ah, Jackson? Is he there? Wait, is this on speaker?”

“Yah, Jinyoungie!” Jackson burst out, betrayal written all over his face. “Why are you ignoring me for Y/N? This isn’t fair; you were my friend first!”

“Are you serious right now, Jackson?” Jinyoung’s voice was amused. “I assumed you would be tired and busy from work. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“But what about Wang gae Park gae?” he grouched.

“Wang what?” You looked from the phone to Jackson.

“Never mind about that, Y/N,” Jinyoung interjected hastily. “You’re coming, right?”

“Coming where?” A growl emanated from your flatmate.

“Yeah, sunbae, I’ll be there soon.” With words of parting, you hung up the call.

“Where are you going with him?” Jackson repeated.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You stood up, reaching for your backpack.

“Why can’t you tell me? I thought I was your flatmate, shouldn’t I be worried? What if you don’t come back?”

You burst out laughing. “Why would I not come back? Don’t you trust your own friend?” He opened his mouth to protest, but you were halfway out the door. “See you later, Jacks!”

-

“You should have seen his face!” you told Jinyoung, laughing along with him at the memory. “Has he always been like that?”

“He’s jealous.” Jinyoung shrugged.

“Hmm. Yeah. He really likes you, you know.” You pointed your pencil at him. “Why do you reject him when he asks you to get food? It’s like stealing candy from a puppy.”

“He likes me?” He retorted incredulously. “The heck? It’s me he’s jealous of.”

It was your turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean? He was literally whining about him being your friend first and that I was stealing you away from him.”

Jinyoung guffawed into the crook of his arm. “Okay, if you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it.” He jabbed his pen at your textbook. “What are guys learning in class now?”

-

Jackson was bored. His best friend had ditched him for his flatmate. And vice versa, he supposed. How long could someone flop around on a bed and flick a fidget spinner around? He almost wished he had to go in for work today. Even washing dishes sounded better than what he was doing at the moment.

He groaned into his pillow. Why has everyone forsaken me? Honestly Jackson just get your ass up and do something other than faceplanting into the bed.

Pushing himself off the mattress, he stumbled to his feet, still flicking the spinner around. His stomach rumbled. Food,he thought blearily, banging against the doorframe on his way out of the room. “Ow! Fu—whoa, no!” The fidget spinner escaped his grasp and hit the floor sharply, skidding under the door adjacent to his, despite his futile attempts to intercept it with his foot. “Damn!” He stared at the door—Y/N’s door—that he had been forbidden to enter at any time, in any situation. To prove it, there was even a piece of paper stuck to the door announcing the same.

Absently, he laid his palm on the handle, but didn’t turn it. “It’s just a fidget spinner; can’t I just open it real quick, grab it and shut it again? That should be okay, right? I won’t look around.” He chewed his lip, second guessing himself. “Ah, fuck it, I’m practically Y/N’s boyfriend already. There aren’t any secrets to hide.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he turned the handle, eyes trained to the ground.

The spinner was lying on the ground next to a nightstand. Determinedly not looking around the room, Jackson bent to retrieve the damn thing.

His mistake was looking up as he straightened himself.

His eyes fell on the nightstand. Or rather, the photo framed on it.

His breath hitched. He thought his heart might have stopped beating for a moment.

Within the four wooden pieces stood Y/N. Much younger than now; the photo was clearly old. But Jackson’s eyes were on the young boy standing right beside Y/N.

The fidget spinner clattered to the floor again.

“Hyung!”

A car screeching. The sound of an impending accident, lifelong scars.

Screams.

Was that glass shattering? Or dreams?

Commotion. And cries for a person nobody knew.

“HYUNG!”

Jackson gasped, stumbling back a step, the force the picture exerted too strong for him to handle. His plastic toy dug into his heel and he cursed, the pain momentarily diverting his attention from his pounding heart.

Picking up the spinner, he choked out a ‘this can’t be happening’ before darting out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

He needed air.

What is going on? This can’t be possible.

Does Y/N know that I…no. That can’t be. It just can’t be!

Y/N? Of all people? Y/N wouldn’t do that…

Right?

.

Jackson wasn’t home when you got back.

Good for him, you thought. He’s learned to get out of the house by himself.

You stretched, glad to be back inside away from the heat outside. It was refreshingly cold inside…unsettlingly so. Why was it cold? Or were you imagining it?

Wondering if Jackson had become thoughtful enough to cook, you ventured into the kitchen, but then clicked your tongue disappointedly on seeing everything as you left it. Of course he hadn’t.

Sometime during your attempt at making pasta, the door opened.

“Jackson?” you called out, hoping it was him.

“Yeah?”

“You like pasta, right? Come here and help me.”

You were too occupied with the nearly burning food to notice Jackson’s heartbroken expression, but you did see that he was spacing out really bad. It wasn’t like him to not be bursting into speech animatedly at all times.

“Jackson?” you called for the fourth time, waving a spare hand in front of his face. He jolted.

“Ah, yeah.” He rubbed his eyes. “Shit, sorry. What was that?”

“Could you get some water?” He nodded absently before trudging off to carry out his task. You squinted at him. “Something wrong?” He quickly shook his head. But you knew Jackson enough to know that he was very, very bad at hiding his emotions. “Don’t lie, Jacks. I can see it in your face. What happened?”

He shrugged, his confusion disappearing almost entirely. “I—uh, I sorta did something, but I won’t tell you because you’ll get mad at me.”

You tilted your head. “What did you do?”

He shook his head and pouted, some of the playfulness returning. “You’ll get mad at me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Jackson looked at you hard, for a moment or two, then cast his gaze to the floor. “I went into your room today.”

Those words dropped into your head like a bomb. “You what?” You let the fork clatter to the countertop, nearly lunging at him. He caught your arms just in time and held you away from him.

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

You huffed loudly, yanking your arms from his grip. “And you said you wouldn’t go inside!”

He held out his hands, blocking you from coming nearer. “It was an accident! My fidget spinner went under your door!”

You scoffed, turning back to the pot on the stove and wishing your room wasn’t a mess. “Still.” All you could think of were the paintings on the walls and the photos. Had he seen them? Would he ask?

“Hmm.” The two of you lapsed into silence for a while. Neither spoke until the pasta was ready and you divided it between the two of you. You sensed that Jackson was itching to say something, but, coward as you were, you weren’t sure you wanted to hear it.

“Um. Y/N?”

You looked up from your bowl, chopsticks faltering. “Yeah?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help but notice…that picture on your night stand…”

You froze, quickly setting your chopsticks down to hide your trembling fingers.

“Who is that?”

.

Jackson knew a more accurate question would be ‘Who was that?’ but he didn’t dare to ask. You didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t known who you were until this afternoon.

It hurt him. It hurt him to ask about the boy in the photo so casually, as if nothing had ever happened to him, as if one day he would get to see him again. He knew it would hurt you too. But he had no choice. He couldn’t risk the suspicion that he would rouse. You would demand answers. You would hate him for lying, for hiding who he was and what he had been doing.

He stared guiltily at you, where you sat across from him, clutching the table so hard your knuckles turned pale.

“Does—does it matter that you know who it is?” you choked out, evidently trying not to cry.

Jackson abandoned his own chopsticks and reached out to take your shaking hand in his. “It does. It does to me.”

You nodded, eyes red, staring determinedly anywhere but his face. “That’s…Hanyu. My baby cousin.” He inclined his head, encouraging you to tell him more. Even though he already knew it all. “He stayed in the city in the dorms—you know SOPA?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“He got in and…we were all so proud of him. And since I was already here, his parents weren’t worried about him at all. They—they trusted me.” Your voice broke and so did Jackson’s heart. “And one day, there was an accident. Someone took him to the hospital, but he��he fell into a coma.” Nothing more than a whisper. “Four months.”

He didn’t know he had gotten out of his seat until his arms were wrapped around you.

“There wasn’t anything we could do. He was just—getting worse. Every day. His father finally gave the order after hoping for so long. To—let him go.” You burst into tears and Jackson turned you so you were sobbing into his shoulder. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. They only let him stay because—because I was here. Because I would be there for him.”

“Hey, hey,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault. It…it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were there for him. Things…these things just happen somehow. It’s not your fault.”

So, it wasn’t you after all?

A huge weight lifted off his chest. He hadn’t realized how much hatred and resentment he’d been carrying around all this time without knowing it.

It wasn’t you.

“How—how are his parents?”

“Not doing good.” You sniffed hard, wiping your tears away. “Not good at all.”

He gripped your shoulders and made you look at him. “What about you?”

He watched helplessly as more tears escaped the corners of your eyes. “Neither am I.”

The last thing you remembered was slumping into Jackson’s arms, drained of energy.

.

You didn’t think you would be telling anyone about Hanyu. You hadn’t told anyone except your psychology professor, who had called you to her office sometime in March because you looked too depressed to be taking your finals. And that too, was reluctant. You knew you should talk to someone about it, you knew you should be accompanying his parents to the therapist you forced them to see, but—maybe it was the prolonged blow that lessened the pain to a dull throb. Hope had ebbed away bit by bit, not all at once.

But talking about him to Jackson was so simple. It was almost as if he understood exactly what you were going through. Almost as if Hanyu was his own brother.

You wondered if Jackson had lost someone dear to him in the past. Maybe he had. That would explain the sudden compassion he had towards you now. You hadn’t told him everything, just the brief story, but he didn’t press further.

He’s sweet, you realized all too late. He really is.

-

You’d think you would be free of your flatmate at least when you went to work on weekends. Jackson was the last person who would willingly enter a library—at least, without an emergency. But no, there he was, still blowing up your phone about how he slipped in the bathroom and thinks he broke his butt, and then found that his ramen was finished so he couldn’t eat (despite there being like, healthy food somewhere in the fridge) and therefore begging you to buy some on your way home because he couldn’t go (due to the broken butt). You were rolling your eyes at the messages, but an endearing smile still crept across your lips.

“Boyfriend?” Daniel crashed his wheely chair into yours, peeking over your shoulder at your phone. You winced at his knobbly shoulder and turned off the screen.

“No.” You shoved his chair away.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

Daniel looked confused. “…Partner?”

Wah. What an open-minded king. “No, Kang. Just my flatmate.”

“What?” He scrunched up his nose. “No way. I saw how you were looking at their texts.”

You screeched. “What the heck?” He seemed satisfied at your reaction.

“So, crush?” he confirmed, sniggering at the blush that crept up your neck. “Who is it? Give me their number, I’ll set y’all up.”

“For the love of—”

“Y/N!”

You looked up, startled, to see Jinyoung standing on the other side of the counter. You straightened up, tensing; you had been sort of avoiding him for a while.

“Sunbae.” He pursed his lips at you in a disapproving stare.

“Where have you been? Do I have to come all the way to the public library to see my junior?” He crossed his arms. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“It’s—it’s not like that, sunbae—”

“Don’t say anything. Jackson’s been telling me about his broken ass—” You flinched, eyes darting to Daniel, who for sure misinterpreted that phrase, “—and that you’re ignoring him. What happened?”

“Oh, Y/N’s flatmate?”

Fucking hell, Daniel. Please learn to shut up.

He was sporting a shit-eating grin. “Y/N’s got a crush.”

Jinyoung’s lips immediately curled upward and you waved your arms around, banging them together in an ‘X’. “No. No, I don’t have a crush!”

“You know it’s okay, right?” Your senior reassured you. “He likes you, too.”

Oh.

Wait, what?

“Huh?” The disbelief was evident in your voice. Jinyoung shrugged, a smug little smile on his face.

“Jackson’s my best friend, Y/N. I know him. He tells me things.” He set a book down on the counter in front of Daniel, who obediently took it and scanned it for him. “And I also know he doesn’t have the balls to tell you anything. So, my question is, what are you going to do about it?”

What am I going to do about it? An idea popped into your head and you blurted it out before you could stop yourself. “I’ll tell Jackson I like him when you tell him—what was he called? JB, that you like him.”

Jinyoung’s face paled. “What?”

Now you were the smug one. “You heard me, you hypocrite. Confess to your crush and I’ll confess to mine.”

He squinted at you, clearly plotting his next move. “Fine,” he retorted, sticking his nose in the air haughtily. “I will.”

-

“You still texting Jinyoungie, huh?” Jackson teased, the pout very much audible in his voice. You looked up from your phone. He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “Dude, when will you get over him ditching you? You know damn well he’s drowning in his love for your other friend—who? JB.”

Jackson tensed a little, but you didn’t seem to notice. “I know,” he breathed out. “JB hyung is so oblivious. So is Jinyoungie.”

“Besides,” you continued, tilting your head coyly, “Jinyoung sunbae says you’ve got a crush on me.”

The way Jackson spluttered at that was hilarious. “Wha—Me? Crush on you? As if.”

“Sure, sure.” You turned back to your phone. Jackson sat down heavily next to you, plopping his head on your lap. You peered under your screen to look at him. “Hello. What are you doing?”

“Pay attention to me.” You chuckled at the whine in his tone. “You don’t talk to me anymore.” He grasped your hand and placed it on his head. You began stroking his freshly dyed strands. You would never admit it but you liked his hair blond.

“Are you going to dye it back?”

He shifted, getting comfortable. “Probably not soon. Why? Don’t you like it?” He sat up, twisting to face you, horrified. “Do I look bad as a blond?”

You leaned back, laughing. “Stop being so dramatic, Jackson!”

Two knocks on the front door and then it opened. You jolted at the sight of Jinyoung staring between the two of you in that position. Jackson turned to follow your gaze and yelled in surprise. Slowly, Jinyoung raised a hand to cover his eyes.

“Yah!” Jackson shouted, the sheer volume causing your ears to pop. “It’s not like that!”

-

As Christmas came and went, your heart grew heavier and heavier. For several reasons. On the one hand, you were crushing hard on your flatmate like some dumb romcom cliché. On the other, that date was approaching you like a truck at eighty an hour with broken brakes.

A year to the day of the accident.

You knew, technically, that Hanyu only passed away in April, but this was truly the day you lost him. Truly the day that something was lost inside you. Something that you may never fully find again…

“Hey, Y/N, you see this?” Jackson bounded over to you holding up a snow globe and shaking it enthusiastically.

…but perhaps, one day, you would.

Your eyes softened as you watched Jackson’s infectious smile bloomed. Would he agree to come with me? He does know about Hanyu, after all.

“Jackson?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah?” He looked up and caught your expression.

“Would you come to a place with me if I asked?”

He tilted his head. “Where?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “The funeral home.” As his face fell, you continued, “It’s almost a year to the day of…the accident.”

“Ah. It is, isn’t it?” He searched your eyes. “Are you sure about this? About me…coming with you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think…I think it would be good. If I had someone to talk to about it. And also haul me home. I’m probably…gonna be a mess.”

Jackson reached out, hesitantly to grip your shoulder tight before drawing your closer for an embrace. “It’s okay,” he said, sounding a little unsure himself. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

-

It was just an ordinary cold Saturday when you and Jackson left the apartment to get groceries at the supermarket. When you two were arguing over ramen, you heard a shout.

“Hey, Jackson!”

Both of you turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered young man stroll over. Jackson straightened immediately. An odd sort of feeling crept up your neck.

He seems familiar. Have I seen him—

You gasped silently.

That’s Jaebeom. How could I forget him?

“Jackson, man, where have you been?” the man asked, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Your flatmate looked quite uncomfortable. “Guess I got busy, hyung. Sorry.”

You had to speak. “Excuse me? You’re—Im Jaebeom…right?”

Jackson quickly intervened. “This is my flatmate, hyung.”

The man turned his focus to you, narrowing his eyes curiously, before they widened in recognition. “Oh!” He pointed at you. You wouldn’t deny you were surprised he remembered you from almost a year ago. “You’re that...Y/N. Right? From the hospital?” He faltered at the mention of it. “Ah…um. How is he?”

Your heart clenched painfully, but you forced a smile. “He, uh, passed away. In April.” Jaebeom winced at the news.

“Ah, I’m really sorry.”

You waved it away. “No, no, don’t be. You have my eternal gratitude for getting him to the ER. I don’t know how many people would have done that.”

He inclined his head, fidgeting uncomfortably for a moment. “Still…yah, Jackson-ah, you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You turned to Jackson curiously. “Hm?” He was pale, staring at Jaebeom with helplessness in his eyes.

“Ah, you two met there?” Jaebeom asked, contemplating. “When did you guys talk?”

You were confused, not seeing the sharp looks of ‘please-stop-talking’ that Jackson was shooting his friend. “Sorry, what? Met where?”

It was Jaebeom’s turn to look confused. “At the hospital, of course.”

You breathed out a nervous laugh, because you didn’t know where this was headed. “Why would I meet Jackson at the hospital?”

“Hyung!” Jackson interjected suddenly. Suspiciously. Moving his body in between yours and Jaebeom’s. “I think maybe we should finish up our shopping and meet later—”

“No, tell me, Jaebeom-ssi.” You put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

Jaebeom was at a loss. He didn’t seem to understand Jackson’s panic, and neither could you. “Jackson was with me at the hospital when we brought him in. We brought him together. I thought he met you there when you came.”

You inhaled sharply, glancing at Jackson with surprise in your eyes. “Jackson.” He flinched, remaining quiet. “Is that true?”

“Hyung, I’ll come over later,” he told Jaebeom quietly, pushing him away. His friend took a step back, wondering why on earth something so simple—good news, in fact—turned awry. He bowed, mumbling out a greeting before he picked up his shopping basket and turned away.

You were shocked beyond words.

Jackson took Hanyu to the hospital. Jackson knew who he was. Jackson knew who you were. What did this mean? Was he tracking you? Was he tracking anyone with connections to Hanyu? Is that why he asked about him and his parents?

“Y/N…”

You suddenly didn’t want to hear anything. Your feet carried you after Jaebeom, calling his name.

-

Jackson was fucked.

Why, he screamed at himself, didn’t you tell Y/N the truth as soon as you found out about it? Why, why, why? Can you blame Y/N for not listening to you? You fucking lied, Jackson!

You hadn’t come back to the apartment until past midnight after running off to talk to JB. He’d waited up for you, but you didn’t spare anything a glance before locking yourself in your room. He’d wanted to call you, wanted to make sure you were okay, but he’d already done enough damage. Were you even willing to talk to him at all? He decided he didn’t want to test it. For all he knew, you thought he was some sort of creep or a stalker or something. You probably hated him.

He fell asleep that night to the sound of you crying from the other side of the wall.

-

Unease. You didn’t know why you were feeling so unsettled. It was a bright cloudless day but you weren’t sharing the spirit. In fact, you were spacing out so much that your partner for your Statistics project had to keep snapping his fingers in front of your face to bring your focus back to him.

“Sorry, Gyeom,” you muttered wearily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Maybe you should go home. I’ll finish up around here.”

“Ah, no.” You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. Let’s finish this.” But your phone was ringing, the caller ID displaying an unknown number. You frowned. “Hello?”

“Excuse me, is this Jia Hanyu’s emergency contact?”

You froze. This wasn’t a voice you knew. Emergency contact? Why—why would they—who…?

“Um. Y-yes?” You were already shaking. Yugyeom looked at you in alarm.

“We need you to come to the General Hospital immediately. There has been an accident.”

A click. You stared at your phone, heart racing, trembling all over. “Oh my god. Oh my god, what do I do? What do I do?” Yugyeom seized your shoulders and forced you down from growing hysteria.

“What. Happened.” His voice was steady enough that you responded the same way.

“General Hospital.”

“I’ll take you there.”

The drive to the hospital was wrought with tension. You could only think of the worst and you were crying by the time you got there, despite Yugyeom’s attempts to calm you down. You let him drag you through the reception and you desperately asked for Jia Hanyu, to be ushered—alone—into the ER. The last thing you remembered seeing was Yugyeom’s reassuring smile before you turned a corner out of sight.

You nearly bumped into a man on his phone in your daze and hastily apologized, but he neither seemed to notice or care.

The talk with the doctor was less than reassuring, however. You signed whatever they thrust at you to get his surgery started and then demanded to know who brought him in.

“Hello,” the young man greeted you politely, his clothes still stained red. He was looking at you carefully as if you would break down any moment.

You forced a wobbly smile. “Thank you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper, but he caught it.

“It was the least we could do,” he replied. Your knees suddenly gave way and you sank into a chair.

“Tell me what happened to him,” you pleaded.

And he told you about the car that came speeding out of nowhere although the signal was red. If you were in your right mind, you might have heard the anger in his voice. It hadn’t been the kid’s fault then. Tears slipped out of the corner of your eyes.

Your gaze rested on his soiled clothes. “I’ll—I’ll replace those,” you said weakly, gesturing to his attire. “They’re ruined.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you don’t have to.” He knelt in front of you. “Are you okay? That’s what matters.”

You nodded, sniffling. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” You didn’t know why you were attempting the brave front. “You didn’t tell me your name yet. How can I be grateful if I don’t know your name?”

He chuckled under his breath. “My name is Im Jaebeom.”

“Y/N.”

He squeezed your hands. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

“I know. That doesn’t make things any easier.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The two of you sat there in silence before you remembered that this was a person, he probably had plans interrupted, he must need to get home. Reluctantly, he stood to leave, but only after making sure you would be okay.

“And—” you grabbed his wrist. “Yugyeom—he’s sitting out there in reception. Tell him—tell him to go home and that I’ll be fine. Please?”

He nodded. Left.

You broke down completely. And you thought that would be the worst to happen.

You weren’t bargaining on the mess that would happen the next day.

You never thought he wouldn’t wake up.

-

The apartment fell silent in a way that you never thought would be possible after Jackson moving in. There was always noise in it; but no longer. Several of your neighbours had even asked if Jackson had moved out. What were you supposed to tell them? No, he didn’t move out, I just found out he’s a liar and I’m trying to cope with that by ignoring him and he’s too scared to approach me?

In truth, you weren’t totally mad at him or worried that he would be a stalker. After talking things over with Jaebeom, you’d concluded that Jackson hadn’t seen you that day at the hospital (Jaebeom recalled he’d gone to make a call or something). So the first time he saw you really was at the apartment. And that’s why he was so curious about the picture. That’s when he’d known.

But why hide it from you?

-

“Y/N!” You weren’t sure if socializing was a good idea at the moment, but when you bumped into Jinyoung at the coffee shop down the street, you didn’t push him away. He joined the line at the counter right after you.

“Hello, sunbae.” The smile you put on definitely didn’t reach your eyes, but Jinyoung didn’t comment. Most college students had the same problem.

“I did it.” He told you smugly.

“Did what?”

“I told JB hyung that I liked him.”

Despite the inner turmoil you’d been going through for the past few days, you gasped. “Wait, what? Seriously?” He nodded, clearly brimming with glee, bouncing up and down on his heels like a giddy child just given sweets.

“He’s here, I want you to meet him.” He gestured to a table a short distance away. You saw the top of a head and smiled.

“I’d love to.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling. “Thanks, uh, for encouraging me to.”

You let out a laugh. “Um, you’re welcome? I didn’t really think you’d do it; I only said that to get you off my back about Jackson.” And as soon as the name rolled off your lips, your heart sank.

Jinyoung must have sensed the distress in your expression, because he asked, “Are you okay? Did you guys fight again?”

“I guess you could say that.” After placing your orders, you followed him to their table, eager to meet this JB hyung you’d heard so much about.

You saw the man break into a wide smile on seeing Jinyoung return, but the moment you came within his line of sight, his face fell in surprise. So did yours.

“Y/N?” he asked, incredulous.

“Jaebeom?” You were in equal disbelief. A moment of silence passed when you two looked at each other and Jinyoung back and forth between.

“You guys know each other?” Jinyoung questioned. “Ah, did Jackson introduce you? I thought you and Jackson weren’t talking, hyung.”

“This is your JB hyung?” You laughed.

Jaebeom looked sheepish. “My friends call me that.”

Jinyoung was just sitting there next to you, across from Jaebeom, confused. Jaebeom decided to take pity on him.

“Nyoung, you remember I told you that Jackson and I took a kid to the hospital? Last year?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the car accident.”

Your chest felt tight. “That was my cousin.”

Jinyoung’s mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, what?” His eyes darted around, thinking. “And…Jackson knew who you were?”

You shook your head. “I met Jaebeom-ssi at the hospital that evening, but I didn’t see Jackson. He didn’t know I was the emergency contact until a month ago or something. But he didn’t tell me he was the one who took Hanyu to the hospital. I only found out a week ago when we bumped into Jaebeom-ssi at the supermarket.”

Jinyoung sat there, stunned. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me any of this.”

“He told me everything a few days ago,” Jaebeom interjected. “But he made me promise not to tell anyone.” He leaned forward and stared at you. “You’re still not talking to him, are you?”

You lowered your head in guilt. “I want to. It’s just—he lied to me and I don’t know why. I want to talk to him, but I just—don’t know how to break the silence.”

“His heart’s…in the right place,” Jaebeom assured you. “Honestly, I don’t think even he knows why he hid it from you.”

“I think I might know,” Jinyoung said softly. Both of you turned to look at him.

“I thought he didn’t tell you anything.”

“Not the recent stuff,” he agreed, “but he did tell me what happened last year.” He searched your eyes, probably wondering how to put things into words. “Did Jackson tell you that he visited Hanyu at the hospital?”

You stilled. “He—he visited Hanyu?”

Your senior nodded. “He went nearly every week to check up on him, to see if there was any progress.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “What?”

Jaebeom glanced over at his boyfriend, biting his lip nervously. “I think Jackson should be the one explaining all this.” Jinyoung looked sufficiently chastised.

“I’m just saying that might be the reason,” he hastily said. “He was really…devastated when he passed, you know. Came to me bawling his eyes out. I really didn’t know what to do.”

“Where was I during all this?” Jaebeom questioned.

“Japan, I think. But Y/N, I’m not saying you shouldn’t be mad at him,” your senior advised. “I can understand that. But, you know, hear him out. I’ll talk to him if you want. He’s not a bad guy.”

You inclined your head. “I understand. I’ll—I’ll listen to what he has to say.”

-

You went back that afternoon, heart in your throat.

What do I tell him? What do I say? How do I break this silence?

-

You waited.

The clock struck ten, then eleven.

Twelve.

You fidgeted with your phone, anxiety seeping through you. Where was he?

Should I call him? Would that be—ah, never mind. Why should I be the one to patch this up? I didn’t do anything wrong! He’s the one who should apologize. Why isn’t he here?

An hour later, you weren’t thinking about the politics of your troubles. You were worried now, very much so. You tried to call him, but his phone was switched off. Had he run away somewhere? What was going on? Should you call the police?

