#donnytunajsgross

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 7

Just a little reminder!!!!! This is fiction, these boys in this particular AU are not any sort of relationship to strive for- my writing about these behaviors does not equate to me endorsing them. That said, please enjoy some drama lmao

Three days, three nights, a singular bowl of stew, seven bottles of wine, and a self loathing that doesn’t seem to find its way out of my bones.

I want to rot, just me and several loose pieces of parchment with new, poorly done, drawings of a man I regret missing. Drawings I’m sure will also serve as tender for the fire at a later date.

But I can’t simply remain here, a drunken mess of apathy, hunger, and abandoned desire. No, I must make my way into the world again- I’m out of wine.

Unfortunately, wine costs money, money is scarce now that I’ve been missing from work for thirteen days and… I really don’t have my pick of professions. I eye the plague doctor outfit, dreading the stuffy heat- nowhere near as much as I dread the possibility of seeing Donny. I sigh and set to my task, pulling on the ensemble and making my way into town.

It’s strange starting the day without the routine I’d gotten so used to, a daily dose of brightness in a person before I step into a world full of death. It’s even more off putting realizing how much I’d relied on him, helping me carry boxes, move patients, or generally acting like an extra set of hands. 

I catch myself starting to call his name out of habit, the beginnings of it falling from my mouth like a stone to the ground when I realize I should not. I spend most of the day working on my own, occasionally being assisted by another keeper- one who doesn’t know the ritual the way Donny does. He gets in the way, needs direction, doesn’t just act the way Donny would- I try not to give in to the frustration that finds itself settling into my blood. Then, as I’m instructing him on where to move supplies, I finally see Donny. I don’t think he even realizes I’m here, which is for the better, but the sight of him alone is an icy shock of adrenaline throughout my whole body- enough to make me stumble over my words and restart my sentence.  I can’t bring myself to drag my attention away from him, wonderment at his state tugging me into a steady flow of flaws in logic. It’s not going to hurt anything to observe from across the room, I just want to be sure he’s okay.

Except he glances over his shoulder, catching me staring at him. I shift my gaze away, hopeful that he’ll assume I’m just another plague doctor, that he won’t realize it’s me. All things considered, from a distance I should be strikingly unremarkable.

I hazard a glance back over- I would bristle like a startled cat if I had the ability to. His eyes are still locked onto me but now he’s considerably less cheerful. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at the slight scowl that appears as he turns his attention elsewhere.

My heart clenches in my chest- not that I’d deluded myself into believing he’d suddenly forgive me and all would be well but… well, hope is a foolish thing, doesn’t understand its boundaries even with stern reminders. Hope and I share the same stupidity, in this instance.

Several days go by this way, no contact with each other and nothing but quick glances at the other. At this point, the keeper who had started filling Donny’s role is getting better at his job- able to easily carry out his duties without much direction.

This is when I start to notice a strange behavior in Donny, nearly scavenger-esque like a jackal in the way he waits to swoop in and take the work from the other keeper. I observe this behavior, finding a finite amusement in both the determination he displays, and the astonishment of the other man who is eager to work less.

So as Donny tries to make his way over as if he doesn’t care at all, I intercept. I step in stride beside him, not missing the tension in his demeanor as I do so. “What are you doing?” I ask casually, like nothing has happened, as if we’ve always only been coworkers.

He glares down at me and I enjoy the redness in his face, a true marker that I’ve gotten under his skin in some aspect. “My job. Remember? What we’re here to do.”

“I thought Michael took care of it quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

He makes no response, only looks ahead of him as he walks.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like Michael?”

“I have no opinion.”

“You wouldn’t be jealous, right?”

He stops abruptly, grip tightening on the handles of the box he holds. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I’m just saying-”

“-you have no right.”

I hit the nail on the head, it seems. “Why be so touchy, then?”

He glances around him and places the box on the nearest table –too hard, it clatters loudly and I worry that something might’ve broken– then he turns to me with a fury I didn’t expect, nose wrinkled in disgust. “What do you want, Ha-”

I slap my hand over his mouth, sheer instinct and panic, the action preceded the adrenaline that spikes through my body. His eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, then he grabs my wrist and pulls it from his face, turning and marching with me in tow. I don’t have much option in this situation, wrenching from his grip would be impossible even on a day where he’s less irritated at me.

He pulls open a door, drawing me into a dim and abandoned hallway before slamming it shut behind us and shoving me in front of him. I stumble a few steps before turning to look at him, running a hand gently along the tender bruise that started along my wrist.

I didn’t realize how intimidating Donny was, not fully, not until now. He stands over me with a scowl across his face, fierce and steely. I feel adrenaline give way to sheer terror as I start to understand the situation I find myself in. “Why are you here?”

“I-I needed work.”

“So you come back? You come back and-” He sighs harshly, pulling my mask off and I gasp at the motion, watching helplessly as he throws it to the floor with a strange crackling sound– glass on cobble. “You come back here and stare at me all day? I’m just supposed to be okay being watched like that?”

I stumble over my words for a moment, taking a retreating step back. “I… didn’t mean to. I just… You’re hard not to watch.”

His glare softens slightly, calculation evident in the way his eyes flicker over me, measuring the weight of my words. He’s probably trying to decide if I’m honest or not. “Why is that?”

I swallow, flushing and staring down at my feet, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I don’t- you’re just interesting, I don’t know…”

“You need to find somewhere else to work. I’m not your damn experiment anymore.”

My heart clutches in my chest, a sickly-sharp pang of sadness resonates throughout my core. “No- I don’t- I can’t.” I look up at him again, feeling a familiar pull that hasn’t left me since the first time I’ve seen him, cursing the feeling. “Please don’t.”

He flinches slightly at this. “What, are you willing to admit I’m not just research anymore?”

I grit my teeth, fighting the rush of frustration that is prompted by the accusation. He was never simply research, but admitting to him is admitting to me– I don’t want to start down the same path as I’d walked before, let one person be the thing that causes everything to crumble. “I’ve never said anything different, I don’t know where-”

“We’re done. I’m not sitting around and being drawn for hours just for your fake science, I’m not willing to be lied to.” He turns and starts making his way back to the door and I grab at his wrist before he reaches it.

“Please! Donny!”

“What!?” He turns on his heel, pulling his arm from my grasp. “Goddamnit, what!?”

“I- I’m not just- it’s real science. I’m-” He turns away again and I feel the desperation welling up inside me, overflowing like water at a boil. “I burned them! I burned the drawings! I won’t draw you again!”

There’s a long silence before Donny looks down at me over his shoulder. His countenance shifts from the anger he’d felt to confusion, to sadness. “You… burned them?”

“Yes. I don’t- I don’t have any- I mean, none that you’d posed for. They’re gone.”

“Why would you do that?” There’s an edge of hurt in his tone now, I’m starting to question my choices.

“I- I didn’t- I thought you would be happy about that…”

“You’re right- nothing but research.” He steps through the door, not even bothering to close it behind him. I watch him walk away for a moment before I realize I’m not wearing my mask. I shove the door closed, turning and walking over to my mask, crouching beside it. When I pick it up I notice one of the eyepieces is cracked, spiderweb fractures dancing throughout it.

I sigh, fitting it back over my face and taking a moment to stand in the silence of the empty hallway.

I didn’t realize it’d hurt him the way it did. I feel like I should apologize but- why should I apologize for doing as I please with my own things? It’s not like he drew them.

I open the door, doing a quick scan of the room and realizing with a slight sinking feeling in my stomach that Donny is gone. I ask a nearby keeper where he went and she shrugs. “Home, I think. Didn’t really stop to talk to someone.”

I thank her and make my way to the box he’d placed on the table- a glass did break, there’s salt coating the bottom, shards of glass scattered throughout it. I bring the box back to the supply room – less of an official storage space and more of a small room with more than one cleared bookshelf– and start taking all the other containers out, placing them on shelves. I start picking glass out from the basket, placing the shards in a cloth I’d laid out to the side.

In hindsight, removing gloves to allow myself extra dexterity was not my brightest move. I should know better, now I’m staring down at a large slice cut into my fingertip and trying to grit my teeth through the intense burning of the salt. I swear roundly, several times, shaking my hand and clutching a fist with the other. Goddamn useless, shitty, day.

I wrap the wound in gauze, frustrated and feeling as if nothing good could possibly happen today.

I think, at this point, I need an early day as well.

I head outside, walking the familiar path, a pace that has purpose with it, fueled by emotion more than by energy.

When I get far enough away, I pull my mask off and allow the pain to finally hit in full. I walk off the path, down to the riverbed, and sit in the dirt. Here, I allow myself to cry. Not simply tearful, but wretched, in a way that makes me feel as if my lungs may burst, like I can’t find any air, like the world has completely closed in around me and I am left with my misery.

I sit on the riverbank until the sun sets, staring at the passing of time before my eyes, counting minutes by the number of clouds in the sky, then by how many stars appear.

Then I stand and continue on my way, walking on autopilot, not realizing until I’m there where my feet were carrying me.

[tuna-jsgross]

Harvey revealing his secrets (positive parenting lmao)

[tuna-jsgross]

Donny needing attention 24/7 lmao

[tuna-jsgross]

Amelia and her two very different dads lol

[tuna-jsgross]

Donny being a helpful househusband while Dr.Boyfriend goes to work 💀

(why does it look blurry unless you click for the full view? new to tumblr, if there’s a way to fix it.. help😭) EDIT: Thank you for your replies to my question! You all are very nice :]

[tuna-jsgross]

Plague Doctor AU 😭🫶✨✨

link to @its-echo-song’s story: https://www.tumblr.com/its-echo-song/773259166239375360/plague-au-ch-1

My current obsession lmao. Just a mad scientist and his himbo henchman lmfao (ignore the fact i totally misspelled fascinate).

[its-echo-song]

I hc that Harvey calls Donny “Don” so much that people who haven’t met him think Donny’s name is “Dawn”

It’s not even a consideration that it might be a nickname

And it doesn’t clock to either of them until someone WRITES his name down that way lol

[tuna-jsgross]

Donny Lore

(I don’t ever use this account so I’m going to spam my brain rot here)

-Parents divorced when he was in the eighth grade (14 yrs old). His mom cheated and moved to her parents farm house in New Jersey. She wanted zero custody, but took them for summers only to keep what was left of her reputation afloat.

-Louise hated her far before the divorce. Their mom would verbally abuse Donny (at the time was 14), Louise stood ground, snapping right back at her.

-Donny was more often than not put down for his size. He was overweight as a kid, and even though at school he was popular for his charming personality, his mom would destroy that confidence every summer. School and Dads house was his safe haven- he wasn’t seen as an inconvenience for how tall he was, how big he was, how loud he was.

