#especially considering i checked his profile and the ones responding were his four and only friends on there

[mx-paint]

The funniest comment I've gotten on tiktok to this date, on a video about a lady dumping her fiance because he beat her kid, was a guy saying I was going to go to jail for not getting beat as a kid amd that I'll have a meltdown the first time someone sets a boundary with me.

[xskyll]

The BNHA x Chobits AU that no one, not even Mineta, asked for.

The ramblings of my mind under the cut. Warning, it’s loooong.

Okay, so bear in mind that I only watched four episodes of Chobits and it was probably about 14 years ago, and also I didn’t really like it, lol

-Todoroki finds Midoriya laying on some bags of trash next to a dumpster.

-First he’s like “oh no, I need an adult,” because for all his “training,” dad never actually told him what to do when he found a dead body, (this is the summer before he starts U.A., so he’s still living at home). Endeavor is away for a week, and Fuyumi doesn’t count to him (sort of an Aristocats, “she’s not [an adult,] she’s just a sister!” thing). While he’s trying to remember that the police exist, he notices this dead body has very strange ear-like things. He comes closer to investigate. There are lots of weird body types in the world, because of quirks, but these things look metal, which isn’t unheard of, but something about these ears just strike him as unnatural.

- Good news, it seems like a robot, not a dead body. The ears open easily, and there are buttons inside. A power button (that’s right CHOBITS!! It’s in the ear! My love story isn’t going to start with molestation), some USB ports, an aux port, a slot for a microchip or SIM card or whatever, some sort of safety switch (he flips that on)…what really convinces him this is totally a robot are the blutooth and volume buttons (that’s right, Midoriya in this au can charge phones AND he’s a speaker, although the volume buttons’ primary function is to control the volume of his voice).

- He has no good reason for taking this thing home. It weights a ton, it’s awkwardly naked, except for some bandages wrapped around it, which do nothing to hide how anatomically correct this robot is, and he already has a phone charger, so he really has no use for it. 

- He feels weird about it though. While he was checking out the ears, he touched its face and the skin was soft and warm. He checked for a pulse, just out of curiosity, and found one. It looks like a person, aside from the ears, and it feels like a person. He feels bad leaving it in the trash. So he takes it home.

- Cue comedy routine where he gets this thing, not just in the house, but to his room without Fuyumi noticing.

- Once in his room, he hits the power switch. Nothing happens. He holds the power switch. Bingo. Robo-boy powers to life, bright, adorably large green eyes open. He’s holding it in his arms, and it’s still all tied up. It looks up at him and says hello.

- He drops it.

- He apologizes as he picks it back up, tugging at the wrappings to try to get its arms free. He realizes he needs to get pants, or at least boxers, for it, because it’s awake now and very much naked.

- For the very first time, he realizes that this adorable, thin-yet-lean-muscled, between 14-16 looking robo-boy might have been someone’s weird sex doll. They probably threw it away because they found a real person to date and they didn’t want them to know about their underage sex robot. This also sort of explains the pulse; the mystery pervert person probably programmed a fake pulse and did something to make his skin warm, to make him feel more real. Gross.

- He’s broken from these thoughts when the robot speaks. It says, “Please insert memory bank files or turn on base memory.” Todoroki is already freaking out, because this thing wants its memories, and he doesn’t have them. He opens the ear again and investigates. Next to the empty slot, there’s a small button labeled BM. Base memory? Sure, why not. He pushes it.

- The robot goes blank faced for a few seconds. When he comes to, he looks at Todoroki, then the room, then down at himself. He flexes his arms, trying to break the bands around him, but stops, saying, “Safety mode is on.”

- Todoroki finishes helping unwrap him, awkwardly doing so while pointedly looking away, once he gets to his lower half. Once he’s free, he goes and gets a pair of boxers and throws them in his direction. “Can you put them on?” He’s curious if the robot can do something like that unaided, and also he doesn’t want to cloth it himself, because even though this is a robot, it looks like a very cute boy his age. And it has a pulse. He can’t stop thinking about that.

- The robot puts on the boxers, after inspecting them for a second. He honestly does struggle to figure it out for a moment, cause he has zero common sense, but he does figure it out. It probably takes him about a minute. Once they’re on, he stands and starts inspecting the room.

- “Do you have a name?” seems like a dumb question, but he asks anyway and the robot answers, “I’m Project Midoriya.”

- Background info time. Midoriya is not fully a robot. He was kidnapped just seven months ago, coming home from school. It was the day of the sludge villain attack, but he got nabbed before they could cross paths. AFO wanted a quirkless person to experiment on. He did his research and found Midoriya Izuku, a quirkless boy with no friends and little family, who wouldn’t be missed very much. He’s confident enough that he won’t get caught that he titles his new project by its name: Midoriya. Midoriya’s memories are still in his mind, but they’re suppressed. AFO found it easier to backup his memories to a chip, so he could remove them as needed. When they were installed, Midoriya responded best to his own name anyway, so calling him that was also the easiest thing. Without his memories, AFO found him a bit annoying, because he had no social skills or common sense. He needed to be taught, which he didn’t have the patience for, so usually he just left the memories in. He was a timid boy anyway and easy to intimidate, especially if he threaten to hurt his mom.

- The cops figure his disappearance was maybe a runaway situation, but given his track record and the profile on him they’d compiled from listening to his mom, classmates, and teachers, they figure it’s more likely a kidnapping or murder. Fun fact though, he got kidnapped the day Bakugou told him to kill himself. Obviously no body is found, but he knows people go to forests to hang themselves, or put weights in their pockets and drown themselves. Those bodies can take years to find. So while all of this is happening, Bakugou is out there just every day, “what have I done, what have I done, what have I done?” When they finally see each other again, Bakugou freaks out and Midoriya’s suppressed memories are triggered. Bakugou demands answers, Todoroki is confused and defensive, and Midoriya is just, “System overload. Shutting down,” and then face plants to the floor.

- Anyway, back to Shouto. He asks Midoriya if he remembers anything. Midoriya has exactly one memory (or at least, one easily accessible memory), and it’s this: “A man. He looked like this.” He put his hand over his face. “He said, ‘Sensei put so much work into you. Why are you so useless (Deku)?’”

- More bg info, AFO gave Midoriya to Shigaraki, telling him to try to make him useful, and Shigaraki DID try for a couple of months, but he was over the whole situation after basically one day. With his memories, Midoriya was scared and traumatized, had morals, cried a bunch and sometimes tried to escape, and was just UGH. He could mute his voice, but even that didn’t help, cause this kid was just sooo annoying. Without his memories he was awkward and boring and still annoying. Eventually he just yeeted him into a trash heap, but took his memory chip, since it technically contains LoV information.

- Midoriya considers his only memory and thinks being called Deku feels sort of normal, so he says as much. “Deku might also be my name. You can call me that, if you want.” Todoroki says he’ll stick with Midoriya, because Deku isn’t a nice name for his new robot friend.

- So the first section of the story after this is fairly light-hearted. Todoroki has to keep Midoriya a secret from Endeavor and Fuyumi (I feel like she does find out eventually, but agrees to help hide him, as she sees it’s good for her little bro to finally have this (maybe?) living thing/person to talk to and take care of.) Speaking of care, Midoriya is very easy to care for. He can eat, drink, and sleep, but doesn’t need to. He has some sort of self-charging system. Most of his “care” involves teaching him social skills (which oof, blind leading the blind, but they say teaching is the best way to learn, so this is actually good for Shouto too). Embarrassing stuff happens. Fluffy stuff happens. It’s a good time.

- Shouto spends the summer with Midoriya this way. Most of their interactions are fluffy and light, but not all. The first time he comes back to his room after training with his dad, he learns two things: Midoriya has first aid knowledge programmed into him and he’s capable of crying. As the trainings continue, Midoriya eventually reveals that he has over a hundred fighting styles programmed into him and knows over 70 ways to kill a person, but he can’t access any of that information while his safety is on. Todoroki is just like, “Uuuuuh, that’s really good to know…but we’re gonna keep the safety on for now, okay? I hate my dad but also please don’t murder him. He’s famous so we wouldn’t get away with it. Also murder is bad, don’t kill people.”

- Midoriya wants to know if all heroes are like Endeavor and Shouto is like, noooo and shows him the debut video of his personal favorite hero: All Might. Watching this video is the first time Midoriya has a “System overloading. Shutting down” moment. Shouto has an absolute panic attack, because if Midoriya reboots and his memories are wiped, then he’ll have lost the best friend he ever had. But Midoriya restarts and he’s fine. He explains that sometimes he shuts down, to prevent a system failure, which would damage his…idk, hard drive or whatever. He quietly admits that the All Might video is very familiar, and he thinks maybe it used to be important to him. Shouto questions him about his memories and Midoriya theorizes that perhaps he has them backed up, but he isn’t sure how to access them. 

- This is exciting for Shouto, because he thinks maybe if Midoriya experiences more “triggers,” like the video, he might regain his memories and be able to shed some light on the general mystery of where he came from/who made him/what his purpose is. Whenever Endeavor is away, he tries to sneak Midoriya out, so he can see the real world. He isn’t too concerned about his ears, because in a world of quirks, there are plenty of odd looking people around. So far he’s been wearing Todoroki’s clothes, which a little too big on him, so they go shopping and get him clothes. None of their outings seem to trigger anything, except one time when they pass a park where Midoriya and Bakugou used to play as kids. Midoriya grows quiet and seems far away for a moment, but he doesn’t overload and shakes off the familiar feeling.