It was past one thirty when an unknown number called you. You stared at your phone, heart pounding, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Not again, you thought desperately. Please not again.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s me. Jaebeom.” He didn’t waste any time. “Jackson’s with me; I figured you would be worried.”

You sunk into the sofa cushions, a hand over your heart. Oh, thank heaven. “He—he’s with you?”

“Yeah, he—uh, I’m guessing he went out by himself because he’s drunk out of his mind. Came knocking at my door a while ago.”

You didn’t know what to think. “Ah. I tried calling him, but…”

“Oh, his phone’s dead.” You heard muffled noises on the other end. “I wanted to call you sooner, but I had to find your number from his wallet.”

“His…his wallet?”

“Yeah, you’re his emergency contact. He has your info written down on a piece of paper.”

“Oh.” Your voice sounded very small. “I see.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, he’s asleep now, but I’ll send him over tomorrow after his hangover’s gone down.”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you, Jaebeom-ssi.” You paused, about to hang up.

“Wait, uh, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Jaebeom sounded hesitant. “Okay, I’m…I’m not as great with words as Jinyoung is, but…um, I think you should know that Jackson is a good guy. Like, I know he may have hidden some things from you, but he wasn’t trying to, like, hurt you or anything.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “I know.”

“He was crying, you know.” Jaebeom made an uncomfortable noise, as if he didn’t know how to proceed from there. “When he showed up here. I couldn’t understand what he wanted to say, but I heard your name. He really cares about you, yeah? Even if—even if he doesn’t tell you.”

You nodded slowly, before remembering that he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I—I understand.”

There was a brief awkward pause, before he coughed. “So, um, yeah. You should…probably sleep. Good night.”

“Right. Good night.”

You silently set your phone down and put your head in your hands. When did all this become so complicated? Why was it so difficult? I guess it’s my fault for not listening to him or giving him a chance to explain. Do I just wait for him to come back? What do I say?

-

The sun rose bleakly on the next morning.

You awoke to the jarring sound of the alarm ringing in an empty, silent apartment.  Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you sighed, going through everything that happened a year ago, a month ago, a week ago. Wondering how things had escalated to this. It’s better not to overthink about it. When he comes back, we’ll either talk it out or fight it out.

Around ten, Jaebeom shot you a text informing you that he’d sent Jackson back.

You sat on the sofa, giving you a view of the front door. You would wait. Waste no time. Just get it over with. You were vaguely aware of your heartbeat in mild panic state.

At last, someone knocked, tried the door and opened it.

Jackson’s gaze fell on your stoic expression and he flinched. Slowly stepping in and removing his shoes making as little noise as possible, he stood in the doorway for a moment before sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

Neither of you spoke.

You sensed him fumbling with his fingers, itching to say something.  

“I went to see him.”

You didn’t respond. He took your silence as invitation to continue.

“Every week. I—I don’t know why, to be honest. I just…” He shook his head. “I just felt some sort of attachment to him. I wanted him to get better. I really did.”

Your heart ached at his words. How could you be angry for this? For his compassion?

“When I went the day after he…” he broke off. “When I went, I was told…the news. And I didn’t know how to take it. I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t believe that anyone would give up on him.” He drew in a deep breath, still clearly anxious at your silence. “Deep down I guess I knew that there was nothing we could do and it was easier to…end his suffering, but…I didn’t want to accept it, I guess. I know that sounds silly, but—”

“It’s not silly.”

He paused, hesitant. Your voice was rough from lack of use.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I…I shouldn’t have, but I think I just put my resentment on whoever his emergency contact was, you know? I guess I figured they made the decision.” You felt tears beginning to form but your blinked them away. “I really didn’t know it was you. Or that you weren’t—”

“I know, Jackson.” You finally looked up at him. He was on the edge of his seat, worried but hopeful. “The boys told me everything. I just wish you hadn’t lied.”

“So do I,” he said sincerely.

The two of you stared at each other, not saying anything. Jackson seemed ready for an outburst, a single sentence that you weren’t going to forgive him.

“Why would you do that, though?” You spat, slamming your hand down onto the cushions. Jackson jumped, startled.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N, I didn’t think—”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when you didn’t come home last night?”

“—find out…wait, what?” He was dumbfounded. “Oh.”

“I was this close to calling the police, you know that? I don’t even know how many gods I thanked when Jaebeom called saying you had crashed at his place. Why do you have to go and get drunk, huh? Why do you have to put yourself in danger like that?”

Jackson visibly relaxed, a small smile breaking across his lips. “I’m so sorry. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“You’re so stupid.” And you stretched your arms out for a hug. He melted into it, holding you tight so he’d never let you go. “He would have loved you, too,” you murmured into his shoulder.

He drew back, eyes uncharacteristically serious. That was a grand statement you had just made. But you weren’t going to withdraw that. You knew it was true.

“Does-does that mean you—love me?” Jackson spluttered, blotches of red forming on his cheeks. And then you realized exactly what you had said.

“What? No,” you retorted defensively, pushing him away. “What are you talking about? I never said anything like that.” And then you jumped up to run away, squirming out of his firm grasp. His fingers found your sides and you burst out gasping.

Laughter rung through the still apartment.

There was happiness again.

-

“Hyung, you called Y/N yesterday?”

“Yeah, I did. You think your flatmate wouldn’t be worried about you?”

“What did you say?”

“Ha. I didn’t say anything. Why? Should I have told Y/N you were saying “I love you” in your sleep?”

-

“Yeah, Jinyoung, I’ll be there, don’t worry so much,” you spoke into the phone you balanced on your shoulder. Your hands were busy washing out the dishes you’d used for lunch. “How’s Jaebeom doing?” You hummed as your senior (now graduated, big whoop, whatever, ugh) went into an explanation on how his boyfriend’s cat woke them up yowling at three in the morning because she got herself stuck on top of the display cabinet and he couldn’t go back to sleep.

“Is Jackson there?” he asked you. You wiped your hands hastily on a washcloth before taking your phone in your hand and stepping over to the window.

“No, he had a morning shift,” you informed him. “He was supposed to be here by now, come to think of it.” You glanced out, wondering where he might be.

“Ah, okay. Remind him to come tomorrow, too.” Jinyoung paused. “Wait, is it a good idea to bring Jacks? Do you think he’ll be too loud? I don’t want to blow this—”

“Jinyoung, relax,” you reassured. “Jaebeom’s parents already love you, I don’t see why you’re so afraid—”

“That’s when we were just friends!” He cried, panic evident in his tone. “I don’t even know what they’ll say about this!”

Your phone made a funny beeping noise. “Jinyoung, you’ll be fine. I promise you. I’ll call you back, okay? I’m getting another call.” You hung up on him to see an unknown number calling. Without thinking twice, you answered. “Hello?”

“Excuse me, is this Jackson Wang’s emergency contact?”

-

A/N: *bowing* I’m very sorry.

[kell-be-belle]

Desperation

a/n: I am so unbeliveably proud of myself for finishing this. It has been a long time since I’ve written anything and it has been such an amazing experience to create again. This fanfiction was written as part of the @grishaversebigbang project. I am only a minor piece in a great work of art so be sure to check out all the other amazing stories and artworks all dedicated to Leigh Bardugo’s @lbardugo incredible grishaverse. 

Corporalki: @december-dragon

Materialki: 

@phy-be [Artwork] @randomlpsbrecken [Artwork] @ahkielos [Edit1] [Edit2]

Summary: Kaz Brekker never thought he would find himself hopelessly in love, let alone with his own Wraith. Unable to contain his feelings and unsure how to confess them, a desperate Kaz seeks help from his fellow crows. But he may have gotten a little more than he bargained for.  

Ao3: Read It Here

In all his life, Kaz Brekker could only recall three instances where he had found himself feeling truly desperate. The first time had been when he had awakened on the Reaper’s Barge, tossed mercilessly amongst the foul, festering corpses without regard for the life to which he still clung. Using his own brother’s rotting corpse as a flotation device was an act of survival and one whose consequences echoed well into his present.

The second time had been on the flat shores of Vellgeluk after their harrowing escape from the Frjedan Ice Court; watching as his meticulously orchestrated plans crumbled between his leather gloved hands. Four million kruge gone. His team weary and in varying stages of unraveling. Inej small and limp like a child’s doll in the arms of the Squaller as she disappeared over the distant horizon. How hollow he had felt. The fire inside him temporarily extinguished leaving him teetering on the very edge of collapse.

The third time was now as he sat perched on the sofa of the Van Eck mansions’ lavish parlor. Kaz had made it a personal policy of his to spend as little time as he could at the estate. Had he been Wylan, he probably would have seen the place burned to the foundation long ago. Something so absurdly ostentatious had no business existing. The furniture was too plush, the wallpaper too colorful, the floral arrangements too plentiful and pungent. Kaz would take the hollow under a bridge long before this monstrosity.

Jesper Fahey, however, was in his glory.

Jesper was swathed in a rich velvet smoking jacket, the sleeves embroidered with shimmering gold thread. He cradled a glass of deeply colored wine in the curve of one hand. He pinched a thin cigarillo between the fingers of the other. His grin was oil slick and smug as a gambler on a hot streak as he took a drag of the cigarillo and breathed it’s sweet smoke back into the even sweeter air.

“Ah Kaz,” he purred, the smoke standing white against the richness of his Zemeni skin. “I’ve been wondering when you would finally grow the dice to come seeking my expertise.” He swung one spindly leg over the other in a high arc and the wine sloshed in his glass like a small sea.

Kaz allowed himself the momentary pleasure of imagining knocking out Jesper’s obnoxiously white teeth with the head of his cane. The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip on said cane tightened. “Well… here I am,” he rasped. “And with the dice I assure you I had long before today.”

“Oh no doubt, but I assure you that having the dice to con the most powerful man in Ketterdam and having the dice to do this takes two totally different sets.”

Kaz clenched his jaw and teeth, like his gloves, creaked menacingly. “Enough with this ridiculous euphemism. Is the deal the deal?”

“Oh, you mean right now?” Jesper quiried. His attempt at a poker face was pathetic as ever. It was no wonder he lost so frequently. “It’s just… you’ve never come to me to help with this sort of thing and I’m finding myself… overwhelmed with emotion.” It was some emotion, but it certainly wasn’t something as innocent as love for a friend.

Shame burned white hot under Kaz’s skin. He knew full well that the request he was making was unorthodox if not hideously pathetic. However, that did not mean that he had to sit here and suffer mockery from the likes of Jesper Fahey. “That’s it. We’re done here.” He rasped, his coat surging around him like the tides of a stormy sea as he took up his cane and limped defiantly towards the door.

Jesper sprang from the couch like a tightly wound coil. He had wanted to have his fun, but he hadn’t meant to drive Kaz away. “No, no wait!” he squawked, scrambling to place his wine glass safely on the side table so he could pursue the retreating Kaz. “C’mon Kaz, I was just fooling arou-!” Jesper clapped a hand on Kaz’s shoulder.

He couldn’t have made a bigger mistake.  

Even on his best days, Kaz struggled to cope with the trauma of his childhood. Today was most certainly not what he would consider one of his best. Instinct took hold and wielded him like a marionette. He twisted around and snatched Jesper’s arm with the speed of a striking viper. He wrenched it backwards and the joint of the Zemeni’s shoulder groaned in its socket. Kaz was not a hesitant fighter. On the streets of Ketterdam, hesitation brought certain death. Within a heartbeat, he hefted his cane and lifted it in a high arc with the steel crows head aimed to strike. “K-Kaz please! Wait!”  

Realization washed over him and Kaz snapped back to his senses as if plunged into the canal midwinter. His eyes flickered up to see his cane; the steelhead glinting in the light of the crystal chandelier. A star teetering on the edge of the heavens. A meteor set on destruction. Kaz released Jesper with little grace and the Zemeni fell on all fours with a gasp of relief. Jesper rolled his shoulder and winced. “Saints, Kaz… I wouldn’t have teased you had I known it would entail an attempt on my life…”

Kaz made no remark, only blinked tiredly down at Jesper before he turned and slunk away; pushing a hand through the sheaf of his dark hair. Why was he even here? Seeking Jesper out had been a thoughtless idea and his regret was palpable. There was only a small handful of people Kaz dared to consider comrades, but still he kept them at arm’s length. It was smart. It was safe. Making Jesper privy to this information was a betrayal of his most sacred of rules- never expose your weaknesses.

Jesper recovered with the kind of ease that only he could manage, smoothing the lapels of his smoking jacket and picking up his cigarillo from where it was smoldering feebly on the carpet. The Zemeni perched it back between his lips and took a long drag. He breathed the sweet smoke back into the parlor. “Boy… it’s worse than I thought. How long has it been?”

Kaz pressed his lips together, “Much longer than I care to admit.”

“You make it sound like you have some kind of disease,” Jesper chuckled watching the smoke tendrils dance into the air above him.“It’s only love, Kaz.”

Even the word made Kaz’s stomach twist. Love. What even was love? It was something that he might have known at one time, but was so distant in his past it may as well have been another lifetime. The concept was so foreign to him now that he struggled to understand where and when it had managed to entrap him like a rabbit in a snare.  

Inej. Kaz loved Inej.

Somehow, this Suli girl had managed to wheedle her way under his carefully structured armor. He should have just been able to swallow it down. He should have buried it in the deep pit inside himself where he shoved all other feelings that didn’t pertain to revenge, control, or power. All the things that made him Ketterdam’s Bastard of the Barrel. However, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t and he had tried with every ounce of willpower in his broken, miserable body. Every time he looked at her, caught the scent of her perfume, felt the warmth of her touch lingering on the window sill; he felt himself unraveling.  

Kaz forever envisioned his life spent with no company other than his own and he had accepted it with no qualms. He enjoyed his own company. Now he was posed with a situation he had never prepared for and had no clue how to proceed with. And it was for that reason that Kaz was here today.

Kaz was desperate.  

When it came to choosing an acquaintance with romantic experience, his options had been slim and even that was an extreme understatement. His choices included Jesper Fahey and Nina Zenik. Neither of them were nearly capable enough to handle this sensitive information with any form of maturity. At the very least, Jesper lacked Nina’s ruthlessness.    

“Jesper!” A voice rang out from the nearby foyer. “Jesper, I’m home!”

“Shit, it’s Wylan!” Jesper hissed, scrambled to the table beside the sofa and opened the lid to a small trinket box. He hastily snubbed his cigarillo out inside and snapped the lid shut before waving his hands like an overgrown bird in an attempt to disperse the lingering smoke. He only just had time to throw himself into a lounging position before Wylan appeared in the door.

Wylan Van Eck had grown quite a bit since he had first joined the ranks of the Dregs. His face had lost some of its boyish roundness.

Wylan stopped mid stride, his nostrils flaring as he raised his chin and took in the fading scent of Jesper’s freshly extinguished cigarillo. “Jesper! How many times do I have to tell you, stop smoking those in the house! That smell gets in the carpet!”

If only Jesper’s smile was as effective in getting him out of trouble as he believed it to be. Wylan sighed exasperatedly, but made no further comment. This was obviously an ongoing struggle. Wylan crossed to the card table adjacent to the fireplace, depositing his armful of packages on its surface. “So… what business, Kaz? It’s not often we see you here…. I know you can stomach this place just about as well as I can.” Wylan had made it known more than once that he had absolutely no sentimental feelings towards his childhood home. It seemed his presence there hinged solely on his affections for Jesper who had settled into life of luxury as if he had never lived any other way.

Kaz hesitated. It couldn’t have been more than half a moment, but the subtle arch of Wylan’s brow indicated he had caught the uncharacteristic action. “I need help with a job. I came to ask Jesper for help.” It wasn’t entirely a lie though not specifically the truth either.

“Oh, really?” Wylan queried, unwrapping one paper swathed package. “What kind of job?”

Jesper was the one to intervene, springing up from his perch on the sofa once more like a tightly wound coil.  “A stakeout!” he blurted. Wylan blinked at him suspicion. “Uh… yeah, a stakeout! It looks like the Black Tips have been sniffing around Fifth Harbor and Kaz wants me to keep an eye on the borders.”

“A stakeout, huh?” he queried once more, lifting another of his packages. He pulled away the paper slowly and deliberately. The slow riiiiiiip it produced should have been classified as an instrument of torture in Kaz’s current state. “That doesn’t really sound like a job for Jesper.” Kaz glared pointedly at Jesper. The Zemeni merely grimaced, bouncing his shoulders and mouthing a silent word of apology. “Did something happen with Inej?”

“No. It didn’t.” Kaz came out much more bitter than he had intended which caused Wylan to arch his brow even further. It didn’t take an idiot to know something with their story didn’t quite check out, but still Wylan had become so damn perceptive since entering the ranks of the Dregs. His cunning rivaled Kaz’s own which at most times impressed him, but sometimes left him mildly disquieted. He would make a fine successor should he ever decide to abandon some of that meddlesome humanity.

“Alright, sounds good. Be safe.” Wylan abruptly stated, gathering his unwrapped purchases in the cradle of his arms and proceeding out from the parlor. “I’ll be in the lab if you need me!” echoed out behind him as he rounded the grand staircase and disappeared from sight. Kaz and Jesper stood silently, gawking at the empty space where Wylan had been as if they hadn’t yet processed the fact he was no longer there.

Jesper glanced dazedly over at Kaz, “Okay, well…. I guess, that… settles that.” Jesper clapped his hands together and swiveled on the balls of his feet to face Kaz. “Alright! Let’s talk about the game plan! I’m thinking some new clothes.”

The pit that had been growing in Kaz’s stomach grew deeper still. If it were possible to feel worse about this decision than before than he most certainly would, but it seemed there was no choice now. No mourners, no funerals.

******

“Alright,” Jesper sang, clapping his hands together. “Inej should be arriving back in Ketterdam sometime in the next few days correct?” Kaz affirmed with a bare nod. “Why don’t we start with the basics?” Jesper had brought Kaz to a quaint little square in the Zelver district. The planters surrounding the square were bursting with freshly bloomed crocuses and tulips. Townsfolk were perched at wrought iron bistro tables, nursing cups of steaming coffee bright with fresh cream or pecking at delicate pastries from the neighboring coffeehouses. A small handful of children ran around chasing a brightly colored ball in a jubilant cacophony of giggles and shrieks.

Kaz hated it.

Places like this so reminded him too much of the brief dream of a life he and his brother had lived upon their arrival in Ketterdam. It reminded him too much of the house with the blue door and white lace curtains in the windows. Too much of hutspot and rich hot chocolate and a porcelain doll of a girl with a red ribbon in her hair. Suffering had been the forge in which Kaz Brekker had been created and remembering that there were people had never known the same was always hard for him to swallow.

Still, Kaz couldn’t complain. He refused to take any of Jesper’s so called “lessons of love” anywhere in the remote vicinity of the Barrel or East and West Stave. The risk of him being recognized in those places was too great and he didn’t wish to expose himself any further than he already had. Here he was blissfully anonymous and therefore exempt from some marginal amount of embarrassment or so he believed.

“Alright, so generally when people are happy they tend to smile, correct?” Jesper was pacing a line in front of Kaz, the crumbs of a recently eaten pastry still stuck to his lips. Kaz didn’t bother to tell him they were still there. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually smile before. I mean, I’ve seen the scheming face smile before, but that doesn’t exactly count, does it? It looks more like that kind of smile an opponent might give you when they’re about the beat your hand with a royal flush and-! ”

“Jesper.” Kaz barked, setting the Zemeni still like a hound called to heel. “Please, I am not getting any younger sitting here listening to your ramblings over the opinion of my expressions. I would appreciate you getting to your point at some moment in my lifetime. Also there have been crumbs on your face for the last ten minutes. For saints sake, clean yourself up.”

Jesper blinked at him a moment before swiftly brushing the crumbs from his mouth with a swipe of the back of his hand. His cheeks were dark with embarrassment. “Right, okay focusing…” He took a collective breath. “So, you need to let Inej know you enjoy being around her.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve realized, but that’s the whole reason we’re here.”

Jesper sighed exasperatedly, “Work with me here, Kaz. You can’t just run up to Inej and scream about your feelings in her face. You have to start small; baby steps if you will.” Kaz raised one dark brow. “You have to start subtle. Start smiling at her more, maybe throw in a laugh at something she says. Make her feel like you enjoy being in her company.”

“But I do enjoy being in her company.”

“Yeah, I understand that, but you would never know it with that sourpuss of a face you have.” Kaz furrowed his brows. Jesper swallowed thickly. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I mean, your face is what it is and it’s perfectly handsome,” Kaz brushed off the fact that Jesper had just referred to his face as ‘perfectly handsome.’ “But maybe you should just try and-!”

“Fine.” Kaz cut Jesper’s ramblings off at the knee. He no longer had the patience for them. “I will… try to smile.” Kaz moistened his lips, stretched his mouth out and back in to test the functioning of his muscles. He took a collective breath. The corners of his lips twitched upwards; a direction they were not accustomed to moving in. He believed he was doing a fine job of things. He certainly didn’t think he was the picture of serenity, but he thought the smile looked genuine. Unfortunately, judging from the look Jesper was giving him, the Zemeni didn’t think the same.

Kaz’s smile fell. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not really, it’s just…” Jesper sucked the air in through his teeth with a small hiss. “Well you’re kind of just making your scheming face.” Kaz’s stomach dropped. Conspiratorial smiles were all well and good in his line of business, but not when trying to convey affection to significant others. Kaz furrowed his brow, not entirely sure how to proceed. Jesper must have sensed his frustration and jumped to encourage him. “Hey, hey don’t get discouraged! You just need some practice, that’s all! Look, try again and I’ll tell you how to make it look more genuine, okay?” Kaz agreed reluctantly because what other choice did he have?

For the better part of the next hour, Jesper coached Kaz on how to smile like a proper man and less like a Barrel-born thug. He offered little bits of advice like smoothing is brow, relaxing the tension in his jaw, and showing just a hint of teeth. By the time they were through, Jesper was looking at him with accomplishment in his grey eyes. “Not bad, not bad at all,” he mused. “I would almost say you look genuinely happy! Alright, that’s enough practice for now.”

Kaz let his face fall back to its natural expression, massaging his cheeks with the tips of his leather clad fingers. He had endured beatings, knife wounds, several broken bones- one of which had caused him a permanent disability- and yet somehow learning how to smile had been more arduous. The muscles in his cheeks twitched from the strain. They were painfully underused, afterall.

Jesper was beginning to explain phase two of his plan when a brightly colored ball bounced towards their bench, rolling the last few feet before coming to a stop at the edge of Kaz’s pristinely polished shoes. He tilted his chin upwards, watching as the gaggle of children who had been frolicing about the square barreled towards them in pursuit of their escaped plaything.

With one look at Kaz, however, the children stopped dead in their tracks; their combined momentum nearly sending them toppling onto the cobblestone like dominoes.

Kaz knew how he appeared to children, a creature comprised of sharp angles and shadows that more resembled the monster under their bed than it did a man. He had no qualms against this vision of himself since he had no fondness for children as proven with sweet little Hanna Smeet. He looked down at the ball with distaste. It’s overly-saturated color made his eyes sting as if staring into the light of the sun.        

“Oh, this is perfect!” Jesper clapped his hands together jubilantly. “Okay Kaz, here’s where all the hard work comes into practice! Bring that ball back over to those kids and give them your best smile when you do it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Kaz rasped, bitter coffee gaze sliding from the ball to the Zemeni as he flopped onto the bench beside him.

“I assure you that I am one hundred percent serious. You don’t get unrestricted candor from anyone like you do from children. If your new smile works on them, then all of our hard work will have been worth the effort.” Jesper flashed his own brilliant white smile. It was just as bright and damning as the ball- as the sun.

Kaz looked down at the ball, looked back up at Jesper who’s unrelenting smile was beginning to shift from aimable to unnerving. He certainly wasn’t giving up on this no more than he would surrender his beloved pearl handled pistols. “Fine,” Kaz growled. “Just stop smiling at me like that.” Kaz scooped the ball into the palm of one hand and grasped his cane with the other, hoisting himself up from the bench with a small creak of protest from his bad leg. He limped towards the children, the steel tip of his cane rasping against the stones beneath.

The children stood paralyzed, caught between their fear of the monster approaching them and their desire for the ball in his hand. Their knees knocked, lips wobbled, eyes swimming with the imminent threat of tears. This couldn’t possibly end well. Nevertheless he persisted, intent on seeing this through. He stopped a few feet before the children and used his cane to lower himself into a kneeling position. His bad leg creaked in protest once more and he growled with annoyance. The children shrunk away with a chorus of barely contained gasps.

“No wait, I…” The children waited with bated breath, curiosities momentarily overshadowing their trepidation. Kaz took a collective breath, briefly tested the muscles of his lips. He leaned forward, offering the ball in his outstretched palm. He thought back to all of Jesper’s tips, smoothing the furrow of his brows, relaxing the tension of his jaw, revealing a hint of teeth. “I believe this belongs to you.”  

The children scattered like roaches caught by the light, screaming and bolting off in a multitude of directions. In her haste, one little girl tripped over the hem of her skirts and collapsed face first to the cobblestones. One braid had come loose from where it had been wrapped around her head and it hung limply against the side of her dirt and tear streaked face. One boy mustered up enough courage to turn back, grasping his friend by the arm, dragging her up from the road, and carting her off towards a cafe.

Kaz sat there dumbfounded. Of course he hadn’t believed that would go well, but he still didn’t expect the disaster that unfolded. He surmised that one of them would snatch the ball with a hurried word of thanks and then the lot would scurry off to continue their game. Instead they had run off like the grim reaper galloped on their heels atop his skeletal steed. Kaz had expected nothing and yet was somehow still disappointed.

Kaz swiveled on the balls of his feet, craning his neck back to where Jesper sat by the bench, hands clasped over his mouth to silence the laughter that was still evident in quiver of his shoulders. Kaz shot up from his position despite the protest of his leg, stalking across the square back to Jesper. The Zemini snapped straight and still as Kaz approached like a soldier to his commanding general. “We’re going.” Kaz barked. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone ever, Saints help me Jesper I will shove a hundred kruge down your throat and then slice you open so they tumble out like a damn slot machine.”

Typically, such a threat would be disturbing to the average person, but Jesper only cast him a wry smile and fell into step behind him. “Whatever you say, boss. Whatever you say.”    

*********      

After the incident in the Zelver district, Kaz and Jesper thought it best to seek out new territory to continue their lessons. The cherry on the top of this day would be some pinched faced merchant wife crying for the Stadwatch and demanding repercussions for the Barrel thugs who terrorized her little darlings. Jesper and Kaz moved eastward, passed the Church of Barter and towards the University District. This district was blissfully void of the snotfaced cretins known as children.