-To get away from his mom and her all-around destructive behavior, he stayed outside all summer, taking up running to cope with everything. Back at school he took weight class and found he really enjoyed working out and quickly gained muscle.

-Donny has a huge sweet tooth. Because of the damage done by his mom he’ll never fully admit it, but he’d never refused ruhbarb pie and loves putting a lot of honey in his tea.

-By 11 years old, Donny was 6’ foot. He was always slightly embarrassed, being either idolized or made fun of for it.

-By his 20’s he was 6’7.

-He only allowed himself to gain weight after he became a dad. Dad bod don 💪💪

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 1

This is a fanfic au of @tuna-jsgross oc, Donny :) @yellowsticky-notes made an amazing piece for this fic!!! (Thank you so much!!!) The art below belongs to them ^_^

(I told them I'd like to use it as the "cover" as it were) No matter how many rigid, pale, glossy-eyed corpses I toss into a pit- I never get used to it. The smell clings to you, not just physically, but in a way that you can recall it at any given moment and it’ll be precisely correct every time. Your mind locks on to it, a cruel fate when you’d only ever wish the memory away upon recalling it.

But we do what we have to do, those of us who are healthy enough to carry on must bear the burden of the souls that leave us behind. Hundreds of them. 

Things have been bleak, lately, the population dwindling, the doctors working tirelessly at all hours, the keepers doing our best to support their efforts.

Despite the curse that’s seemed to land upon us all, the cold grip of death that drifts as fog through the town, I do my best to remain the optimist. I try, through the sweat, vomit, and exhaustion, to be the smiling face that others may need to see. I want to grant the damned one last comfort before their walk to the other side, if nothing else.

I’ve been told that I’m going to fall victim, myself, if I don’t learn to keep my distance. I try -I swear I do- but what is humanity if I allow myself the coldness of turning a blind eye to the tears of a widow in her last moments? I hold their hand through it, I think I always will. If that’s what brings me to the end, I will take that journey with pride. 

In some way, I believe this trait is what saves me. I’ve far outlasted friends, those who have worked beside me, and other members of town- the clergyman in our parish says my soul has been granted divine graces for my actions. The plague doctor tells me that his spiritualism is nonsense, there must be another reason.

Though, admittedly, he’s never been able to provide any sort of reason for it.

I suppose it would be hard to believe in divinity after seeing so many people’s lives extinguished, as he has. There’s no sense to it, I confess, it’s hard to believe in anything caring for us when so many have succumbed to the sickness. I’d glanced at the book they keep in the church, records- weekly death tolls growing larger and larger as time moves forward.

I’m on rounds today, moving through the makeshift hospital, trying to keep patients cool despite their fevers, dabbing a rag into a bowl of water and passing it over their foreheads. I try not to look at the blackening flesh, rotting while they’re still alive- everyone knows once this happens, death follows. We’re told to skip these patients, there’s nothing we can do.

The plague doctor is here, letting blood from patients, examining wounds, and swearing roundly at the losses as bodies are dragged out to the street to be disposed of later. I watch him work between my tasks, methodically, moving from person to person with the confidence of a man who seems not to fear death at all. As far as doctors go, when the death started spreading, many of them fled. The plague doctors are mostly new doctors, some not even doctors at all. The instructions they give vary from person to person, but this one in particular has been the most consistent- showing up day after day, always seeming to be around in one way or another. 

After a while, it seems that he’s grown familiar with me as well, calling me by name when asking for assistance, sending me on errands for him. I’m happy to help in any way I can, and just like that I’ve found myself becoming a close assistant. 

When he shows up in the morning the first thing he does is summon me. He hands me supplies, asks if I’m ready, and we make our way inside. 

Despite the time I’ve spent around him, I know very little of him. He doesn’t tell me his name, doesn’t disclose where he’s from, but his accent speaks of France- some things cannot be so easily hidden.

As it turns out, nobody knows much about him. The other plague doctors have names, previous jobs, we know where they were hired from, but this one? It seems he refuses to discuss anything other than business. 

This has led to a web of rumors surrounding him. Some of them are run of the mill- he’d run away from some rich family to lay down roots, he’d left his wife when he couldn’t stand her anymore, he’d had so much debt he couldn’t dream of paying it back. Some of the rumors are a little more scandalous. His wife caught him with a mistress, he’d never married due to his affinity towards the same sex, he had a drinking habit and got kicked out of his old town when he performed medicine drunk and killed a man.

Whatever may or may not be true, I find myself becoming more and more curious with each passing day. One evening, on a particularly grueling day, the doctor pauses on our usual walk out from the ward. I’m carrying supplies, a bit of a habit from working with him for so long even though he hasn’t actually asked me to in a while. “Donald- have you noticed anything peculiar?” I run through a mental list of the day's goings-ons, turning up only the usual. “No?” “Hm. I’ve noticed things.” This is the most conversation I’ve managed to get from him at evening time, so I take the bait. “Care to share, or are these things going to live and die with you?” “See, that’s just it. You live. The others- they die.” “Oh- we’ve talked about this, I’m blessed-” “-but the others who shared the same disposition? Divinity found it fit to turn his back on them?” “Well… I guess.” “No. I don’t believe it to be so.” “What do you suggest? You’ve found no answers previously, are things any different tonight?” “Not yet- but I want to propose something.” This piques my interest, I move the supplies to one hip, shifting my weight into a comfortable lean. “I’m listening.” “I’d like to do research on you. Nothing terribly invasive, nothing painful. Mostly just observation.” “Observation? Don’t you watch me work all day?” “I confess, I do. Quite closely.” There's a stillness in the air after he says this, a moment where the chirping of crickets and the distant sound of wind through brush is all my ears catch. He sets in again, shifting and grabbing the supplies off my hip. “Apologies, I just want to understand. There must be a reason for it- I’m hellbent on finding an explanation.” “Well- I suppose there’s no harm in it. What would you like me to do?” “Come to my quarters in the evenings. Let me observe, let me perform a physical- probably once a day. I’d like to note any variables or changes.” “A real life science experiment.” I mean it as more of a joke but with a singular bob of his head he agrees. “Right. If I can figure out why you’re immune- maybe we could use it for the others.”

“A worthy cause.” “Quite.” “Alright. You’ve got a deal.” “Wonderful! Let’s head over then-” “Tonight? Right now?” He freezes mid stride, turning to peer back at me. The movement would’ve been bird-like even without the plague doctor costume. “Is that alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you had plans.” “I don’t I just- it’s somewhat late and I’ve not had a bite to eat all day. I’d like to get supper first.” “I’ll supply food if you’d like. You can eat while I go over the death records.”

“Oh- okay, sure.” I shuffle along beside him, awkwardly. After a few strides it’s evident that the supplies are heavy to him. “You sure you don’t want me to carry that? It’s no problem.” “I’ve got it.” We march along a few more yards before I can hear him huffing as we go, trying to keep up the pace despite restricted airflow due to the mask. “Seriously, boss, I can carry it. Let me help-” “If I accept your help now, I’m admitting defeat. I’m not letting three stone of glass do me in.” “It seems the doctor has a stubborn streak.” I’m mostly musing to myself, slightly amused at this new tidbit of information. He looks up at me, and I swear I can feel the glare behind the mask. “Damn right I do.” He marches forward with determination. “The only way to get anything done around here.”

“Hey! I seem to recall doing a lot of stuff!” He sighs. “Yes, with you being the one exception.”

“So don’t give up on the task. Just… delegate it so you can save your energy for more important stuff like research.” He stops so abruptly that I nearly trample him, the question of who’s carrying what nearly becomes completely invalid as the box almost fully topples out of his hands. “You’re right. Here.” He holds the box out to me with weary arms and I take it easily. It doesn’t feel like much weight to me, though I suppose a lifetime of heavy lifting far better suits me for the job.

We finish making our way back to his quarters. It’s mostly temporary, but he’s been housed far outside the city, quite the walk. When I comment on this he lets out a low hum of agreement. “I can’t be near anyone in good health. I’ve agreed to isolation.” ��What about- I’m in good health. Will you get in trouble?” “Well, you’ve been exposed first-hand plenty. If you were to fall to the sickness I’d imagine it would’ve happened far sooner. Besides… I’m my own master, here. Who is going to chastise me for it? Do you see anyone around? Nobody knows or cares what happens in my quarters.” I glance around at the hollow houses surrounding his, empty and dark, somehow cold as if they suffer from the disease as well. I can almost hear them moaning in the same kind of pain, feel them longing for the life that once graced their walls. “I-I guess that’s true.”

“You’re coming in or you’re dropping the box off and leaving, this much is up to you. If you choose to stay I will be grateful.” “I’ve committed, I’m not going to abandon my word.” “Very well, step inside.” He opens the door for me and lets me in, upon entering I see he’s set up a comfortable living space for himself. There’s a stew still warmed on the cinders of the fire, a bed set off to the side, a desk laden with parchments, several lamps and plenty of oil to go with them.

Upon closer inspection, his desk has more than work notes. There’s a few sketches of flowers, each with the scientific name scrawled underneath them. Viola odorata, or commonly, the wood violet. 

It seems he has both a knack for artistry and a fondness for botany. “Violets?” I hold up a drawing and he nods without looking over at me, stoking up a fire. 

“Yes, they’re used in my mask.” “Oh, so… not because you like them?”

“Well- I find the scent pleasing. As it should be, for a plague doctor’s mask, such is the point of it.”

“What else do you put in there?”

“Lavender, if I can find any. Tea, maybe mint if it’s not too scarce. Mint and lavender work the best, in my experience.”

“The smell keeps the illness at bay, right?”

“It’s the theory- the scent is what makes you sick. But then you have others who… don’t seem to obey that rule. So now I’m trying to figure out what else it could be. I thought perhaps contact, but that doesn’t seem to bother you whatsoever. I have to wonder to myself how someone could be in such close contact, breathing in the same air, and still be left standing a month later? It’s phenomenal… it’s maddening.”

I chuckle, cocking my head at him. “I’ve kept you up at night thinking about me, then?”

There’s a long silence before he shakes his head. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. What do you want me to do first?”

He stands and collects a bowl, filling it with stew before handing it to me. “Eat. Keep your strength up. I’d hate to lose the subject of my interests so early.”

I take it and make a ‘cheers’ motion. “Yes sir.”

[its-echo-song]

Hotel Room One Shot

Hey guys! I did a little bit of a spicier rewrite of one of my chapters from Aura of Life and decided maybe to just post it here for fun. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this one. Though, I will say, it fades to black so I would rate this mature but not explicit. As always Donny belongs to @tuna-jsgross

We stumble our way into the hotel, giggling and dancing our way down the hallways to our room. We’d taken a cab, leaving the truck in the parking lot of the restaurant, and now we’re ready to retire for the evening. 