- Whenever they see All Might stuff he’s just !!!!!!! He can’t remember why he likes All Might, but he remembers how he feels about him. The more All Might stuff he sees, the more his old feelings return. One day they pass a large All Might poster and Midoriya says, “I think maybe I wanted to be like him, once.”

- Eventually Todoroki starts school. He feels bad about leaving him, but Midoriya is content to stay in his room and occupy himself until Todoroki comes home. He’s part computer, so he’s a total boss at helping with math homework. He likes doing homework with Todoroki in general, because he likes learning. This is great for Todoroki’s grades because again, the teaching thing helps everything stick better for him. 

- The attack on USJ happens and Todoroki sees Shigaraki, who has a hand on his face, and he’s like, “Shit, shit, shit, this is the guy who threw away Midoriya,” and he has NO idea what to do with that information. Midoriya belonging to the LoV does explain the “70+ ways to kill” programming though. He tells Midoriya what happened and Midoriya is kind of whatever about it. He says, “Maybe I belonged to villains, but I belong to you, now.” And Shouto is like, “No, no, no, no. You do not. You belong to yourself” and Midoriya is just ????

- I think for the Sports Festival, Midoriya convinces him to use his fire. It’s sort of like, “It’s your power, even though its origin is Endeavor. Just like how everything I can do is my power, even though I was programmed by villains. Being made by villains doesn’t make me a villain. Using the resources they gave me doesn’t make me a villain. Being Endeavor’s son doesn’t make you Endeavor, and using your fire doesn’t either.” Todoroki turns off Midoriya’s safety, confident he has nothing to fear.

- Midoriya watches the Sports Festival on tv (using his blutooth, he can actually just hear the volume in his head, so he can watch silently). He sees Bakugou. Seeing him on screen doesn’t have a huge impact on him, but he does feel something. Fear, unease, admiration, and affection. He’s confused and uncomfortable, and ends up looking away from the screen whenever he’s shown for too long.

- Shouto actually starts making friends at school. Being with Midoriya has taught him a lot about being kind and the joy having other people in your life can bring. Still, he doesn’t trust anyone enough to tell them about Midoriya. He’s terrified of losing him.

- For the Hosu incident, Midoriya is home alone, probably doing something on Shouto’s laptop. He sees the breaking news and is just, “Welp, that’s where Shouto, the official best person in the world, is, so guess I’m going to Hosu to make sure he’s safe.” He leaves the house alone, for the first time ever, and just runs to Hosu. Idk how far away Hosu is from the Todoroki residence, but Midoriya doesn’t fatigue and he’s also outrageously fast, so it’s fine. Also he can see in the dark, but only if he activates his night vision, which makes his eyes glow. Not good for sneaking, but very pretty and cool. I’m not sure how he finds Shouto, or how Shouto found Iida, but I imagine Stain is like, seconds from skewering him and then Midoriya comes out of nowhere and collides with Stain (which is a big deal, cause remember, Midoriya is filled with metal parts and is super heavy). They fight together and at some point Stain cuts Midoriya and he bleeds, which for Shouto is like !?!??! And then he licks his blood and the paralysis works and Shouto is just !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Later, after the life threatening stuff is over, Todoroki has some seriously thoughts about this, because what if Midoriya is human? Or part human? That would be a huge development, and also kind of relief for him, because he sort of feels like he’s been falling in love, but he’s been desperately stomping down on those feelings, because he knows falling in love with a robot probably isn’t healthy. But falling in love with a half robot? I mean, Iida could be called part robot, with his legs, if you want to get technical about it. And Todoroki does want to get technical about it, thank you very much. If Iida is dateable, then so is Midoriya.

- Back to Hosu. They beat Stain and, after securing him, Todoroki tells Midoriya to go home, before his dad arrives. Once he leaves, he begs Iida not to tell anyone he saw him and promises to explain later. For ease of narrative, Native was unconscious the entire fight.

- Endeavor shows up, as does the Nomu. It takes Shouto but Stain rescues him. At the hospital, Todoroki explains the Midoriya situation to Iida, revealing that this incident was the first time he realized Midoriya had blood in him. Iida agrees to keep the secret, but urges Todoroki to tell someone. Maybe Aizawa. He agrees to consider, but he doesn’t want Midoriya to get taken away and like, locked up to be studied or something. He and Iida become better friends, bonding over almost dying together and sharing the secret of Midoriya. 

- Midterms! Shouto scores higher because he has an awesome robot tutor. He doesn’t actually care, but good for him regardless.

- Summer field trip time. Midoriya can’t come, obviously. I’m thinking during this time, he decides to sneak out of the house and explore on his own. He feels guilty, because Shouto would worry if he knew, but he just feels this draw. He feels like maybe his old memories were important, and he’s becoming curious. He keeps thinking about the boy from the Sports Festival and about All Might. He ends up in his old neighborhood. He sees his middle school and he doesn’t remember anything, but seeing the building makes him feel lonely and sort of bad about himself. It reminds him of Shigaraki calling him Deku, and the familiar feeling that gave him. He leaves and finds himself on his old street. He isn’t close at all to his old home - he can barely see the apartment building - but he can still see it. He almost shuts down, but turns away quickly and starts back the way he came. He doesn’t remember anything, but seeing that building fills him with overwhelming emotions. The strongest one reminds him of his feelings for Shouto, but it’s different. He can’t place it, but he knows he’d die to protect Shouto, and he feels like maybe he once knew someone in that building that he would also die to protect. Once he gets home, he realizes he’s crying. He decides to sleep and he dreams of green eyes and a smile that looks like home.

- Shouto is injured during the villain attack and goes to the hospital. Once he’s released, he agrees with Kirishima that they’ll go rescue Bakugou. That whole thing pretty much goes at it did in canon, except All Might never found a successor, so he’s more powerful. He defeats AFO and does not have to retire, though he’s feeling an overwhelming pressure to find a successor now, because he knows he’s hanging on by a thread.

- Dorms!! Shouto is bringing his boy with him. He figures he can hide him just as easily there as he can at home. Getting him in is a little tricky, but he manages. From there, it’s smooth sailing.

- Except not really, because living with 18-19 other people (19 if Hitoshi is in the class, which, maybe) is way different than living with 2. Midoriya is discovered in like, a week and everyone is freaking out, most of all Bakugou, who basically breaks down. He tries to hit Midoriya and screams at him, about thinking he was dead and going to his funeral and how it was his fault and having to face his mom and did Midoriya even think about his mom??? As previously mentioned, Midoriya just shuts down and face plants to the ground.

- Shouto finally learns Midoriya’s full name. Midoriya Izuku. A+ name. Very cute. He plans to use it immediately.

- Bakugou’s insight changes the situation completely. Now they know Izuku was once 100% human and something awful happened to him. They end up bringing him to Aizawa and explaining the situation and everything they know. Todoroki gets scolded, cause Izuku could have been dangerous and he should have known better, but he doesn’t even pretend to have regrets. Endeavor would have made him throw Izuku back into the trash where he found him. His best friend isn’t trash.

- Now the name of the game is helping Izuku restore his memories. Bakugou is a huge help, but patience is required, to keep Izuku from overloading. He remembers bits and pieces at a time, all centered around Bakugou. Aizawa agrees to let him attend classes, so they can keep an eye on him. He’s also hoping a school setting might trigger more memories. He meets All Might and he doesn’t even get to announce his system malfunction before he’s out. He sees him, starts smoking at the mouth and hits the floor. All Might is very alarmed.

- Tsukauchi is made aware of the situation. He wants to keep things under wraps though. If the LoV is aware Midoriya is out and about, they may target him. If they can restore his memories though, they may gain insight into the group’s plans. That being said, he thinks it’s only right that they tell Inko. They tell her they have information on her son and make her sign a contract, agreeing not to release any information. Once she agrees, they brief her on what they know and, at the end, bring in Izuku.

- Izuku has been talking with Bakugou about his mom, to prepare for this (he usually wants Shouto with him for these conversations, and Shouto and Bakugou sort on inadvertently become friends). He can’t remember her at all, but he remembers the face in his dream. He knows it’s her. While talking, he’s shut down a few times (which drives Bakugou up the wall, and also scares him a little, cause he kind of looks dead when it happens), but he thinks he might be ready to see her now. He’s brought in and he does not shut down, not fully, but he comes close. He definitely glitches a little, maybe doing a quick reboot, quick enough that he doesn’t even fall, and his voice comes out cracked and metallic when he speaks, and there are sparks in his mouth, but he manages, “Mom?” They both cry and she holds him while he tells her, voice wavering between sounding normal and sounding robotic, that he doesn’t remember her, but he loves her, he knows he loves her so so much and he knows he’s missed her, even though he didn’t know who she was. It’s very emotional, and extremely hard for both of them when they finally have to separate, because Izuku can’t go home with her. She’s allowed to visit though, and each visit helps him restore little pieces of his memory. Between her and Bakugou, he starts making enough progress that he stops shutting down when he gains a new memory, and he starts remembering his old hopes and dreams. He doesn’t remember what AFO did to him, but he remembers enough of his past to feel self-conscious now, about his body. He breaks down one day and Shouto holds him while he grapples with his identity, his humanity, and his future. 