Unfortunately, children of another kind populated this particular district. The incredibly cocksure, yet sickeningly nebulous breed known as the university student. It was nearing the end of the term and they were skittering about like rodents; wild eyed and bristling at the slightest inconvenience.

One student bumped shoulders with Kaz and reacted with a fiercely growled, “Watch where you’re going!” And muttered afterwards, “Lousy cripple.” It probably wasn’t meant to be heard, but was there nonetheless and Kaz wasn’t in a particularly passive mood. Kaz brushed his shoulder off with a practiced word of apology. The student righted himself and readjusted the stack in his arms before turning to bustle off to wherever he had been hurrying to before the collision.

Kaz gripped the head of his cane in his gloved hand. He jabbed the steel tip backwards with pinpoint precision and struck the back of the student’s knee. He folded to the ground like a gambler with a losing hand; his papers falling around him like a hail of confetti. They caught on the breeze like escaped birds. The student made no movement to recapture them. He laid there on the stones with his face scrunched in a way that couldn’t have been anything other an effort to hold back tears. Had that truly been all it took? Kaz almost felt sorry for him as he strode away.

Almost.

“Did you really have to do that to him? Final exams are a ridiculously stressful time.” Jesper said reproachfully casting a glance back at the student who was still lying in the street. He had curled in on himself like a dying insect.

“It certainly made me feel better so… yes. Yes I did.” Jesper rolled his eyes, but judging from the quiver of his dark lips, he was trying not to find too much satisfaction in the student’s retribution.    

Jesper and Kaz settled in a courtyard just off the main thoroughfare. It was mostly secluded, save for a single student perched on the bench in the far corner. Her nose was buried so deeply into a leather bound tome that the rest of her face was not even visible. She wouldn’t be interrupting them any time soon. They sat down on a bench as they had in the Zelver District, Jesper tucked into the far right and Kaz the far left. Kaz closed his eyes for a brief moment; drinking in the serenity of the courtyard. After the cacophony of sensations from the square, this place was a sanctuary.

He felt the planks of the bench beneath him bow and bend as weight shifted atop them. He opened his eyes and glanced sidelong at Jesper who appeared to have grown closer. Kaz eyed him warily, but determined the space between them was still sufficient enough. Kaz tried to immerse himself back in his moment of peace when he once more felt the bench planks bow and bend as Jesper inched closer still. He swiped his cane from where it had been propped against the bench and wielded it as a makeshift barrier between them.

“Jesper. Whatever it is you’re doing it better stop right now. I require a least two feet of distance from you at all times.”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, prepare yourself because this is lesson number two, Kaz.”

“If lesson number two involves the continued invasion of my personal space, then I’m afraid this lesson is over.” Kaz retreated further down the bench though there wasn’t much space left to retreat into. The curled, wrought iron of the armrest pressed into his side through the bulk of his wool coat.

“C’mon Kaz! Do you want to win over Inej or not?”

“I don’t know, Jesper, would you like to lose an arm?” Kaz growled. “Because that’s the direction we’re heading if you don’t shift down the other end of this saints forsaken bench.” Customarily, Kaz did his utmost to contain the sickness inside him. Exposing it meant exposing what was perhaps his greatest weakness and weakness was not of Kaz Brekker’s list of desirable personality traits. However, the stress of this day had left him cracked.

“Do you want to win over Inej or not?” When Kaz didn’t immediately respond, Jesper shifted closer. “Well, do you or don’t you?” He stared at Kaz expectantly, his grey eyes seeming to penetrate through to his very soul. Kaz pressed his lips together and gave a bare nod. “That’s what I thought. Just sit back and let the master show you how it’s done.” Jesper shimmied a little closer, further closing what little space remained between them. Kaz’s skin crawled, but he remained still.

“So, when you’re sitting next to her, you start moving in closer. Remember to take your time with it; you don’t want to be intimidating.” Jesper was now a hair’s breadth away; he could feel the warmth of the Zemeni’s body. It made his stomach roil. “Now, this is when the magic happens.” Jesper’s grin was not assuring of any type of magic. “So, sit like this for awhile. Kind of let that tension grow. Drive ‘em a little stir-crazy. Then, real smooth like, pretend like you’re going to yawn, stretch your arms up,” Jesper raised both lanky arms over his head; stretching them out before casually bringing one down and around Kaz’s shoulder. It settled there as if there was nowhere else it had ever been. “And boom, there you have it. Now the two of you are nice and cozy and perfectly poised for smoochin’.” He winked. Kaz nearly wretched.            

“Oh dear… am I interrupting something?” Kaz nearly jumped from his skin, leaving it like a molted shell on the bench behind him. He whirled around to see none other than a deviously grinning Nina Zenik. Kaz swallowed thickly. The cat about to devour the canary. “Jesper Fahey, how could you?!” she bewailed. “I always knew you were a degenerate, but cheating on your sweet innocent Wylan with Dirty Hands himself?” The student who had been buried in her book across the courtyard briefly bobbed above the pages.

“Nina… dear…” Kaz’s voice was low and feral, barely contained like a wild animal moments away from breaking its restraints. “Would you kindly shut that plump little mouth of yours?” Unfortunately with Nina, everything worked in the opposite. All positives were negatives, all negatives were positives, and ‘shut your mouth’ meant ‘please continue on as emphatically as your obnoxious voice box can manage.’

“Oh, poor Wylan will be devastated- absolutely heartbroken! I fear he may never recover from such a blow. I hope the taste of danger was worth it, Jesper!”

Jesper looked stricken. “Nina! How could I? How could you? I love Wylan more than life itself! And even if I didn’t, would you truly think that this-” He gestured to Kaz- “Would be the one I would choose?” Kaz glowered at Jesper. “No offense, buddy, you’re just not my type.” Kaz could’ve ripped his hair out.

Kaz stood from the bench, his coat once more rising in a swell around his legs. “I told you to shut your mouth.” He turned the ferocity of his gaze on Jesper. “And I extend that to you, too. I can’t stand either of your wailings. I swear, you’ll make my head split.” It was true that Kaz’s head was beginning to ache; his temples throbbing like the steady beat of a drum. This day had put him into so many situations beyond the limits of his comfort zone and it was starting to wear his nerves thin.

Nina and Jesper exchanged a glance. “Alright, fine, Kaz, we’ll stop…” Nina muttered. She made it her personal business to give Kaz as much hell as humanly possibly, but something must have told her to push that aside. Something about Kaz was different. He wasn’t just being his usual disgruntled self. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than the average vexation. “But seriously, what is going on? I know how particular you are about your personal space so you must have a good reason to be out here letting Jesper put the moves on you.”

Kaz only sighed, collapsing onto the bench. “It’s none of your business, Zenik. Just run off and eat cake or raise the dead or whatever it is you do for fun these days.” Kaz pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in hopes to relieve some of the pressure building inside his skull.

Telling Nina Zenik to mind her own business was like telling the sun to not shine. Now that she knew something was amiss, she would pursue it like a dog with a bone. “Like hell it isn’t, Brekker. I know you’re about as personable as Genya Safin on a bad hair day, but this is beyond even that. Whether you like it or not, Kaz, I’m your friend and I want to help.” As frustrating as she could be, Nina was fiercely loyal and Kaz had to give her some credit for that. However, he still wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I said no.” Kaz bit.

“And I said tell me,” jabbed Nina.

Jesper, having grown restless with the building tension finally blurted, “Kaz is in love with Inej and we’re trying to come up with ways he can tell her!” The words left him in one great rush and he had to suck in a deep breath to recover. When he realized what he had done, he clapped his hands over his mouth; eyes twitching back and forth between Nina and Kaz.

“Oh, that’s all,” Her laughter fluttered like butterflies wings. “I already knew that. You like to think you’re Mister Cool-and-Detached, but I’ve been watching you pine after her for years!”

Kaz sucked a breath to retort, but found all his words caught in his throat. Had… had really been so painfully obvious about it? He supposed that it must have been somewhat unsubtle since Van Eck had known to use Inej as a pawn for negotiation. Still, he found himself somewhat embarrassed knowing Nina had noticed.        

“If you’re looking for ways to win over Inej, then look no further! I happen to be an expert in the art of winning affection.” Nina dismissed with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. “The way to any woman’s heart is through her stomach!”

Jesper and Kaz exchanged a quick glance at each other, brows arched in matching expressions of confusion. Jesper piped up, “Umm…I thought that only worked on men?”

“Of course, typical male chauvinists!” Nina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You do realize that not everything is about men, don’t you? A woman’s heart can be won over just as easily with the offering food. An example of one such woman stands before your very eyes.” She says with a gesture to her ample form. “So, what kind of food does Inej like?”

“I don’t know.” Kaz replied curtly.

Nina’s smile fell. “You… don’t know? Well, saints Kaz, you claim to love her and yet you don’t even know what kind of food she likes to eat?”

“Do you?” he bit back.

Nina furrowed her brow, stroking the smooth curve of her chin as she gave Kaz’s question some thought. “Um, well- I guess… I don’t know either. She’s not really much of an eater.”

Kaz leaned forward on his cane, his fingers steepled across the crow’s head. “Then enlighten me, my dear Nina, on what makes you think that cooking a meal would do to win her over?”

Nina puffed her cheeks. “Well, at the very least I know she likes waffles. Good waffles. Thick fluffy waffles soaked in golden honey syrup and smothered with soft, salty butter. Bejeweled with luscious red strawberries and… oh, just thinking about it makes me famished.” Nina’s cheeks had flushed a dusty shade of pink. Her relationship with food clearly bordered on the edge of unnatural and Kaz did his best not to think too hard about it.

Nina blinked and broke free from her pastry induced stupor. “A-anyway, I think you should cook something for her! Knowing that someone took the time and effort to make something especially for you is extremely romantic. It would certainly mean a lot coming from you especially because your every waking moment is dedicated to your unhealthy obsession with kruge”

“I think you forget that my unhealthy obsession with kruge is what helps to feed your own. Every time you sit down to stuff yourself with biscuits or cakes or waffles, you should be saying your graces to me and not your Ravkan saints.”

Nina looked at him momentarily with a wooden expression as if she could not believe Kaz Brekker could be so unspeakably conceited. She seemed to think better of it though since she had known Kaz several years now and knew that he, indeed, could. “Either way, I am not the issue, here. The whole reason you’re out here practically spooning with Jesper on a public bench is because you need to learn how to woo Inej. Preparing a meal is a very reasonable solution. There is, however, one little hitch… Kaz, do you even know how to cook?”

“He knows how to cook up some pretty good heists!” Jesper chortled, his face plastered with an idiotic grin. He had shaped his fingers to resemble pistols and shot a round at both Kaz and Nina accompanied by the appropriate sound effects. The joke did not have the desired effect and Jesper awkwardly lowered his “guns”. “Uh… sorry…” He coughed, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“Anyway,” Nina dispersed the awkward air with a small clap, “I know a bakery not far from here that actually offers lessons in the art of waffle making! We should go see if they’re having a class!”

“That’s perfect!” Jesper exclaimed, springing up from his place on the bench. “We’ll all take a lesson! Oh man… imagine what Wylan would think if I surprised him with breakfast in bed and with a breakfast I made! Oh… all the smooches I’d get…” Now Jesper’s face had gone flushed and dreamy.

“No, I don’t want to hear it!” Nina suddenly cried, returning to her earlier bit. “You leave that innocent boy alone! You’ve toyed with his heart enough!”

“Oh, for Saint’s sake.” Kaz growled, snatching his can and hauling himself from the bench. “Can we just get a move on already?” He stalked off towards the entrance of the courtyard and paused as he reached it. He looked up the left side of the street and then the right and sighed exasperatedly. “Nina, I don’t know where I’m going!”

“Calm down, you big baby! Take the right.” Nina and Jesper trailed after Kaz and together the three of them proceeded down the path in a jumble of laughter and growls.

The student who had been sitting in the courtyard at last lifted her book and rested it spine down against her lap. She had absolutely no idea who any of those people had been and sure that none of them belonged to the university. She was glad they were gone, but she couldn’t help the heartening sense that she hoped he got his girl. She lifted her book and buried her nose and once more submitted herself to her studies.

************

Kaz, Nina, and Jesper soon found themselves outside the bakery Nina had spoken of. The sign out front displayed the name Zoet Verliefed. Sweet Love. How sickeningly appropriate. Nina breezed through the front door as if she were the breath of spring herself; Her hair trailing behind her in a cascade of chestnut curls. There was a young boy standing behind the counter. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. The son of the owner, Kaz pondered. He was playing with a coin, spinning it with a flick of his fingers and observing how many times it revolved before clattering back to the counter.

“O-oh! Ms. Zenik!” he gasped, his face flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. Oh. Kaz understood now. It seemed that Nina was a regular customer here. Perhaps more than regular judging from the way the counter boy sputtered so abashedly.

“Hi, Gerrit!” she sang, fluttering her way up to the counter with her curls all abounce. She pressed her palms to the counter, bracketing the ample shape of her bosom with her arms and giving her assets just the right amount of lift. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I’ve missed you,” she purred, bouncing on the balls of her feet and making her form jiggle.

Gerrit looked like he could’ve passed out.

“T-t-that’s okay, Ms. Zenik! I’m just glad to see you’re well!” That probably wasn’t the only thing he was glad to see judging from the way he squirmed.

“Oh please, I’ve told you not to call me that, you make me sound like an old lady!” Nina giggled, twirling a lock of hair around one perfectly manicured finger. Kaz cleared his throat into a closed fist, reminding Nina that they were here for reasons other than harmless flirting. “Oh, right! Gerrit, are you having one of those little cooking classes here today?”

Gerrit broke free of his stupor, meeting Nina’s eyes with an owlish gaze, “Cooking class?” He echoed back like a mockingbird. “Oh um, no we aren’t. We usually only do them on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Nina jutted out her lower lip, sank heavily against the surface of the counter.  

“You see my friend back there?” She gestured to where Kaz and Jesper stood behind her. Gerrit’s eyes darted between the two of them, not entirely sure to which friend she was referring. “Not the human beanpole, the one that looks like he might bite your face off.” Gerrit’s eyes settled on Kaz, flinching slightly as their gazes met. “You see… underneath that unforgiving exterior is the bleeding heart of a man yearning to love.”

“Nina,” Kaz growled lowly. Nina held up a hand to signal his silence.

“Yes, there is a girl he loves so deeply and passionately that he has risked life and limb for her and yet despite all that he is too emotionally stunted to confess the true nature of his feelings. Jesper and I,” Jesper gave a small wave. “Have been working all day to help him find ways to make his true feelings known and we thought cooking a meal would be the perfect solution!”

Gerrit stood there a moment, gaze darting from Nina to Kaz to Jesper, back to Nina then Kaz and back once more at Nina. He licked his lips nervously, clearly unsure where he fell into all of this. “Um… that’s uh… really sweet?” Nina’s smiled twitched.

“Yes… it is,” she drew out. “But, oh woe!” she cried, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead like a damsel about to swoon. “We are here on a day when no cooking class is offered! Whatever are we going to do?” Nina paused, sneaking a glance at Gerrit to see if her acting had made things any more clear. He blinked owlishly, his hands wrung around the excess material of his apron. Nina’s smile twitched once more, obviously losing patience with this boy and his obliviousness. “If only… there was someway… someone-” she emphasized the word- “Who could help us out.”

Something inside Garrit seemed to click, “O-oh! You mean me! Oh, well, uh… I guess my dad won’t be back for awhile, but there won’t be anymore to mind the shop if I’m in the kitchen….”  

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about the shop. Here,” Nina reached into her pocket and extracted a small stack of gold coins, placing them on the counter with a like clink. “For your trouble.”

Gerrit’s eyes flickered once more between all parties, now with the addition of the gold coins stacked on the counter. He wrung his apron more tightly. “O-okay, but only for you, N…Nina…”

Nina squealed in delight, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “You’re just the absolute sweetest! Oh, I could kiss you!” Gerrit once more looked like he could’ve passed out. His eyelids even fluttered.

“O-Oh y-you don’t have to do that I m-mean…” He bumbled helplessly, his face growing redder as the idea seemed to take root in his mind. His hands wrung his apron so tightly Kaz swore he could hear the cloth groaning with the strain. “The kitchen is this way!” Gerrit suddenly blurted, scurrying off through a set of carved wooden doors.

Nina looked quite satisfied with herself, smirking from ear to ear. “That’s how it’s done, boys.”

Kaz stepped up to the counter beside her, “Have you no shame?”

“No more than you do, crow boy. And put those coins back, won’t you? I actually like these people.”

Kaz huffed softly and did as bidded, returning the stack of coins Nina had placed there as if they had never been anywhere else.

********

Gerrit was a whirlwind as he set up the kitchen; setting out various bowls and spoons and ingredients. For something that was supposed to be so simple, it seemed like more effort than it was worth. Why make something yourself when it could be more easily purchased? Call him strange, but he would much prefer to be bought a steak dinner properly cooked than made one that was all grisel and fat. There was something to this he didn’t understand, but he supposed that was why he asked for help in the first place.

Kaz stripped himself of his jacket and hung it up on a post near the door. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow, partially exposing the crow and cup tattooed on his inner arm. Gerrit eyed it warily, but swiftly turned his gaze when caught staring.  

He wet his bottom lip, “Um… I-I think cooking might be easier if you remove your gloves.”

“And I think cooking might be easier if you mind your own business.” Gerrit pressed his lips together and stepped back. He had heard Kaz’s bark and seemed smart enough not to goad him to bite.  

“Okay… then, let’s start.” Gerrit explained to them the basics of waffle batter. Told them about the balance between wet and dry ingredients, proper stirring techniques to ensure optimal fluffiness. As he talked, he performed each task with a practiced ease. He seemed sure of himself here. He was no longer the bumbling boy who had nearly passed out at the sight of a little flesh. When the batter was complete, he showed them how to use the waffle iron. It was all simple enough. If this child could make waffles with such finesse, there was no reason why Kaz Brekker- Leader of the Dregs, Conqueror of the Fjerdan Ice Court, Bastard of the Barrel- could not do the same. Kaz looked down at the ingredients. Flour, eggs, salt, milk…

“Do you really think Inej is going to like this?” asked Jesper from Kaz’s left. His flour was already sifted into his bowl, soft and powdery like freshly fallen snow. He was now measuring out the salt.

“Of course, why wouldn’t she?” conferred Nina from Kaz’s right. She paced evenly with Jesper in the process of her batter; her dried ingredients all resting in the bottom of the bowl. She was working on removing the cork from a bottle of milk. Kaz’s heart skipped a beat. How had they managed to work so quickly and without his notice? He jumped to start his own batter. He wasn’t going to be shown up by the likes of Nina and Jesper.      

Nina continued on, unaware of Kaz’s inner plight. “Whenever Inej is home from sea voyaging, we always make sure to meet up for a waffle date. Waffles were one of the things we always talked about getting when we returned to Ketterdam from Fjerda.”

Kaz paused in measuring his flour. Wait, they did? Kaz didn’t always see Inej when she returned to Ketterdam. Sometimes he would find only a small bag of birdseed on the windowsill of his office, a small handwritten note beside it bearing the simple phrase ‘don’t forget.’ It brought him back to the memory of Inej perched on that same windowsill. Stray locks of her midnight hair tugged free from its braid by the breeze, her lashes soft and feathery against her cheeks as she basked in the dying sunlight. She seemed to glow gold, an immortal being trapped in the lowly world of men. Outside, the crows pecked merrily at the seed she had thrown. The Queen of Scavengers. The Goddess of Lost Things.

Kaz slipped back into reality with an inaudible gasp. Had he… put in one cup of flour or two? He peered down into his bowl. It didn’t seem like very much; he had probably only just added one. He measured another and dumped it in.    

“I guess you’re right about that,” Jesper hummed as poured the milk into the well of his dry ingredients. He did it little by little, mixing between each bit. “I don’t always get to see her, but I’ve gotten quite a few letters from her! She’s always sending me information on all the weapons she’s come across in her travels; sketches, samples of ammunition. She even sent me the latest in Zemeni revolver tech! It fires eight rounds in under ten seconds! Wylan and I tested it out some of his father’s old portraits.”

Kaz looked down at his bowl, half full of flour. He, too, had received letters from Inej, but they weren’t frequent and weren’t especially personal either. They typically contained a vague description of her current whereabouts, information about the slavers she had apprehended and the people he should be looking out for on the homefront. She often asked after her parents. They had long since moved on from the dismal streets of Ketterdam, but Kaz was sure to keep tabs on them to make sure they were well.

He started adding salt and baking powder.

The only thing that ever caught him were the signatures of her letters. She always finished them with the phrase ‘yours, Inej.’ Yours. It was such a simple word used constantly with little consequence. Did she have any knowledge of what she was doing to him? Did she know how his heart writhed every time he saw that one little word scrawled so careless at the end of every correspondence? Did she know how it drove his sleep away and left him tossing and turning on the narrow shape of his bed, grappling with the question of whether or not he dared to think of her as his? No… Inej belonged to no one. She was her own keeper.  

“Kaz…? You alright there, boss?” Jesper’s queryshook Kaz free from the devolvement of his thoughts and blinked at Jesper owlishly.

“Alright? Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”  

“Well you were just kind of… staring at your baking powder,” piped in Nina.

Kaz looked down at the bowl of powder cupped in his palm. It was made from thick ceramic and adorned with a motif of tittering blue birds. Had… had he actually added it? He peered down into his bowl, but everything was a wash of white. He couldn’t tell what was flour and what was powder. What was sugar and what was salt. “I was… just remembering the recipe. Two teaspoons of baking powder.” He scooped out said amount and dropped it in amongst the other white nonsense.    

Within a short amount of time, the three of them had each accomplished the creation of a waffle batter. Kaz frowned into his bowl. How could something look so lumpy while simultaneously so runny? It seemed to defy the very laws of physics and Kaz questioned how he had managed to bring such a strange substance into existence.  

The group was about to cook their batters when the faint tinkling of the shop bell took Garrit’s attention. He hurriedly excused himself from their presence and scurried off between the kitchen doors. “Wait for me before you use the iron!” he threw behind him. The three of them watched the doors swing back and forth on their hinges before ultimately settling with a small rumble.

“Screw that.” Nina snatched her bowl of completed batter and strode over to where the waffle iron still sat red hot and unattended.

“Wait Nina!” Jesper titered. “Gerrit told us to wait until he came back.”

“When have I ever done as I’m told? When have any of us-” she waved her arm in a broad gesture to the rooms three occupants- “Ever done as we’re told? All I know is that I want waffles and I want them now.”

Jesper thought about it for a moment, but then bounced his shoulders in a shrug, “Enh, you’re right! Besides it’s just a waffle iron. How hard could it be?” He huddled near the oven with Nina and the two of them chattered and giggled as they each took their turn and brought their creations to life. Nina’s was the picture of perfection

Kaz stepped up to the oven, glancing briefly between his bowl of batter and waffle iron. It sizzled quietly with the residue of the last batch. He was still not sure how he had gotten to this point, but he supposed it would be a waste if he didn’t see it through. He greased the waffle iron with a thick pad of butter and it hissed into new life. He poured his batter in the center and it flooded through the nooks and crannies with the rush of a rogue wave. He swiftly slammed the lid shut before it could run out the sides.  

“How did you do, Kaz?” piped Jesper, suddenly appearing over Kaz’s shoulder. His proximity was certainly too close for comfort and Kaz shifted away from him.

“You know it’s not supposed to be a liquid, right?” added Nina, appearing at his other shoulder.

Kaz scowled and stepped away from them, “I didn’t hover over your shoulders and criticize your handiwork so why should you with me?”

“Because something about it really didn’t look right,” Nina retorted. “I have to make sure you’re not over her committing atrocities against waffle kind over here.”  

Suddenly the waffle iron was overflowing; batter seeping through the cracks of its cast iron shell and dripping into the fire below. It sizzled and sputtered and spat back at him in thick drops of hot grease and fat. He gave silent thanks for his gloves for without them his hands would’ve surely suffered burns. Jesper and Nina had begun to shriek, their own skin unprotected and already turning pink where the batter had spat at them.

“Saint’s, that fucking hurt!” Nina keened, cradling her injured hands against her chest. “What the hell, Kaz?! What did you do?”

“What did I do? Absolutely nothing!”

“Well you clearly did something because I’m pretty sure waffles aren’t supposed to do that!”

Jesper interrupted their bickering, “Uh, guys? It’s getting worse!” He pointed a freshly blistering finger to where the fire beneath the waffle iron had grown nearly twice its original size. It licked around the edges of the oven like a beast lashing out between the bars of its cage.

“Water! We need water!” Nina whirled around, her curls following behind half a second slower and whipping her in the face. She sputtered and tugged the chestnut locks from her face as she stumbled blinding in the direction of the sink. One curvaceous hip swung out and struck the corner of the table. The dishes on top spilled forward, rolling off the surface and onto the floor in a spray of ceramic shrapnel. She swore to herself.

“A little broken china is not really the priority,” Kaz pointed out.

“You’re not helping, Kaz!” Nina stepped around the broken china as best she could, some crunching underfoot as she made her way to the sink. She swiftly filled a nearby basin and swung it into her arms, the liquid inside sloshing over the sides and onto the floor. She made it halfway back towards the blaze when she slipped on a spilled puddle of water. Nina sprawled out across the floor in a mass of tangled limbs and scarlet fabric. The bucket flew from her arms and the water inside along with it. It was close enough to reach the fire, but it was enough to reach Kaz and Jesper. The two now stood with their clothes thoroughly soaked, the excess running down their faces like fresh rainfall.

Kaz could feel the vein in his temple throb as he pushed a hand through his dampened hair in an attempt to return it to shape. “Thank you, Nina, you’re doing such a marvelous job. Have you considered joining the fire brigade?” he growled sarcastically.

“Shut it, crow boy! I don’t see you doing anything to help!” Nina raged, peeling herself from the floor. Her dampened hair clung to the side of her face like pieces of seaweed. “In fact, I don’t see either of you doing anything! If this place burns down, I’ll be sure they’re sending you the bill!”  

With that Jesper shuttered to life. He had enough gambling debt as it was; he couldn’t afford to add damages for cruddy bakery on top it. “O-Oh, I got it!” He then sprung into action, swiping the basin from the floor and leaping over the fallen Nina. He skirted around puddles and danced over piles of broken ceramic. He made it the sink and filled the basin once more to the brim. He proceeded back towards the blaze, slowly pricking his way back along the path he had used to get there in the first place.