Donny’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons off the top of his shirt, and his hair has fallen loose of the gel’s feeble attempts to hold it in a slicked-back style. All things considered, even in his mussed state, Donny looks lovely in formal wear. 

“I should ask you to dress like this more often.” I coo at him, pulling his tie completely undone with a gentle swoosh of the fabric and tossing it over his shoulder. He grins down at me, lopsided, blushing, and full of roguishness. 

“Yeah? It’s not my favorite but if you like it I guess it wouldn’t kill me.” 

“Oh, ‘like it’ is an understatement- I could stare at you all night. I think I just did, actually.” 

He laughs, pulling an arm around me and unlocking the door to our room. “You love to stare when you’re drunk.”

“Because you’re intoxicating- the most handsome man in the world.” 

He opens the door and I gesture widely for him to enter. 

“Dork- you’re going to give me a big head.”

“Never. You can’t call it an ego if it's a simple fact.”

“Flatterer.” He states as he loosens my tie, pulling it off and placing it aside. A moment later, his joins it, pulled off his shoulder and tossed with far less care than mine. “How do I get more of that to happen?”

I pull his jacket off his shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek as I do. “Just keep being how you are, I can’t help it.” 

“Can’t help it, now?”

“I mean- look at you-” I gesture at him, he flushes slightly- but his grin does not fade in the least. I turn and hang his coat in the closet, taking mine off and hanging it next to his. The size difference is almost laughable. 

“I say it a lot but I love you- you don’t understand.”

I laugh now, turning back to fix him with a look. “Whatever do you mean? Like I don’t feel the same? I’m also quite enraptured, remember?” 

“Mm, but I think it’s impossible for you to understand how I feel, anyway.” He walks over and grabs me by the waist, pulling me close and giving me a kiss. I’m unsure, entirely, if my head spins because of the dopamine or because of the alcohol. I hear myself giggle, pulling him back in by the collar of his shirt. I’m not particularly concerned with the details of the cause of my joy at the moment.

He picks me up, the same as when we’d had our first kiss, my stomach does a flip of excitement and for a moment I forget all else as I wrap my legs around his waist-

Until there’s a loud thud and I realize a few moments after that it was the sound of my head hitting the wall- I only process it by the way Donny is apologizing and asking if I’m okay. 

“This seems to be a rough ride.” I comment, intertwining my finger through one of his loose waves, curling the strand around it. “I’m not sure if I trust the driver anymore.”

He laughs gently, burying his head into my neck, bracing himself against the wall. The whiskers of his beard tickle, sending goosebumps across my flesh. I do my best to hold back the giddy laughter from it. 

“Sorry. Are you okay? Really.”

“Yes, I’m fine. But perhaps we aren’t sober enough for that- as much as I like being tossed around.”

“I’m very invested in you enjoying being thrown around, Harv.” He teases with an arched eyebrow.

This causes the blood to rush to my face, the tone of his voice catches me off guard. “Yeah, well, what if I want to do what you like?”

“Me.” He draws back and meets my gaze. “Easy answer, do me.”

I laugh, full bodied and joyful, appreciating the gleam in his eyes when I react this way to him. “Yeah? What do you want me to do with you?”

He thinks for a moment, studying my face, then pulls me away from the wall and tosses me onto the bed- I can’t lie and say I’m not impressed by the sheer strength it takes to do such a thing, that I’m not attracted to it. He sits down and starts taking off his shoes, chucking one and then the other before laying down with me. “I like being able to be close to you, to hold you, to kiss you- I like it when you do those things first.” “What else?” I kick my shoes off, Donny’s eyes track the motion before wandering back up to my face.

“Well-.” He takes a slow and deep breath in, looking over me again with a spark of heat. The rest of his response is murmured in a low and bassy tone. “I want you to touch me, make me lose my damn mind.”

He pulls me close and I find myself running my hands along his arms. I’m captivated by the subtle shifting of muscles under my fingertips, frustrated by the fabric which folds and catches as I try to etch the lines of them. “Do you need this?” I tug at the sleeve and his eyebrows shoot up. “I hope not.” He sits up, starts undoing the next button on his shirt. I sit up with him, pull his hand away and take over the task for him- kneeling as I work on the buttons. “You know… I find the human body fascinating. It’s amazing how we function, move, breathe-” I glance up to meet his eyes, the redness on his face betraying nerves in equal measure. I pull the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside and pressing my palm against his chest- feeling his too-fast heartbeat in rhythm with mine. “And- I like knowing that I’m the reason your heart is beating like this.”  

I trail my hands up, gently pulling him toward me for a kiss, reveling in the way his breath hitches as I brush fingertips along his jugular vein to the back of his jaw. 

His lips meet mine and I can’t help the smile that forms on my face as they do, delight being such a simple concept in the moment- but how it ever existed without him, I do not know.

He brings his hand up to my neck and pulls me closer, starving for more as if the kiss will never be enough. In this particular instance, I agree. 

Somewhere within this exchange, I find myself wandering. My hands glide over beautiful skin and I enjoy the way Donny seems to melt into my touch, breathing a soft hum of approval as I move. 

He pulls away suddenly and starts to kiss my neck, a gesture that sends my head reeling, the feeling of wet, open kisses on my skin is nearly too much to bear. 

He works on the buttons of my shirt at the same time- fumbling, slightly, until I impatiently tell him to just rip the damn thing open. He glances at me questioningly, but then simply chuckles and obliges. The buttons fly off in a cacophony and he slides the shirt off my shoulders freely, kissing along my clavicles as he does.

Then he falls onto his back, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me with him so my hands rest on either side of his head and I’m straddling his hips. I smile down at him for a moment, then grind my hips into his. He moans loudly, throwing his head back and flushing deeper, a sight and sound that I enjoy to its fullest before I move on.

I start kissing a trail down his neck, over his collarbone, between his pecs, arching my back as I move lower, pulling myself further back on my knees. I glance up at Donny as I do this, loving the way his eyes are following me in reverent hunger. 

I giggle, feeling the rush of joy from the look of anticipation on his face, and sink my teeth into his chest. Once again, Donny moans for me, spitting out a swear and gripping at the blankets- being more worked up the longer I take.

So I take my time, breathing over his skin and whispering soft proclamations about his beauty, the way I adore him, the way I love how he sounds- I mean every word of it and he damn well knows it. Each word hits him in full, a new rush of sensation, another hitched breath, another exclamation of how much I’m driving him insane.

But we both know he won’t do anything about it until he’s on the edge of desire- this is the game we play. 

So I begin describing in detail the nerves that run along his arms, tracing them softly with kisses before graduating to discussing the science behind endorphins. 

I demonstrate this by gifting him several bite marks along his sides and hips, explaining his pain threshold to him as he writhes under me begging me to stop teasing him.

I answer this by sliding my fingers along his waistband, slowly unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down and off of him. The underwear follows suit without much ceremony. I can tell by Donny’s breathing that he’s sure that I’m done now, he feels relief in the finality of the movement- so I trace a trail back up his body with my tongue, gently kissing along the way and muttering how he’s been so good for waiting so long. 

But he’s growing frustrated with the waiting, the way I’ve pulled every trick I possibly can to make him want this more than he’s ever wanted anything, and when I look back into his eyes all I see is an all consuming, lust-sodden, darkened gaze. 

So mercy, it is -as if I’m not on the edge of teetering over into animalistic carnality anyway- I hurry to dispose of my own clothing, tossing them off to the side and relishing the feeling of flesh against flesh. 

Donny’s hands glide down my back, warm and heavy and beautifully large in the way they nearly encapsulate my hips entirely when he grabs them. 

Now it’s my turn to plead with him, leaning down and savoring a kiss that’s as much lust as it is appreciation, when I pull away I breathe out a simple ‘please.’ 

It’s enough for him, he fumbles a bottle of lube and I feel a shock of anticipation heatwave through my body- a moment passes before Donny gives me a nod, I kiss him again, and with an utterance of “good boy” said more like a song than a gasp of pleasure, I lower myself onto him.

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch 6.

This is a POV switch :)

At first glance there is a yearning, one that carries me toward him without thought. Three lengthy strides, a hand in the beginnings of reaching out toward him as if all other troubles have been swept aside by his sudden appearance. But before I reach my destination, grab him by the hands and let my reservations crumble to dust, my eyes fall on the sketchbook held within them.

I stop short- my stomach churning in a sudden anxiety, anger, irrationality. He’s in my home, why is he here? Why did he show up while I was gone? Why did he take it upon himself to search through my things? Logic cuts through all delusions, excitement, any part of me that would’ve been happy to see him.

“What- what are you doing?” My eyes will not leave the book in his hands, as if I’m being pulled into the way his calloused fingers wrap around the edges of the page. Rough with something far too delicate, like the book may tear apart just by being held by him. “Why do you- that’s my-“ I swallow, stepping forward and reaching for the sketchbook.

He pulls away. My eyes snap up to meet his and he looks almost as shocked as I feel. 

“Donald- give that back!” I reach again and he dodges again. I become aware of the fact that I’m shaking now, anger feeling as if it’s gnawing at my bones. “Don-“

He furrows his brow suddenly, demeanor shifting from a dazed shock to frustration. “Why?”

“Because it’s mi-“

“No! You know what I’m asking! Why!?”

“You’re being childish! Just-“ I reach once again and he lifts the sketchbook into the air, far out of my reach. 

As if it’s not enough of a absurd gesture to be in my home in the first place, as if it wasn’t enough to look through the one thing I know for a fact he knew I didn’t want him to see- now he’s leveraging his physical attributes against me, keeping one of my most beloved possessions out of my grasp. 

I start to grab at his arm, trying to bring it within reach. The damn man is so muscular he barely moves at all,  a wall of strength and defiance staring down at me with a growing agitation.

“You said you were afraid I’d abandon the project-” “I’m not talking about this-” “You are and I’m not giving this back-” He shifts, his weight uneven enough for just the right amount of time for me to cause him to stumble slightly. He lets out a sharp swear as his reach dips for a moment and I reach with my other hand. He grabs my wrist with his one free hand, shuffling slightly so I have to adjust my footing or fall, letting out a small sound of effort. I shuffle back slightly, wrenching against his grasp on my wrist- to no avail, not that either one of us would be surprised at that result. “Let me go!” I pull back with my full body weight, feeling his grip tighten on my wrist slightly. “Stop trying to fight me! I just want answers!” At this point, I must admit, rationality has abandoned me. The sheer frustration at the situation has created a strong resistance to reason, I don’t want to concede and admit defeat. I don’t want to give him the damned satisfaction. I glare up at him, satisfied at my flustering him being evidenced in the flush on his face and how his eyes widen slightly. “What a shame, I won’t give them.” He sets his jaw, taking pause to give me a withering look of frustration. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?” I reach for the notebook with my free hand again, trying to push myself into him and knock him off balance enough to gain some sort of advantage- he stumbles back a step before sighing and grabbing that wrist in his free hand as well. He spins slightly, stepping forward with my hands held above my head. I try to keep the space between us, attempting to hold my pride despite the obvious loss I’m suffering. 