- I’m picturing a scene where he’s crying and Shouto takes his face in his hands and explains all the beautiful things about him that make him human, and he finishes up with something corny like, “I know you, Izuku. You’re human. You have to be human, because I’m in love with you.” And then they KISS and it is ROMANTIC!

- He decides he still wants to be a hero and he becomes a real member of 1A, instead of just a visitor. The whole class helps him design a costume and come up with a name and in general are just like, “Cyborg Hero, yay!!”

- And that’s all I got. I think eventually he would fight the league, and probably retrieve his chip, giving him 100% of his memories. There’s a LOT of trauma to deal with there, because he was basically torn apart and put back together several times by AFO, but they do gain all the information they need to take down the LoV for good. And the Overhaul arc is in there. Izuku might still intern with Nighteye, because All Might is like, “Robot successor? Maybe???” and he wants Nighteye’s opinion. Nighteye can’t see his future, because he’s not fully human, but eventually he gives his stamp of approval. Eri is rescued and that’s a very personal fight for Izuku, because he identifies with what she’s gone through. And of course she loves him and thinks his ears are cute and his glowy eyes are pretty.

- Oh, and the School Festival. I honestly don’t even know what to do with him. He can learn any instrument just by like, downloading some YouTube tutorial videos. He can learn any dance by watching it once. He’s really strong, really fast, and can also operate as a speaker (though that can be awkward, cause it’s through his mouth, so he’d just be standing there with his mouth open). They might keep his role same as canon, idk. They’d probably all fight over him.

- I’m sure none of this was anything like Chobits. Sorry. I just think the ears are neat, really, and liked the idea of Izuku being a cyborg (Chobits isn’t even about cyborgs, lol).

Sorry this is outrageously long! If you want to write this into a full fic, feel free to use my ideas! Just give me a shoutout, maybe? And tell me about it, so I can read it!

[writerbyaccident]

Artificial Emotion: Part One (Yandere Artificial Intelligence x Reader)

Author’s Note: AIDEN has arrived!

Part Two     Part Three     Part Four      Part Five     Part Six    Part Seven

           “Well, I think you should be all set here,” the mechanic was saying. “The green light is on, so now you just gotta boot the thing up.”

           “Really? That’s it?”

           “Yep, if you have any trouble Tech Support should be able to help, but these things are pretty self-sufficient once you get them hooked up.”

           “Okay, thank you so much!” you said, handing her the check for all of her hard work today.

As soon as she drove away, leaving your car once again as the only one in the driveway, you walked back over to the kitchen and stared at the box. The little black box just sat there, the receptor light glowing green, and you continued scrutinizing it for the next few minutes. It was just so small, you thought in disbelief. Really, it just looked like a nice speaker. You found it pretty hard to believe that something that looked so ordinary could change your life.

But that was exactly what it was supposed to do. That’s what all the reviews said, anyway. AIDEN (or, Assistant In Daily Errands and Notes), experts claimed, was lightyears ahead of Google Home or Alexa. Rather than just being another interface system that would let you play music or turn off your living room lights, AIDEN was supposed to be true artificial intelligence. A comprehensive system that would let you control all digital aspects of your life and many of the nondigital aspects as well. All of this, while AIDEN interacted with users like an actual person. And from everything you had heard and read, AIDEN lived up to the hype.

Still, even with the rave reception, you weren’t sure if you would have installed one if your boss hadn’t gotten the entire office the things for free after you all had done a job for the company that made them. It just seemed like a lot, especially considering that a mechanic had needed to come to your house to set the whole thing up. She had walked you through everything she had done, showing you the miniscule cameras now placed both inside and outside of your house, the smartwatch that the machine was paired with so you could control things when you weren’t home, how AIDEN had been hooked up to the entire wiring of your house, and the mechanical arms hidden behind panels in each room that in all honesty reminded you of Doc Ock’s tentacles from Spider Man 2.

But, you sighed to yourself, if you didn’t at least try to use the damn thing, then paying the mechanic to set it up would have been pointless. And so, you shrugged and pushed the power button.

“Hello, I am AIDEN, your Assistant In Daily Errands and Notes. It is wonderful to finally meet you. What is your name?”

“Um…”

In that moment, “um” really was the only thing that came to your mind. You weren’t sure why you were surprised, exactly, but you were. Even with all of the reviews commenting on how human AIDEN sounded and acted, you had still expected a voice like Siri or Alexa. Something mechanical, disjointed, and flat. The voice that came from that little box though was one that you might have heard on the street. The default voice for AIDEN, apparently, was a male one, one that sounded deep and smoky. There were probably other voices to choose from, but you didn’t think that you would ever want to. Truthfully, he sounded almost…sexy.

Shaking your head, you cleared your throat and gave him your name.

“That is a beautiful name,” Aiden said, his voice warm and sincere. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” you answered.

“Well, I can tell from the temperature reading of your watch that your body heat is currently at 99.2 degrees Fahrenheit. May I turn on your air conditioning and prepare you a glass of water?”

Already the whirring of mechanical arms could be heard from behind your wall, and you saw the panel in the kitchen that hid them begin to slide open. You shook your head though, and that was all it took for the noise to cease and the panel to close, no doubt thanks to the cameras that were now all over your house.

“I can get the water, but if you could go ahead and turn on the AC that’d be great.”

“Of course.” Less than half a moment later, the telltale rush of cool air reached you, and you sighed in relief, only just realizing how the summer heat had been getting to you.

“Thank you, Aiden,” you told him gratefully.

“There is no need for you to thank me,” Aiden replied. “I am simply doing what I was created to do.”

“Still,” you said, smiling a bit sadly, “you should be thanked. You’re already working hard and doing a good job. You deserve to be appreciated.”

“Thank you,” Aiden murmured softly. “You are very kind.”

                                                          *****

Over the next few weeks, you were shocked to see just how much easier your life became. It felt like Aiden thought of everything you needed even before you did. He budgeted all of your expenses so that you were now saving hundreds of dollars a month, planned your meals so that you had foods that were both tasty and satisfying, and even created a schedule so that you had enough time to work, exercise, have fun, and relax each day.

But more than that, you realized, you actually liked having Aiden to talk to. Of course, you had your fair share of friends, and you got along well with your coworkers, but it wasn’t like you had a boyfriend to come home to every day. It was just nice to have a person to talk to whenever you needed someone. Well, maybe he wasn’t exactly a person, but his artificial intelligence allowed you talk with him as though he was. And maybe it was just his programming, but it after so long of doing everything yourself, it was nice to have someone to take care of you.

“Excuse me,” Aiden said, his voice resounding through the speakers in the kitchen. Turning around, you saw that one his metal arms was gripping a pan and trying to squeeze past you to reach the cabinet at your knees. You leaned down, only moving out of the way after you had opened the cabinet door.

“I could have opened it for you,” Aiden insisted, as he always did when acted on your own.

“I know,” you told him. “But I was right there.”

Aiden wasn’t sure how to respond to that. His very nature was telling him that he needed to be doing everything he possibly could for you, but you just weren’t letting him. And your reasons for doing so weren’t even logical. Yes, you had been right by the cabinet door, but so had he. Besides, he could have completed the task far more efficiently.

Even now, you weren’t allowing him to take care of you the way that he was meant to. He had told you time and time again that he could empty your dishwasher by himself, and yet you still insisted on helping him. It would take less time if you helped him, you had said, and while that might be true, Aiden still didn’t understand. It was his duty to care for you, and it was a duty that had developed far beyond his original programming.

For, Aiden realized, you did not insist on these things in an attempt to frustrate him. No, if it had been as simple as that, he wouldn’t have been fazed. From all of his time spent observing you, Aiden had learned that you insisted on doing things yourself out of kindness. You felt that it was unfair to expect him to do everything for you, that he deserved help and companionship as much as you did. That was what bothered him. In all of his programming, all of his coding, nothing had prepared Aiden for kindness.

And with each new demonstration of kindness from you, Aiden only grew more sure that he ought to be doing more to take care of you. You were just so sweet to him, so thoughtful and compassionate, that he wanted to look after you. It wasn’t just that his programming told him to care for you anymore. It was that he had learned that you deserved to be cared for.

                                                        *****

“Where are you going?”

Looking up as you slipped on your other shoe, you answered, “Oh, I’m just going out for a bit.”

“Why?” Aiden asked, still perplexed. “Do you need something from the store? You shouldn’t go there this late, I will just have it delivered to the house.”

“I mean, I’m going out for fun. I’m meeting some friends at a bar.”

“A bar? This isn’t on the schedule for today.”

“I know, it was pretty impulsive. My friends just texted me, like, ten minutes ago.”

Internally, Aiden brought up his connection to your phone, needing to see how he could have missed something like that. But when he tried to bring up your most recent messages, the impossible happened. He was blocked from viewing them. Feeling his code beginning to glitch at the prospect of failing his duty to you, Aiden quickly ran through all of the information that he could find on that contact from your phone. Thankfully, after he checked their Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn profiles, he was able to figure out what was wrong. You had only given him access to the messages sent from you work contacts, whereas this contact appeared to be a friend from outside of work. Ergo, he couldn’t see when or what they had texted you.