“Sometime before we all burn to death would be preferable,” snapped Nina.  

“I don’t think we’re going to get another shot at this so I’m trying not to spill it, unlike someone.” He glared briefly and pointedly at Nina who clenched her fists in a familiar, but now useless fashion. Had this been a few years ago, Jesper would’ve sunk like a stone cast into a lake.  

Gerrit pushed through the kitchen doors, “Sorry about that, I-!” He promptly cut his sentence short as he discovered the state of the kitchen. The floors slick with water and ceramic shards scattered around like some kind hazardous confetti. Nina was still half sprawled out, Kaz still dripping wet, and Jesper about to pour water on a grease fire.

Gerrit jerked forward like a puppet whose strings had been tugged. “Nononononono don’t do that! Don’t use that water!” He scrambled across the kitchen to where Jesper was mid motion; mere moments away from pouring the whole basin into the flames. He tackled the Zemeni with the force of a charging bull, knocking the wind from them both and sending crashing unceremoniously into the nearby wall.

Jesper coughed and groaned, “Fu… ugh, what the hell kid?” Gerrit was not listening. Not in the slightest. He was gasping like a fish out of water, half clutching his shoulder as he scrambled back towards the oven. He snatched an inconspicuous can from the floor close to the oven, squinting his eyes against the heat of the fire. Gerrit ripped the lid off and it clattered to the floor. Whatever was inside, he threw it into the flames where it then backfired in an explosion of white powder. The four of them coughed and choked on the cloud until it had dispersed enough to allow the normal flow of oxygen.

Kaz looked down at his shirt. It was still soaking wet, but in addition he was now also covered in… flour? He swiped a little from his chest and rolled it between the fingers of his gloves. Definitely flour. It had begun to mix with the moisture in his shirt and was quickly becoming a thick paste that he was sure would have cement like qualities if allowed to dry. Kaz lifted his gaze and saw Jesper and Gerrit were both in similar states. Three spectres, all the victims of a blazing inferno now left to haunt the housewives come to buy bread.

If only they had been so fortunate.      

Gerrit swallowed thickly and finally croaked, “My…. my father is going to kill me.”

“Not if we kill him first.”

Gerrit looked up at Kaz with a mixture of horror and appraisal, for a split moment seriously debating whether or not he should take this newly born ghost up on his offer. He didn’t.

If only Kaz had been so fortunate.

********          

Nina convinced- demanded, more appropriately- that Kaz and Jesper stay to aid her and Gerrit in the cleaning the Zoet Verliefed kitchen. They could have very easily ditched and vamoosed their way back to the Van Eck estate, but Nina insisted that she simply could not live without the bakery’s confections and was unwilling to burn that bridge. Kaz would’ve burned that bridge. Kaz would’ve every bridge in Ketterdam just to take back this absolute catastrophe of a day.

By the time they arrived back at the Van Eck estate, the mixture of flour and water that covered Kaz had dried to the plaster-like consistency he had been expecting and it was just about as pleasant as one would expect. His shirt scraped against his skin and crackled with his every movement. This certainly wasn’t the first shirt Kaz had ruined, but he still mourned the loss of a well tailored piece of clothing.

Wylan looked up from his sketch pad and immediately dropped his pencil. It rolled across the floor with a light thk thk thk before ultimately settling under the coffee table. “Oh my…” His mouth worked up and down. “What in Ghezen’s hand happened to you?” He rushed up to Jesper, furiously rubbing his hand against his cheek in an attempt to remove the dried flour paste.

“Wylan…. Babe, please,” Jesper protested weakly, his words distorted as his cheek stretched back and forth. Wylan spoke right over him.

“I can’t believe this! I let you off on your own for one day and look at what’s happened! You lot look like you got in an argument with a baker.”

“I wouldn’t say we got in an argument with one, but we certainly caused one some trouble.” Nina chuckled. Wylan momentarily ceased his ministrations to furrow his brows at Nina before returning to his cleaning of Jesper. This time he licked the pad of his thumb for extra cleaning power.

“Wylan, please!” Jesper barked exasperatedly, taking his boyfriend’s wrist in his grasp. “This stuff is only coming off with one very long soak in the tub; preferably one with lots of bubbles and some champagne to soothe my frazzled nerves.” Wylan stood stubbornly for a moment, but ultimately gave up the fight and let his arm fall to his side.

“Seriously, what happened? I thought you were just going to teach him some stupid pickup lines or something. Maybe council him on which bridges give the best view of the stars, not blow up a bakery.”

“I’d just like to clarify that we didn’t blow up a bakery, but I would be lying if I said we didn’t come close to it,” Nina chimed in. “I would also like to add that if we did it would have been completely unintentional. I would never consciously bring harm to a pastry.” Kaz, Jesper, and Wylan simultaneously cast her a look. “Y’know what… I’m just gonna go clean myself up. I’ll come back when all of this-” She gestured broadly to the boys- “is sorted out.” And slipped from the parlor assumingly to take refuge in one of the mansions many luxurious bathrooms.

With Nina gone, Wylan looked between Jesper and Kaz. He drew in a breath, on the brink of delivering a very interminable lecture, but it died in his throat and escaped as nothing more than a long sigh. “Jesper,” he breathed. “I should’ve known this would’ve happened. Your kind of romance is too much for Kaz.”

Jesper looked nervously at Kaz and back at Wylan, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. We weren’t doing anything romance related. We were at uh, uh… a stake out mission with the, uh… ah shit…”

“The Black Tips.” Kaz deadpanned. He knew the jig was up, but it was at least somewhat consoling to watch Jesper try and salvage it.  

Wylan’s mouth tilted as he arched one coppery brow, “Really? So you’re telling me that Kaz didn’t ask for your help romancing Inej and that you weren’t teaching him that silly move where you pretend to yawn and then somehow conveniently end up with your arm around me?”

Jesper gaped at Wylan, slack jawed. He glanced helplessly at Kaz who only blinked tiredly at him.  

“Oh, I knew what you were doing the whole time,” he chirped. “I have to admit, Kaz, I’m baffled as to why- out of all of us- you thought Jesper was your best ticket to winning Inej.”

Jesper clutched a hand to his chest in afront, “Wy… Wylan, you wound me! Have I not been a perfectly loving boyfriend to you?”

Wylan chuckled pressing the curve of his palm into the shape of Jesper’s cheek, “Of course you have and I love all those silly, romantic things that you do for me. I love when you recite me poetry or use your revolvers to write obscenities in my father’s portraits,” Kaz quirked a brow at that. “But those are things that work for us Jesper. Our relationship is our relationship. What we do won’t work for everyone.”

Jesper pressed his lips together, considering Wylan’s words. After a few moments he sighed defeatedly, “You’re… you’re right. All this time I was trying to teach Kaz the sorts of things I would do for you, but that’s not right. Inej isn’t you and Kaz definitely isn’t me.” Kaz’s frown deepened, but this time Jesper paid no mind as he was busy entwining his fingers with Wylan’s. “Boy, I always knew you were smart, but this is ridiculous.“

Wylan smiled shyly, “Well, when books aren’t an option you tend to read people.”    

Wylan and Jesper turned to Kaz, but he was already gone as quick and silent as the wraith that ensnared his heart.

***************

Kaz found a water pump tucked into a narrow space behind the carriage house and stopped to clean the mess from his face. His skin was pinkened and raw by the time he had managed to scrub off the tacky mix of flour and water, but he at least he no longer looked like a ghost. His clothes, however, he could not do much about. Kaz buttoned up the length of his coat to hide to worst of it and sauntered from the grounds of the Van Eck Estate.

Kaz retreated south towards the place where the Barrel gave way to the last dregs of Ketterdam. There was a secluded bridge over the canal he liked to frequent when he needed a place to think free from all the responsibilities that bound him. He glowered down at his reflection in the canal. It was distorted and malformed in the water’s current. That was what he was. Distorted. Malformed. Broken. Cold. Ruthless. Monstrous. Creatures like him weren’t meant for things so human as love. The most human thing about him was his foolishness. Foolishness is what had driven him here and he loathed himself for acting upon it.  

He swiped a stone from the bridge’s path, hurling into the water with a great splash. “Fool!” he cried to no one in particular. Not really to himself. Not really to the saints or to Ghezen. Perhaps most to the void where he supposed all unheard cries went.  

When the water’s surface became placid once more, Kaz saw Inej peering back at him. Her eyes were unfathomably dark as if he could fall into them endlessly. He groaned and clutched the railing of the bridge, pressing his forehead against the grit of the splintering wood. His mind had been plagued with thoughts of her for so long that he had at last been driven mad enough to see her visage in the sordid waters of the canal. “Saints,” he rasped. “Cure me of this madness or strike me where I stand. I can’t take this any longer.” Only silence greeted him and he closed his eyes in defeat. There was no deliverance; not even divine retribution. There was only Kaz and his madness and the phantom in the water.  

“I’m sorry, but I believe the saints are feeling far too benevolent to commit murder today.” Kaz’s heart leaped into his throat. He couldn’t even take in a breath around its girth and it made his lungs ache. There, on the bridge behind him, was Inej Ghafa. Live. In the flesh. No less a phantom than Kaz himself. She stood with the same knife sharp posture; both incredibly graceful and frighteningly intimidating.    

“You are foolish.” The edge of her voice was hard. Serrated. The edge of a blade sharpened against a stone. “Foolish to have forgotten that all walls have ears. Imagine if you had, perhaps, admitted to your greatest weakness.” Her eyes shone with knowing.  

Kaz unwittingly stepped back. A first for him since he was not a man often caught off guard. “W-what are you doing here? You weren’t due back until the week’s end.”

Inej arched a dark brow. “Goodness, I really must have been gone too long.” Lacing her fingers behind her back; she stepped forward towards the edge of the bridge where Kaz stood. Her steps were lined and measured as if even now she walked the highwire. Graceful. Powerful. “Have you really forgotten how to detect the presence of your Wraith?”

There was that word again. Your. Your Wraith. Yours, Inej. It made Kaz’s stomach tighten. He pressed his lips into a hard line. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

“Well, isn’t that a first?” The breath of her laughter speared through his heart like a hot iron spike. A wave of gooseflesh broke over the skin of his arms. “Seems that you can’t talk your way out of every situation.”  

“So it seems…” He breathed quietly, casting his gaze to the boards of the bridge. They were withered from the moisture of the canal below. They were worn from the treads of thousands of feet. Perhaps, were he fortunate enough, the boards would give beneath him and send him plunging into the water never to resurface again. It seemed much easier than facing Inej.  

“I heard it all, you know. Everything at the Van Eck estate,” she said. Her signature braid shifted from the perch of her shoulder as she turned on the toes of her rubber soled slippers and leaned against the railing beside him. How he wished to wrap that braid around his hand, brush his thumb over those silken plaits.

Kaz nodded barely, shifting his weight to the side furthest from her. She smelled of salt air and quiet, star-filled nights. He pictured her perched atop the tallest mast of her ship, her dark hair loose of that braid and draped about her shoulders like a cloak of shimmering silk. The Goddess of Lost Things. The Queen of the Night and Sea.

“And what of it, then…?” he asked quietly. He rapped the steel tip of his cane against the planks in a broken staccato. Nervous energy crackled under his skin.    

“Of your current lack of charisma, or…?” He only looked at her gravely and her eyes shone once more with that knowing glint. She was only teasing him. Unlike Kaz, Inej was no fool. She breathed a soft sigh through her nose. “I’ve told you once before, Kaz. I will have you without armor, I will not have you at all.” Her gaze was steady and fathomless and she held Kaz in absolute rapture with it. He remembered. He remembered the last time she had spoken those words as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Only this time was different because she was looking him in the eye. She had grown bolder in her time away from Ketterdam. She was more sure of herself than she had ever been in his company and it left him hopelessly intimidated. It made him desperately proud. “I will not say it a third time. I want you to understand that.”  

Dread slithered in his stomach like a serpent. What was he to do? He had let Inej go once before and he had been living with the regret of it ever since. He had been young, then. Sharp edged and hungry and unwilling to yield to her requests out of ignorance. He was older now. Wiser. He knew what he wanted and here was the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter and yet it had not grown any easier. But he had to tell her.

It would eat him alive if he didn’t.

Kaz pushed off from the railing; leaving his cane resting securely against it. He squared himself in front of her, his mouth set and determined. “Inej…” He breathed her name quietly; hallowedly. “I am not a good man. I am not humble, I am not honest. I am not aimable or empathetic. I have built my life on the foundation of deception, bloodshed, and revenge and I don’t have much intention of living differently. I know nothing else now, however…” He pressed his lips together.

Words were failing him now. They rushed through his head in a flurry of blaring traffic. Every time he took one in his grasp it slipped between his fingers like water through a cracked glass. Kaz specialized in threats- in bargains and deals- not affections. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he offended her. His chest ached with panic. With desperation. Desperation to make her stay; to make her see.

Realization dawned on him like a crack of thunder. There was only one way to win over Inej. It didn’t involve charming smiles or snuggling on park benches. It didn’t involve music or poetry or elaborate gestures like homemade waffles. There was only one thing Inej wanted from him and it was the most dangerous gift he could give.  

Shallow, rapid breaths rattled in his ribcage. Perspiration was beading at the line of his dark hair. His hands trembled as he hooked his fingers into the wrist of one glove and slowly peeled it away. He let it flutter to the wooden planks beneath them and the other followed soon after. They were sad, withered creatures without his slender fingers to give them life. Inej watched him all the while; her eyes dark and steady. The air on his skin was foreign and the chill of it sent a shudder up his spine. He felt naked. Exposed. Weak.

Kaz flexed his fingers, testing their dexterity without the hindrance of his gloves. He looked up at Inej who regarded him with the same steady curiosity as she had before. This was not the Kaz that she was familiar with. “I want to,” he rasped. She inclined her head towards him, listening more closely to his words. She looked at him from under the fan of her lashes and it made his heart flutter. “I want to… touch you. Would that be alright?” Just as much as Kaz struggled with his own inner sickness, so too did Inej. He did not want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

Inej nodded her head.

Kaz kept his movements slow and deliberate. It was just as much for himself as it was for her. There had been a time where he had been better, when he had been able to hold her hand without the barrier of his gloves. The passage of time and her absence had resensitized him to the touch of others. It was like learning to walk all over again. Kaz raised both hands; his palms up and fingers splayed. A magician with nothing up his sleeves. He breathed as deeply and evenly as he could, bringing his hands to hover on either side of Inej��s face. He could feel the radiating warmth of her skin and it made his stomach squirm with a mix of pleasure and disgust. He tried to ground himself as best he could, focusing on the sturdiness of the planks beneath his feet. He was on the bridge. Not in the harbor.

“Kaz,” she uttered softly; trying to rein him back from the place she knew his mind wandered.

“A moment… please,” he rasped. Give me the chance, he added wordlessly. He sucked in another breath and steadied himself. He closed the distance between his hands with the shape of Inej’s cradled tenderly in the middle. She stiffened only slightly. Something that would have gone unnoticed had he not known her so intimately. It melted away a moment later and she leaned into the curve of Kaz’s touch with a nearly inaudible sigh.

It drove him wild.  

Kaz tentatively arched a thumb, caressed the pad of it ever so softly against the apple of Inej’s cheek. Her skin was pliant, but not the sagging, spongy thing all his nightmares insisted it would be. It was warm and sent his whole body into a burst of fever. It was as if he were lying under that bridge so many years ago; his body aflame with the Queen’s Lady Plague. Black starbursts appeared in his vision and he had to fight not to be dragged back down into the memory.          

Inej did not break her gaze. What at first had been intimidating was somehow becoming comforting. She was like a lighthouse shining bright at the shore of a stormy sea guiding him home. Kaz moistened his lips and slowly leaned forward; pressing his forehead against hers. “Rietveld,” he breathed quietly. Inej blinked at him quizzically. “My name… my true name is Rietveld. Kaz Rietveld.” Her gaze flickered briefly to his shoulder, making the connection between this and the seemingly aimless tattoo that stained the skin there. “One day… one day I promise to tell you… to tell you how I became Kaz Brekker, but for now I hope that my name will suffice. Think of it as collateral.”

Her smile was a soft and tender thing, nearly unnoticeable by anyone who did not know her. “It’s nice to meet you… Kaz Rietveld.” No one had spoken his true name in years and the sound of it struck him with unexpected poignancy. Hearing it in the smooth hush of Inej’s voice only made it more so.    

Despite himself, he found that he had started smiling. It was a weak and fragile thing, but it was perhaps the most genuine one had made in all his life. He moistened his lips once more, “I… I want to kiss you. Would that be alright?” Her lips parted slightly in silent invitation, but Kaz still waited for affirmation in the bow of her head.

Kaz stroked his thumbs over Inej’s cheeks; acquainting himself further with the feel of her skin. Desensitizing himself. Preparing himself for the next step. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, following its deep curve. A shudder coursed up Inej’s spine and it made Kaz burn with desire. He had spent countless nights imagining this moment. He had spent countless nights awake, tossing and turning in his bed for want of her; his mind alight with the thought of what her lips would feel like.  

Inej did not move. She stood there were her hands still laced gingerly behind her back; her face cradled between Kaz’s bare hands. Her eyes had slipped shut and her lashes fluttered with the ebony gloss of crows’ wings at the tops of her pinkened cheeks. Kaz’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm in his chest as he further closed the gap. Further and further until nothing more than a hairsbreadth remained between them.  

And then at last they met.    

The two drew in sharp breaths; the meeting of their lips as achingly nerve wracking as it was anticipated. This moment was never meant to be a moment for them; the forces of the universe had robbed them of that long before their paths had ever crossed. Phantom hands tugged at them, urging them to push distance between themselves. It was tempting; to retreat back into the comfort and familiarity of distance. But Kaz was a fighter. Inej was a fighter. And now that they had finally fought their way into one another’s arms, they would not so easily be broken apart.

Inej’s hands unlaced from behind her back and came up to twist in the material of Kaz’s sleeves. Her nails grazed the skin of his forearms and he shuddered, but did not pull back. For the first time in his life, his head broke above the surface of the water. In the rot, there bloomed life. There was only the balmy crush of Inej’s mouth against his own and the exuberant thrum of their heart beats. It had made him more daring and in the heat of the moment he even went so far as to card his hands through the silken sheaf of her hair.  

When they at last separated- foreheads still pressed against one another- Kaz was reeling. The world rocked around him in the warm and pleasant way that being drunk did. It blurred at the edges, pushing everything out of focus save for the Suli girl in front of him. He returned his hands to her cheeks and stroked them tenderly. Her skin was sweet and supple and he reveled in the feel of it. He swore nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

“I love you,” he whispered, unwittingly. It had slipped from his mouth before he had the chance to stop it and for a moment, he tensed. Life had trained him to expect the worst of every situation and one brief moment of triumph was not going to make up for that. The worst, however, never came. Instead Inej smiled wide and bright. The Queen of the Night and Sea. The Empress of his heart.    

“I know, I’ve always known… but it was still nice to hear you say it. Sometimes even monsters and wraiths need the reassurance that someone loves them.”

[leviathanlazarus]

Starstruck

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader 

Word Count: 1630

Warnings: none, this is super soft & sweet, my favorite kind of Sam! 

A big thank you to @itsametaphorbriansblog for this fun request! I know you said I could choose any of the boys & Sam seemed like such a cute fit for this, I hope you enjoy! Also thank you to @gretavfleet for the gif ~

---

Greta Van Fleet. They were there, right in front of you, their music vibrating in your ears, their shining outfits glimmering in your view. It was by far the most starstruck you’d ever been, despite meeting all different musicians and actors during your (well, sort of short) time in show business.

Your eyes were glued to them as they performed. Their dynamic was electric, all of them playing off one another effortlessly, all of their own individual styles working together to create the foursome of a dream, a surreal and glittering sensory experience.

But who was your favorite? You really couldn’t choose, you’d developed crushes on them all as you’d listened to and watched them, starting long before your boss told you they’d be on the show. Josh was pure saccharine sweetness with his toothy smile and gleaming eyes; Jake was a powerhouse with that guitar, you couldn’t help but wonder what else his fingers could do; Danny’s quiet, reserved nature you’d observed in interviews was gone when he drummed, replaced by a wild, rhythmic beast; then there was Sam, with his hair slipping into his face and those perfect, pouty, parted lips twitching as he fingered his bass, effortlessly cool, ungodly beautiful.

That energy and that face, especially that perfect mouth, ended up making you transfixed on Sam most of all. You’d seen him in interviews and videos and he seemed like such an endearing goofball, someone you could imagine having a ton of lighthearted fun with, but watching him play right in front of you made your heart flip in your chest.

You were just hanging out backstage after the boys were done, hopeful you’d actually get to talk to them yourself, nervous you’d be too starstruck to be coherent. You were tapping your foot, absentmindedly glossing over one of the posters on the wall, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Danny Wagner was standing in front of you, seeming to be even taller than in video form, and even more ripped. You swallowed, nerves prickling up your spine, but he offered you a sweet smile.

“Hey, um, Y/N, right?” he asked, just as shy and bashful as you’d imagined, but it was so strange to experience it for yourself. 

“Yeah,” you affirmed, trying not to stare at him too hard, but damn, he was cute! “Danny?”

He politely extended his hand you shook it, warm and a little rough. “Yeah, nice to meet you. So, um, we’ve got your biggest fan nearby.”

You cocked your head, the nerves up your spine intensifying. “What do you mean?”

“Sam loves you,” Danny said, then laughed a little. “Well, he’s just a big fan. Your biggest fan, honestly.”

Your heart flipped again, but it kept flipping, and you let out a quiet, nervous laugh. “Really?” you replied, looking around. “Where is he? I’d love to meet him.”

“He’s being shy right now,” Danny told you, starting to glance around himself. “I think Jake and Josh are giving him a hard time about it.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted, feeling yourself blush. “I can’t believe he’s nervous to meet me, I’ve been so nervous to meet you guys.”

Seemingly out of nowhere there was a gravely, warm voice behind you that said, “Oh please, we’re all cupcakes,” and then Josh was next to Danny, their vast difference in stature and hippie outfits making you start to giggle.

Your attention was averted when you saw Jake behind them, practically dragging a limp Sam behind himself, then all four members of Greta Van Fleet were in front of you. You blinked hard, feeling the need to pinch yourself, but Sam cleared his throat and looked at you through his lashes, a faint pink hue over his cheeks, and it fully registered that they were real. And Sam, the wonder boy bassist, was starstruck by you?

Jake shoved him a little, pushing him forward, and Sam turned his head to shoot his older brother a scathing look before turning back to you and smiling, still clearly nervous. “Hi,” he said quietly, then ran his hand through his hair, the sequins on his jacket glimmering almost as brilliantly as his hair.

“Hi Sam,” you said, feeling more bashful yourself. He was so cute, made even cuter by how nervous he was with you. “You were really great.” You looked away from him for a second to address his brethren, not wanting to exclude them. “All of you were amazing, it’s so crazy I got to see you--”

“You’re hilarious,” Sam blurted, his cheeks even pinker, a thin layer of sweat above those plump lips. 

Josh laughed behind him, meeting your eyes and waving his hand as if to say, He’s trying, but when Sam turned and shot him a dirty look too, Josh corralled Jake and Danny. “Come on, boys,” he said, leaving Sam with one last knowing glance. “Let’s go mingle or at least take advantage of the free food.”

Sam turned back to you and ran his hand through his hair again, then placed it on his hip, then crossed his arms. “Sorry,” he said, uncrossing them and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m kinda nervous--I watch your show all the time, I think you’re so funny.”

“Well, it’s not really my show,” you replied with a little laugh. “But thank you, that’s so cool. I’m really flattered.”

Sam removed one hand from his pocket and extended it to you. “Sorry, I didn’t officially introduce myself. Sam.”

You smiled and shook it--also warm, also a little rough, but delicate. “Y/N.”

He laughed, the same open-mouthed, slightly braying laugh you’d experienced only in video form. “I--honestly, I just wanted an excuse to touch you,” he confessed, looking at the floor. “Your hands are really soft.”

You felt like you needed to pinch yourself again but, whatever, you were going to roll with it. “How about a hug?” you offered. “Maybe I’d like to feel your jacket.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and laughed again, then splayed his arms and enveloped you in them, both of you squeezing each other a little. It was weird--still surreal--but he was so sweet, you felt like you were meeting someone you’d been waiting to meet your whole life, you just hadn’t known it, so much so that you didn’t want to let him go. You both lingered in each other’s arms, but finally you released him slowly, letting your hands trace over the sleeves of his jacket as you pulled away. 

You were both still looking into each other’s eyes, even with the loss of physical contact, and you fiddled with a loose thread on your shirt. “I’ve watched so many videos of you guys,” you told him, not knowing what to say, not even concerned with seeming cool, just feeling overwhelmed in the best way. “I’m seriously starstruck, and watching you out there--just wow, Sam.”

He perked up, straightening his spine, though he was still blushing. “I’ve watched all your sketches, all your stand-up, everything,” he said, looking at you intently under those dark, sculpted brows. “I’m starstruck.”

You laughed, your heart flipping again, the tingling nerves becoming a welcome feeling. You felt giddy and goofy, and if this was all a dream it was the best dream you’d ever had.

“Is it weird if I ask for your number?” Sam asked after you saw him take a deep breath.

You took a deep breath yourself and, as you reached into your back pocket for your phone, your hand was shaking a little. “No, not weird at all,” you assured him, managing enough composure to hand it to him. “Here, uh, put yours in and I’ll text you.”

Sam nodded and took it, the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he typed, then handed it back to you. You looked down at the contact--Starstruck Sam. 

You laughed, butterflies erupting inside you, and typed out your message to him: Hey Starstruck Sam, it’s Starstruck Y/N. I hope we get to be awkward fans together again sometime.

He read it, laughed, then looked up at you. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, still shaking a little. You were beyond starstruck then. “I think you’re incredible.”

There was that one of a kind laugh again. Sam put his phone back in his pocket and glanced at the floor again. “You’re incredible,” he said quietly, then met your eyes. “Can I give you another hug before I go?”

You nodded and moved into him, both of you wrapping your arms around one another again. You rested your cheek on his chest, taking in his scent--laundry detergent overpowered by a musky cologne, something herbal lingering in his hair--and carefully cradling him. 

Sam sighed and nestled his cheek against the top of your head, gently rubbing one hand between your shoulder blades and, again, it was like neither of you wanted to break the embrace. But you heard Josh calling for Sam and he slowly pulled back, although not entirely before he left a quick, soft kiss on your cheek.