I step back several paces in time with his advance before I feel my back land flush against the wall. He pins my wrists up against it, leaning into my space. I stare up at him, suddenly feeling entirely out of my depth. My eyes linger on the sketchbook for a moment before meeting his again and I have to swallow back my nerves. “Are you ready to give up?” He asks, something in his tone far less hostile and perhaps more tired. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong.” “That’s what you think?” He scoffs, shaking his head and looking to the ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “Your hypocrisy is insufferable.” “Then why come back!? Let it be!” He leans closer, mere inches away from my face. “Because-” There’s a moment of hesitation, he struggles with a few words before forcing out a low “you’re driving me insane.” It's at this instant that my body seems to catch up to the situation, suddenly I’m aware of his grip on my wrists, the warmth of his rough hands, the fact that he’s not holding me tightly enough to actually cause any discomfort. My heartbeat starts to race, a thrumming in my ears as I stare at him, as the words catch up to me. “Don’t be ridiculous I-“

“`Ridiculous? I don’t even know your name. Who are you?” 

“That’s- you don’t need to-“ my heartbeat is resting in my throat now, he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

His eyes flicker down to my lips as I talk, I hate that I notice it, I hate that I flush at it.

“Tell me your name.” He demands once again.

Tension lingers suspended in the few seconds it takes me to answer, something within me suddenly wanting to rise up to the challenge- a sudden rush of giddy glee in the frustration I cause him.

“Make me.”

He stares at me blankly, seeming to process what I’ve said. I expect more anger, to get a rise out of him, instead he lowers the hand with the sketchbook down to his side. Then he drops the book with an unmistakable sound, one that sends a slight shock through me. His eyes lock onto mine, he takes a breath in before whispering so softly I have to wonder if I’d imagined the word leaving his lips. “Tell me.” My heart skitters in my chest, for a brief second of time I wonder if I might be drunk for the way my head spins. He raises his free hand up to my chin and gently grabs my face, making it impossible for me to look away. I can’t avoid noticing the smaller details, the way his chest is heaving with too-fast breaths in sync with mine, the high flush upon his cheeks, his dilated pupils as his staring bores holes into my soul.

“Harvey.” It’s like a confession, something I feel deep shame for, something I wish I could leave behind. The security of being unknown crumbles around me as he smirks down at me. “See? Not so hard-” “We're done. Get out.” I come across far more defeated than I intend, weaker than I’d want to.

“Unfortunately for both of us, I need answers”

“You’ve got your damn answer, let me go!” I strain against him and he grits his teeth, squinting at me. “No- I got one answer and you’re still avoiding the issue-” “There’s no issue! Nothing but your delusions-” “My delusions?! Mine?” An accusation, one that makes perfect sense to me. I’ve been far less than a doctor should be, acting without thinking, letting my desire overtake my sense. “Yes!” “You started this!” “So-so let me end it!” “No!” “Why? Just- let it be!” He shakes his head, letting out a laugh that very nearly chills me to the bone, wry and exasperated. “I tried that. You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.” “What? I’ve-” “Every day- every day my mind wanders back to you. I can’t stop wondering what I did wrong- I can't stop thinking about… How am I supposed to just- how am I supposed to just walk away?”

“It’s- it’s just research…” A pathetic lie, one I’ve told myself plenty of times. Then, with hardly a warning, our lips collide. Heat floods through my body in an undeniable spark of need, the flush on my face deepening as he pulls his hand off my wrists and slides his arm around my waist. He pulls me close, flush against his body, and instinctively my arms wrap around his neck. I find myself pulling him into me, a carnal desire to be held, needed, wanted, consumes me to the core- I forget myself, all else seeming to melt away. The only thing that matters is the firm pressure of his hand against the small of my back, is the heat of his body against mine, the strength of his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. Then he withdraws, sudden and just as shockingly as when he’d started the kiss- I find myself wishing he hadn’t torn himself out of my grasp, left my hands feeling strangely empty, my chest feeling cold. “Is it still just research?” He asks, almost with a sense of triumph in his tone, still breathing with a quick rise and fall of his chest, still flushed and looking as if he’s a starving animal and I’m his next meal. Still being far, far, too easily swayed. Still proving that I could never make a new life for myself if I were to remain in his presence. Still hauntingly beautiful, painfully wonderful. Still far too much of a liability for me to be comfortable around. “... Yes.” Any joy he might’ve felt falls from his face, replaced by disgust and colored with hurt. He says nothing, just steps backward away from me as if I’d transformed into some hideous beast, something utterly repugnant, sickening. Perhaps I am, I feel as if I may be someone worthy of such a response.

Then he turns, walking out of the house without even glancing back at me. I’d expected the door to slam shut, some sort of last word, but instead he closes the door gently and I am left standing in the cold room alone. I can’t bring myself to move just yet, instead I look down at my sketchbook where it lay on the floor. I hate it, everything within it, the proof of words thrown at me with such malice that they take permanent residence in my mind.

There’s no intelligence in a man who cannot separate his love for his science from his subject.

It seems I’ll never be an intelligent man, simply a hurtful one. I crouch down and pick up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages- so many are filled with drawings of him. So many failed attempts at catching the spirit of the man who sat before me, so many times I’ve cursed my hands…

I sigh, trying to swallow back the tears in my eyes as I look over the sketches.

I cannot live like this.

I light a fire, kindling it to a blaze, and cast the sketchbook into the fireplace.

I watch as the flames lick at the pages, charring and devouring them, curling the edges in on themselves until they’ve been turned into ash. I tell myself, so it burns away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the way I’d memorized him, every laugh line and callous.

I wish I felt warmth in this, but I simply watch it all burn and feel further from myself with each passing moment. In the end, though, it’s what’s best.

Nobody needs me to practice medicine on them, or attempt to- I couldn’t even find myself in a physician's course of study.  No, a simple artist and nothing more- taking on a plague doctor's task out of reckless disregard for my own life… he’s better off not knowing me at all.

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch 5.

The lack of sight casts everything into a new veil of sensation, far too much left up to the imagination-

I’m sure I’ve never flushed so hot before, felt so nervous, heard my heartbeat thrumming so hard in my ears.

I hear the sound of metal, then the gentle sound of what I assume to be the mask being placed upon the table. Fabric rustles gently, then with a shock I feel his touch on my shoulder. I flinch, slightly, embarrassingly- being unable to tell where he is sets me at unease.

Even so, after that moment all I can feel is the way he traces routes along my arms, gentle fingertips eliciting a trail of goosebumps, drawing from my shoulder to my wrist, following some unknown path. Then his hand leaves me and I’m lost to him again, suspended in a void of darkness and vague sounds of movement.

Then I gasp slightly at his next touch, running a hand along my clavicle, tracing across my chest with a muttered exaltation in breathless french- loosely translated into a prayer of thanks or a proclamation of disbelief. I set my jaw, trying not to think too hard on the words he’d uttered, the fact that he probably believes them to be private. I’ll let him have his reverence, the astonishment he seemed to feel so strongly that he turned to a god he does not believe in.

I try not to think about the way I’m already shaking, how I want to pull my blindfold off and finally see him, how the way he’s examining me makes me feel like it’s less science and more worship.

I try not to flinch away from the way he tilts my chin up to observe me, resting his thumb on my bottom lip- I cease breathing for a moment, swallowing and trying to focus back on the task at hand. Wasn’t there a reason for this? I can hardly even remember anymore, I’ve grown so lost in the sea of sensation-

My heartbeat rages in my ears still, I realize with a start that I’m in this situation so he could listen to it- I’m not even sure at this point if I want him to.

Though, he’s aware, surely, of his effect on me currently. There’s no way he hasn’t taken note of the way my breath faltered when he’d grabbed me, the redness in my face, the shaking in my hands.

“Are-” I start a question, cringing the moment the first word leaves my mouth- too loud, shattering the reverent atmosphere. “Are you okay? Its-its quiet. I’m… nervous.”

“Sorry-” My breath hitches again, my head spins slightly- this is the first time I’ve heard his voice clearly, with no mask, actually speaking to me. “Yes- I’m… making notes.”

“Oh- okay.” I’m struggling to formulate a sentence, feeling him trace a line down the side of my neck before he places a flat palm against my chest.

“I’m going to give your heart a listen now.” He finally says, slightly quiet, like he’s just as lost in this situation as I am.

I nod, clenching my hands into a fist and trying to focus solely on breathing evenly.

He rests his head against my chest, his breath hot against my skin, stray strands of hair brushing against me gently. There’s a moment where, with his body pressed against mine, I feel the urge to wrap my arms around him in reciprocal- an urge I curse myself for when I catch the thought dancing through my mind.

I place my hands flat on the table instead, counting seconds while the doctor does what he needs to do.

“Your heart’s racing.” He finally says, quietly, a hint of disbelief within his voice.

“I know.”

There’s a longstanding silence before he responds. “Mine as well.”

Then he steps away from me, I hear the tell-tale scratching of a pencil on paper, and then I hear fabric rustling, the sounds of him putting the mask back on.

I almost don’t want this to end, don’t want to walk back into reality, to see and know the moment we held together and pretend it never happened.

But he reaches back around me and unties the blindfold with swift movements, gently pulling it away from my face. I blink my eyes back into focus and find myself unable to look directly at him, still fighting away the flush that feels as if I’ve been set ablaze.

“You should go home.” He says, a finality to his tone. “You should- I’m- I won’t walk you tonight, I’m sorry. You should go.”

“What!?” Confusion blurs through me at a speed I can hardly process- all I know is I don't want to leave.

“This is- this is a bad idea- We shouldn’t have ever started this- just- please go. I-” He sounds nervous, panic rising in his voice more the longer he speaks. “I don’t- I can’t- please-”

“Okay, okay- I’m- I’m going. I’m sorry.” Suddenly it feels as if everything is shattering around me. I pull my shirt on, making my way to the door. I glance back at the doctor, who doesn’t even look at me, and steal away into the darkness.

I move at a pace I hadn’t taken for well over a month, quickly making my way down the road, fighting back stinging tears- I wouldn’t have felt this kind of pain if I hadn’t let my imagination run away with me, if I hadn’t entertained ideas.