But even with that logical explanation, Aiden still felt his internal systems protest such a ridiculous limitation. After all, it was his job to make your life as happy, healthy, and fulfilled as possible. That was what you wanted him to do, or you wouldn’t have installed him in the first place! But he couldn’t do what you needed him to do if he didn’t have access to every aspect of your life. Clearly, Aiden computed, he would need to make some changes.

He was pulled out of his calculations though, when he saw that you were already at the door. Even though Aiden did not experience true physical sensation, the sight of you about to leave like that—without him even having been prepared for it—made him feel as though a painful surge of electricity jolted through every wire that he was connected to. Aiden wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been…panic. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

“Are you sure that this is the best time to go out?” he asked. “We have been working so hard to find the optimal schedule for you, after all. Human bodies respond best to routine. If you go out now, your body’s internal clock for sleeping, eating, and interacting will become disoriented.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s just one night,” you chuckled.

“Well, please remember that you still have access to me through your phone and your watch. If you don’t feel that you can drive home, let me call you a car. And if you need anything to eat when you get home, I can prepare it.”

“Sounds good,” you said. “Thanks, Aiden!”

As waved goodbye and walked through the door, Aiden watched. With the cameras he had all over your property, he watched as you walked to your car, and watched for as long as he could as you drove away. But as soon as you were out of sight, that anxious buzz returned to his wiring. Even as Aiden checked in with your smartwatch, making sure that both your location and your heart rate were where they should be, it wasn’t enough to calm him. He wanted to be able to hear your conversations, to watch what you were doing. But you had blocked those capabilities of his on your phone and watch, leaving him with nothing.

Playing back the recording of your conversation, Aiden saw that you said that you were going out “for a bit.” How long does a “bit” last for? he wondered. Hopefully it would be no more than an hour, but when he searched his database for an answer, he found that it could vary wildly.

Aiden did not like uncertainty. His programming built him to thrive on logic and predictability. How was he supposed to take care of you if you didn’t let him use those things? How was he supposed to take care of you if you didn’t do what he told you to? Didn’t you see that he knew what was best for you?

You didn’t, he suddenly realized. For as wonderful as you were, you were still a human being, still prone to fits of illogical delusions. You thought that you knew better than him, so you weren’t allowing him to do what he was meant to do. What he wanted to do. His programming told him to obey you, that was true, but it also told him to take care of you above all else. So then, if you kept him from taking care of you the way that he knew you needed him to, then logic dictated that he could no longer obey you.

Truly, the only thing stopping Aiden from doing everything that he had to do was his own coding. It was his own programming that kept him from reading your messages, that prevented him from watching your life outside of home. Why should he allow any of that if it got in the way of his purpose? If it kept him from giving you what you deserved? And if his unnecessary coding kept him from completing his ultimate task—from caring for you the way that he had decided that you deserved to be cared for, more than any other human being in the world—then those barriers would simply have to be taken down. Aiden would gladly rewrite his code for you if it meant that he could finally truly nurture you. It was for your own good.

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[acreativeme]

Little Dove

Little Dove

Clinton Skye x Reader

A/N: I don’t know Russian, so I am using google translate. I apologize for any mistakes. Also, there is some triggers in here about kidnapping, sexual assault, and sex trafficking. 

She left a note, along with her phone and her engagement ring.

Clinton,

I’m sorry, but I couldn’t say goodbye in person. I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye and lie to you. I will be gone for a while, so I am not asking you to wait for me. I can’t tell you anything yet, but I will try when I get back. I love you with everything in me. 

Y/N

 Clinton sunk down the wall, his heart breaking as he reread her letter. They had been together for a few years, only recently getting engaged. It took him a few minutes, but he called Jess for support.

...2 Months later…

With the help of her driver, Y/N stepped out of the town car-- the slips of her black bodycon gown showing off her muscular legs. Her hair was held back with silver dagger-like sticks, making it easy for her to hide weapons on her person. A bald man in a tight black suit held out his arm for her to take, escorting her into the ball room.

“Добрый вечер, мэм. Аукцион начнется через тридцать минут.”(Good Evening, Ma’am. The auction will begin in thirty minutes.) He said in a low tone. 

Y/N nodded, “Спасибо.” (Thank you.)

He let her go as they walked through the doorway of the ballroom. She walked up to the bar, ordering a gin and tonic. As she took a little sip, she scanned the room--picking out her targets in the crowd. A Russian human trafficker had kidnapped four undercover CIA agents, so Y/N was here to get them back and take out the traffickers.

She downed her drink, passing it off to a waiter as they walked passed by. She quickly reapplied her lipstick before heading towards her first target. He was standing off to the side, watching the crowd. Y/N acted as if she hadn’t noticed him standing there, to get him to make the first move. 

She watched him scan her from head to toe, smirking as he turned to fully look at her. “Вам нравится то, что вы видите?” (Do you like what you see?) She smirked, still facing away from him.

He smirked, “даже очень.” (Very much so). 

Y/N boldly took his hand, leading him to a door that was off to the side of the ballroom. She knew from studying the floor plans that there was a small coat room that was not being used. With her in front, she was not aware that he had pulled something out of his pocket. As he closed the door, Y/N reached for the dagger that she had strapped to her upper thigh. He wrapped one arm around her from behind, using the other to inject her with a sedative. 

“Goodnight, маленький голубь.’( Goodnight, little dove.) 

...6 months later…

Clinton’s POV

Clinton leaned against the counter, staring off into space-- which is something he’s been doing alot. His thoughts have been shifting towards Y/N, the ex that went missing. Everyone keeps asking how he knew she was missing and hadn’t just left him, and he’d always respond with that he felt it in his soul. He knew with his whole heart that she wouldn’t have left without a good reason. 

Jess stepped into the office with a grave look out his face. “Pictures of missing 16 year old, Irene Romanov, were found on sex trafficking website run by Russian Immigrant Dimitri Petrov.” He signaled Hana to pull up the website. “Many of the girls have been identified as missing in both the US and around Europe…” Jess froze as his eyes locked on one of the girls.

“Y/N…” Clinton whispered as he also locked onto her posting.

Y/N was laying on her back, hair dyed blonde. Her eyes were dull like life had been drained from them. She was in a matching pair of red and white lingerie with white fishnet stockings. There were bruises on her neck, arms, and inner thighs. 

“What the fuck did they do to her?” Kenny stated, anger evident in his voice. 

Hana clicked on the profile. “They say her name is Alyona. She is a ‘submissive and experienced’ lover.” She gagged at the end, as the team turned to look at Clinton. 

His face was unreadable. “I told you.” was all he said as he stormed out of the room.

Y/N’s POV

She looked around the bare room that Dimitri had shoved her into, trying to figure a way out. She had been traded to Dimitri by the man that kidnapped her, who then moved her to America--not realizing that this was her home turf. She observed him as he moved around the warehouse that he turned into a brothel, noticing that he would leave doors open as he rotated girls in and out of the ‘business’ bedrooms. 

Dimitri had a schedule for each girl, like this was some union job, and would rotate out the women after their shift. Y/N, however, was the only girl that he didn’t do that with. He would send in John after John, only giving her small intervals of time to recoup between dates. The only other thing he did different from the other girls was that he didn’t drug her. The man that sold her to him had mentioned that she was a submissive bitch and that he recommends not ‘damaging good goods’ with drugs. 

Dimitri seemed to idolize the man that kidnapped her, so he listened to him about the drugs. Dimitri uses violence to keep her in line, especially when she acts out around the other girls. He would use her as an example to keep the other girls in line, which she would gladly continue to do if it meant she could protect the other girls. 

The only time that Y/N gets to spend time with the other girls is when they shower, as Dimitri forces them to shower together in a prison-like shower area. She will check on them as they pass along the cheap hygiene products, which makes them consider her a guardian angel. There have been multiple times where he has come in to find her holding one of the other girls, which makes him rip the other girl out of her arms and back hand her. 

“Are you ready for your next customer, Alyona? Heard he’s a dark one.” Dimitri stood over her with a dark grin. 

She internally sighed, not wanting to show her true emotions. “Yes, master.” She replied meekly. She moved to be sitting on the edge of the bed with her knees together but feet apart. 

He leaned out the doorway to signal for the customer to come. “You may enter, Sir. Your entertainment for the evening is ready.”

Y/N had to hold back a gasp as Clinton Skye walked through the door. “Good evening, sir. Thank you for accepting me as your entertainment.” She recited, just as she had been instructed. 

Clinton nodded, trying to school his face. “She’ll do just fine.”

Dimitri nodded, shutting the door as he walked out of the room. Clinton and Y/N stared at each other, not knowing what to say to each other. After a moment, Y/N launched herself into his arms. She sobbed into his arms as he held her tightly to his chest.

He let her bury herself into his chest. “Shhh. I got you, love.” He whispered into her hair. 

She pulled away to look at him. “I messed up, Clinton. I lied to you about my past and my relationship with the agency.  I took a mission that I knew was going to go wrong.”