“I’ll text you,” he promised, starting to walk backward away from you. “Or call you--what do you like?”

You laughed, his touch still lingering on your body. “Either.”

He laughed too. “Okay, Y/N. It was really nice meeting you.”

The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around as you watched him go, eventually having to settle for his glittering backside moving further and further away, but you turned around before he was completely out of view. You pulled out your phone and looked at the message you sent, your heart racing, a rush of blood to your head that made you feel sure you’d see him again, and you’d both be starstruck over one another again.

---

Tagging: @jeordinevankiszka @mountainofthesunn @bigthighsandstupidguys @camomillacatalina @saywecanart @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade @kiszkawagnergvf

[pettyelves]

us; on fire

[ the boy on fire, the man on fire, the home on fire] Her request to Mavas was simple.  Leave him wherever he was sulking, but get the bullet out. In all the chaos on the shores they’d stolen back Eilonwy from, she hadn’t noticed until it was late. And they hadn’t left well. 

That made Mavas the best option for making sure Kurel got his space without succumbing to infection from a dirty bullet wound.  But like all things An’Diel-- it couldn’t be that simple. The note came back via her personal courier:

Arbiter, He does not wish for assistance from myself. I did not feel it prudent to force my assistance upon him. I apologize. Mavas

The grimace that formed on Eilithe’s face ran deep into every crease of her tensed forehead and barely-visible wrinkle. Kurel’s stubborn nature aged her ten years each time he sought death and destruction.

She stomped from her office in Merchant Alley, into the clinic down the street, snatching up pills, a vial, needles, bandages. No explanation was giving, not that anyone was brave enough to ask the walking thunderstorm that was Eilithe An’Diel.

After her trek up the mountain to the Cock and Candle and grabbing a bottle of clear grain alcohol, Eilithe was met by a sign on Kurel’s door: Do not Disturb. She sneered at the very idea she would abide this request. No knock. Just a door opening. Eilithe didn't say a word, just shut the door behind her and crossed to set things down on an end table. A bottle of pills was twisted open and four were offered straight to his hand with the alcohol as a chaser. She just stared, both hands out in offering. The scent of unwashed man covered in blood was permeating the air, an utterance from Kurel’s lips of ‘Fuck me’, only a deeper irritant to Eilithe. “Pills. Really? I coul' chew the whole bottle and no' even ge' ten minutes of bliss."

She slammed the bottle down and popped the top on the pills before dumping them into his hands. "I can get the bullet out by time the pills wear off, if it's not enough I'll give you a shot or six or whatever. After, you can have the whole liquid bottle shot into your neck if you want it." She jingled the second bottle of liquid, which was commonly referred to by them and others in Dead Sun as the good shit. Her tone was too calm. He’d arrived at the eye of the storm. He obliged her enough that he chewed the pills slowly, but couldn’t resist twisting her last nerve. "Ever consider the only thin' more insufferable than you, is a gun shot?"

She had started toward his wound with feather-light touch, but his final fuck-you broke her patience. He made her hurt. And when he made her hurt, she became exponentially more inclined to make him hurt.  She pressed onto his wound, still not as hard as she wanted to. Her lips got very close to his ear and she seethed into his ear. "I am not your fucking punching bag." "Take a deep breath," and there were maybe two beats between the warning of something diving into his wound, and pulling the bullet out quickly. It was quick and precise, and probably confusing as to if it was a deft hand or finger-wiggling fuckery. 

He sputtered out more pills than he swallowed, and was preparing another verbal blow. The rending of the bullet from the festering wound invited a howl of swears that would make a sailor blush. When it was done, he bitterly chuckled. But there was no amusement in it. "Oh~ bu' you are a bitch."

The bullet hit her bloody palm and she immediately moved with her other hand to press gauze into the wound. "Oh you're damn right I'm a bitch," she said. "And that wouldn't have had to be if you had just taken Mavas' help."

Eilithe reached with one hand to take a needle in her teeth, then vial in her hand. With practiced drug use pre-motherhood was clear in the way she one-handed pulled the syringe full.

"I was trying to give you your fucking space, but you, in all your self-destructive predictable bullshit, had to refuse me trying to make sure you're okay." She went to inject him right in a main vein of the neck. "I can't take any more of your fucking punches Kurel. You win. You won when we were still on the water. So for what purpose does continuing to kick me verbally serve? Nothing. Nothing but your own fucking amusement and to punish me."

She did at least wait this time, for the drugs to start to effect him. Even as mad as she was, she kept pressure on the wound, waiting to feel the slightest relaxation in his body before moving on. "My fuckin' punches" he repeated it in a tone like it was the stupidest argument or excuse she was trying to make. "Do I look fuckin' amused, Eilithe?! Do I look like I take some fuckin' joy ou' of havin' my wife, an' my house an' my home agains' me!?" He illustrated each bulletin note with a count of a finger. Had come to stand, even as she applied pressure to the wound near his shoulder, but the injection was swift to feel and he barely had balance enough to spit the words out before he dropped back down to sit.

"There is nothin' to win, bu' there is everythin' to lose." Every two words divided by a short breath. The physical pain was quick to leave, but the clarity of thought was a greater struggle to hold to as he pointed at a wall in reference. "You .... you care more abou' tha' fuckin' boy WHO WAS SENT TO KILL YOU... than you do abou' us... about me." He swallowed thickly. Wiping the thin sheen of sweat that had started to bead across his brow with the back of his wrist. "Had i' been someone else, anyone... they'd have been detained, if not executed. An' you deliberately deceived the Council.... attacked by a vessel." He repeated her words from the opening of that meeting. His elbows planting on his knees as he dropped his head down into his hands.

Kurel and Eilithe had a very strange and unhealthy way of getting to points. Screaming, needling, and pushing each others buttons until the truth finally came out.

He felt second on her list of things to worry about. And for that, she realized she had committed a sin not easily repented.  Eilithe knit her brows and slid down to the floor at his feet. "I'm sorry," she said the dreaded words, but not with the tone of someone pathetic. It was similar to the tone he had used the singular time he apologized to her. One hand reached up to cup his cheek, the other was still planted on his wound. "Lie back so I can close the hole," she couldn't say everything all at once, not while worrying if he'd start bleeding or not.

Eilithe sat on the bed beside him and wiped the needle with the alcohol before threading it. "Not for mistakes, or miscalculations, --not for being a piss poor wife and mother," she began her clarification. "I know better. No apologies. No excuses. Do Better.." She repeated a mantra they'd gone round and round with for years as she began to clean the wound of caked blood with one of the mostly-clean rags.

"But for making you believe that I did not care. About us. About you. That is worth saying it." Her fingers were gentle, even as she cleaned the more tender parts and began to stitch the wound.

"We.." she suppressed an over-show of emotion, knowing that if she cried it just did something to him and she pointedly wanted to avoid that. "Have really been fucking each other up these last years. Deceiving. Hiding. Fighting. Hurting each other." She swallowed and accepted that this was their way. "Even after Malik was born I understood why, but I was hurt. And now this boy that.. I know he's not ours. I ..am not trying to take him to be ours either but...when I look at him, I just see our sons. And I see you. And I just..can't." And what she meant was I just can’t kill him. 

Eilithe focused her fingers on closing up the wound, pausing for a moment to swallow down hurt. "Do you remember the last trip to the fall back, before we got married." It was an abrupt subject change.

"Parts of i'... which do you want me to remember?" He finally spoke, as though he welcomed the change in subject.  Eilithe leaned to the gauze and tape to finish the mediocre surgery. The needle was taken up again, wiped down, drawn to a third of the dose she'd given Kurel. "We stayed up all night, going room to room as we do when we're doing better than good." She injected herself between her tattooed fingers, pressed the plunger down then waited the few seconds it took for the drug to relax her whole body. She laid down and stared at the ceiling. "And I wasn't letting go of wanting to get married, and brought it up every chance I got. And you finally asked why I wanted it so bad. And I said--it's about  knowing that there's no one else. That there will never be another like the one you choose." She spoke a little slower toward the end, blinking slowly as the ceiling bubbled like water. 

"I just want you to know that for me, there's still no other. That there's never going to be another."

The silence that followed might’ve suggested Kurel had drifted to sleep, equally it could have been a silent “me too”. And she could have taken that and drifted off for the first time in days but, she'd never been very good at leaving well enough alone. "Kurel.." she said, a groggy, soft whisper. But she bid him to speak. "I can't tell if righ' now’s an appropriate time to tell you.. tha' I ... lost the ring."

The ring. The only thing he’d ever given her that had come close to a wedding ring. The ring. Which he had coaxed off her finger under the guise of a bet with Saeris a week before. 

There was a pregnant pause. The sort that often was a preface to the trigger of a gun being pulled, or a very big explosion.

And then she jiggled. First in her stomach and chest, then sound rolled out of her throat. A laugh. A genuine, and deep bellied, uncontrollable laugh.

He rarely gave more than a wry chuckle, but even at the utter ridiculousness of it he laughed too. It wasn’t nearly as long and as giddy as Eilithe, he composed himself quickly. Quick enough to place a jewelry box onto his palm and present it for her to realize. 

Eventually, she dulled down to an occasional, 'uh ha' and giggle before she let out a breath. It was one filled with relief.

It took a second, but only one of them was blind, and she knew a jewelry box when she saw it. Carefully she took it and held it up to open the thing.

"Lucky for me, I already ha' a replacemen'." He added, hearing the lid click open.

The ring itself was cast from gold. A black stone filled the cavity of a scarab beetle cage which composed its attraction with elaborate embellishments.  It was nontraditional by most standards, easily mundane to others opinions, as it lacked some customary glittery diamond piece.

For a man with not an eyeball in his skull, Kurel An'Diel had exceptional taste in jewelry. She stared at the ring, and was shocked, confused, and maybe a little emotional. When she pulled the ring out of it's bed, a realization struck her.

The first words weren't 'I love you' nor 'I love it' nor 'Thank you'. No. They were, "You conned me." Followed by a smile that only grew when she slid the ring on and it fit.

Comfortable silence came over her, staring at the ring and after her arm got tired she lowered her arm and turned. A kiss was placed against his jaw and she murmured, "Anha zhilak yera." I love you. 

"I know."

@kurel-andiel​

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (3/5)

summary; 🤡🔫

word count; 4 970

disclaimers; this is my least fave chapter don’t ask me why. tell me what u think please i’m so conflicted !!

warnings; nopeee

part 1

part 2

********

By the ridiculous number of plaques of the albums' sellings and accomplishments hanging along the corridors, it was quite obvious that EMI moved a lot of money.

With your middle finger, you went over the edge of one of the paintings. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on it.

The boys’ manager and lawyer invited you to wait for them outside.

Roger’d already warned you that they wouldn’t allow you to be present. Not that you cared or wanted to. But at some point you were growing tired of sitting alone doing absolutely nothing.

Once they abandoned the office after what seemed an endless time, you immediately hauled yourself to your feet.

“You’ll kiss the floor we step on as soon as we introduce you to A Night at the Opera, my dear," Freddie told Foster as he left the room.

Ray followed the grandiose Freddie with his eyes, a bit of mistrust in his face.

"I very much hope so" he answered before closing the door.

"It went well?" you asked to no one in particular, holding your purse against your tummy.

"We think so" Brian murmured.

"He doesn't believe we're going to present him the best album in history," Freddie bragged confidently as if it were definite that they were going to do so.

"Will you? Create the best album in history?" you smirked.

"Yep," John replied with all the sincerity in the world, leading the way to the elevator.

Roger stood beside you as the group left the building behind, and pulled a pack of ciggies out his pocket. In record time, he brought one urgently to his lips.

"You don’t think we can?" he inquired you, aiming the other way before blowing the smoke out.

You extended your hand and he understood the message.

Before shoving the package back, he took out another one, and with the cig hanging immobile in your mouth, Roger lit it for you.

At that exact moment, while he was concentrated on the task, you realized how long and thick his lashes were.

"I haven’t said such thing"

"Lovebirds, when you’re done with whatever it is you have to do, come to Mary's”

Roger nodded at Freddie’s words.

Posterior to waving the other three goodbye, you glanced at him with a puzzled expression.

"Right. This way"

"What are we doing?"

"Do you always have to ask questions?"

"And do you always have the habit of not answering when being asked?" you objected.

"When we get there you'll know it"

"You’re impossible" you groaned, and quickened your pace.

He took a new puff on the cigarette and looked at you jubilantly, pushing his tongue into his cheek, enjoying your harmless tantrum a little too much.

If only you knew how much he loved these domestic moments with you.

"Not that much, believe me"

In what sense is that addressed, even?

Although you didn’t speak much because Roger was intent on not getting lost, obediently following the instructions Clare had patiently listed him the night before, from time to time you exchanged a word to fill the silence.

You really appreciated the stroll. The last couple of weeks it’d been home-uni-home-uni-home-uni. You’d missed the active streets of London, the continuous loop of the loud noises and the accent.

"I think we’ve got to turn to the right"

He didn’t seem completely sure of his own words, and because of how fast his eyes moved from side to side, you knew he was struggling.

Eventually, he managed to ubicate himself.

"We have to cross the park and technically we’ll be able to see it"

"You'll see it, you mean. I don’t know what there is to see"

Roger rolled his eyes and put his hand on your lower back to guide you.

Checked first if it was okay to go ahead, and ignoring that the light was red, you passed the zebra crossing together.

Bringing you back to an old memory, it made you recall how several weeks ago you witnessed the boyfriend of a classmate of yours do the same with her with hectic traffic when they were late for their class. Nevertheless, it was also something a father could do with his daughter.

Why were you spinning around the matter? Nonsense.

But it was cute that he kept you close while crossing the street, though. Had it been a reflex action or had he been fully aware of doing so?

The thread of your thoughts caused you to space out, and as a result you didn't notice until then that you were approaching the exit of the aforementioned park.

Your heart enlarged a couple of sizes when he nonchalantly slipped his hand out of your back to entangle his pinkie with yours.

The pulsations your heart kept on producing were hard, so hard they hurt. Persistent and quick like a hummingbird’s flap.

As lightly and subtle as he did, you slowly proceed to move your fingers and hold his hand in its entirety, both of you looking ahead as if looking at each other would turn out to be too much right now.

It all felt too intimate, hands being the only method you used to talk to one another during the remaining bit of the walk until the final destination.

Roger stopped walking, and you did too.

You fixed your eyes on the store window before them: there were two mannequins wearing sets that genuinely caught your attention. From where you were stood, the store seemed to be empty. Sign that it was expensive. The walls inside were painted with neat white, thin golden lines forming patterns on the walls. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, so large that you were surprised it stayed in place without falling off, dragging the roof along with it.

You looked suspiciously at Roger.

"What are we doing here?"

“See if you find out yourself. After you," suggested Roger, and as on the day you met, gesticulated you to go first.

A tune rang in the background announcing your arrival after you stepped right in. It made the employee’s head lift up. She left her position behind the cashier and walked towards you. Her outfit was all white with a golden headband, matching the drawings on the walls and the rest of the store.

When the three of you were together, you noticed that both of you wearing heels surpassed Roger by a few tiny inches. It didn’t seem to bother him, perhaps he didn’t even detect it.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Clare’s friend?" Roger asked.

"Oh, Roger and (Y/N), I’m guessing. Very well, come with me"

The girl marched away, Roger with her.

He turned around and stopped when he saw you hadn’t moved.

"Ay, what's all this?" you whispered, not wanting the woman to hear you as not to be impolite.

And who the hell was Clare?

Roger grinned.

"This is my surprise"

Head in a muddle, you let Roger lead you to a small room filled with clothing items where the saleswoman’d been waiting for you.

A tray of tea and freshly made biscuits filled the air with a nice scent of sweet and salty.

"Our firm is not particularly well known for its catalogue of dresses, we rather excel at accessories such as handbags and glasses. Either way, I hope you find one you like. Anything you need, call me"

In the blink of an eye she was gone.

"Roger, care to explain?" you asked after a pause, looking around.

"Yesterday you mentioned you didn't have your graduation dress. I know your father's behaviour saddened you, I thought this would cheer you up"

"Shopping? Don’t tell me that, Roger. I didn’t take you for a sexist"

He looked like if you just hit him across the face.

"No... I never... I didn’t mean... I just wanted to have a nice touch, to buy it to thank you for—"

"I'm messing with you. Of course I don't think you're a sexist. I know very well you did it with the best of— What did you say? Buy it?"

Wide-eyed, you were shaking your head no.

"Yes. Buy it"

"Why would you do that?"

"To thank you for your hospitality"

Also because Roger simply wanted to give you the world, but since it's something that takes time, he decided this was a way to start. But he meant what he said: adopting four crazy and weird children for months… no one in their goddamn right mind would have agreed to that.

The first couple of following days after their arrival, having very little confidence around any of them, you didn’t really hang out together. Still and all, after some time but soon enough, you learnt that the four of them were warmhearted, fun and loving people.

"I know how hard you’re working to earn that diploma. We’re proud of you"

"Roger, you already pay me a rent. And I know you are, but it’s not necessary. You don’t have to do this, I can pay for it myself” you said too quickly.

“I know you can” he shrugged, letting you know he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Because of the look he was giving you, all defensive, you knew he already made the decision.

Arguing was only going to make you lose a valuable amount of time you could invest in killing the curiosity raised by the outstanding dresses displayed out front.

Following Roger's orders to take a good look at them, you picked three that you thought were pretty and elegant. One was black and the other two different shades of blue.

When you glanced up at Roger to tell him you were done choosing, he was no longer on the small sofa near the fitting room devouring the biscuits like the last time you saw him.

A one-sided grin lifted the corner of your mouth when you spotted him snooping on the other side of the room, rummaging through the dresses as well to be occupied. By his expression of absolute concentration it seemed that he was really putting effort and interest in the mission beforehand.

He turned around unexpectedly and smiled delightedly at you.

Every time he did smile like that, you could feel your soul leaving your body.

From time to time you had these intermissions where the world around you gradually began to slow down, Roger Taylor as your only source of light.

It was one of those.

"I have these," you said shyly after some time of you two staring at each other. "Have you found any I could try on?"

“Not really”

Seventeen minutes since you entered the dressing room. Roger was bored.

“Can I see?”

“No. The black one’s so ugly on me” you roared, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“You’re not being objective. Let me see”

“No”

“You look gorgeous”

You quickly turned on your heels, ready to hit him in the head for not listening, but he was nowhere to be seen. How the hell…?

“How can you tell?”

“I just know”

You laughed it off, blushing.

“So cheesy”

“But you’re smiling”

“Roger! Are you seeing me?” you asked, staring intently at every part of the curtain to see if maybe there was a tiny hole in it where he’d been peeking at you.

“No, but I can hear it in your voice”

“Shut up” you giggled.

“Can I see now?”

“No, you can’t”

God.

You weren’t sure about this.

You weren’t sure about this at all.

Roger taking the credit card out of his wallet to pay for something that was not going to be his but yours made you all flustered and uncomfortably red as hell itself in the face.

You took his hand before he could pass it to the woman.

“(Y/N), stop” he chuckled and gave her the card anyway.

He pulled you closer to him and kissed your cheek so casually, like if said actions didn’t have consequences. Hello? Your heart combusting, perhaps?

“There you go,” the woman handed him the bag, “tell your sister I said hi”

“I will” Roger nodded.

“Your sister? Clare?”

"Uh-huh"

“Younger or older?”

“Younger”

"You didn't tell me you had a younger sister," you said as you two initiated your way to Mary's.

"You didn't ask. Aren't you gonna tell me which dress you've chosen?" he cocked an eyebrow at you. "I paid for it, I believe I have the right to—"

You wanted him to see it the day of the ceremony, to make it a surprise as well.

"Please don't remind me you bought it. It's embarrassing"

Roger snorted a chuckle.

“Oh my God, woman. You’re so worried about it”

"We've got to be frank here. Mary told me you guys are broke, because you had issues with… whoever in the past. And now you take me to an upper high-class store to buy me a dress. Don't take me wrong, but I just don’t get it”

“Don’t have to swear on it” he noted quietly to the last part.

You sure weren’t getting anything.

“We firmed a contract we shouldn’t have. Life goes on and we’re with Rheid now, about to launch a masterpiece that will change our lives forever. Every penny he’s given us is for the album, but I know it’s gonna pay off. Of the little I had left from before, I wanted to do this. It’s my money. I do whatever the fuck I want with my money”

You didn’t say anything, perplexed.

He wished you'd understand the real reason why he wanted to make you happy. To cover your whims. To take care of you.

“So,” you spoke after a while, breaking the ice, “A Night at the Opera”

“Freddie’s suggestion. Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s weird, but it sounds like Queen”

He grinned.

//

Freddie said that enough was enough, that they deserved to disconnect from work for the group’s sanity.

They were getting ready at Mary’s to head to the nearest pub –putting it in his words— to dance until their feet bled and hopefully drink like psychopaths. He dictated how disappointed he’d be in them if they didn’t wake up naked and hangover in the middle of nowhere.

He was now in the bathroom applying black eyeliner to John.

“Can we come?”

Mary and you opted for a chill sleepover at first, but you changed your mind and managed to persuade her to go out as well, telling her you couldn’t remember the last time you went partying together.

Brian and John didn’t speak up, expecting Roger to do. When you saw that neither of them were saying a word, you turned your gaze towards him. He was wearing a seemingly chill unbothered facade, pushing aside how your request had tickled his stomach.

"Sure" Roger replied, mouth curving into a perfect smile.

Mary told you you could choose whatever you wanted from her closet in case you wanted to change to a more appropriate outfit for the occasion.

The two of you hurried upstairs.

It was evident that once you were there you were gonna dance all freaking night, so you picked a pair of denim bell-bottoms to be comfortable, a basic top, and kept the pair of black heels you had on already. Then you ran to touch up a little the makeup you had previously put on in the morning, adding a bit of glitter to your cheekbones.

Listening to the front door open and Freddie screaming to get your fat asses down there, Mary rushed to put a sparkly belt on while both of you trotted down the stairs.

“We’re coming!” you shouted, jumping to skip the last three rungs.

Sliding the back of your hand across the forehead to remove the sweat, you took Mary by the arm and escorted her to the opposite end of the pub, fleeing from the group of girls who were screaming at you for having spilt drink on them by accident. Mary tried not to fall while you made your way through the congregation of people going against your flow.

You raised your arms and kept dancing carefreely, ignoring the looks of all kinds you received.

Mary knew she’d never be on the same level as you. Her knees were begging to stop, meanwhile you were as fresh as a rose. It didn’t seem like you’d been dancing for over two hours without a break.

The boys, even Freddie, had also thrown in the towel a while ago.

"(Y/N), I'm going with Freddie!" Mary shouted, grasping you by the shoulder.

"What about me?"

"Come, I’m not keen on leaving you on your own" with this said, she began to gently push you towards where the boys were.

You were careful not to stumble since the drinks you had consumed earlier were already coming into effect. The purple, yellow and blue lights that illuminated the area disorientated you, so without question you let Mary lead you.

"Mary, I've saved you a seat, darling" Freddie said, patting the empty space next to him.

You frowned when you saw there was no room left for you in the booth.

"Shit”

John laughed when he heard the disappointment in your drunken voice.

Roger didn’t stutter. He held your hand and sat you on his lap.

"I don’t like this posture. Your thigh will hurt you, y’know what I mean?" you slurred.

Yet your actions were contradictory, because you moved to squeeze against him, too exhausted all of a sudden.

"I'll handle it," he murmured, fighting the instincts that grew inside him to touch you everywhere.

Fiddling with your necklace, you looked at the people on the dance floor.

You’d been wasting your time with them, bizarrely enjoying being so proximate to Roger more.

Speaking of the devil, the bastard had unbuttoned his shirt at some point.

The top you wore had its back completely uncovered; as a result, your sticky skin collided with his. Not that you complained, in fact, the contact made you horny. Could it possibly be that you were just dreadfully drunk and that your five senses were way more sensitive than usual? And that it didn’t have anything to do with Roger?

You’d been secretly having lascivious dreams concerning him for a hot minute, but resigned to admire from a distance. So no, he absolutely was the one to blame.

Roger waved his glass of tequila, offering you some.

As you were already drunk from the shots you had with John as soon as you stepped in, when you threw your head back to swallow til the very last drop, a lot of the liquid dripped down the sides of your mouth, staining your top and wetting your neck.

You laughed, clearly too tipsy to be upset.

Roger watched you attentively.

Many inappropriate thoughts seized him as he saw the liquid running down your collarbone.

You deposited the glass back on the table.

“You won’t be dancing anymore?” Roger asked.

“Perhaps at another time. I like it here”

“I like it too” he replied, and added in a small voice the following request hoping you wouldn’t get to hear it through the music. “Don’t leave”

You listened without interest as Brian and Freddie exchanged opinions on whether they should or shouldn't add a guitar solo in an almost finished song. John looked at them as if it were a tennis match, throwing glances at Mary from time to time that she returned. They knew they had to act before they started an argument, so Mary proposed to go dance some more.

Freddie followed her, and you saw him complaining to her about Brian's last-minute changes. John gestured Brian for the two of them to leave the booth as well, pointing discreetly with his thumb back to Roger and you: Brian understood.

"They’ve abandoned us" you stated, staring at your friends walking away until they were no longer in sight.

Now it was you sitting on the leather sofa, with Roger tucked between your legs –clearly if he sat on your lap he wouldn’t even last five minutes because you wouldn’t put up with it any longer than that, so it wasn’t worth a try—.

You had your feet against the edge of the table, legs wide apart to make room for him. At first he wasn’t sure, but quickly changed his mind when your fingers slipped into his hair, lazily massaging his scalp.

The idea occurred when he proved your point, telling you to sit on his left thigh because the other was getting numb.

He was in a trance, and felt his eyelids heavier by every second, not because he was sleepy but because of the pleasure.

“Fuck” Roger muttered thoughtlessly with his eyes closed, catching you off guard.

A sudden increase in your heartbeat, now irregular, rattled you.

“Wh-what?”

Embarrassment crept up his face when you stopped.

“Sorry, I don’t know what was that, it just felt good and—“

Your core was throbbing. You were so confused but so pumped at the same time.

“You want me to continue?”

He turned his head and scanned your features. He definitely didn't expect that, thought you'd want him to get off you instantly.

The intense eye contact that followed earned you another electrifying whip that shook every corner of your body.

When Roger went back to his initial position, you smiled mischievously.

He had to keep biting back his moans throughout the entire thing.