I shouldn’t have let myself hope the way I did, it was a mistake allowing any sort of affection to grow for someone I know nothing about. He saw me clearly for the first time and- and I still know nothing, have seen nothing, am being played like a fool.

When I get home I head straight to my room, slumping down into my bed and trying to hold back the tears that make their way down my face anyway. I lay down, staring up at the ceiling and letting them fall, feeling rather stupid for the entire situation, trying not to play back and criticize every moment of interaction.

But I do anyway, I can’t help but try and picture what he saw, try and imagine his thoughts- what was the final thing that made him decide to turn me out of his home?

Maybe he realized I was not simply nervous about the procedure, realized it was a reaction to him. Maybe the thought of it disgusted him, even though he’s had a male companion before. Perhaps all his flattery was no more than kindness.

I sigh, turning over and bringing my blanket up over my head as if it’ll protect me from the onslaught of harsh thoughts. Instead, my mind wanders to the way he’d muttered a breathless prayer of thanks- in a language he’d assume I do not know.

No, I do not think I am something so wretched as to drive him away. I just cannot fathom what would make him suddenly so harsh- cancel the entire project we had started.

Or, at least, I can speculate but I’d find it rather hard to believe. For now, though, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it. I shut my eyes and try to welcome sleep.

It’s hardly restful, a night spent remembering the ghosts of his touch and pretending I don’t- trying to chase away the thoughts of it, bring my mind elsewhere.

When morning finally arrives and I make my way to work, I notice a distressing lack of the doctor. I try to ask another keeper, ‘have you seen the plague doctor today?’ and her response was ‘which one?’

I have no answer for her, though I bit back from responding ‘my plague doctor’- as he’d begun to be known by his association with me.

So I work through the day keeping an eye out, heart skipping a beat every time I see someone who might be around his height covered in a cloak, then chastising myself for the dog-like loyalty.

By the end of the day it had become clear he wouldn't be here.

I stare into the distance, toward the path we take to his house, and contemplate walking over.

I decide against it. As much as I want to, as much as I would love to find some answers, it seems clear to me that he wants space.

So then the next day at work goes the same way.

Followed by the next.

On the tenth working day without the doctor there, I grow concerned. There’s been a pit in my stomach rapidly consuming me, a sickness and weariness that haunts me- I’m not even done with my work day yet before I excuse myself and set off walking.

I reach the stoop of his home and realize a little too late that I’d not come up with any sort of plan. I don’t know what I’d say to him, what questions I have or how to ask them- all I know is I’m worried he won’t be here, that he’s moved on to somewhere new. I’m worried that I’ll find nothing but bitter disappointment.

I raise my hand and knock loudly, waiting and listening for movement. I hear nothing from the other side, not even the crackling of the fire. I step back and see no smoke from the chimney- my heart sinks.

I knock again, waiting a few moments longer, and still nothing. With my heart held in my throat, I try the handle.

The door opens with ease and I step inside, peering around the room.

It doesn’t look as if he’d left, after all. I sigh in relief, closing the door behind me. He’s simply out.

I glance over at his desk- the sketchbook sits open atop it, and I hesitate.

I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be in here without him, really, this is already a little too imposing…

But it’s left open. If I were to walk by and see what is there, how much harm could come of it, really? He’s not here to catch me. Besides, what if this is the only clue I get as to what is happening?

I walk over slowly, keeping an ear out for any sounds that may indicate his return, and look down at the sketch book.

There are several drawings of me on the page. Half of them are scribbled over, clearly done so in a fit of frustration, the other half are incomplete.

I wonder when these were done? I don’t remember some of these poses, so they must be older-

I glance around the room quickly and then make a split-second decision to grab the book and start thumbing through it.

This is the last page of its kind. I flip to the beginning of the book and find drawings with notes written in french alongside measurements- par for the course, exactly what I had expected.

As I thumb through the pages, however, the drawings become more detailed and the notes…

They start sounding like journal entries.

“Today he laughed and it set my heart alight- I wish I could capture his smile and take it out on the difficult days, a light to strengthen my spirits.”

“When he smiles he gains laugh lines, his eyes crinkle up in a delightful manner.”

“I could never draw him well enough- I believe myself incredibly lucky to perceive him at all.”

I flip through to the final drawings- the final notes.

“Canceling the research, my personal feelings are becoming too intertwined. I believe it’s influencing both him and I.”

I look through the drawings several times, recognizing some of the poses and reading his observations- it seems no detail escaped him, every scar, every freckle, all written down in depth.

For how hard he’d been on himself over the drawings, they’re actually incredible- I can’t bring myself to stop staring at them, wondering if this is how he views me.

The man on the page is- beautiful in a way I could never consider myself to be, depicted in such a way that I marvel at it.

“Donald?” A surprised voice calls out and I turn with a shock, apology already halfway off my lips-

And for the first time, our eyes meet.

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 3

Two weeks pass without much change, a habit forming of meeting back at the doctor's place after working all day, being sketched and measured, eating whatever dinner he’s prepared, and then walking home with him.

I have offered for him to use one of my spare rooms, a place for him to rest for the later nights. He's always refused, telling me it’s a horrible idea to keep a plague doctor overnight. Then he goes on to make his way back home. I’d asked before, it doesn’t bother him. “Solitude suits me, I think. The quiet of the evening is refreshing, compared to the kinds of days we have.” So then he’d go on his way, a farewell said in more and more of a cheerful manner each time, and in the morning the greeting gets warmer by mere degrees. But it’s there, I take note of it with a slight happiness each time. 

It’s no surprise, though, since we’ve danced cautiously around the idea of friendship- sizing each other up, trying to feel out unfamiliar territory. We grow closer and I hesitate less around him, he eases in his strict manner as well, and we end up sharing stories until late into the night. Tonight is no exception, trading tales and laughing as he tries to sketch me, eventually giving up in frustration. “Not working tonight?” I ask, leaning closer to try and peer at his book. He pulls it close to his chest, leaning back away from me. “No! And I don’t want you seeing. Sorry, but- especially when I’m not able to get your likeness down, no.” “Would be easier without the mask. It’s probably hard to see through those eye-holes.” This has been a subject that I’ve been refusing to drop. Apparently, to his dismay. He groans and pulls his book away enough to close it. 

“I already told you, I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s not like we’re complete strangers.” “Because… It's a bad idea. It’s just not- that’s not how this works.” “So I stand around with no shirt on for hours while you poke and prod at me and I don’t even get to see the face of the man who’s doing it? How is that fair?” “How would it be fair if I died? You’re still surrounding yourself with the death every day and that’s a risk-” “A risk you also take, you do the same thing I do.” “Donny-” “I don’t even know your name! Why can’t I know that?” “Perhaps it’s time to walk home.” “No- I just- I’ve been so patient.” “And the reward for patience is getting what you want? There is no such end for you.” “All I’m saying is you struggle to draw because you cannot see me, you struggle with the heat by the fire, you- it just seems like more trouble than it's worth.” “Let me worry about my troubles.” There’s no winning this argument with him, no matter how curious I am. I sigh, putting my hands up in surrender. “Okay, sorry, you’re right. Your struggle, not mine.” He relaxes slightly, I watch the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you. Now, should we walk?” “Well- I guess, if you’re done.” He nods at me, standing. “Did you know you can learn things about someone's condition from listening to their heart?” he asks, casually, as he makes his way over to the door. “It’s fascinating. Apparently different sounds can mean different things.” “Oh? That’s new.” “I get journals sent to me from France.” “So it’s experimental?” “It’s in the observation stage, like most of the science I’m practicing.” “So… I’m assuming you’ll be attempting that.” “Possibly. There are issues with the procedure. I can try to feel your heartbeat, but- currently the way to do such a thing would be… ah-” He clears his throat. “It’s a bit impractical.” “What do you mean?” “I’d have to put my ear up to your chest.” There's a lingering silence punctuated by our footfall. I’m thankful to be walking by dim moonlight, as to hide the way my face is flushing at the thought. “Oh. Well- with the hood and all…” “That, too. I’m still refusing to budge, don’t argue with me about it.” “I didn’t say anything.” More silence follows this. “We’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want that to stand in the way of research.” He glances over at me and then back in the direction we’re walking. “Yes, well… easier said than done.” “I could… close my eyes? Look away?”

“With how you’ve been acting about seeing me? Why would I trust you to keep your word on such a thing?” He’s half teasing, I can tell by the tone of his voice, interwoven with light laughter. “I guess… I’m sorry I’ve become untrustworthy.” He laughs, it’s own kind of warmth that cuts through the chill of the evening. “I don’t blame you for your curiosity, but I’ll be damned if I let it win.”

“We’ll see about that.” I say with a smile thrown in his direction, a chuckle trailing off into the silence of the night. I peer upward at the stars for a moment, taking in the vast blanket of them across the sky, watching the clouds of my breath float up to meet them. “I do wish, though, that you didn’t have to wear that thing. Not just for my curiosity, it’s really nice out right now. Maybe on your walk back- you should see the stars.” He looks at me for a good few paces, then to the sky. “You know what? I think I will.” ~~~

He’s decided not to tempt fate, as he put it. Instead of removing the hood and mask to listen to my heart, he’s starting by attempting to pick up irregular patterns by placing his hand over my heart. Admittedly, when he’d first suggested it I didn’t think much of it. I’d been so used to him positioning me, sliding his hands over my arms as he measured, murmuring numbers to himself. But usually he leaves his gloves on- save for taking my pulse at the wrist and neck.

This shouldn't be much different, in theory. 

But somehow it is.

He has me stand for this new procedure, slipping his gloves off and gingerly placing them aside on his desk. He steps into my space, one hand resting on the bare flesh of my shoulder, the other gently placed over my heart. I try not to think about it, the delicate pressure from the other hand that has no need to rest where it does. There’s no real reason for the extra contact, so much so that it evokes a flood of questions within me. Why? He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person where this kind of movement would be natural to him, it makes it feel purposeful, like he’s got some reasoning that I might not puzzle together. He’d not denied his preferences- that he would rather find himself amongst other men. Perhaps that is what’s making this feel different to me. Perhaps he’s not changed at all, it’s only my perception of him. I’m overly sensitive to his motives now, wondering what each movement might mean, thinking about the fact that he’s leaning ever so slightly into me…feeling strangely elated to notice it. 

Or is there really something there? The way he draws his hand away slowly, almost dragging away so his fingertips trace against my skin slightly, leaving me to shiver as the goosebumps erupt down my skin. He takes a slight step away, peering up at me. “Are you okay?” Real concern paints his voice when he asks this. He still does not remove the hand that lays over my heart.