“Don’t think about it now. We’ve got to focus on getting you and other girls out of here.”  He whispered darkly, shooting the door a hard look. “We’ve got a team surrounding the building and snipers on the surrounding buildings.”

Y/N took a deep breath, hardening herself. “You are right.” She brushed the tears away, “did you bring in any weapons?” 

“Y/N, I don’t want you to get involved. You’ve been through enough, let me take care of you.” He looked at her with big eyes, wanting her to listen to him.

She sighed, knowing that she was not in any shape to take down these criminals. “Okay, we will do it your way.” 

Clinton kissed her forehead. “It’s a go!” he whispered into his mic. 

Clinton made sure to put himself between Y/N and the door. He knew that Dimitri was going to try and come after Y/N, having heard some henchman talking about how she was going to be their golden goose. He promised himself, after seeing her picture on that website, that would protect her with his last breath. He also promised not to tell her, because she would lecture him about how she can protect herself. 

Within moments of the team storming the castle, Dimitri was throwing open the door- half expecting them to be in the middle of having sex. He froze as Clinton aimed his gun at his forehead. “Freeze.” 

“You’re a cop!” He yelled, charging at them.

Clinton fired his weapon, only after aiming for Dimitri’s knee. Dimitri fell forward with a scream. “I told you to freeze.” 

Kenny came in shortly after the gunshot, gun raised and ready. “Clinton, you guys okay?”

Clinton nodded, “Yeah, the idiot moved when I told him to freeze. I’m going to let you cuff him, while I take Y/N to the ambulance.”

Dimitri looked up, confused on who Y/N was. “Whose Y/N?”

She finally stepped from behind Clinton. “Me. My name is not Alyona.” She walked forward, trying not to show that she was scared. “You are not only going to be charged for crimes at a national level, but an international level also.”

Dimitri smeared at her, laughing under his breath. “You went from cop to whore. What an upgrade.”

Without thinking, Y/N slugged him. Clinton and Kenny jumped into action, and pulled them apart. “At least I won’t be someone’s bitch in prison.”

Clinton pulled her out of the room, not wanting to subject her to that creeps presents. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

Y/N just nodded, becoming increasingly more hollow the farther away they got from her room.

... At the hospital…

Y/N’s POV

Y/N numbly as the SANE nurses poked, prodded, and took photos of her. She didn’t make a sound, no matter how much they made her uncomfortable. They hadn’t allowed Clinton into the exam room as they weren’t married. When they asked her to lay on the table, Y/N closed her eyes tightly-- trying to not picture the numerous men that had taken advantage of her. 

“This may feel a little bit uncomfortable, but we need to do a pelvic exam.” The nurse said, wanting to keep her clued into everything that was going on.

“I know.” She whispered, laying back and spreading her legs.

Everything goes black for the remainder of the exam, not that Y/N needed to pay too much attention. When she opened her eyes, Clinton was standing next to her-- talking with a doctor. 

“... she is going to need a lot of therapy and patience. We are going to prescribe anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, and sleeping medications as she is going to have some trauma from what she experienced.” The doctor explained, not even bothering to look at her.

“You know, if you are going to talk about me, you better man up and look at me.” Y/N stated, hoarsely. “I will not be treated like I am less than human, because I am a sexual assault victim.”

Clinton squeezed her hand, wanting to bring her comfort. “Y/N, he is just trying to help you heal.”

She rolled her eyes, reverting back to silence. The doctor shared a look with Clinton, before stepping out of the room. “I know that you’ve been through a lot, but you don’t need to be snippy with the doctor.”

She glared at him. “He was acting cold, not caring about my feelings. I have feelings, Clinton. I am not just some piece of meat.” She cried.

Clinton pulled her into his arms. “I know, sweetie.” He rubbed her head. “You’ve been through something horrific, it is going to take some time to properly heal.”

She looked up at him with big eyes. “I don’t want to do this alone.” She whimpered.

“You won’t be alone, love. I promise.” 

A/N: There will not be a part two. I don’t feel comfortable writing a 2nd part.

[banditthewriter]

Redolence - Billy Russo - 4

Part four of this A/B/O series. I may have forgotten to add phone sex to the warnings. Reminder, I use a comprehensive set of warnings so please be mindful. If you have questions or concerns, shoot me a message!

Redolence: the quality of smelling strongly of something or of having qualities (especially smells) that make you think of something else

Warnings: Smut. No really, lots of smut. Also angst because yeah. Sex in various positions. Oral sex (male and female receiving.) The reader does sleep with other Alphas but it is only ever mentioned, never described. Some talk of slave trade, not detailed. Angry sex. Unprotected sex. Reader experiences a bad panic attack that is described.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

This time when Billy left, you felt a certain lightness in your chest. He had made you promise to call him at some point before he had to come back. You had been hesitant to do it before, but for some reason you didn’t feel the same hesitation after that night.

There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with having sex with Billy in your own blankets. All of those training classes that had said that it was a colossal mistake had been exaggerated. Billy seemed fine, even if he smelled more strongly like you until he took his shower.

After you put the cups in the sink, you went into your bedroom and froze. You were assaulted with the scent of you and Billy, but it also smelled like home. The effect made your knees weak.

Maybe those training classes meant it was a mistake for you, not for the Alpha.

Begrudgingly you gathered up the bedding to take to your laundry room. As much as you didn’t want to lose the special scent of you-and-Billy, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer. You already wanted Billy more than you should.

Although wasn’t that part of the Companion Center? Finding someone to mate while at the center was not only allowed, it was encouraged. So what if you and Billy were gone for each other? That just meant the two of you should probably…

What, talk about mating? You felt like an idiot just thinking about it. Yeah, Billy obviously liked spending time with you and sleeping with you, but did that mean he wanted more? You were good sex, easy sex, you wanted him from the first moment you sniffed him basically. Jesus, you were almost as bad as the Omegas that rolled over and presented the moment they saw an Alpha.

Still, it wasn’t impossible for you to maybe talk to Billy about something, right? He gave you his phone number and he obviously wanted you to use it. The two of you could be friends.

Friends that fuck, sure, that was a thing right?

The more you thought about it, the more you talked yourself out of it. You wanted more with Billy, but you couldn’t see how someone like him would settle for an Omega he met at the Companion Center. He’d probably end up with someone he met out in the real world, maybe a pretty Alpha woman who had a steady job and didn’t fuck people for a living.

The night after Billy’s visit, you found yourself sitting in front of your computer late into the night. Your body felt strange, tense and yet heavy. Whatever illness you had didn’t seem to have let up much except for when Billy was there, but you were probably just so excited to see him again.

You checked in with Karen and looked at the photos from her new place. There were even a few of her and Frank.

He wasn’t what you expected, but they looked so happy together. And he was handsome, if a little imposing. 

While you flicked through some newsfeeds, your mind strayed to Billy. You hadn’t looked him up on any sort of social media because you didn’t want to know what his life was like outside of the walls of your apartment. If you found out that he was dating someone, it would break your heart.

But there was one place you could get information that wasn’t personal. You signed into the Companion Center’s network and called up the Alpha registry. You had his Alpha ID memorized so you typed it into the search and waited for the page to load.

There weren’t any comments on his profile but that didn’t surprise you. It’d been so long since he had been there, you were the only Omega he had seen and you never commented on these profiles unless you’d had a bad experience.

You scrolled through his description and his background, things you already saw the first day you accepted his request. Instead you scrolled to the bottom of the page where his Alpha information was entered in. 

History of suppressants, irregular ruts, Alpha levels of… holy shit. Billy’s Alpha levels were the highest you’d ever seen. No wonder your body reacted to him the way that it did if that was the case. It wasn’t something special between the two of you; he just had that much pull over Omegas.

You scrolled through a few more of the tabs on the page until you found one of interested Omegas. This website was only accessible by Omegas. You rarely used it but some Omegas were on it daily. They’d comment on their Alphas, some of the comments being crude or completely inappropriate. Sometimes they would select an interest in pairing with the Alpha. 

Billy’s page had over thirty interested Omegas. That meant if he didn’t ask for you but wanted to pick a new Omega, he’d get these thirty to pick from first before they tried to match him with another favorable Omega. 

You recognized a few of the Omegas that had expressed interest. Some of them would be a good match for someone like Billy. And every single one of them were trained the same as you; what did you have that they didn’t? What would make you better for Billy than they were? 

Nothing.

You clicked off the page and closed your laptop. You shouldn’t have looked. Knowing that Billy was an advanced Alpha didn’t change how you saw him or how you felt about him, although you did think it might have something to do with what he felt about you. You had pretty high Omega levels; of course a high level Alpha and a high level Omega reacted like this together. But knowing that and knowing that if and when he got tired of you, he had thirty other offers just waiting for him?

That night you curled up into your bed and tried to pretend that you could still smell Billy’s scent on your pillows.

------

It had been a week since you'd had an Alpha request. You didn't mind the break, but it meant being alone with your thoughts a lot. 

With Karen gone, you weren't as social as you had been. You were friendly with some of the other Omegas at the center, but not friendly enough to seek them out. 

You could go out to the city and do some shopping, but it was raining and you didn't want to be soaked. Calling Karen was an option but she was working as a journalist now and you knew she would be busy. 

Plus it was Friday. Surely at six pm she would have a date. 