The mixture of alcohol running at an unrestrained rhythm through your veins, including how dangerously turned on you were by Roger’s constant heavy breaths, pushed you to take a step further: you traced your finger along the curve of his jawline, painfully slow, and with the tip of your nose you drew patterns on his neck, observing hungrily his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard.

Roger looked up at the ceiling and attempted to count its tiles. Anything that'd distract him from having a boner, really.

"You good?" you teased with a smile, whispering near his ear.

"I wish I could answer honestly"

"Do it, I won’t judge"

He ran a hand through his golden hair, feeling really irritated that this was happening now, where he couldn’t rip your clothes off.

Saying he was having a hard time keeping it together doesn’t do justice to the reality of how much he had to retain himself.

"Say it" you insisted, intrigued.

In a hoarse whisper, pretty much thanks to the alcohol and the inebriety that your touch drowned him in, he grew the balls to actually say what was crossing his mind.

“I’ve never had the urge to taste a woman this bad”

You grinned, and that throbbing kept escalating.

“Oh, Rog. You couldn’t be any more subtle, could you?” you laughed, burying your hand one more time in the mess that his hair was, pulling it.

Literally, you couldn’t control yourself.

It’s his fault!, claimed a voice in your head. For being too fucking irresistible.

"Don't" he desperately groaned, taking your hand in his.

He sat straight.

“Why?”

Roger gave a small sexy laugh, and he turned to look at you in the eye, shoving the hair back of his face.

“Wanna hear me say it or feel it yourself instead?”

“(Y/N)”

A bad feeling that you did something terrible sunk in when you saw Mary towering over you, her mouth set in a line.

If yours'd been watering seconds ago because of Roger's cock being hard because of you, now it was as arid as the Sahara desert.

"I need a ‘you-know-what’," she said, the ‘you-know-what’ item usually being a tampon. This time it was only a petition for you to follow her quickly, “come with me”

Once inside a bathroom stall, she locked the door and sat on top of the toilet seat, crossing her arms and looking at you as if you were the biggest crackhead in the world.

"What the fuck was that? What were you thinking? What was all that about?" she argued.

"I don’t understand a word you’re saying"

"If I’d gotten there just ONE second later you’d be sucking him dry right now. Don’t play dumb with me, (Y/N)”

You leant your back against the door.

"Mary, cutie, this conversation’s stupid"

She put her hands on her hips. It made you giggle that she was so angry.

"I already explained to you what Roger is like. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll forget you and drool over the next one" she hissed matter-of-factly.

"Why are you acting like I’m in love with him or something? We’re adults having a good time. If there’s physical attraction, why shouldn’t we able to fuck?"

She winced, and focused on the first question only.

“You aren’t?”

You furrowed your brow. Okay, maybe the conversation was more serious than you thought. Alcohol slowing your brain down didn’t help the situation either.

“You’re being weird”

“And you’re being an asshole! Are you even listening to me? Roger’s a—“

“What?! What is he, Mary?! Enlighten me! And I do listen to you, always! Sure I remember me phoning you after that day I sang ‘All Too Well’ to him and you saying I shouldn’t get too close. But he’s been nothing but nice to me, M. He’s polite, funny, sweet… What the hell did he do to you?” you asked, staring at her with a look of incredulity, not recognizing the person in front of you.

“To me? What he did to endless women that once were in your place. He’s used them all and he’ll use you too”

When she pointed an accusing finger at your chest, where the heart is, you could feel yours dropping.

That you liked each other physically was undeniable, but what you didn’t know was that you cared about him so intensely. When and how did that happen?

It was true that out of Queen he was the one you talked to the most and the one you had the best time with, always joking and finding interesting subjects to talk about. Above everything else, he became a confidant. And it felt mutual up until now.

Had he been toying with you just to get in your pants?

“But… he helped me cope with my dad, and…”

“And what was he supposed to do?”

“And today…,” speaking was so hard. You were scared you’d choke clumsily with your own saliva, “today he bought me a dress. For my graduation”

Mary’s strong gaze changed, and she pulled herself to her feet. You swore something was eating her alive internally, but she was good at pretending she had it all together.

“Buying your love and attention. I saw it coming”

Mary let a calculated pause set between you two.

“You’re my best friend, (Y/N). I don’t enjoy doing this. I… I want to protect you”

She sighed and left when you didn’t open your mouth.

A couple of minutes later, you did too.  Staring at yourself in the smudged mirror, you couldn’t tell whether you needed to go home or have twenty more drinks.

“Finally” you suddenly heard Roger say. He hugged you from behind right away, stopping you from literally rushing to John to tell him you wanted to leave. “I missed you, love”

Although you noticed your pulse rapidly accelerating, Mary's words seemed to be floating through your mind with a big neon sign with the word “alert” above them. She’d known Roger for a longer period of time than you did, and saw every lover appear and vanish whenever he found a new interest.

It just… You had to accept that one way or another, Roger was most likely to create damage.

“I want to go home, I’m wasted”

“Go home? We’re having a good time” he pulled you closer once again, his hands resting on your stomach.

He debated whether to bite your earlobe or not. One second later, he went for it.

You moaned. Loud. You wanted him to do it again.

“No, stop” you turned around and took two steps backwards, convincing you it was for the best.

He looked nothing but shattered.

“What’s the matter?”

“Forget what happened earlier. It was foolish”

Roger blinked too many times. He didn’t want to believe that you were being serious.

However, you looking everywhere but him was everything he needed to confirm you meant it.

Anger, exasperation and hurt clouded his face.

“So, we were this close” he began, his thumb and forefinger almost touching, “to make out about ten minutes ago, and now you want me to simply pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Well, I don’t want to ‘make out’ anymore, easy as that”

“I just can’t fucking wrap my head around it” he snapped.

It wasn’t about making out or not: he enjoyed your company and loved the way you made him feel when you were together. And he thought… you felt the same.

His heart was pounding so fast in his chest he thought he’d suffer a stroke.

You lapsed into silence, broken only by the one thing that made Roger understand why you were rejecting him.

“All girls swoon for you. Find another one to spend the night with, it won’t take you long, really. And please do forget about whatever happened between us in the booth”

It sounded way crueller than you wanted to. You wished you could take it back, but what's done cannot be undone.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything for a while.

Knuckles white and breathing uneven, Roger got closer and bent forward invading your personal space.

“Assuming I’m a womanizer, eh?” he replied coldly, jaw hard.

Curling up into a ball and crying never appealed to you that much before.

“Don’t worry. I will”

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring

[almondharry]

you look so good : three

you look so good [10.8k]

“Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Part three: Neumann’s Game Theory 

Neumann’s Game Theory

July 5, 2003

Genevieve’s forearms were gripped in an iron tight hold. Her mother’s long and bony fingers wrapped around like medieval vine; they curled and held Genevieve in place. With lips set in a thin line, her mother’s perfectly plucked brows were drawn in a scolding glare. The strength behind it could cut diamond.

“How did this happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Genevieve mumbled. “I was playing and running really fast and I didn’t see the rock.” Her chin met the center of her collarbone. Loose pieces of gravel rolled under her shoe, the crunch calmed her. It was her favoured alternative over maintaining the heavy eye contact that glared from above. A drop of red splattered onto the pavement.    

“Oh, Genevieve.” The defeated sigh that slipped from her mother’s lips had less to do with mourning the dress, but more to do with the innocence that framed her rose tinted glasses. “Darling, there is only one thing I ask of you.”

Genevieve was no foreigner to her tone. It was laced with a classic sweetness, one that teachers liked to lay on thick when explaining instructions to kindergarteners.

Genevieve waited. She poked a finger in the horizontal slit of fabric that hovered above her knee. The broken threads were an easy fix; she had seen her mother tackle far worse from her work. She hypothesized it would take her six minutes at her sewing machine to restore the misalignment. It wasn’t those fancy new electric ones that had ten different settings. It was fashioned mechanically and had a joint foot pedal that Genevieve pretended was its best friend. It was humble and did all the required stitching.

“Yes, Mama?” Thin red streaks slid down the sides of her leg, tiny rivers went their separate ways. They darkened the navy blue of her dress.

Her mother’s eyes skimmed over Genevieve’s features in desperation. They took in her sweaty hairline, scratched cheek, and pouty lips.

Her tone dropped to a hush. It was a secret meant to be sealed between only them. “Never chase a boy, Genevieve. Don’t do it.”

***

October 31, 2019

Genevieve wasn’t used to the stop and go. It was something she never thought twice about when she was younger and needed to get across town, but now it was painfully obvious. A middle aged man in a green tie and second hand suit sat across the aisle from her. His ankle crossed over his knee and a newspaper open in his lap. At the front, three seats folded up and made room for a teenage girl in a wheelchair. She untangled the cord of her white headphones. A mother attempted to calm down her shrieking toddler. The boy, red faced and wet with tears, stomped his feet and waved his arms impatiently.

Genevieve didn’t mind the ruckus. Between being trapped in a self-imposed exile at a still library or the solitude of her apartment, the hustle of the city gave her much needed normalcy. Her head pressed against the window, she regretted her decision when the driver hit the brakes suddenly. The potholes on the concrete made her bang her forehead several times, but she kept it there because she liked to see her breath fog up the glass with each little puff. The cloudiness stained the window for a second before it disappeared. She enjoyed counting her exhales to pass time.

She was at a prime number, sixty-one, when the buzzing of her phone interrupted her recording.

Incoming Call. Meena.

Her thumb slid across the screen and she brought the receiver closer to her head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Where are you?”

“Right now? Just by King Street. Shouldn’t be any much longer. Maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Well, hit the gas, you’ve been requested.”

Genevieve mentally went over the list of people who beckoned her. She had already texted Liam and informed him that she was running slightly behind schedule. That only left Niall.

“Niall?” She laughed. ”Tell him I can’t give him a ride tonight, my car is at the shop.”

“No, not Niall— wait, how are you getting here?”

“The bus.”

“Ooh,” she hummed in realization. The toddler was now invested in a juicebox, his nose sniffled and palm wiped at his eyes for dried tears. There was still honking on the street and Genevieve nodded along to the soft music from the car radio beside them. “Those things are never on time, no wonder you’re so far away.”

“Sixteen minutes now.”

“I could’ve given you a ride if I had known.”

“It’s alright, I’ll be there soon anyway.” Green Tie flipped the page, Genevieve briefly glanced at the stock market numbers. “What’s going on there? Have they got on yet?”

“Nope it’s some poetry thing right now, they won’t be up until later. Liza said something about two more people on the set list.”

The invitation for Liam and Genevieve had stretched out to a few more familiar faces. It was Halloween night, that meant The Cabinet had colourful drinks, orange and yellow streamers on the walls, and faux cobwebs lining the bar tops. Usually Ted wouldn’t have put much thought to it, but when he noticed the direct correlation in risen sales, he made it a full blown out theme. There was a popular promotion; if you came in with a costume you get a small percentage off your drinks.

“Liam just popped into the loo to fix his face paint. There’s a guy here with a very detailed Ironman getup. Niall has taken a liking to a brunette in a lingerie set. I think she’s supposed to be a bunny, or a hamster. My drink is making my lips blue.”

“Riveting.”

“I think so too. It makes me a more believable zombie while getting me buzzed. Talk about a two for one special—” There was shuffling, ice cubes clinking against glass—“oh shit, I think… I think I see Professor Biggins.”

Genevieve groaned. He had become a common topic of conversation with Meena. She would mostly drag his name through dirt for giving her a mark that she strongly argued she didn’t deserve. He was the type of professor that had a God complex. To do above and beyond in his class—the only thing that Meena allowed herself to do—you had to fight through the trenches with your own bare hands. “Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a perfectly casual setting. I’ll just buy him a drink and ask him to give me his thoughts on my rough draft,” she said. “I have a copy on my phone.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Okay, well it isn’t a rough draft.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “It’s actually my final that I worked my arse off for the past week. But I’m not gonna let him know that, of course. Knowing him, he will rip it to shreds and make it seem like a mess of jot notes instead of well developed arguments.” Genevieve heard a gulp over the line when Meena threw back her drink. “You know I saw Lucy Wallace leaving his office hours in tears. Lucy Wallace! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen that girl with less than a four point oh, and he broke her, Gen.”

“Oh my God, leave him alone, he’s probably there to relax and not be bothered by students.”

She scoffed. “Relax? If I can’t sleep because of this bloody essay then neither should he. It’s only fair.” Genevieve could picture Meena squirming off her bar stool. “And if he really didn’t want to run into his students, he should’ve thought of that before choosing a pub on campus.”

“You’re walking towards him, aren’t you?”

“Yup, ten steps away,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “I hope he recognizes me behind this makeup. For being such a young prof, you’d expect him to be somewhat lenient and not have a stick up his arse. I swear to you Gen, this man hasn’t a clue what mercy means.”

“I’m sure you’ll give him a proper schooling on it then. With the whole definition and everything.”

“And nothing less,” Meena agreed. “Text me when you get in, yeah?”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not a chance, see you soon.”

***

Genevieve spotted Liam instantly. His Captain America shield, leaned against the wooden peg of the table, really gave him away. A simple light fixture dangled above them and spilled a dull orange hue. Across from him, Angie sipped a pink drink and Liza was in the middle of telling a story with expressive hand gestures. A witch hat contained her curls and matched the long black maxi dress that she had on. Genevieve grimaced at the dried beer on the floor; the soles of her shoes grew tacky with every step towards the table.

“—She was a complete psycho! Had too many screws loose!” Liza exclaimed with brows at her hairline. “I had a feeling from the start, Liam! But it seems like anything I say falls on deaf ears!”

Angie rolled her eyes with a bored expression. The jewelled bracelets that covered her wrist hit against the neck of her glass as she brought the rim to her lips. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“She wouldn’t let you come out with us.”

“That was a... misunderstanding.”

“She refused to get along with any of us for more than twenty minutes.”

“Some people like to keep to themselves. Introversion and all.”

“She threw your clothes off the balcony and almost started a fire.”

Angie hissed at the painful memory, her face crumpled as she swallowed her drink. It was easy to mistake her reaction as a liquor burn. “Okay, yeah, maybe that bit was a little too much.”

“Wait a second, she threw your clothes? From the balcony? Don’t you live on the twenty second floor?” Liam’s eyes could drop out of their sockets and roll on the table like a pair of dice.

“Lived. And it was the whole suitcase, unzipped, the whole shabang. Quite the show.” Genevieve’s eyes wrinkled with amusement when Angie waved her hands in a jazz like theatre fashion, a sarcastic smile pulled at her painted black lips. “I was just happy that my clothes broke the fall for my laptop. But she did manage to crack my camera lens.”

“She sounds delightful,” Genevieve said at last when she approached close enough to the group. Her teeth caged her bottom lip to bite a smile. Liam’s head whipped around and he stood up to grab an empty stool to join the table.

“Gen, don’t get her started, please,” Liza scoffed. She leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s neck to pull her in for a quick hug. Despite being taken aback by the immediate friendliness, Genevieve relaxed into her embrace. “We prefer not to have a reenactment of her many grieving nights. Thank you for making it.”

“Of course! Liam wouldn’t let me miss it. When do you guys go on?” Genevieve balanced herself on the stool after her jacket was shrugged off on a nearby hook. She shot Liam a nod in thanks.

He raised his glass of beer. The foam rested well below the halfway level. He pointed his index finger at it and his brows curled in question. Genevieve’s lips mouthed ‘sure’. He threw back what was remaining of his drink down his throat before he headed towards the bar. He slid at the empty spot beside Niall, who didn’t pay any attention, too engrossed in the brunette in front of him. He was given a twisted pinch on his side, he jumped and yelped in his seat and Liam snickered as the brunette walked away.

Liza’s eyes snapped to the inside of her wrist, they doubled in size when she analyzed the hour and minute hand. “Shit, in about fifteen. I should get going.”

The Cabinet was far from a fancy establishment. Genevieve recognized a few people from her course littered around the space, everyone had a drink in hand. There was a modest platform that served as a makeshift stage. Amps, mics, and a keyboard was plugged in and the thick black wires resembled withering snakes.

Liza’s block heels sounded against the floor as she hurried towards the side of the stage where a crouched down Zayn fiddled with a specific setting on the amp, dressed in all black. His neck arched towards her when she was close enough. He had a guitar pick between his teeth like a toothpick, it made his smile crooked. He plucked it out and  gave it to her in exchange for the microphone in her hand.  Beside him, another girl turned the knobs on a bass, probably giving it some last minute tuning.

“If I remember correctly, you must be Gen. Liam and Liza mentioned you a bit.”

“I am. All good things, I hope?” She laughed.

Genevieve was impressed by Angie’s outfit. Her shirt’s bell sleeves were wide and the length of her skirt stopped at two inches below the knee. Layered necklaces and rings glinted under the light. A scarf tied across her forehead held back her hair, but it peeked out slightly. It was the crystals on the table and a deck of cards that founded her hypothesis. “Let me take a guess… you’re a fortune teller?”

“Close, try again.”

“A gypsy?” Her voice squeaked in a higher pitch.

“I’m Angie, the tarot reader.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know the difference at all.” All the trinkets that laid on the table overwhelmed her. There were crystals in all shapes and sizes and charms that sat in a green bowl.

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. Here, do you want to give it a try? My great aunt swears by this deck.” Angie raised a brow. “She said something about how she had it spelled by a Sufi in India. Just between us, I think she’s ripping off the storyline of The Monkey’s Paw. But with her, who knows? Or maybe it’s the retirement home rotting her brain.”

“What is this exactly? How does is work?” It piqued an interest. Genevieve watched closely as Angie scooped the deck of cards to shuffle with expertise.

People tended to be a bit wary about myths, legends, and the ‘other world’. Genevieve understood the fascination that came along with it, but her belief regarding the supernatural was as weak as a packed public library’s wifi signal. Her belief stayed with something she could see and understand. For her, this was the existence of concrete numbers. If anything, a deck of cards was just another application of game theory. It was all permutations and combinations that were behind seeing the past or forecasting the future, not magic.

“There are two types of reading. You can do a question based or more of an open reading,” Angie said. “We’re gonna do an open one because that was the only one my aunt was willing to teach an eight-year-old on a snow day.”

“Sounds good, how do I start?”

“After the deck is shuffled, I’m going to lay out four piles of three cards each. All you have to do is tell me which pile you gravitate towards and we can go ahead with your reading.”

Genevieve nodded.

Angie’s fingers tapped the edges to align the corners; soon, the pile was neatly ordered. She gripped the two ends of the deck and bent them in a concave curve. One of her thumbs let go and the tension released, the cards slapped against one another in a harmonic way. After the shuffling, she distributed the cards on the table, her fingers looked like they were snapping at a poetry show except no sound came out, the card between her thumb and index prevented it. The cards were faced upside down, the intricate swirly blue pattern was identical on each card.

“You know what to do,” Angie hummed after she finished with the deck. She took a generous sip of her drink while waiting for Genevieve’s response.

She rapped her fingers on the table. There wasn’t a specific reason as to why her fingers drifted to tap the second pile to her right. Maybe because Genevieve’s hand was already propped on the table and it was the nearest deck her fingers could reach. Or maybe it was the Indian Sufi controlling her actions. Whatever it was, Genevieve hoped for the best.

Angie flipped the three cards over to reveal their faces. The blue pattern was replaced with three distinct images.

“Wow,” Angie said sharply under her breath. A whistle blew from her lips as she scanned the cards to interpret their meaning. On the first card, three women stood over flowers and fruit, all holding identical cups in the air. The second card had a skeleton in black armor riding atop the back of a horse. In his hand was a black flag. The last card had a royal figure behind a veil, a well-built pillar at each of her sides. “Three of cups, death, and the high priestess. Now that’s a complicated combination.”

“How so?”

“Well the three of cups means friendship which goes against the death card. And not to mention the high priestess means new knowledge. Which is a bit off. I think this has more to do with—”

Genevieve smelled his cologne before she saw him.

She felt heat lift off his skin from his close proximity. The space was packed, leaving him no option but to step into her bubble. His presence made Genevieve’s spine solid as a metal rod. The little hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Threatening scavengers wheeled hungrily above their table.

A glass full to the top was slid in front of her, the frothy foam almost dribbled over the rim.

“Don’t listen to her, this is all rubbish,” a voice to her left sounded, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. Genevieve wiggled on her stool at the jet of warmth that shot down her arm.

“Harry, you twat! Not on the cards! You know I have to give them back!” Angie lurched forward to swipe the cards nearest the drink. She began to collect all the spread out cards into her deck with a scowl. Genevieve could’ve sworn she felt a shy lingering palm hover over the small of her back, but Harry wasn’t brave enough to actually do it.

“It’s best you put them away before you give away another false reading. Wouldn’t be the first time, right Ang?” His voice was light and airy. It gave Genvieve the impression that Angie was the easiest to pick on in their group. From jokes about scorned exes to innocent jabs here and there, she took the brunt of it all.

As if it was even possible, Harry leaned further towards Genevieve, she was half a centimeter away from falling off her stool. He tapped the wood beside the glass with his pointer finger. “Liam sent this over by the way.” Genevieve nodded, without turning in her seat. Her throat was too dry to give a response, she gulped down her drink like it was water.

“Oh piss off,” Angie brushed off. Her eyes scanned Harry’s outfit and her mouth dropped open in offence. “What happened to the pirate get up? Wait, hold on a minute, do you guys know each other?” Her curious eyes bounced back between the two. Was the Indian Sufi working overtime?

Genevieve downed a large gulp to refrain from spitting her drink out. “What? No! Why do you ask that?” Genevieve coughed before Harry could answer.

Angie shrugged. “Looks like you coordinated outfits.”

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to green ones before they flickered down to his chest. The print was a carbon copy of the fabric that hung off her shoulders except for the number in the dead centre of the shirt. Thing 1. Thing 2.

Genevieve rolled her lips as she tried to think fast on her feet. Harry saw it in her eyes, the acute sense of panic. The answer being a simple yes prompted too many questions. Genevieve didn’t want to get into the how’s and the why's. It would be like untangling knotted necklaces that had very thin chains.

Sure, they did know each other at a different time. Now, years apart, the answer failed to uphold any truth. It was the same as admitting they didn’t know the other at all. Something passed between the two of them—a mutual understanding, a silent conversation.

Harry cleared his throat, his attention gravitated back to an expectant Angie. “By coordination, you mean picking the most common shirt as an excuse for an outfit, then yes, of course, we coordinated. Along with whoever is wearing a size small in this halfway across the world.”

“Forget it, I need another drink.” Angie’s curiosity went as quickly as it came. She slid off her stool and marched towards the bar. Her necklaces and rings jingled together like windchimes with every step.

And then there were two.

Harry pretended not to notice Genevieve wrap a broken fray of her jeans around her pointer finger. It was one of her many ticks. She picked at her clothing before an important presentation, a tricky exam, confrontation. She gave the thread a hard tug and it ripped off. She had one leg crossed over the other tightly on her stool. Her thumb caged the first knuckle of her ring finger.

Harry attempted to make eye contact, and she met his gaze for the length of a heartbeat.  

Harry watched as Genevieve released a relieved breath. Her tongue ran over her lips. “Thank you,” she sighed.

Neither of them knew if it was for bringing her drink over or keeping the veil on their past.

Before Harry could respond, there were two taps into a microphone. The electric shrill came to a stop; heads turned towards the stage.

“Having a good night everyone?” The small crowd gathered near the stage grew slowly as Liza adjusted her mic stand. It was like the beginnings of the holy mecca. An incoherent response was given in a cheer. “We’re The Red Day, thank you for having us! Our first song is one I’m sure will sound somewhat familiar. Here is Nine Hearts!”

Niall and Liam whooped and hollered from their new position closer to the stage. Encouraging claps and cheers were shouted. Angie raised her drink in support. Meena abandoned her professor for their set.

At the first few chords of Liza’s guitar and Zayn’s keys, Harry’s head turned to catch a glimpse of Genevieve’s reaction. He didn’t know if her music taste differed from what it was. Was she still into the same bands? Did she still hate karaoke? Somehow he thought his questions will be answered with a hopeful glance. Then his chin met his shoulder, a frown pulled at his lips. The stool beside him was vacant. She left a wet ring of water on the table, the only proof of her presence.

Genevieve was no longer there.

***

Sweat coated the back of Genevieve’s neck and the high points of her face. Drinks sloshed over rims and a couple drops misted her skin. The small space began to feel like a furnace, the dial set at the highest setting. Energy vibrated with ease through the huddle of strangers she found herself among. Her lack of height and the dim lighting did little to aide her view of the stage. Genevieve elbowed towards the flash of blond that caught her eye.

The song switched when Genevieve stumbled beside her friends.

“There you are!” Niall screamed, but his voice was muffled. He trapped her neck in the crook of his elbow, pressing a messy kiss to her matted hairline. “Haven’t seen you all night!”

“You have me now!” Genevieve knocked elbows with a boy who rushed to the bar. Her index finger and thumb squished Niall’s cheek. Even with the facepaint, his skin was flushed a certain shade of red he only got when was buzzed or severely sunburnt. “What’s this?”

“I’m a mime!” His costume only registered to Genevieve when her eyes landed on the black and white striped shirt. Her mouth parted in a drawn out Oh.

He pushed his drink into her hands before his raised to spread in front of him, an invisible glass barrier became apparent.

“You’re the loudest person I know, whose brilliant idea was this?” She snorted when his face contorted into extreme expressions. “Could’ve mistaken you for a clown. It’s more fitting.”

That prompted a deep chuckle from Liam. He was an arms length away. A blue drink in hand. With closed eyes, he nodded his head to the mellow beat of the music. A few lighters were in the air.

“Two costumes in one, I am going above and beyond! For the people, you know?”

“So generous.” Genevieve helped herself to his drink. It would be something that Niall would snatch from her if he was sober. Instead he swayed with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics obnoxiously all while he clutching his heart.

Genevieve could only imagine the heat of the potted stage lights aimed at Zayn, Liza, and the unnamed girl. Sweat beaded their temples. She hadn’t been lucky enough to familiarize herself with their sound. As Genevieve concentrated on the music, a stubborn knot in her shoulder dissolved.

Liza was the frontwomen, a guitar strap slung around her neck and red lips kissed the mic. Zayn was a natural behind black and white keys, practiced fingers knew their placements as if he was recalling the alphabet. No-name controlled the bass with expertise, the sound traveled through floorboards and made toes curl. They were skilled at holding down a beat. The tempo and chord arrangements went together effortlessly. It testified to the hours spent at their craft.

Liza’s voice was deep and rough and settled in your bones. Zayn occasionally leaned forward into his mic to add light harmonies that complimented her voice. The contrast between them made for a balanced sound. The amps thundered as they progressed into the pre-chorus. The crowd became rowdy with anticipation. It was an electric, needy, callous disorder.