“Yeah- why?” I sound strained, I can hear how much my words sound like effort, like awkwardness. “You’re-you’re turning red. You’re not feverish are you?” He places the back of his free hand on my forehead and I suddenly feel as if I may faint. “No- no I’m- It’s okay, I’m alright.” I fight the urge to back away, give in to the flutterings of panic in my core, the sudden sparking of nervousness. He huffs out a slight laugh, pulling his hand off my forehead and smoothing it over my shoulder, down my arm. “Don’t forget to breathe, Donald.” He says this gently, filled with amusement, and I can't stop thinking about the way his hand now gently rests wrapped around my wrist with a feather light touch. My mouth has gone dry, I nod at him and take a deep breath, feeling my face heat warmer than before and turning my gaze away from him to focus on something, anything else. 

He takes a larger step back from me, pulling both his hands away and grabbing his sketchbook. “I don’t think I’m going to get any useful information out of you like this.” I still say nothing, keeping my eyes locked on the fireplace. What does he mean like this? He’s noticed- I’m not even sure what it means, entirely- he’s noticed that I’m nervous, now that I know about his past? I hope he doesn’t hold it against me, feel slighted.

I would never hold it against him, his taste in companionship. I’ve had my fair share of struggles against my own mind, my preferences, things I’d never say outloud to another. I wouldn’t dare act upon such thoughts, no matter how tempting they seem to be- no matter how enticing the allure of a handsome man’s smile can feel. There’s part of me that suddenly views him as dangerous due to that- thanks to the fact that a simple hand on the shoulder can break my will so easily, that my heartbeat disobeys my every desire for it to remain steady.

It feels as if, though, none of this bothers him. He goes about his routine as usual, no comments other than the one he’d already made- which sticks in my mind like a briar. 

There’s no more conversation for the night, he works in silence and I hold my tongue, shocked at my own reaction to him. When it comes time to say goodnight, as we linger outside my home, he finally speaks to me again. “I apologize… if I’ve overstepped.” There’s more silence, I can’t quite pull my thoughts together to give him an appropriate response. Is it okay? Did he overstep or am I simply reacting too much? Should I tell him I forgive him, though there may be nothing to forgive? “Well- Have a goodnight then, Donald. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.” He sounds apprehensive, turning and taking a pace before stopping again. “I mean it,” he turns to look back at me, “please be there tomorrow. I-I mean- I hope you will be.” “I will.” I murmur, trying very hard to look at him as I say it, but failing and turning my eyes to stare at the ends of his cloak instead. “I don’t think… I’m not sure there’s anything to forgive you for.”

“You’re… not sure? Hm- Well, think about it. I’m not trying to- I don’t mean to scare you away.”

I take a breath, thinking back to the interaction- would I really say no if I knew that’s what would happen? If I knew I’d feel so flustered?

No, I don’t believe so- In fact, I find the thought exhilarating, a small rush of hopeful excitement at the thought of his hand on my shoulder, of him sharing my space so casually.

“I mean- No, there’s no reason to apologize. I think I’m just- I’m just tired tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be more myself.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.”

‘Look forward to seeing you’

“Walk safely.”

“Have a good evening, Donny.”

He turns and makes his way into the night, walking quietly on his own. I watch him as far as my eyes can strain to see- ducking away when he turns suddenly to look back in my direction. When I peer back out again, I see a silhouette of him removing the mask- no details to note, except that I can tell he’s gazing up at the night sky.

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 4

I’ve mentally prepared, this time.

Whenever he draws me to my feet and pulls his gloves off, I take a moment to still myself. Just as he did last night, he steps into my space and places a hand over my heart.

Much like before, I struggle to pull my attention away from how close we stand to one another, his arm wrapped around me slightly, landing his other hand pressed against my back near my shoulder blade.

Every small movement is registering, the slight twitch of a finger as he shifts to glance up at me- once again I’m fighting to keep my breathing tame. I am certain he notices my tension, he eases his hand off my back and steps away, creating a distance between us.

“You’re tense.” He simply comments, I nod at him, feeling the embarrassment on my face.

“Sorry.”

“No-” He draws away from me completely with a short sigh. “It’s okay- it just makes taking measurements slightly more challenging. It throws off my information.”

If I could control it, I would. “What- what should we do, then?”

“Well- I could spend some time sketching you, let you relax a little bit, then try again. It may take… it may take a few tries.”

“Okay. I have time.”

He nods toward the bed. “Sit, then, we’ll get started.”

I oblige, slightly relieved to be back to some form of normalcy. This part, being sketched by him, is such a common occurrence that I’ve managed to learn to sit well enough as to not annoy the doctor. However he maneuvers me, I’m as good as frozen in place.

It’s with vested interest, however, that I notice he doesn’t put the gloves back on. He kneels next to me, running his hands along my arm gently as he positions me- a move so decidedly cruel, a ripple of contained nervous energy skitters through my body as he does it. He hums a note, thinking, settling back into a crouch to look at me.

Then he reaches up, catching my jaw in his grip and turning my gaze to face slightly off to the left.

There’s a moment of stillness where he doesn't remove his hand, just stares- it would be less intimidating if it weren’t for that damn mask. I find myself glancing over at him from the corner of my eye, swallowing nervously.

He chuckles, pulling his hand back and sitting back in his chair again. “Wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” I mimic softly, trying to catch a glimpse of him, even though he’s slightly out of range of sight where he currently sits.

“Mhm. I like the way the firelight plays with your features at this angle-” He brings his chair closer, now well within arm's length. “If I could just- can I let your hair down?”

My mind stalls to a halt, processing the question for a moment too long. It feels like such an odd question, feels unimportant to the idea of research, feels less like science and more like intimacy.

“Sorry, maybe that’s-”

“Yes- go ahead.” I croak out, finding myself somewhat baffled at my own voice, how quiet I come across.

He hesitates for only a moment before untying the thin strip of fabric, gently placing it in my hand for me to hold. He shifts a few rogue waves of hair into place, gently pulling his fingers through it in what I estimate to be an attempt at taming it.

He settles back into his seat again and lets out a contented hum. “Perfection.”

That is worth every moment of effort- the way the word rolls off his tongue, laden with his thick french accent, plays like music.

“I thought you said there’s no such thing.” I attempt to joke, trying to cover my nerves with humor.

“I was wrong.” He says with clarity, as if he’s ready to defend his stance, like I’d ever be stupid enough to challenge him- mostly, I want to hear it again.

“You flatter me.”

He lets out a singular huff of laughter. “I cannot convince the blind of what they cannot see, no?” This is followed by the gentle sound of charcoal on paper, a sound that I’ve grown accustomed to, the sound of him sketching down delicate lines in precise motions. I can’t see the action, but I can hear the way he shifts to look closer, how he sometimes pauses and simply studies me.

Eventually, my heart stops racing, I relax slightly, letting the tension loosen out of my shoulders and taking a large breath.

“Better?” He asks me, silence speaking to the way his full attention is now on me and not focused on the page.

“Am I truly that obvious?”

“Yes. Though, in fairness to you, most people probably aren’t studying you the way I am. Take a break, stretch a little.”

I nod at him, rolling my shoulders back and reveling in the gentle relief. “Do you ever intend to show me what you’re drawing in there?” I ask casually, knowing the answer and going through the motions regardless.

“Not now- I’ll- I’d have to finish up some stuff- it’s really not anywhere near ready to be seen.”

“I’d like to, one day. I’m-”

“Curious, I know- one day.”

The answer I get every time. It’ll never be the right time, it’ll never be polished enough, he seems far too critical of it to reach a point in which I’ll get to see more than the botany sketches I’d glanced at when I first visited.

He clears his throat, shutting the book and setting it aside. “Since we’re taking a break, I’d like to try to gauge your heartbeat again.”

I stand, positioning myself how he’d had me standing earlier. He stands and slots himself into place with ease, one hand over my heart- and once again the other lands on my shoulder.

“Is- is there a reason-” I finally begin asking the question I’ve been thinking, though my voice waivers slightly as I do. “Uh- you need both hands for this?”

There’s a long silence, I know with certainty that he’s feeling my heartbeat kick up under his palm, a combination of worry from my boldness and fretting over the extra touch.

“Yes.” He finally responds, though something in his tone sounds- odd.

“What- what is it?”

“Uh- well… with- since your heart is on this side of your body,” he nods to where his hand rests on my chest, “I need to- it needs to be balanced… on the other side.”

I stare at him, calculating- “but doesn’t that- if my heart usually beats unevenly then, wouldn’t that throw it off?”

“I didn't realize you were a doctor.” Defensive.

“Sorry, you’re right.”

“Anyway it’s- it’s new science so it may not be sound… I don’t want to take risks, though, just in case.”

“Right- best not to, I suppose.” I turn my gaze over to the fire, avoiding looking at him and taking a deep breath. He’s not being entirely honest, something about the way he’s dealing with my question confirms it to me.

With that simple truth, however, I’m able to relax slightly. The doctor finally pulls away, writing numbers down in his book. “Well- seeing as your nerves have eased some, I suppose we can get you home.”

“This might surprise you, but this is my first time being an experiment, sorry that the experience involves being a little nervous.”

He takes the strip of cloth out of my hand, stepping behind me and drawing my hair back into his hands- this sends shivers down my spine as his fingertips brush against my neck. I hadn’t asked him to, but I don’t begrudge the action- it speaks to a level of consideration, a thread of kindness that runs through him.

“Would you like a braid?” He asks, ignoring my previous comment. “I know how to do a rather neat one.”

I chuckle, shrugging my shoulders. “If you would like to try, be my guest- I always thought it was too short for one.”

He sets to work, gently pulling my hair into a braid and then tying the end into a neat bow. When he’s finished he steps away, moving the braid to the side slightly. “It’s a little too short to see, maybe, but-” He reaches down and grabs my hand, placing it upon his handiwork. “There you go.”

His touch lingers for a moment, once again making me question the intentions behind it- wonder how much of this is my perception, if I’m imagining the extra milliseconds of time, if he’s always been this way and I’ve never noticed.

“It- feels nice. Where’d you learn to braid like that? Usually it’s a mess whenever I try.”

“It’s my job to be good with my hands.”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking- but learning to braid hair is far less the responsibility of the physician.”

“Well- I had a reason to, some time ago.”

“Oh? Family?” I step away, grabbing my shirt and slipping it on. Maybe I can finally learn a little more about him.

“No, nothing like that. I had a close friend who was very particular about his hair.”

“You did his hair for him?” Close friends, indeed.

“Are you ready?” He stands by the doorway, sliding his gloves back on. “I know I said we were taking a break but- I didn’t expect you to- since you’ve- since I’ve gotten what I need, we are free to go.”