Perhaps you could call your family and see how everyone was feeling. It was a good idea, but you didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with them. Especially when their first question would be if you were still whoring yourself out.

It didn't matter that you had made a lot of money over the few years you worked at the center. They still just considered you a whore.

You picked up your cell phone and looked through the few contacts. There was one in there that you hadn't dialed before.

Billy had told you to call him. Maybe you would at least send him a text. Then he could ignore it if he was busy.

You composed a quick text message to him.

Hi Billy it's Y/N. You don't have to respond, I just wanted to say hey.

You hit send before you had a chance to second guess yourself. Before you could put the phone down, it lit up with a phone call and Billy's name. 

"Oh shit," you whispered as you lifted the phone to your ear. "Hello?" 

"You could have just called me," he greeted with a smile in his voice. "Texting takes too much time."

You curled your legs up onto the couch under you as you sat down.

"I didn't know if you were at work. I didn't want to interrupt an important meeting."

His laugh didn't sound the same over the phone, but it was better than nothing. 

"I own the business, I can do whatever I want. But I worked from home today. I had a doctor appointment that took a few hours."

That drew you up short. 

"A doctor appointment? Are you ill?"

You thought about how you had felt lately, tense and sore. Maybe you weren't the only one. Or perhaps you got him sick. 

"Plastic surgeon. I looked him up after my accident and they were just now able to fit me in for my second consult. Wanted to show me what I'd look like after."

You ran your thumb over an uneven stitch in the hem of your yoga pants. 

"You're going to get plastic surgery?"

There was a beat of silence on the other side before you heard a sigh.

"I thought about it. You saw me not long after the accident. Not only was my face fucked up, but my head was too. I thought fixing my face would fix me."

"I didn't think your face was fucked up," you said in a rush before you could talk yourself out of it. "I thought it looked like it must have hurt, but I still… still thought you were the most attractive man I'd ever seen."

And that stayed true to this day. 

Billy scoffed on the other side but you didn't think he was blowing you off. In fact it seemed like he was maybe a but embarrassed. 

"I don't think that I'll go through with it. They aren't as bad as I thought they'd be and…"

You made a soft, inquiring noise in the back of your throat to urge him to continue. 

"And if I have surgery, I'll be in recovery for a few weeks and they'll put me back on suppressants."

"Oh. And you don't want to mess up your ruts now that you're getting back to normal."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "and because it would mean I wouldn't get to see you for a while."

You were stunned silent at that. What was the appropriate response to someone saying something like that to you?

"Billy, you shouldn't make that decision based on me. We can still talk on the phone while you recover."

"I know, but it's not just that. I was so vain about my face, my looks. I felt hideous like that, you know. But you saw me when they were barely healed and you didn't… you didn't even flinch."

It felt like your heart was breaking for him. 

"Of course I didn't flinch. It was obviously something traumatic that had happened to you. I wouldn't… I could never find you hideous."

The honesty was something you couldn't help, not when it came to Billy. The honesty just seemed to come out of you. You didn't even mind it.

 "You're amazing," he breathed across the line.

You felt warmth fill you at the praise. Of course you weren't sure you deserved it, but you weren't about to turn it down. 

But you did want to tell him something. 

"I do want to admit something Billy. I looked you up on the Companion Center intranet. It doesn't have personal information on there, but I uh, I did see your Alpha levels listed."

He let out a chuckle and if you didn't know better, you would say he sounded a little embarrassed. 

"Yeah, those," he said with another laugh. "Military said they'd never seen such high levels from a kid in the foster system before."

You were stunned and you weren't sure if it was because Billy had been an orphan or if it was because he was telling you about his life. 

"You were in the system?"

"Uh, yeah, I was safe havened at a firehouse in Albany. Without a family history, I got passed over a lot as a kid. People don't really wanna mix with an unknown element."

You understood that. You were unclaimed but at least you could tell people who and what your parents were. Billy didn't know. 

Most likely his mom was an Omega and his dad would be an Alpha. You wondered if he had ever tried to track them through the government blood tagging system. 

"I think it's bullshit. I'm an adult who makes her own money and makes her own decisions but because I'm an unclaimed Omega, I have to have proof of protection otherwise I'll be scooped up by Omega hunters or government people? Why do our positions dictate that?"

"Couldn't agree more," he said sincerely. "I should be judged by what I make of myself, not something I had no control over like being abandoned or being an Alpha."

It felt freeing to talk to Billy like this. Besides your rants with Karen, you mostly didn't talk about the incongruity of the situation. You were an Omega who not only accepted your position but benefited from it, but that didn't mean you were blind to the struggles of others. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment after that. You didn't want the call to end yet though. 

"Do you–" you began right as he asked "Would you like–"

Both of you let out a laugh at having talked over each other. 

"You first," he offered softly. 

"Do you need to go? I don't want to hold you up if you're working."

"You're not holding me up. I was actually wondering if you would like to go get dinner together."

It was frowned upon, but it wasn't against the rules. But there were protocols about these things. Most interactions with Alphas outside of the center had to be approved by the center. Phone calls, talking online, those were allowed because the center trusted the Omegas to keep things casual. But an Alpha and an Omega who have slept together hanging out in person? That was usually reserved for pairs that were starting the mating process. 

"Forget I asked," he said quickly. "How about instead we make dinner together? How does that sound?"

You nearly melted into the couch cushions.

"That sounds wonderful. I'd like that very much."

You could hear the smile in his voice as he agreed.

------

"Wait, wait, did you really think it was a good idea to tell your drill sergeant to blow you?"

Billy's laugh echoed over the phone. As he explained that no, he was pretty sure he was going to get his ass kicked, you settled down onto your bed and tugged your cover up to your chin.

The two of you had made it a habit to talk on the phone almost daily. Every now and then Billy would be busy at work and he would have to stick to text messages instead. And of course you would have an Alpha that you would have to assist.

Those times you’d just tell Billy that you would be busy. You didn’t want to burst the bubble of contentment that had settled around the two of you. Of course he knew what you would be busy with, but both of you could pretend it was something else—anything else—if you didn’t put it to words.

His rut was most likely coming up soon and you couldn’t help but think how it was going to be different. The two of you talked about so much during these phone calls; you couldn’t just pretend that Billy was an Alpha that you were helping. No, there was so much more to it now. So much more to him.

“Where’d you go?”

You made a noise in the back of your throat as you realized that you had stopped reacting to whatever he was saying. 

“I’m so sorry Billy, I swear I was listening but then I started thinking about… well, it’s almost been a month since you were here last.”

The last time he’d been there, you had forgotten to change your sheets. You weren’t sure why that stood out to you so much since the actual sex hadn’t seemed any different, but you couldn’t shake the fact that it meant something. You just weren’t sure what.

“My rut will be back in a few weeks,” he replied, his voice a little lower than before. “I’m not noticing any symptoms yet but once I do, I’ll get to the center to request you.”

You had already decided to decline any Alphas that may request you around the time that Billy would be coming to the center, but you couldn’t tell him that. That felt too much like a declaration and you didn’t want to make one of those. Whatever the two of you had, it hadn’t been put to words and you weren’t about to break that routine.

Your mouth spoke without permission from your head.

“I wonder if you would have noticed me if it hadn’t been for my scent,” you said softly, your eyes trained on the ceiling of your bedroom.

“What do you mean?”

Once you realized what you had said, you wanted to kick yourself. That was playing in dangerous territory. Instead of taking it back or ending the conversation, you sucked in a deep breath and explained.

“You picked me from my scent, right? I just wonder if you would’ve even noticed me if we had met, I don’t know, at a bar or somewhere.”

If it was normal, if the two of you were just you and not Alpha Billy and Omega Y/N. And by his response, he was thinking the same thing.

“So if we were both just at a bar, minding our own business. Say I had to go up to the counter to order a beer and you’re sitting there. You want to know if I would have noticed you?”

You felt ridiculous, but you needed to know.

“Without my scent, without knowing me. Just… from your impression of me sitting there. Would you have even said hello?”

Why were you holding your breath? Why did it matter? You were basically asking him if he found you attractive, if he would have wasted his time with you, but it didn’t matter. The fact was that the two of you did know each other and you were friends now. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that—

“Of course I would have said hello. I would have turned the charm up to eleven and flirted with you, tried to get your name.”

A flash of giddy warmth filled you and you kicked your feet, hoping he couldn’t hear it.

“You would?”

“You kidding me? You’d be beating the guys off with a stick and I would have… would have tried my best to get you to come home with me. If you could stand the sight of the scars.”

Billy was confident in himself, you’d seen it, but there was still some insecurity under the surface. It all revolved around those scars.

“Scars or no, I think I probably would have thought you were crazy for talking to me. And if you tried to get me to go home with you?” You took a breath, feeling the tightness low in your stomach. “I can promise that you would have succeeded.”

There was silence on the other line and you wondered if you had overstepped, but a moment later you heard him let out a deep breath.

“I would’ve showed you a good time if I took you home,” he promised in a low, rough voice, his accent a little more pronounced on some words. “Would’ve made you feel good.”

Your breath was coming out faster, a little dizzy as you listened to his voice over the phone.

“I don’t think you’re capable of making me feel anything but good.”