“I need to pee,” Liam winced, his eyes pinched in pain. He was in the middle of a funny dance. He adjusted his bulge and shoved his unfinished drink into Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve’s protest didn’t make it out in time because Liam was gone in a flash. Her mouth hung open. His figure drowned in a sea of people.

The song neared an end. A roar flooded the bar, the praise and claps were deafening. It was obvious as daylight, they were pocketing hearts away with every strum of a guitar. Liza’s chest heaved to catch her breath. Her hair bounced as she crouched down, the mouth of a plastic bottle met her lips. While she hydrated, to keep the momentum up Zayn pressed closer to his mic.

“Evening everyone—”

Niall cupped his palms around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Yeah, Baby!”

Zayn closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath before he gave an acknowledging nod. “And Niall.”

“Woo!” Niall—an embarrassing soccer mom on the sidelines—didn’t quite know when to stop with the positive reinforcement. A couple heads turned towards Niall and by association, Genevieve. Zayn began to thank the crowd and plugged the student radio that he had started with Liza as another place to find their music.

Genevieve’s elbow dug in the soft pillow of Niall’s side. “You know him?” She raised a brow and pointed her chin towards the stage.

“Who? Zayn?” Genevieve nodded in confirmation. “Top lad. I smoke with him at the back after every gig. You should come. He has the best stuff.”

Genevieve’s jaw hung open in mock offence. “He’s your pot buddy now?”

“That’s what you get for abandoning me.” Niall shrugged. “I move on fast, you know?”

Genevieve recalled the last time Niall had reached out to give his invite. It was one of those weeks where too many things piled right after the other. Where days blurred into one because professors couldn’t grasp the concept of strategically placing due dates, despite having fancy doctorate degrees. “It was finals week!”

“More the reason to do it, if you ask me.” He wiggled his brows. He sighed when she pouted. “Don’t be jealous, there’s still enough of me to go around.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes freely and took a swig of the amber liquid, it slid down her throat with ease. The chords of the last song floated into the air and Genevieve didn’t bother to fix the strands of hair that stuck to her face. Her feet swayed with Niall’s, featherlight and carefree. Their arms pretzeled each other’s shoulders as they lost themselves in the music. It was a mix of knocking knees and withholding the other’s weight. Their drunken stumbles didn’t hinder their experience, if anything, it amplified it.

Liam and Meena nursed their drinks on the other side of the bar. Attempts at reclaiming their spots proved futile as the crowd grew more relentless and chaotic. All hopes of a good view died at once, like an annoying house fly under a swatter.

Meena caught Genevieve’s glazed eyes. They held eye contact, it was something they did at parties or pubs. Touching base to make sure all things are in order. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?

Genevieve shot her a thumbs up with a bubbling smile to dismiss Meena’s worries.

Meena narrowed her eyes on Genevieve’s shoulder. Her own fingers came to pinch at her top. Don’t you sleep in that?

And?

It’s wrinkled.

Genevieve spotted Meena’s professor over her shoulder. He laid some bills down on the table and folded his wallet. He then made his way slowly approaching Meena. Of course, he wasn’t in her peripheral so she had no idea. Genevieve raised her pointer finger and pointed behind her. After half a second of confusion, she turned around and plastered on the fakest smile for Professor Biggins; a perfect enactment of a comedy and tragedy masks. And so the conversation of her shirt was dropped.

Liza and Zayn wrapped up the last song, coming to a graceful end. They said their goodbyes and were off the stage in no time. Zayn proficiently folded the stand of his keyboard. Liza made sure her guitar was snug as a bug in its case.

It was a blur. Niall shoved around the group of people which were taking too long to dissipate. Genevieve squeaked when a harsh tug trapped her wrist. Niall lead her towards the door of the back exit where Zayn and Liza helped themselves to a few water bottles. Their equipment leaned against the wall.

Niall threw his arms around Zayn instantly, the sudden force caused him to stumble back. Zayn recovered easily from his falter, then beamed at Niall with a wide smile.  

“You lot killed it! Insane! Absolutely smashed it!”

Genevieve nodded at Niall’s words. “It was amazing to watch, I’ll be sure to catch the next set.”

“We will definitely let you know when we get it lined up.” Liza glowed with post stage euphoria. You could reach out and practically touch the energy still buzzing around her. “Oh, Zayn! This is Gen!”

The quick introduction was met with a kind smile and nod.

“Ah, yes! Liam mentioned you.” Zayn’s thumb struck towards the iron gate. A red exit sign was fixated on hinges above. “We’re going out for a quick smoke. You’re welcome to join.”

It was a common theme, Genevieved noted. There was no awkwardness or tough exterior that needed to be cracked to befriend Zayn, Liza, and Angie. No deadbolts or fastened chains, instead a welcome mat situated boldly outside their door. Genevieve found herself taking a step in.

“Liz, you coming?” Zayn inquired when he spotted Liza shuffling towards the opposite direction.

“Gonna grab some drinks first. Rum and Coke good for you?”

“Yeah, hurry back.” Zayn pushed open the door and they stumbled outside one by one.

The cool breeze made it seem like they just exited a sauna, the heavenly contrast stretched a wide dopey smile on Genevieve’s lips. It was a narrow alley of two red brick walls. Flies circled the lined dumpsters, but they were far enough that the smell wasn’t unbearable. She had been here on many occasions. She once held back Meena’s hair as she vomited in the corner, then again when Niall needed a place to quietly cry after his first breakup, and once more when Liam became insanely paranoid after a happy pill.

Zayn and Genevieve bounced back the typical introduction. He studied life sciences, had three younger brothers, and was doing research with a professor Genevieve once had. Alongside his work at the radio, he proctored exams and did part-time hours at a record store down the block. He smiled with his tongue flattened behind the row of his top teeth. He had buzzed his hair to purposefully display the tattoo behind his ear.

Niall and Zayn got talking about the upcoming game. They made light conversation until the door flung open, abruptly. It slammed against the wall with great force.

“Fuck.”

The ugly screech of metal against brick didn’t falter Genevieve. The sight the door revealed did. Zayn grabbed the swinging door just before it had the opportunity to collide again.

“Jesus, H, you’re gonna have to pay a fortune if that falls off its hinges,” Zayn warned.

“All I have is ten quid.” The self deprecation was laid on thick, a nonchalant shrug tacked on the end of his sentence. In his hands were tall glasses, the pad of his fingers turned slightly white from their hold. “—And your drink.”

“Where’s Liz?” Zayn asked holding his drink to his lip as he looked over the rim.

“She popped into the loo for a bit,” said Harry. She is thankful for the few drinks circling her veins because it helped lessen the intensity of his gaze when he noticed her standing there. “She’ll be out with Angie in a minute.”

It feels like she’s in elementary school and in trouble. Her previous departure was still fresh in his head, it flared an insecurity in him that he thought was long put to bed.

Lately, Genevieve made him feel one prominent emotion. Her quick dismissals made him invisible, like a little boy in red shorts at a gym class line up that everyone knew would be picked last. He was a blackened steel pot pushed to the backburner. However, the difference between that boy and Harry was the years that separated them. He has learned the art of confrontation. He won’t hide in bathroom stalls during lunch, he will not cower from her rejection. He is here, whether she likes it or not.

Genevieve avoided him by taking an interest in the sky above with her fingers braided behind her back. She expected him to hand the drink and turn around, but like always—she is proven wrong about him.

Genevieve doesn’t realize how tight the ally was until Harry’s shoulders brushed the crest of her collarbone to take the vacant spot beside Zayn. She had instinctively pressed her back to the rough brick wall to create as much distance as possible. The back of her sneakers squished old cigarette butts lodged in the cracks of the pavement. She held her breath for a moment and deflated when the only thing left of him was a gust of wind.

“Perfect.” Zayn dipped his fingers to the back pocket of his jeans.

They were pre-rolled. The white of the paper is less transparent at one end and more opaque on the opposite. The two joints are rolled into a twist in a way that doesn’t make the length lopsided and uneven.

Genevieve wasn’t an habitual or chain smoker. In fact, she hated the smell of reminiscent smoke. She indulged herself every once in a while. Especially when the pace of everything increased to uncontrollable speed, when deadlines weighed down on certain pressure points and occasionally, when Niall begged her to. It was effective to take the heaviness off her, the feeling of carrying extra body weight would evaporate.

Zayn and Niall picked up their conversation, Harry adding his two cents here and there.

You can hear stumbling drunks coming out from the front doors of The Cabinet. A pair of heels dangled from a girl’s grip as she made a run to cross the street with a friend. It was nearing the time where tabs were closed out and cab rides would be split.

“Fuck,” Zayn groaned with one spliff trapped between his lips and the other one behind his ear. He patted his front and back pockets like he was looking for his car keys or wallet. His brows frowned as he repeats it again. “I think I dropped my lighter.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Niall waved. “Gen, you always keep one on you, yeah?”

It’s humiliating.

The simple question among different company wouldn’t be much of a concern. It was innocent and didn’t hold much significance in a stranger’s eye. But Harry’s ears perked up and brows jumped at the little piece of information. The way his eyes fixated on her added a double meaning, it was enough to make something crawl under her skin.

Tiny centipede legs stomped all over her. The scales of a snake slithered itself around her neck, gradually suffocating her airways. Her mouth filled with live cockroaches.

Genevieve’s stomach churned.

“Gen?” Niall elbowed her side, breaking her out of her trance.

“Yeah?”

“Lighter?”

“‘Course.”

It was a weak fumble, her fingers trembled as she plucked it out from her back pocket. It was the most mundane looking thing on the planet. The white colour was chipped at the sides. The sparkwheel was dulled, but worked just fine. The flint spring was probably a bit beaten down.

With the back of her nail, Genevieve flicked the guard off. Her thumb pushed down and her free hand cupped around the igniting spark. It took two tries before the fork gave away and released the gas from the valve. A candle light heat absorbed into her skin. She brought the flame towards Zayn. His face was a soft yellow, and the tip of the spliff glowed a burnt orange. The flame died when it was no longer needed. His hollow cheeks inhaled a drag. Lips curled and he hummed in content. When he exhaled, a pungent smell of cannabis floated through the air.

Zayn handed it to Niall before swapping it out with the unlit blunt. Genevieve repeated her motions once more.

“Shit,” Niall sighed in bliss. “This one’s a good one.”

He handed the joint to Genevieve. Her thumb and index finger pressed the rolled paper to her lips. The smoke was smooth and Genevieve held it in her lungs for a moment. White smoke puffed out and Genevieve wishes it was thick enough to block Harry’s intentive peering. Zayn offers him a hit, but he declined by raising his drink to his mouth.

Genevieve takes another drag and taps off the ashes before passing it back to Niall.

It goes on like that for a bit. A calming silence fluttered between them. It took about twenty minutes for the high to settle in. There is an upward buoyancy in oil which is greater than the downward force of its gravity. That is why oil floats when mixed with water. Genevieve’s insides feel like someone stirred a spoon in the mixture; uneven bubbles of separated oil danced towards the surface freely.

She noticed her reactions weren’t as sharp when she laughed a beat after Zayn’s joke. It was easier to smile; two invisible strings pulled at the corners of her lips like she was a puppet in a grand show.

One side of her face was warmer than the other. The alcohol and weed blurred the edges of her view, but she felt his eyes on her. She stamped her eyes shut and threw her head back, soft giggles broke through. Everything was funnier when you were stoned. Her knuckle collected an escaped tear from her glassy eyes.

If Genevieve was sober, Harry would’ve looked away when she caught him. There was something charged in the air. He hadn’t seen her like this much before. She anticipated him to blink away when Genevieve locked her eyes on his. But he was shameless, and as usual, she held his stare for a moment too long.

Her fingers swiped the blunt from Niall. She took another hit in hopes of deluding herself into thinking that the tension between them was imaginary.

She inhaled too quickly. The smoke trapped in her windpipe and she spluttered a few coughs. Her eyes stung and fresh tears surfaced. Genevieve passed the spliff back to Niall and tipped her head back. The wall behind her propped her weight as she took a minute to calm her breathing.

In her compromised state, she could only think one thing clearly. She had to get out of here.

“I’m gonna grab some water.”

She didn’t wait to hear their response. She pushed herself off the wall. The door pulled open under her grip and Zayn and Niall said something she couldn’t make out. Her eyes squinted to focus under the soft yellow lighting. She made a beeline towards her jacket. It was easier to navigate the premises since a large amount of people had filtered out. Genevieve took out her phone and typed away.

Going hooome. -Gen

A bing sounded from her phone. The name of the group chat lit up as she wrestled an arm into her jacket.

If you wait half an hour, I’ll take you. Need to sober up first. -Meena

Gen whyyyy, stay for a bit longer! -Liam

I’m so stoned. I’m gonna go home and stuff my face with food. Or sleep. -Gen

Don’t worry, M! I’m already out! Where are you btw, didn’t see you? -Gen

Washrooms! There is a huge line :( -Meena

A girl is wearing a nice skirt, should I ask her where she got it from? -Meena

Munchies? -Niall

You know it -Gen

Eat a bag of chips for me -Niall

Maybe two -Niall

Ask her about the skirt. I have my money on H&M -Niall

Text when you get home safe -Liam

Genevieve walked for five minutes. The door of The Cabinet was far enough to be a miniature entrance of a dollhouse. She had missed the last departure time of the bus and decided the crisp night air would make for a sobering walk. Her reflexes were still a bit delayed. The traffic lights glowed on the sidewalk pavement until she harshly blinked to steady the blurred image. Everything was sluggish, her vision muddled and a few green and red circles floated about.

She recalled the corner shop from her childhood house, it sold cheap DVDs. The sleazy man at the counter never denied burning them illegally. The image quality was broken and poor. Her hands were a clump of squared pixels that took a minute to buffer.

The last button of her jacket was secured when loud footsteps mirrored hers from behind. She gripped the metal chain link of the bag sat on her shoulder tightly.

It was dark. Especially now that she passed the strip of convenience shops, no open signs lit up the streets.

She inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and a jagged puff came from her parted lips. The sweat from her palms caused her grip on the bag to slide down.

It could be nothing. Maybe she was hearing things. She didn’t want to assume the risk of turning around. Instead, she counted her steps from each lamp post to the next. They weren’t consistent. The range was from ten to sixteen. The mean would lie around twelve. The mode was eleven.

Before she began to compute the median, she choked on a sharp intake of air as the footsteps neared closer than ever.

Her neck stretched and examined her surroundings. You were intentionally supposed to put yourself in a very visible place or somewhere where a witness could be found, something she once read in an article online. Genevieve made note of the houses that still had their lights on.

“Are you avoiding me?” An exhausted voice huffed out. Impatient with a hint of naked hurt. “You are, aren’t you?”

Fear clenched her jaw. Her brain waved tiny red flags, the ones that topped cupcakes. The familiarity of the voice shot a clear fishing line and sank its hook in the flesh of her shoulder. The reel was being taken in and slowly she turned around. The crunch of gravel distracted her from the erratic thump thump thump of her pulse.  

“Harry?” She wheezed. She expected his name to roll off easily, but she stuttered and added another syllable. His name sat on her tongue with the weight of a rounded pellet.

“‘Course, who else would it be?”

“Holy fuck.” Stress alleviated only when he stood under the light of a lamp post. Her shoulders eased as the impending horror diluted. “Don’t you know not to creep up on someone who is walking the street alone? I thought you were a murderer!”

“Oh–shit, I didn’t think of that,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. A wave of humility flooded his features and he glanced towards the sky. With his fists deep in his jean pockets and head thrown back, he never looked more youthful. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I’m not.”

“Lovely.”

He spluttered a laugh at her impassive tone. “Is that a new thing of yours? Not answering questions?”

“What gives you the impression I’m avoiding you?”

“You ran out of there like a bat straight out of hell.”

“I have an 8 a.m tomorrow.” She didn’t. “Nothing personal, don’t be so sensitive.”

Harry uttered a string of words under his breath so incoherent they never made it to Genevieve’s ears. His boot kicked a pebble off the sidewalk to the empty street. Genevieve and Harry watched it skip twice before it laid in an anticipated still.

His boots resumed their trek towards the direction she had previously set her path to. It was a line of residential houses. Each one had identical roofs, a sharp triangular hat. He passed four houses before it dawned on him. He didn’t feel another presence trail after his shadow. Long legs halted in an abrupt stop. He peered to his left before he turned around fully, arms raised in question. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for?”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.”

Genevieve snorted. “That is the last thing I need”

“Oh, come off it. You’re out of your mind, literally. And you yourself said that there are actual murderers on the street.”

The prolonged silence didn’t falter for a moment. Crickets chirped and a frog groaned from the nearby pond. Genevieve held his stare without remorse. He needed to offer a compelling reason as to why walking her home was his concern. It hadn’t been for the past three years. She was far from a little girl who needed her hand held to cross the street.

It took a moment, but he finally caved.

“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”

Genevieve didn’t throw him a bone right away. His proposition molded into a clay-like fixture and took shape in Genevieve’s mind. The newfound tangibility allowed her to rotate it on an xyz plane to analyze from every which way.

Her weak inhibitions, admittedly the reason behind her decision, coupled with a lack of energy to put up a fight contributed to possible human error. She dragged her feet towards him, a ball and chain clasped snug around her ankle. Her mother’s words vanished into thin air.

The moon, a clipped toenail, played a game of hide and seek with surrounding clouds. It would peek out every other second—a shy toddler that clung to their mother’s calf. Thin overgrown grass blades swayed with the wind and became italicized, upright, then italicized again. A steady and delicate whoosh sounded between them rhythmically, their own personal metronome.

It was alien to walk side by side him. Short legs worked twice as hard for every step he took. To her memory, it was never this demanding. Her breaths, once even, began to puff out in quick jabs after a few steps. It blemished the silence and perked Harry’s ears. In an instant, his pace was adjusted and Genevieve was no longer the victim to his strides.

Harry’s index fingernail scratched above his top lip. It was his attempt to hide a budding smile. “You smell like maple.”

Harry had a tendency to short circuit, there were times he blurted out a phrase or thought meant to be kept in the space between his ears. He had explained it to her as an involuntary muscle spasm, he could control the twitch at times but he would slip up once in a while. His statement was full of surety, an irrefutable fact. For a second, she ignored it.

He turned to her with a boyish grin, it coined a painfully deep dimple to his left cheek. It conveyed that this was no slip up, it was deliberate.

“What?” Her laugh was dry and perplexed under his observation.

“And weed, but mostly maple—like the syrup. Is it a new perfume?”

Genevieve pressed the neck of her shirt to her nose and sniffed the cotton. She only smelled the weed. “I think you’ve finally lost it. Haven’t you?” Harry grinned to the floor, bashful and content. His hair flopped on his face. “Along with a couple of inches. Finally figured out where the barber is located?”

“You don’t like it?” He feigned offence.  

“Doesn’t matter what I like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears. It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Good different? Bad different?” He prodded. “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Neither… I guess? It’s just changed, is all.” The pathway curved into a right turn. They passed by a low shrill of a heater attached below a window. “People change, it’s expected.”

“Not as much as we like to think, no,” he countered, his fingers threaded his hair back. “You are a prime example, haven’t changed a bit.”

Genevieve was unaware if he had taken to being the devil’s advocate as a part time hobby, but regardless she took his bait. They still had quite the trek to cover. “What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you still run a bit late.” A snicker fell from his lips, adolescent yet collected. A thumb jutted out from his closed fist.

“Well, it is better than not coming at all.”

“You only drink Stellas.” His index finger appeared. She felt like he put her smack dab in the middle of a boxing ring. He was red gloved offence which left her to fulfill the defence vacancy.

“—A classic. Can never go wrong with it.”

“Can’t smoke without coughing.”

“Hey. Happens to everyone. Mild error.”

“And carry that lighter.” The slow ringing in her ear ascended in volume like a train arriving at a platform. Tight sheets of saran wrap roped around her face. “One that’s not yours.”

Ah, there it was.

Her lungs were empty, winded as though he had delivered a suckerpunch to her gut rather of a small observation. Out of the four fingers, his middle one had a metal band. An ornate rose— bloomed, its petals laid vulnerably wide open. Would it leave a scar? Her bottom lip cushioned the front row of her teeth as she sorted her brain for something, anything.

“It’s a very useful tool. Comes in handy multiple times, more than you can imagine.”

He had a good eye, perfect vision, and an even better insight to see right through her.

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sure it has.”

The shift in the atmosphere right before it begins to pour mesmerized Genevieve. The air would be stale and thick. It held a suffocating weight and the unbearable humidity made it harder to draw a breath; each inhale came through the narrow valley of a plastic straw. That’s how it felt standing beside Harry. She had forgotten about it for years, but now it mocked her head on.

“But these—” the pad of his index finger tapped his temple twice—“These are new, right?” He expertly switched topics when her head bowed down and an ashamed stare fixed on the pavement for a moment too long.

The reply wasn’t immediate and Harry kicked himself for bringing it up in the first place. He disrupted the natural current of the conversation and it was achingly obvious. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, probably even locked it and tossed the key down the gutter. They don’t talk about it, it’s something they don’t do.

A punishing silence dragged on for an eternity. She forgot how to string together a sentence. Time was needed to collect the pieces of her scattered brain.

Eventually, she gave out a long defeated hum. “They are, how do they look?”

The glasses sat on the bridge of her nose were wide framed. If you looked closely they had a tortoise pattern, the colour of toffee. When she smiled, the apples of her cheeks pressed to the underside of the plastic.

“So good.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled, halfheartedly.

Good. Nothing had felt good for a long time. Genevieve didn’t realize it for a while. Denial was a wicked witch that masked what lay in front with a dozen spells. The days continued to come one after the other. Consecutive and strict. Then Mondays got confused with Thursdays. Months came and went. And suddenly it was years later. Everything was gone. He was gone, until he wasn’t.

“Enough about me.” She cleared her throat before it knotted in on itself. “How’s Esther?”

“Annoying as ever.” He rolled his eyes, words dipped in fond admiration. It was love, gentle and timid. “She doing great. We’re talking more now.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. That was the bitterest pill of them all. Harry was good. So good.

“She wanted to meet you.”

Her head shot up, she brought her hand to her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, she asks about you a lot.” Genevieve gulped at the piece of information. She assumed Harry would have avoided bringing her up to others. The only way Genevieve could see herself in his current life is as an abandoned cardboard box, shoved in the back of his closet. Only opened to reminisce about what was. “Didn’t know how to tell her you won’t pick up my calls.”

“I got a new number. Dropped my phone in the toilet.”

“‘Course you did.” Her building came into view and Harry feels like someone flipped an hourglass. Each grain fell too quickly. Harry’s vision darts around his surroundings as if he is in search for a lost valuable. He doesn’t look for an item in particular, but he hopes to find another topic of conversation to prolong the definite departure. His hands tremble. No matter how tight his fist clenched, the grains slipped.

He began his sentence without knowing how it will end. “You should… you should come over for dinner.”

The helplessness in his plea made Genevieve question his invite. “Dinner?”

Shaky fingers combed his hair back. He gripped the crown of his head in tepid frustration. “Yeah, or I don’t know, lunch? Breakfast? Brunch?—”

Genevieve saw the anxiousness grow in his eyes, a beast slowly rising from its slumber. If he had all the time in the world, he would spend it on completing his list. They would be there all night.

She knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. Committing to dinner with a non-existing appetite wasn’t at the top of her list, priority wise.

“—This is me,” Genevieve stated to put him out of his misery. A yawn escaped her. She wanted nothing more for her pillow to bear the weight of her head, which felt like a million pounds and more.

“I know.”

She coughed in her fist, a flush crept up her neck. Of course he knew. She busied herself with plucking the bundle of keys from her bag. “How far off are you?”

“Oh not by much.” His unclear answer made Gen tilt her head. A question mark hung in the air. “Just that way,” he added. A thumb pushed towards the street on the left. It didn’t even have a name plate on it.

It was one of the things about him that made Genevieve red in the face on multiple occasions. It was never a linear answer with him. He danced around to an nth degree. What do you want to eat? Anything. What time can you come around by? I don’t know, maybe seven. Where will you be at Tuesday? Can’t tell. Can you do this for me? I’ll try. At times, Genevieve wanted to dump a can of grey paint on him because that is the only colour he knew.

“Where do you live, Harry?”

“Are you inviting yourself over?” He was all cheek and wit. A tactic Genevieve saw him pick up from the master himself.

“Just answer the question.”

Genevieve doesn’t know why his living accommodation takes an interest. She conditioned herself to stop caring for his well-being and whereabouts ages ago. That’s something they don’t tell you about broken friendships. You can never resort to a hundred percent erasure of someone. There is no backspace or delete button.

Maybe a part of her wanted to know if he was actually safe, secure and stable, or if it was a front. She wanted a person to compare herself with. Sometimes Genevieve pictured them as two athletes on a track field sprinting towards the finish line. The white line signified growth, healing, and closure. Genevieve was always behind him.

“Edison and Fourth, apartment nine,” he clarified. His weight shifted from his heels to his toes. “It’s decent, but has a slight mice problem. Zayn has set up traps.”

Genevieve blinked robotically when she mapped the intersection in her brain. She frowned when the red pin dropped on the map. “That’s like a thirty minute walk in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll manage, I think I saw a bus stop not far away.”

It would’ve been a much shorter and efficient route straight from The Cabinet. Instead, his insisted pit stop tacked many more steps than needed.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way to walk me.”

“Yes I did,” his firm tone didn’t waver. The next words flowed like ripples do in a river. “I always will.”

Genevieve slipped her fingers into her back pocket and retrieved her phone. It was warm from her body heat. Her thumb hovered over the screen until it lit her home screen, the bottom half of her face illuminated with a fluorescent light. Her thumb tapped over an application before she typed in the address previously given as the desired destination. A bubble popped up with a potential driver and route. “I’m calling you an uber.”

“No you aren’t. It’s a waste of money.”

She looked up with a bewildered expression. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Cancel it.”

She hadn’t confirmed it, her credit card information covered the screen, but she wasn’t going to let him be privy to that. “No.”

It was unexpected, to say the least.

He jolted towards her in a way that blinded her eyesight to only the colour of his shirt. Red. Red. Red. Her nose brushed against cotton over his shoulder, lint rubbed against her nostrils. His smell reminded her of the grocery store aisle with all the detergents and softeners.

The lack of distance distracted her for a moment. “What are you—hey give that back.”