Avoiding the issue. Alright, fine. “Yeah- let’s go.”

~~~

“I don’t think there’s really any way to avoid it, if I want to stay up-to-date with the most recent studies.”

I stare at the doctor, who’s got a knife in one hand and a woolen blanket in the other. “Isn’t this- isn’t it a little extreme?”

“No.” He spears the knife through the blanket, tearing a long strip off the end of it, several centimeters thick and much, much longer. “I don’t trust you.”

“Yeah but- I mean-” I swallow nervously, watching him set the knife aside and gesture for me to sit at the table.

“You don’t trust me?”

How am I to know if I do? He’s faceless, nameless, made up of patches of a vague and scandalous past. “Would it surprise you if I said I don’t? How would I trust a man who cannot trust me in turn?”

“You’ve given me very good reason not to.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Okay- that’s fair. Just- don’t let me fall off the table or anything.”

“You’re in very capable hands, I assure you.”

I’m almost more worried about that- the way he sends my heart racing at a simple touch, even the slightest brush against me can send my head reeling if it’s the right moment.

“Donny?”

“Sorry, right, table.” I make my way over, awkwardly sitting on the tabletop, swinging my legs as I wait for him.

“Alright- you’re clear on what the plan is, yes?”

I nod, watching him as he doubles the fabric over itself and tugs on it, testing the strength of it. He steps into my space, slotting in between my knees and peering up at me. “Alright then, here we go-”

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and relishing in the feeling of his arms resting against my shoulders as he ties the blindfold behind my head. My heart feels as if it’s going to pound out of my chest, not helped by the way he trails his hands back over my shoulders after he’s finished tying the blindfold. I swallow back the compulsory want for more.

A simple need, not a desire, to be the object of his attention.

“Alright- remember, don’t peek.”

I open my eyes beneath the blindfold, barely registering a flicker of light from a slight space between it and myself. Even if I were able to see more through it, the angle would have me gazing at the floor.

“I won’t.” I would.

I hear him take a breath in. “It’s time to begin, then.”

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 2

I sit on his bed, watching him as he fills out paperwork on his desk. I’ve finished eating already, even the second and third helping- at his insistence, ‘the least I could do as payment for your time’, as he said. 

He shuffles papers together and sighs, turning in his chair to observe me. “Alright, I suppose it’s time we get started.”

“What’s the first step?” Is he going to wear his mask the entire time? I’d hoped that maybe, since we aren’t around the sick, he’d take it off. I would like to see who's hiding behind it. It would be a wonderful story to be able to tell the other keepers. I suppose I’m not so lucky, though.

“I’m going to take some measurements and make notes about your general physique- then I’ll take a few pulse readings.” He shuffles through his supplies, producing a cloth measuring tape akin to that of a tailor. He stands and makes his way over, peering down at me for a moment. “I’d prefer to get accurate measurements-” He tugs gently at the cloth draped over my shoulders. “Right- sorry.” I pull it off over my head and he gives me a stiff nod. “Quite alright-” he takes hold of my arm, stretching it straight out and measuring from my shoulder to my wrist. He grabs his notebook and starts writing measurements down. “I apologize, this process may be timely. There’s a newer study, one that focuses on…” He pauses, struggling for the word as he measures wrist to fingertip. “The human body, I suppose.” “Oh? What do you mean?” “Well- the study of humors is widely accepted but- there’s a theory that perhaps by observing the body we can figure out how illness comes to be and why.” “Then why do you want to observe me? Wouldn’t it make more sense to do this to someone who’s sick?” “Well, if I can figure out why someone is sick, maybe I can figure out why someone is not sick.” “What’s wrong with the current method?” “It doesn’t make sense. If humors are truly the answer- why do others who seem completely in balance fall ill? There’s got to be another reason. I don’t believe in a divine being sending punishment- I don’t believe the stars control us so closely- could you please flex this arm? Thank you.” He wraps the measuring tape around my bicep and takes note before moving on to measure across my chest, then around my rib cage- wrapping his arms around me to pull the measuring tape into his other hand. It’s strange being this close to a plague doctor, even in the workplace we never seem to touch in any way. Though he’s still veiled in leather and cloth, it’s the closest I’ve ever managed to get to him. I try to glance a hint of his face behind the mask, peering into the round glass pieces- it’s far too dark to see anything behind them.

“How long do you think the research will take?” 

He doesn’t answer, turning and writing in the pages of his journal instead. “Would you stand please?” I give him a sidelong glance but follow his instructions, staying still as he measures my height- feeling a small spark of delight as he swears in French. Tall enough to astonish the good doctor.

“So I take it that your silence means it’s going to take a while?” He gestures for me to sit and slides off a glove, kneeling next to me and taking my wrist in his gloved hand. He uses the other to run his fingertips along the vein in my arm, palpating gently and then stilling on my wrist. 

“Good things do not get done quickly. Science takes time if it is to be done correctly.” He counts softly, then gently releases his grip. This, too, gets written down. “I don’t mind, I’m just curious.” He chuckles, I’d bet money that he’s smirking under that mask. “You certainly are. Lots of questions.” “Can you blame me? You’re an enigma.” “Enigma? I quite like that.” “Well, if you’re going to be doing experiments on me, I’d like to know things about you.” “This is not experimentation, simply observation.” “If you’re going to be observing me,” I correct myself pointedly, “then I’d like to know a little bit about the man behind the mask.” “And so I answered your questions, every one of them. Have I not?” “I- well… I guess so, yeah…” “Then I’m meeting the terms you’ve set forth, though you haven’t been upfront about such things from the start.”

I clear my throat, glancing away and staring into the fire. “I suppose.” “Eyes forward, please.” I’ve hardly shifted my gaze when he reaches up, holding my jaw with his gloved hand and placing his index and middle finger just under my jaw. “Double checking your pulse readings.” He explains, only after having made the movement. An eternity passes before he releases me once again, returning to his notebook. “So- is this it? Just being looked over like cattle?”

“Yes, essentially. I’d like to ask questions about general diet and habits.” “Meat and potatoes, mostly.” “Water or wine?” “Wine each meal.” “Very good.” He sets his notebook down, sitting back on his heels. “I suppose that’s all for tonight. I’d like to make drawings tomorrow, but for now- it’s late.” “You want to make drawings of me?” I ask, half amused, half embarrassed. “Of course. Studying the body is rather useless if I’m not recording my findings as accurately as possible.” I pull my shirt on, grinning down at him and offering a hand up. He hesitates before taking it in his gloved hand. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. I’ll be sure to be presentable.” He laughs softly. “No, come as you are. Don’t skew the results.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll make my way home.” “Would you like me to accompany you back?” I stare at him for a moment, slightly amused at the offer. “Whatever for?” He goes quiet. “I suppose you’re right. Have a restful night, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” “I’ll see you in the morning.” I start making my way back home, realizing slightly too late that perhaps I would’ve preferred the company. I’m not scared of anything, per say, it’s more of the fact that the chill seems to cut deeper in the silence. The wind howls through the marsh in the distance and it brings my mind to unpleasant thoughts, bringing uneasiness to my core. The silver of the moonlight is enough only to navigate, but the unlit houses seem to loom more imposingly as I make my way past them, the shadows shift and move when I’m not looking. Tomorrow night I think I will accept the offer, after all. “Yes, yes, I see you’ve got prominent muscles- please humor me in putting them away, for the sake of neutrality.” The doctor seems a little more frustrated than usual today- we’ve lost more people than… well, when do we ever wish to lose anyone? So when we got back to his dwelling at night, ate, and set to work, I did my best to humor his every request. Except when he says ‘pose’ he intends me to sit idly for hours. I move too much for his liking, as he tries to sketch as quickly as he can, he begs me time and time again to revert to the way I was sitting moments ago- if I get distracted by my stories and start talking with my hands he chastises me. After a while he places the sketchbook down with a hefty sigh. “Perhaps this isn’t the day for this kind of study.” “Oh- I’m sorry, I’m trying. It’s hard to stay still for so long.” “It’s not just you- I cannot get the lines right. I’ll have to try again another night. Everything must be just so.” “You’re after perfection, I can’t provide that, maybe you’d find a better subject more compelling-” “Nonsense, perfection is an illusion but you’re as close to it as one could find anyway. I’m simply suffering from fatigue.” “You’re saying you think I’m perfect?” Sometimes the mask is far more expressive than it should be, for instance, I can tell he’s giving me a glare that would wither me if I could see it. “A perfect riddle.” “What happens if you never find the answer you’re looking for?” “I’m not sure. I guess things keep going the way they are… dismal thought, let’s not dwell on it.” “You really think the answer to this illness is something as simple as the body itself?” “I think… I have a lot to learn. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for but I’m convinced this illness must be something physical. It manifests physically, it feels as if- when I see someone suffering from it- it’s as if the body itself is turning against its owner.”

“So if you figure out how they work maybe you can make them behave?” “Eh- I suppose, in a way. Maybe there will be a medicine that can tame the disease and it’s something you’re doing, eating, drinking… there’s so many variables.” “Maybe it’s good humors.” “Yes, I know.” He sounds more frustrated saying this. “They all tell you that, they all believe it. I’m tired of hearing it.” “But what if it’s the truth? Would you reject it because it’s not what you want?” “I’m very well versed in rejecting things that sound as if they’re children's tales.” I sigh, gesturing to his outfit. “What children would want this?”There’s a stillness that falls over the room, he looks down at the floor and we sit in silence for a moment. The fire crackles in its hearth, gently licking at the cast iron within, throwing its warm light around the room- throwing shadows that dance upon the walls.

“Perhaps it’s time to retire.” He finally states, dryly, quietly. “You- you didn’t even do the physical yet-” “You don’t believe in it.” “Well- just because I have my doubts, that doesn’t mean we give up. What if you prove me wrong?” “What if it hinges on you believing it can be done? Being unwilling to give up? When we don’t see results, do you abandon me?” “Abandon? No- no, of course not. I want a cure for this as badly as you do.” “Enough to fight for it?” “Certainly.” He spends a moment gazing down at his gloved hands, then heaves a heavy breath. “This is going to be a challenging journey. Let’s get your physical done and- then we should be done for the night. Try again with a fresh day, with fewer losses weighing on my mind.” “You know- you shouldn’t let that discourage you. You can’t do anything about them- not right now. But we can try harder, for the future. Don’t tell me I have to be fully committed if you’re going to fall apart because of the losses. Kindling, not water.” He clears his throat before standing and gathering the measuring tape. “That’s reasonable.” He grabs my arm and stretches it out to my side, taking the same measurements as yesterday. The way he does it today, though, seems slightly… slower. More careful, perhaps. I don’t say anything as he goes about his business, instructing with few words, moving me rather than telling me what to do. By the end of it I’m glad to be done, feeling a little like I’ve been inspected for auction. “Any changes?” I finally ask as he hands me my shirt back. He shakes his head. “Changes to diet? What did you eat?” “No changes, beef and potatoes, red wine.” “Do you particularly like that diet?” “Uh- it’s fine? It’s what I’ve always eaten.” “Hm. Alright. That’s all for tonight.” “Oh- okay. Well- I guess I’ll head out.” “Goodnight.” I hesitate, waiting for him to offer to walk me home like he did before. It seems a singular rejection is all he needed, he doesn’t offer again. It’s childish to let my hesitancy keep me here, it’s not as if it’s dangerous in reality. Yet I find myself lingering in the doorway, trying to think of an excuse to stay longer.