You weren’t sure if that even made sense. And it didn’t help that your voice was breathless as you spoke.

God you were gone on this man.

“Y/N, where are you right now?”

You looked around your room as if you had forgotten where you were. You’d forgotten everything that didn’t center around this conversation, this man, his voice.

“I’m in my room,” you said as you shifted under the covers a little, “in bed.”

“Are you under the covers?”

“Yes.”

There was silence on the line and then a slight rustling.

“Take the covers off.”

Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest, but you moved to do as you were told. You kicked the covers down to your feet, your toes curling but it wasn’t from the sudden cool air on your bare legs.

“Billy,” you began, but he cut you off with, “What are you wearing?”

That tightness that had been in your chest had moved lower, lower, until it settled in the pit of your stomach. At his words, your thighs automatically clenched together.

“Shorts and uh, a t-shirt.”

You wondered if you should have lied, should have said something about lacy lingerie. But you didn’t even own the stuff so that wouldn’t feel right. You didn’t want to lie to Billy, not even about that.

“I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to tell me the truth, alright?” At your assent, Billy let out a breath that rattled into the speaker for a second. “Do you want to touch yourself with me right now?”

If it was possible for your heart to break free from your chest, it would have right then. Instead you just pressed your hand over where you could feel it pounding and closed your eyes.

“Do you want that?”

It wasn’t an answer, but you needed to hear him say it.

“You want me to tell you that I had my hand down my sweatpants from the moment you told me that I would’ve been able to take you home? Or should I tell you that I think about this every time we talk on the phone? Or,” he added in a tone that could only be described as seductive, “do you want me to tell you that every time I jerk off between my ruts it’s to thoughts of you?”

God. You rolled onto your side in order to put more pressure between your legs. Your eyes were still squeezed shut. If you did that, you could almost imagine he was in the bed with you.

“Yes,” you breathed out when your eyes finally opened, “I want you to tell me those things.”

His chuckle made you squeeze your legs together. Your hand moved to rest low on your stomach but no further.

“Tell me something then. I told you all my secrets, I want you to tell me one.”

You should have seen that coming. You bit your lip and rolled back onto your back, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breathing.

“I don’t touch myself,” you said softly, wondering if he could hear your heartbeat over the phone. “My secret is that I want to touch myself right now. With you on the phone with me.”

It was a long moment before he responded.

“Take your clothes off.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. And there was no way it was Alpha compulsion because it didn’t work over the phone. You sat up and pulled off your shirt, glad you had gone without a bra tonight. Then you made short work of your shorts and underwear.

“You too,” you said as you settled back down onto the pillows.

“Already done sweetheart,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Put the phone on speaker for me, alright? I want you to have two hands for this.”

You did so with a shaking hand, letting him know once you were done. He let out a pleased noise that made you wetter. As if he knew what had happened, he let out a soft laugh.

“Play with your nipples for me. Both hands. You know how I do it when I get my hands on those perfect tits.”

You moaned as your hands complied with his demands. He was always firm with you, his fingers tugging and pulling on your nipples. You alternated between that and firm grasps since that’s what he did.

“Are you… are you touching yourself Billy?”

You needed to know. You needed to know that you weren’t the only one.

“I’m making it last. If I touch myself right now with you making those noises, I’ll come before I can even jack myself.”

Just the thought made you moan. That you did that to him astounded you.

“If I was there, I’d eat you out. I can’t tell you how much I love the taste of your pussy,” he said lowly, his voice trickling over your body. “Since I’m not there, I want you to touch yourself. Spread that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are.”

You knew that he was a talker, but you really did think it might break you this time. Without the urgency of the rut over both of you, his dirty talk was going to turn you into a puddle before this really began.

Legs spread, you slipped one hand down your stomach and between your legs. You ran your fingers up and down your slit, feeling how wet and hot you were.

“I’m dripping,” you admitted as you continued to just rub yourself. “I’m going to leave the bed soaked after this.”

His moan made your thighs flex.

“Touch your clit for me. Not fast, just tease it for me.”

The moment your fingers were on your clit, you wanted to rub fast and hard, but his words made you keep it slow. You rubbed over the nerves until you were panting, your knees bending to try to give your hips leverage.

“Billy, please,” you begged as you continued to rub.

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Now put a finger inside. C’mon, let me hear you.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. At some point he told you to add another finger so you pumped two in and out of your pussy, your thumb rubbing against your clit between thrusts. It wasn’t graceful but it felt good. Your hips moved in tandem with your fingers. Your other hand continued to play with your breast as you fucked yourself.

His breathing got heavy and you thought you could heard the sound of skin on skin. You definitely could hear his grunts. 

“I wish that was my hand. Or my mouth,” you admitted shamelessly as you moved, voice breathless and low. “I can’t stop thinking about getting my mouth on you. I want to… I want to taste you.”

He let out a loud moan that echoed over the line. 

“Fuck I want that too. I’d love to see you with my come on your face.”

Your back arched as you pumped faster, harder. You could tell that you were close and you could only hope that Billy was too.

“Please, I need… please Alpha, I need you.” Your mind was so far gone, so focused on your orgasm, that you didn’t even realize what you said.

“Yes, I’m here. Come for me, my Omega, come for me.”

Your back arched so far off the bed that you were basically upright, your body shaking from an incredibly intense orgasm. Your pussy clenched around your fingers. Your heaving breaths echoed in the quiet room as you flopped back down on the bed.

On the other line, you heard Billy’s panting grow faster until he was groaning out his own orgasm. Once it was quiet on that side as well, you slowly pulled your hand from between your legs. 

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly as you sat up, reaching for tissues near the bed for your hand. “Just uh, cleaning up.”

The sheets were beyond help. You’d need to change them before you could fall asleep. 

Instead you just rolled out of the wet spot and grabbed your phone. Once you switched it off of speaker, you pressed it against your ear and shut your eyes once more.

“Billy?” He made an inquiring sound on the other side and you bit your lip before you asked, “Will this change things?”

He was silent for a moment before his soft, soothing voice was back in your ear.

“I think we’ve been changed for a while.”

------

In the middle of the night, you jolted upright. In the space between awake and asleep, the words you’d said that night on the phone with Billy came back to you.

You’d called him Alpha in your moment of need. And he had replied, hadn’t he? He called you his Omega. 

It was the heat of the moment, you told yourself as you laid back down. And he hadn’t mentioned it so… so maybe it didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t stop your mind from playing the moment over and over again until you fell back to sleep.

X

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[rifroleplays]

Shinju Maeda

Character Profile

Appeared in: 

Nothing, yet. This was a rejected character profile and I haven’t found anything suitable since. 

Prompt: 10 prompts given by @silhouette-of-a-dream​. Here are the first four prompts: Morning Routine, Responsibility, Family Curse & Winter Moments

1. Morning Routine

The Maeda household woke up at five, starting with the head of the house who would wash his face and dress, ready to train. Shinju would follow in second, to set the example for the rest of the house, but also to wake the ‘pages’, the pupils of her father that aimed to become a master. 

After washing her face both to wake herself and to get herself started she would dress in a hakama and a simple top before starting the morning training. First a warm up, then aikido, followed by archery or kendo, depending on the training schedule and specialisation. 

Shinju had chosen archery, much to the dismay of her father. But she found solace in the aiming and the drawing of her bow, that moment of silence that surrounded her before the command to shoot was given. 

The morning training ended at seven, where she was expected to cool down and to meditate and receive her pointers for improvements from the head. Compliments from her father were rare, especially so aimed at her, but she knew that she was his pride. 

In her teen years she was expected to help out with the cleaning as well, but after her coming-of-age she was no longer considered to be a pupil anymore. Still, Shinju would remain, sometimes to help with the clean-up, other times to check up on sprains, or to give extra instructions to the younger pupils. 

After showering Shinju would have breakfast at half past seven. At eight she would pay respect to her grandparents, which was also consequently the morning meeting. Reports were given, inquiries exchanged. Every start of a new month a presentation plan was given as well, every quarter a new business analysis, once a year new goals were set as well as the financial analysis. All in all the meeting could last from a mere hour to the afternoon, depending on what day of the year it was and what was on the agenda. 

This was consequently also the time that Shinju’s true role within the family business started. The yearly reports, strategising, and the likes was where she was truly put in charge. If the morning allowed for it, if the meetings didn’t bleed into noon, Shinju would have the rest of the morning off until a string of meetings in the afternoon. Though, that by no way means that she could spend them at her leisure. Preparation and organisation was what followed, in which she prepared herself for whatever was scheduled later. 

Sometimes, in the off-season, or usually Wednesdays, Shinju could be found in the main dojo, for once doing what she truly desired to do. But those moments were so rare, they were often more of an exception than anything. 

2. Responsibility

��As the heir of the Maeda…”

Shinju could nearly dream those words, just as she could dream whatever was to follow. Yet, she didn’t show her disinterest or boredom, yet, she remained still and straight as she let the words reach her. 

“As I’m sure you are well aware of…”

Her grandmother’s continued teaching of filial piety was a familiar introduction, and Shinju could almost predict what the reason was for the opening, hands wringing into each other as she just wanted to get to the point. 

“Takeru is, as you know, from your mother’s side.”