His fingers brushed against hers were like hot coal. The device was swiped away as if he had the hands of a practiced kleptomaniac.

“I said I am fine as is.”

Maybe it was the effects of alcohol and weed that set something off in Genevieve. It flicked a switch that she had no idea existed, his fingers crawled deep in her chest and pushed the lever up. Anger bubbled and frustration swelled in her. The simmering volcano rose.

“Can you just stop! All of it!” The pads of her fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave a hard push. He staggered back two steps from her force. When space was created between them, Genevieve exited a narrow tunnel, seeing the whole picture and not just some biased misrepresentation. “Showing up everywhere, giving me drinks, walking me home.”

Harry’s face crumpled like a ball of paper being thrown in the nearest trash can. His posture slumped, shoulders caved in on themselves.

“That’s a bit harsh, no?” When Genevieve didn’t reply to him he bit his lower lip. His unsure steps neared her, his voice dropped to a different modulation. Tender and watchful. “Genny...”

“—No, no.” Her words broke by a parched laughter that bordered hysteria. She backed away cautiously when his eyes glimmered with something. He was doing it again. The signature pleading glaze enticed its prey. It got him many things in life: assignment extensions, a bed, with a blonde if he was lucky. “I’m not doing this with you, not again.”

“Can you just hear me out?”

Genevieve’s expression was frozen in a revengeful scowl. She compressed her lips together, an attempt to not spew out nasty words. The skin around her lips turned a shade of white from the lack of blood flow to the vessels. There was only so much self control one could contain. She reserved her ration for a particularly complex problem or when Jonah was getting on her last nerve. Genevieve hadn’t penciled in a portion to give to Harry in such a long time.

“What’s there left to hear, Harry?” She exploded and his shoulders dropped immediately. A yellow light turned on behind a window pane in the building above her from the sudden raise in volume. She inhaled a slow breath in order to contain herself. Her fingers knotted in her hair and she inadvertently felt her throbbing pulse. Her hands motioned in the space that divided them. “This, us? Whatever you’re trying to find again, is not there. You’ve got an amazing life, even better friends. Hell, they’re probably a thousand times better than I ever was.”

“Not true, don’t do that—”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her voice croaked. Genevieve trained herself to not break composure near Harry. She memorized the floorboard to such a detail that she could navigate the house blindly, but now her weight gave away on a loose piece of hardwood and it creaked. “You’re making me think about it all again and it won’t be long until I go weeks without sleeping. I need you to...” Her nostrils flared to inhale a breath, she held it in her lungs as if it delayed the inevitable. But the silence spoke.

I need you to leave me alone. I need you to go away.

He shook his head rapidly. Stern determination fixed in his every word, “I’m not doing that. Not again.”

“Why the hell not?” She spat. Her nails pressed stinging half moons into her palm. Her words, rather vindictive and eroded, were rightfully just. “You were so quick to do it before.”

She looked into his eyes, they were level headed and cool; a complete juxtaposition when compared to hers. Harry wondered when her face became gaunt and the darkness of eyebags took up a permanent living.

“Genny.”

She wasn’t five years old anymore, but a horizontal sting settled above her knee. Her skin ripped open, red splattered all over the floor. He wore red. She saw red. She spilled red.

“I’m tired, Harry.” Admitting this made Genevieve feel small. She closed her eyes and waved her white flag.

Being around Harry was gruesome. Genevieve could only compare it to a drained battery. She didn’t have enough fuel to do this with him. The cogs were rusted from not being used in ages. He brought the rim of a metal container to her lips. His fingers clamped on the back of her neck to keep her in place as he tilted the container up. He poured battery acid down her throat. Concentrated sulfuric acid blackened her insides and poisoned her with every sip.

“I’m so tired.”

***

“On Hallowe'en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.” - Hallowe'en by Eleanor Farjeon

---

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[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

25! I love these :)

25: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder? for @banicatthebisco  and @blue-tomatoes http://blue-tomatoes.tumblr.com/ both asked for this one.

1.

Penny

The credits roll. It was my turn to choose tonight so I finally managed to get Baz to watch Star Trek: Into Darkness. Thought he’d cultivated an appreciation for Chris Pine after seeing the first film. Perhaps not.

Baz is a film snob. He’s as you’d expect—all about foreign films, eclectic indies, documentaries.  With two surprising weaknesses: The Lord of the Rings and certain rom-coms.

Space fiction films, not so much. I think the only reason he liked The Martian was because Matt Damon’s character was so sarcastic and Sean Bean made a Lord of the Rings reference in it.

Simon had to practically beg him to watch the original Star Wars so Baz could finally get the droid spell right for Simon’s wings. Simon simply detests “nothing to see here.”

“Up for another one, Penny?” Simon asks. I look at my watch. It’s almost midnight.

“Depends what you’re watching.”

Baz clicks the remote to start the next film.

Merlin and Morgana. They can’t be watching “Four Weddings and A Funeral” again. I know Baz has a bit of a thing for old Hugh Grant films. More than a bit of a thing. And of course, it’s rubbed off on Simon.

I can tolerate “Love, Actually.” I do like that one. Makes me laugh, all those idiot boys desperately trying to figure girls out. The only one who actually has a clue is the little kid who plays the drums.

“No. I’ll call it a night. Have fun watching Hugh bumble his way through another relationship.”

Baz

Bunce is trying to get me interested in sci-fi films. I’m honestly surprised she likes them so much. She’s such a stickler for facts and data I don’t know how she can tolerate watching them. I grudgingly acquiesce, because it’s only fair to let her choose a film every so often, and then I entertain myself by identifying the myriad plot holes and implausible scientific occurrences.

There are many.

I was hoping she’d shove off if I put this on. She is not a Hugh Grant fan.

It’s got plot holes and flaws, like any film. But I love it.

I don’t mind Bunce. As Simon predicted I like her quite a bit.

And I’m not usually in the habit of chasing her off but I’ve had a busy week with assignments and so has Simon. I’ve barely seen him at all. I’ve been looking forward to cuddling up on the sofa with him all week. And snogging. I’ve missed that this week too.

Snow manages to fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie. I’ve got my arm around him and he’s asleep on my shoulder so I suppose this counts as cuddling, even though he isn’t an active participant.

One of the many benefits to dating Simon is that I now get to watch him sleep whenever I want. He grumbles about it, if he catches me doing it, but he doesn’t really mind. I can’t see him now and I wish I could.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and put it in selfie mode.

He’s a nightmare, as usual. Hair sticking up, a few stray curls falling on his forehead. Mouth half open (Not drooling on me) (Yet.)  Face bathed in the light of the television. That delectable line of moles trailing down his neck.

He looks fucking gorgeous.

I snap a photo. I should be mortified at the sappy smile on my face but I can’t help it. I can’t help looking like that when I’m with him. A part of me still can’t believe my luck.

I press a kiss into his bronze curls, inhaling the scent of him, to remind myself that this is real.

2.

Baz

If Simon Snow needed further proof that I would do anything for him today should certainly confirm it.

I am going to a Liverpool game with him.

In Liverpool.

It’s proof that I am completely besotted with this boy. Thank Merlin they’re playing Cardiff City and not some team I actually care about.

Snow is decked out in all his Liverpool gear and avidly conversing with the fans across the aisle from us on the train.

I don’t quite understand how he became such a fervent fan. Proximity perhaps. Simon was at a boys’ home near Liverpool for a bit a few years before he came to Watford and he was at another one there the last summer he was in care.

It still enrages me that the Mage left him in care during the summers. It makes me regret not confronting him about it when I had the chance. Manipulative bastard.

He should never have done that. Shouldn’t have been allowed to do it by the Coven. There was no need to subject Simon to that.

The Mage should have taken Simon home with him.

If he even had a home. I can’t quite picture the Mage in a snug little cottage with flouncy drapes and an herb garden.

But he should have done something.

Anything would have been better than those homes. There were enough people fawning over The Mage while he was alive. He could have convinced someone to take Snow for the summer holidays. The Wellbelove’s did it every Christmas, even before Agatha and Snow were dating.

I should have brought him home with me. Before eighth year.

Simon

I’ve not been to a Liverpool match before. Been up since dawn ‘cause I’m so excited about it.

I can’t believe Baz bought us tickets. He loathes Liverpool.

Actually, I can believe it. He’s doing it for me.

Baz does that sort of thing all the time. It still surprises me. I mean, I know by now how kind he is, how he’s really soft when you get behind those walls he likes to keep up. So good surprised, I guess you’d say.

It’s the thought that goes into that gets me. I see something and say ‘oh, Baz might like that’ and maybe get it for him or maybe think about getting it for him and then manage to forget about it.

Baz isn’t like that. Baz plans elaborate outings like this for me. Weekend getaways. Unexpected dinners out. And he finds things he knows I’ll like. Gets them for me and saves them up to surprise me when I’m down or for no reason at all.

He’s such a romantic sap. I love that about him.

Something’s up with Baz right now though. I felt him tense up while I was talking to the people across the aisle. Probably thinking about something he shouldn’t be and making himself feel all guilty and responsible again.

My full attention goes to him and I bump his leg with mine.

“Hey.”

“Yes, Snow?”

Baz’s arms are crossed and his lips are in a thin line. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I am wondering how I am going to endure an entire day surrounded by Liverpool fans.”

“No, you’re not.” I bump his leg again. “What is it, Baz? You’re all closed off and grumpy. I’ve got a whole day to spend with you and if you’re cross about something just tell me.”

I slip my arm through his and rest my head on his shoulder.

It takes a minute but then he sighs and relaxes into me. That’s more like it. He shifts so he can take my hand and thread our fingers together.

“I’m all right, Snow.”

We sit in silence. I know he’ll tell me eventually. Baz likes to work things out in his head. Too much so, if you ask me.

But maybe not this time.

The miles go by out the window. Baz’s fingers loosen their hold on me and his head drops to rest on mine. I can tell he’s asleep by his breathing. It’s the most familiar thing about him, how he breathes when he sleeps.

I’m usually the one to nod off but I’m too riled up to sleep. It’s not often I catch Baz napping, at least not out in public.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, slowly, so as not to disturb Baz. I put it on selfie mode and snap a photo.

He looks beautiful, Baz does. I mean, he looks that way all the time, the bloody toff, but it’s different when he’s asleep. He’s softer, the planes of his face less defined, less angular somehow.

Makes me want to keep him safe, when he looks like this. Which is rubbish, he’s the one with all the power now. I couldn’t keep him safe from a snow devil unless I managed to kick it to pieces or punched it or something.

But I’d still try.

For Baz, I’d do anything.

3.

Simon

Baz slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close. I lean into him.

He knows I’m knackered.

It’ll still be hours before we get back to London.

“You should sleep on the train, Simon.”

I nod and that somehow turns into me dropping my head on his shoulder. I can feel the brush of his lips in my hair. “Thank you, love. It was the perfect day.”

Baz

Simon shuffles into the train carriage and flops down on the nearest seat. His head is resting on my shoulder before the doors even close.

It’s been a long day.

He’s been plotting this expedition for a few weeks, that I know. His laptop browser has been suspiciously empty every time I’ve used it. He’s changed the passcode to unlock his phone. And Bunce has had a particularly self-satisfied look the last few days.

I hadn’t expected his surprise for me would be a day in Stratford-upon-Avon.

The sites in and around London hold no appeal for me. Not that I don’t find the British Museum absorbing or that I don’t appreciate the wealth of history here.

Being in the company of people who are just rushing through to say they’ve “seen it” is what’s disagreeable.

I’ve managed to endure it for Simon. Braved the crowds, tramped through the sites, tolerated the inane conversations with strangers that he always manages to strike up. I’ve solidly tamped down my distaste for all things touristic and taken him to as many places as he cares to see. Despite my initial misgivings seeing the sites with Simon has been utterly enjoyable. It’s so new to him and he loves it all.

I just hadn’t assumed this place would be on his list.

Simon’s not a big reader. He’s doing more now, with uni. I think he likes it well enough but he’s certainly not passionate about it. Not like me.

He knows I love Shakespeare, knows how I dissect the language, the rhythm and beat of it, the words and phrases, the characters and story arcs. He’s listened to me bang on about it with Bunce often enough.

I can’t say I wasn’t cross when he woke me up this morning at some unholy hour so we could catch the early train. But my irritability faded when I saw our destination.

He planned today for me.

Every bit of it. Anne Hathaway’s house, Hall’s Croft, the Church of the Holy Trinity. Tickets to see Tamburlaine at the Swan Theatre.

“Why did you pick Tamburlaine?”

“Hmm? Sorry?” I think Simon was already dozing off.

“Why did you pick Tamburlaine?”

Simon sits up and runs a hand through his hair and blinks at me a few times before answering. His curls are in disarray and it’s glorious.

“Penny said you’d like that one. Said it’s not performed too often. I wasn’t sure you’d like it. I mean, we’ve come to see Shakespeare’s birthplace and such and we’re seeing a play by some other bloke.”

“That ‘some other bloke’ would be Christopher Marlowe, Snow. The great Elizabethan playwright. The one who influenced Shakespeare.”

Simon grins at me. “Still seemed odd to see a play by someone other than Shakespeare. I was hoping they’d have Romeo and Juliet. I’d like to see that.”

“Why would you want to see that one? You aren’t a fan of those doomed love stories.”

Simon leans in and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. He leaves his hand there, his thumb stroking my face. “Maybe I am. I managed to survive my own doomed love story. Maybe I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for those enemies to lovers plots.”

His eyes are wide and so blue and I’m going to kiss Simon Snow on a ruddy train.

Except he kisses me first. And then he drops his head on my shoulder again and leans into me.

“I’d like to see it sometime, Baz.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “I know you like it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re a romantic sap. And I want to see it because of those words.”

“What words?”

“The ones from the spell. The ones that only worked because you were in love with me. The ‘love’s light wings’ bit.”

I’d be blushing now if I’d fed enough.

“All right, then.”

“All right, what?”

“That I’ll take you to see it, Simon.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. When it’s staged again, I’ll take you.”

“It’s in London starting in November. I’ve already got tickets. Now I’ve gone and ruined your Christmas surprise, Baz.” Simon looks up at me with a huge grin.

“You are abysmal at keeping secrets, Simon.” But I lean in and kiss his forehead.

“Kept today under wraps, didn’t I?”

“That you did, love. And it was perfect.”

“See. I’m working on it. On being your not-so-terrible boyfriend.”

I don’t think I’ll ever tire of Simon using the word ‘boyfriend’ in regards to me.

The train rattles on and Simon’s contributions to the conversation slowly peter out. His head is heavy on my shoulder now, his grip on my hand loose.

I know when he’s asleep. The pattern of his breathing is as familiar to me as my heartbeat.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, careful not to jostle Simon. I open the camera and look at our faces on the screen before I snap the photo. Simon is fast asleep, his head on my shoulder, mouth slightly open, curls tumbling over his forehead. He’s stunning.

I’ve got a smile on my face that’s slowly becoming more familiar to me. It’s the one that’s been showing up in the pictures I take with Simon. It’s soft and tender and there’s not a hint of sneer in it.

I look happy.

Because I am.

[chimchimjiminheadcanons]

Temptation/Chapter 1

A/N - Hey! Before I start everything off I'd like to let you all know that this idea definitely wasn't purely my own and I'm definitely not the first to write for this AU. Just in case anyone is curious, I caught the idea from a tweet by @jiminrnb and an Amino post here. Alright, now let's get on with it :)

Word count: 2,629

Warnings: There's a lot of poking holes in religion (if you are religious (Christian specifically), some parts of this may offend you), cursing and a near death experience (mentions of a possible car accident). Please let me know if there is anything else I should be adding as a warning.

(M) / (2)

"Are you an angel?"

 Religion in a sense is a concept created for the good of the world. If you know what's wrong and what's right and there are consequences for doing the wrong thing, the world will be safer. People will choose to believe and be scared away from the wrong path and thus - the world becomes safer.  Even if they don't decide to believe, most people at least have morals.  What's right and what's wrong however changes with each passing century. One thing that should always remain the right thing to do is love and hate should always be the wrong thing to do, but if that is so, why and how to people justify racism and other forms of hate? There's one explanation and only one that is valid. Fear of the unknown.  People who don't know are uneducated, at least in that particular situation. They're left to primal instinct and fear, both of them say to run or to hide. Sometimes it even says to hurt. That's why people do what they do, to take control of the situation and what they fear by making it fear them.  You will never be one of those people. You make it your job to be a lover not a fighter and your job to help those around you and if it weren't for how disgustingly squeamish you are, you would be in college majoring in medicine, on your way to becoming a doctor, yet the only situation you have found the bravery to fight through the vomit burning your throat was one in which a child was lost and hurt. Blood isn’t supposed to come out, it’s supposed to stay in and circulate, not spill and—you shiver, it’s awful.  When you were travelling with your cousins you came across a girl who had lost her parents in the middle of town. “Oh,” you jumped noticing the child at your feet, you almost tripped over her small, trembling form, “sorry sweet heart, you alright?”  Two tiny doe eyes stared up at you. She opened her mouth, closed it and reached out for you, gripping on to the end of your sleeve. “Did you come out here all on your own?” You questioned, but received no answer but a wail and her burying her head into your arm. “It hurts,” she mumbled, muffled by the fabric of your red coat. “I can’t find them a-and it hurts.” “Can’t find them? Your parents?” The girl nodded, pushing herself off of you and releasing your sleeve from the grip of one of her hands. She pointed down at the arm still holding on to you with a vice like grip, and down at a cut long like a lightning bolt.  Blood was sleeping through the blue material of her sweater, fabric cut in a long string and open wound kissed by air. You can only imagine how much it must sting, for right now you can feel your guts twisting. “Oh my,” you fought the temptation to scream and swallowed the vomit that left that nasty taste in your mouth, showing as much compassion as possible. “How did you get that?” “I slipped,” tears drew a glassy shine on the girl’s wide eyes, blurring her vision and sliding from her eyes as she screwed them shut as tight as possible. “I slipped on the rocks by the beach.” “What were you doing by the beach?” “We went surfing and-and I couldn’t get down.”  You let out a sigh and dropped to the ground in front of the girl. “Alright. How about this,” the girl’s tears slowed as you spoke. “I’ll fix you up and then we can go find your parents okay? I’m sure they’re looking for you right now.”  Ever the smart traveller, you always carried a first aid kit in your backpack, a backpack which stays with you at all times. It wasn’t hard at all pulling the kit out and finding the things you needed to stitch the wound. You can’t even begin to express how glad you are that there weren’t any smaller pebbles in her arm, that would’ve hurt both you and her.  At first it seemed easy enough, but after you had cleaned the wound and finally had the needle held in your hand, you found that your hands shook and the girl sitting in front of you tipped her head to the side.  You took a deep breath and finally began sewing. “You’re so strong!” You smiled, the little girl was flinching, eyes screwed together but she never cried, and she never complained. “You’re doing amazing, don’t worry it’s almost over.” “Are you an angel?” The girl asked, popping one eye open to study your face. She watched as the corners of your mouth curved up. “What do you mean?” “You’re so nice to me. No ones ever done something like this for me.” “I would hope you wouldn’t have to have someone sew your arm back up,” you laughed. “If I ever do again, I hope it’s you.” The girl watched as you stitched the last gap together and cut the string. “You have to be an angel, because I can see your wings!” “Really?” “Yeah! Look behind you!”  You knew the little girl couldn’t possibly be right, yet you found yourself smiling, looking back behind you as if expecting to see something. “I can’t see anything,” you frowned. “Well, I can!” The girl jumped up from her spot on the rock, pointing to a spot above your head. “There’s a halo here too.” “Alright,” you smiled, “I’ll believe you.”  You ruffled the girl’s hair, melting at the way she smiled and laughed. Finding her parents afterwards was anything but easy, and for most of the night you walked, hand held by tiny fingers. Even if you lost hope, she never did. Little did you know, she really had seen wings and a halo, but they weren't yours. Not yet. It is this that intrigues him.  Sometimes good is tempted by evil, Adam and Eve did eat the fruit after all, but you... You remained pure and perfect which was surprising to him given the state of the world around you right now. "Interesting," a smile etches on his face, watching as you cross across the road towards a diner on the opposite side. "You're different." "That's one word for it."  The first man sighs, a drawn out sound to show his disapproval. "Why are you here?" "I could ask you the same thing," he hums, "in fact, I will. Why are you here?" "I will not be tempted by you," the first man continued to watch as your eyes lifted from your phone, held tightly between two gloved hands. "You creature of sin." "Ouch, so harsh."  The second man let out a hiss, one almost exactly like the hiss made by the serpent that tempted the two humans previously mentioned. The first male remains cold, back turned towards the second relentlessly, making said male restless. "Good turns evil you know?" The second man smiled. "Don't you ever think, even just for a second, that I wasn't - that we weren't - good once?" "I don't believe so," the first man rolled his eyes. "I find it impossible. All of you were hand crafted by Satan himself." "I'd be careful throwing that name around like that," the second male moved closer, a movement the first knew would happen even before the second stood, yet he didn't move. He didn't recoil nor spin on his heels but stood still. Staring. Watching. Refusing to move an inch. He allowed himself to be tempted, just in the slightest, remaining still. "You might lose those wings of yours pretty boy." "Yoongi."  The very sound of the second male's name being drawn from the first's lips reminds Yoongi exactly why he is in the position he is. It's downright sinful the way his tongue curves the word, he nearly looses all restraint right there. Still a snarky response slips from curved lips. "I rest my case."  A hand slides over the first man's eyes, a smirk crossing Yoongi's face and in that moment of silence and darkness, the first man found himself wondering what it would be like to see things differently. To see things like the second did, the other side of the coin. Yet he couldn't. He'd held on for so long even though his restraint was as much hanging on a thread as his reputation in heaven was, he couldn't give in without a fight.  Yoongi's hand withdraws. "I used to be like you, like her," he motions to you, sitting there at the counter and sipping from a straw dug deep inside your glass and chattering with the man working behind the counter. "I got lost in it all, you know how it goes, and now look where I am. One of the big, bad, six deadly sins."  The first male bit down on his lip but refused to turn to face Yoongi, refused to let the demon's words continue to play in his head, his name tingle and burn the skin of his tongue. "I know you don't believe it's possible," Yoongi sighed, stepping forward to stand beside his companion - well if he could even call him that at this point -. "So, how about we play a game?" "I don't make deals with the devil." "Of course you don't but," Yoongi smirked, "if I remember correctly, you sure love to dance with him." "You remember incorrectly." "Do I now?" "You do."  The first male's wings stretch, nearly hitting Yoongi in the face. He remains unaffected by this and continues to talk. "Leaving so soon?" "Not soon enough greed."  Yoongi's smirk faltered to a thin line. It set so deep in his features it was almost like he was a statue and they had been carved that way. Greed was his sin - sure -  but being addressed so coldly by the one who got him here in the first place, the one who tempted him - his serpent - made him sore. A pang of pain he didn't know he could feel travelled to the stone heart set in his chest. He'd tempted Jimin before, he'd tried to pull him down with him and he's aware of how awful that is. But that's why he's here today.  He wasn't happy after God had created Jimin for him. He was only intended to be a friend if not, a co-worker. Any other relationships weren't permitted, as archangels you had work to focus on that was far too important to be distracted from. God brought them here to an afterlife full of happiness and now they had to pay him back and Yoongi had two debts to pay. One for getting here and one for Jimin.  Yet when he began to fall for Jimin, this left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was part of him that felt incomplete and unsatisfied, so he chased the feeling Jimin brought him and grew greedier and greedier with each conversation and each touch. Jimin was so good, so pure and he didn't want to give up what both of them had, but Yoongi couldn't think over the feeling in his heart.  Jimin wanted this too though he'd never admit it. He loved he wings on his back and the place in the sky he calls home far too much to loose it. He watched Yoongi get thrown from heaven because on him. He vowed to himself never to talk to him again but things got out of hand when he came to visit and started to give into temptation more and more. Still, it looks like it would hurt to fall down the staircase to heaven.  Jimin drew in a sigh through his nose. You'd finished your milkshake a long time ago and remained sitting there and chattering though Jimin could feel a tense energy in there. Still, he stared at the grass beneath his feet. "Explain this game to me."  Yoongi smirked again, as if the sly look never left his face. It was fitting for a deadly sin. "I want to show you just how easily good becomes evil." "And the point of this is?" "Well," Yoongi kicks a rock onto the road "I really wasn't expecting this conversation to go like this, so really I don't have an objective." "Then?"  Yoongi hummed. "How about this," for the first time in a long time, Jimin's head slowly moves to the side, golden eyes staring deep into Yoongi's bottomless pits of black tinted red. This nearly made Yoongi, big bad sin of greed, shiver. Yet he manages to compose himself. "Give me a week. And I can turn that pretty little angel you seem set on getting a pair of these," he flicks one of Jimin's feathered appendages, a motion that angers him and yet he remains calm. "Into one of us." "I can't make a deal with you that is that risky." "God you are such a tight ass."  Jimin's face twists into one of shock and disgust. "Before you say anything, I'm 'carved by Satan himself,' did you really think I wouldn't use your Lord's name in vain?" "I'm not a tight..." "So innocent," Yoongi mused, "it's really adorable of you. Listen. Whether you like it or not, that girl is going to die. Get hit by a truck actually so I can save her and stick her in a maze with six of us or we can let her die and I'll tell that God you love so much that you did nothing about it." "If it's her fate to die that way, it isn't my fault." "Oh but it is."  Jimin swallowed thickly. "Why do you want this Yoongi?" "If I show you how easily good will be tempted by evil," he quips, "maybe then you'll realize you're already halfway there. Those wings of yours are glued on with school glue pretty boy, they'll fall any moment now."  The idea of this makes Jimin's throat dry. Yoongi isn't wrong, he's been tempted so many times by Yoongi that his restraint is running thin and he knows he can't hold back any longer. Either way, he'll end up a sin. He might as well let this happen. "A week Min Yoongi," he curses mildly under his breath. "My full name and a curse? You're really starting to get it now aren't you?"  Jimin remains silent and at that moment, you step out from the diner and you look incredibly upset. Mascara stains your cheeks in streaks, streaks Jimin knows can only be created by the flow of tears. He can hear your sobs from here and knows your eyes are blurred from the flow of liquid down your cheeks. It makes sense now how you would've died this way.  You're too upset to even bother checking for oncoming traffic and when you do look up its when headlights light your body on the shadowy road and the trucks horn beeps loudly enough to make your ears ring for the next century. Fear and shock mixes on your face and leaves you unable to move but before everything can go black and fade out, someone whips you up and you disappear from sight. "Hey there, welcome to hell."