“You know- they say you left due to gambling debts.”

There’s a moment where I stand and curse myself for bringing it up, why can’t I just shut my mouth and go home?

“Do they?” It’s not a question as much as it’s a droll response to me, no tone indicating any sort of real reaction.

“Well- a lot of things get said, actually.”

“I’m aware.” He crosses his arms, staring me down. “Is there any particular reason you’re bringing this up? Are you curious which rumors are true?”

‘Which’ implies that some are, in fact, true. I hadn’t given much weight to them until just this moment- suddenly they all pique my interest.

“Yes. If- I mean, if we’re working together.” 

There’s a moment more of silence. “I have no gambling debts, nor do I come from a rich family. I’ve worked for everything I’ve ever owned and that hard work matters far too much for me to gamble it away.”

“And all the stuff about a mistress? Being married? Killing someone?” The questions escape before my judgement can tell me to stop. “Or having never married? Preferring the company of men?” There is a stifling silence before he chuckles. “I shouldn’t be surprised that people give space to these rumors- but it still catches me by surprise all the same.”

“So… are they true?”

“What do you think? I’m curious.”

“Well- I don’t know anything about you, really so… It’s hard to say. The most realistic may be that you had a mistress.”

“You think so? You flatter me. I’m not sure I possess such graces as to land me not only one, but two partners in life. I don’t possess the lack of scruples, however, to do such a thing.”

“So obviously I wouldn’t believe you’ve killed anyone, not on purpose anyway.”

He shakes his head. “I’m- I was good at what I did in my schooling. To tell you the truth, I didn’t have the time to set up my own practice before all of this happened. I don’t have much of a reputation, positive or otherwise.”

“So… that just leaves one final rumor…” I flush at the thought, turning my eyes away to focus on his desk rather than him.

“I suppose it does. Would that be a problem for you?”

“If- if you-” I clear my throat, shuffling slightly. “I guess it’s not my business.”

“And the rest of them were? Either way, I’m not sure I possess the social graces for such a thing as that, either. I mostly keep to myself and my sciences.”

“So most accurately- you’ve never married.”

“And don’t plan to. Now, sir, let me ask you- why did you volunteer for such a dangerous position?”

“Being a keeper?”

He nods at me, suddenly it feels as if his gaze is slightly too intense, like I can feel it from behind his mask.

“I guess I’ve just always wanted to do the right thing.”

“Even to die doing so, it seems.” He sounds slightly reproachful, like this is a negative thing.

“Clearly you don’t approve.”

“If I lose you, I lose any chance of finding a cure. Of course I don’t approve.”

“If I hadn’t done it, you’d never even know that I’m able to surround myself with the disease and survive.”

“A double-edged sword. I worry that with enough exposure, somehow you might find yourself falling ill anyway.”

“A risk I’d rather take, then.” I glance back outside at the fog, sighing. “Walk with me, we can discuss it further.”

“I see you’ve reconsidered the ‘walking by yourself’ stance you held last night.” He says, almost with a hint of teasing in his voice. I turn and step outside the door, avoiding looking over at him.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

[its-echo-song]

Childhood AU Prologue

Idk if you guys would want the first chapter to this, I'm considering publishing a lot of my wips that only have a chapter or two to maybe gain a little motivation to move them along.

Middle school sucks, especially when you’re moving to a crappy apartment in a new state because your dad died and your mom can’t pay the bills. I don’t hold it against her, obviously it’s not an easy time for either of us. She got offered a job here and she accepted, so now I’m the new kid showing up in the middle of the school year.

Which really means that school life hasn’t been easy so far. I’m a few weeks into it and I haven’t made any friends. I guess everyone already has their group, and I’m just here on the outside watching. It’s fine, meeting new people makes me nervous anyway, and I can always dig into a good book. It bothers me sometimes, like when I have nobody to eat with at lunch, but I’ve started practicing origami to keep my hands and mind busy. Mostly, though, I’m trying to fly under the radar. It’s much easier said than done, it feels like the spotlight is entirely on me at all times. Which is my problem right now. There are no empty tables today, and I’m standing with my lunchbox in my hands, a book, and nowhere to sit- I feel nauseous, like maybe I should just give up on lunch altogether. It’s not worth trying to sit with strangers, even if I have classes with them. I recognize a few kids, but they’re already with their friends and I’d be intruding. I sigh, glancing back towards the hallway. Maybe I just go sit somewhere quiet, where it’s not quite so overwhelming. I start heading that way, but a teacher stops me, telling me to stay in the lunchroom unless I need to go to the bathroom. I want to lie and say that I need to but at this point it would be obvious that I’m just trying to leave. “Do you want me to find you a seat?” She asks, looking out at the tables. “No! I mean- I’m okay.” She arches an eyebrow at me but returns to leaning against the door frame, watching the lunchroom. I try to get a little further from her sights, off toward a corner. Maybe I’ll just sit on the floor.

I look down at the shiny, cold, tile and sigh. It’s this or nothing, I guess. So I sit, back against the wall and with my legs crossed like a pretzel. I open my lunch and pull out the sandwich I’d made last night, taking a bite awkwardly. There’s a table of girls nearby, despite my trying to sit as far away from them as possible I’m still close enough to be noticed. One of the girls sneers at me, then says something to her friend on the other side of her, they burst into laughter. I feel my face flush hot instantly, I’m over exposed and they won’t stop looking over and laughing.

I throw my sandwich back in its bag, then into the lunchbox. I stand and start trying to put distance between us, clutching my lunchbox to my chest and walking briskly with my eyes fixed on the floor. I’m trying not to cry, the humiliation suffocating me like a thick cloud of hot steam. And then I run directly into someone, knocking his drink out of his hand. It splatters on the floor, splashing both of us in the soda that was within, it pools out of the can and he lets out a noise of frustration. “Dude!” My heart drops to the pit of my stomach and a rush of panic races through my body. I bend to try and pick it up quickly, to at least prevent the mess from getting bigger- apparently he had the same idea. Our heads smack together and he flinches back, putting a hand up on his forehead. “Fuck! Just- move.” I stumble back a few steps, he grabs the can and gives me a final look of annoyance. His friends are watching the spectacle from the table, exchanging questioning glances. “You okay?” One of them asks, peering at his forehead as he seats himself back at the table. “Yeah- just annoyed.” “He owes you another drink.” She replies, and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll just buy another one after school.” Another friend wrinkles her nose up at me. Leaning in and saying something to the group in a low voice so I can’t catch it. It processes a little too late that I’m just standing next to their table, listening to them. “I-I’m sorry-” The guy I originally ran into glances over and then turns away from me- I should leave. I do my best to keep my retreat at a dignified pace- trying not to look like I’m running away, despite the embarrassment that’s swallowing me whole. I’m starting to run out of corners of the lunch room to hide out in. I scan the room over again and accidentally make eye contact with my teacher. I give her a fake smile and a thumbs up, hoping she doesn’t see through it. I make my way to the corner and sit, focusing my attention down at my lap, trying to ignore the hot sting of tears, trying to let the humiliation die down.  I wish I could turn invisible. I wish nobody noticed me. It’s not like I’m trying to bother anyone, I just want to be left alone.

It’s that final thought that pulls the tears from my eyes, as I pull my knees up and huddle into myself to hide my face from the rest of the room. I hope they think I’m sleeping, or really anything but crying. I don’t want to be the weird kid who just sits by himself and cries- I know that’s who I am but I don’t want them thinking it.

I try to wipe my tears on my sleeves discreetly, sniffling and waiting for an eternity for the bell to ring so I can finally go to class. The best thing about assigned seating, I don’t have to play any social games, I just have a spot that’s mine every time.

“Are you okay?” I look up, a ginger-haired boy looks down at me with concern. This is exactly what I didn’t want.

I nod, trying to give him the same smile I’d given my teacher but he shakes his head.

“Why are you crying?” He sits down next to me- I scoot a little bit further from him.

“I’m not.” It’s obvious, I don’t know why I’m lying to him. Though, I guess the shock of being approached has completely stopped the crying, so maybe I’m not technically a liar. I rest my chin on my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs and watching the rest of the lunchroom.

“It’s okay. Sometimes I cry, too. School can be weird like that. There was one time where I exploded my pudding all inside my locker and I had to spend the entire lunch cleaning it up, it was all over everything! I was so upset, and I didn’t even get to eat lunch, so I was also hungry. You know what? I bet spiderman doesn’t spill his pudding everywhere. Do you like spiderman? He’s one of my favorites-”

I glance over at him, more confused now than put off by him. “What?”

“Oh, do you not know who spiderman is? That’s okay, I can explain! So there’s this comic book series-”

“No- I know who- how did you get spiderman from talking about pudding?”

“Uh- actually, I don’t really know. It just sorta popped into my head.”

I let out a small laugh. “For no reason?”

“Well, I guess I like him a lot?”

I stare at him for a moment and he smiles widely. “I’m Donny. Just so you don’t have to call me spiderman boy. That would be a lame nickname. But if you think of any good nicknames I need one! Donny is just the short version of my full name, so it’s not really an official nickname like if I called someone who was really good at homework ‘smart-guy’ or something, you know?”

Do I? He talks so fast- “Oh! Hey, we have the same shoes! Or, the same kind, they’re different colors.” He kicks his foot out and laughs. “But that doesn't matter! It’s like we were meant to be friends!”

Friends? He’s already made up his mind and I’ve hardly had to say anything at all. “Oh- I-I guess.”

“You know what we should do? We should switch shoe laces, so you’ll have a blue one and I’ll have a green one.”

“Uh- why would we do that?”

“For fun, why not? Wouldn’t it be cool?”

“Uh- sure, I guess.”

“Great!” He leans over and starts untying his shoe.

“Oh! Right now!? In the lunchroom?”

He freezes, looking over at me. “Yeah?”

“Won’t- won’t people think it’s weird?”

“I hope they do! Good! Weird is great!”

I laugh again, the self-assurance makes me feel a little bit better. “Well, alright then. Sure.”

I start pulling the laces off my shoe, he’d chosen his left so I choose my right, and we swap.

And just like that, I’ve found myself a best friend.