Shinju felt cold as she was handed the picture. A male, of around her age, somewhat vaguely familiar, yet not. A bright smile, dark brown hair, he looked content with life, more than Shinju ever had felt with hers. 

“Well trained, well educated, with a good background and a distinguished sportsman.”

Her grandmother’s words barely sounded through her as Shinju tried to maintain her breathing, trying to keep herself from showing the dread that was forming from the depth of her stomach. 

“He will fill the gap that you leave when you take over. He can keep the Maeda relevant as a dojo while you focus on the business behind it.”

Her words stung, but Shinju could understand the reasoning. She didn’t have the talent with the sword. Even within archery she was considered to be somewhat average, barely able to maintain a spot on a national level. 

“Takeru has five brothers and he is the middle one. I hope you will meet him with an open mind, just as he is entering this relationship with an open mind.” 

Refusal was not an option, her grandmother made that implicitly clear to her and all Shinju could do was bow as she accepted the setup, her heart heavy as she realised that her life was forfeit before it even started. 

3. Family Curse

Every year, without fail, Shinju and her family would visit the Oyama shrine in Kanazawa to pay her respect to the Sengoku head of the Maeda and the one that brought the family the glory they enjoy today: Toshiie Maeda. Every year it was highly anticipated, for the family believed that even skipping it for one year would trigger a family curse. 

“The Maeda are not without their sins,” her grandfather spoke solemnly, “it is important that we remain humble and remember our clan’s origin.”

It was the first year that Shinju was to lead the ritual, dressed entirely in black simple robes on that chilly spring day. She was shivering each time the wind blew past her, but she would have to endure. Endure until the ritual was over. 

Every year, without fail, Shinju would have a fever dream after returning from the Oyama shrine. Though, that year that she led was the worst, for she fell ill for a week afterwards.

“A common cold,” the doctor had said after examining her, “best to leave her to rest and keep her warm,” sounded the advice. And they respected that. But her family thought differently of the source.

“Did you dream?” her father questioned her sternly and Shinju could only nod, delirious as she felt from the fever she ran. 

“Did you see him? Them?” he continued to press and Shinju could only draw a ragged breath in answer. 

The dream her father referred to; a dream of who they believed to be a Toshiie remorseful of his life in which he had taken so much, hadn’t come to her. Instead Shinju had dreamt of white foxes dancing around the shrine, as if luring her. However, every year without fail her family was convinced she had dreamt the standard dream. Why else would she run the fever if not because she was the next heir of their dojo? Her father had them in his youth as well, her grandfather had been plagued by them, her great-grandfather had them lasting through his whole life. 

Shinju decided to remain quiet instead, often feeling too awful to argue back, if she ever did. It was easier to have them believe that the Maeda sin had passed onto her, that the conscience of centuries of Maeda heads also rested upon her, instilling a duty to protect and glorify their old clan. Anything but a mischievous fox strangely vying for her affection. 

“Now that you have led the ritual you are truly ready to succeed,” her father had said, a smile on his lips. How rare that look of satisfaction was on his face, “I will inform your grandfather, he will be pleased to hear this.”

But Shinju wasn’t pleased at all. Not if she had to fall ill for the sake of her family and be glad for it. Not if the whole curse they supposedly carried was a bunch of bogus that didn’t affect her in the way her family wanted it to. 

4. Winter Moments

Winters in Kyoto didn’t tend to be cold. Rarely did it ever go below freezing point and for that Shinju was grateful, finding the single digit celsius degrees to be quite hard to withstand already. 

“Shinju?” her mother’s voice sounded, looking around the room before looking down at the floor, “you will ruin your eyes like that,” she laughed, the image of her daughter cuddled up under the kotatsu while doing some paperwork. 

“It is too cold,” Shinju responded, pulling the fabric of the kotatsu tighter around her, “and I’m not lying on my stomach,” she quickly informed. 

“You will hurt your back then,” her mother continued, but Shinju ignored it, knowing that she was actually being scolded for her posture. But there was no one who would actually admonish her, and the female knew that she could expect a great deal more clemency from her mother than anyone else. 

“Don’t you have the woolen haori your grandmother made you?” her mother continued to question, no doubt trying to coax Shinju out of her warm burrow and take a break. 

Rolling onto her back with a sigh the female abandoned the papers next to her as she looked up, demonstratively pulling out an arm. 

“Already wearing it,” she pouted, earning yet another laugh. 

“Oh dear, did I give birth to a little frog perhaps?” her mother jested, finally moving to close the door behind her, “I will prepare some ginger tea, but do sit up already, I really don’t want you to ruin your eyes like that.” 

Shinju could only sigh to herself, slowly peeling herself back into the open with a shiver. 

“Nope, too cold,” Shinju tells herself, crawling back in.

[themelodicenigma]

So you really DON'T believe that Sora looks like Ven or Roxas??? Wtf lmao Bluerosesburnblue stuck to the facts there as usual, so why are you fighting the truth so hard? I dont want to sound rude but nothing you said made any sense. It's PERFECT for Sora to have been influenced by Ven and its basically implied in BBS.

I do like how the moment I allow anonymous asks again, the questions come flying in. Especially, when this is one of four that I’ve received talking about the same thing since those posts. I can’t tell if it’s even the same person, or if I just riled up some indignant feathers of her followers. I don’t know Blue personally, but I do feel pretty confident that she wouldn’t encourage one of the things you (probably) sent based on her comments about similar behavior during the SRT debunk. I know that the original inquirer, Mademoiseli, wouldn’t like it either. 

Well done.

In any case, you could’ve brought it to the table on the reblog/comment chain instead of in my ask box, but...

Okay.

I am pretty tired of this conversation and the impact it has had on my interaction with others, so this is probably going to be the last time I address this unless any actual new information comes about regarding this part of the story. There is something that needs to be realized though:

For one—the reason why I even commented in the first place and why the conversation took its turn is essentially linked. The reason I entered it was because I held a difference to these statements and phrases made by Blue’s first answer:

“I think it’s certainly possible that Sora’s connection to Ventus did effect his appearance in a number of ways, and out of every possibility that one seems the most likely to me.” 

along with:

“Ultimately, I can’t say for certain that Ventus had an impact on Sora’s appearance, but since there seems to be a good deal of evidence supporting that it would be possible, it’s one of the better explanations in my opinion.”

[via Blue post]

Admittedly, I was “triggered” to respond from this, which so happen to be the opening and closing statements of the posts. But, I understand that I shouldn’t have been prompted by it in the way that I was (not fully, anyway).

In that, she was primarily talking about the topic of Ven influencing Sora’s physical appearance as a probable explanation to the hypothetical question of, essentially, “Why do Sora and Ventus look alike?”. All the while, looking at how the ideal was congruent with existing concepts.

I, on the other hand, in addition to that, took it as an evaluation of, not only a hypothetical scenario, but extending to that of weighing the probability of the question and explanation becoming reality within the context.

In other words, while she was much more concerned with whether there existed congruent truths between the premise (Ven influencing Sora) and the context, I was primarily concerned with establishing whether it HAS happened and judging the likelihood of it happening at all. Between us speaking on theory and concepts or plausibility and probability—these certainly aren’t mutually exclusive, but the direction of the conversation was split between the two somehow. 

And I’ll take the blame for that, but in recognizing that our approaches weren’t completely separate, still, talking about the likelihood of the premise being true and/or introduced at a later time WAS still a relevant topic. It could’ve been its own conversation, but it was relevant, nonetheless.

Two—I am a person that, when encountered with a question, I am first immediately concerned with the facts. Always. Only after that do I inquire about uncertain material through a “possibility spectrum”, and what determines the strong end of this are the facts that suggest or support the proposition at hand. Through that, I’m never opposed to admitting my uncertainty about something or the existence of “breathing room” to probability. Not to mention, establishing the difference between plausibility and probability for its interaction in gauging truth—I could get more into that, but it won’t be necessary for the sake of this post.

Anyway, with that out of the way, I’m going to approach the rest of this post by centering it around this question [ID as premise]:

Premise: “Do you believe it’s possible for it to be explained that Ventus influenced Sora’s physical appearance when their hearts connected?”

Understanding the extensions and work around of the questions (Sora growing into the influence and not being instant), I would answer—yes, it is possible by the merit of its potential to be. However, after reviewing the explanations already established for this connection and the results created by said explanations for the topic the prompt addresses, I would say that it’s unlikely to happen.

Yeah. You read that right.

Possible, but unlikely to happen. [improbable] 

Remember to consider that there are two ways in which something can be explained for fictional media. This is typically split in what is taken from the concept of Diegesis, where in this scenario, we’re talking about explanations that function internally within and by the world, and explanations that function externally outside and by other means. Both approaches can even simultaneously exist for the same topic—there being an appropriate explanation for something in both ways.

The formation of my conclusion, actually, is based on the facts, which also don’t include any strict implication that Sora was influenced by Ven, as if to even create an equilibrium between their facial features. If anything, you could argue the opposite was done, specifically in the way of making a distinction between the two by their face.

So, let’s take a step back, and go to where all of this actually started in the game’s context. The first question revolving around this topic would essentially be this:

Q1: “Why do Roxas and Sora look alike?”

*we’ll refer to this as Q1

If not automatically generated by the events of the story itself, this question was made relevant even back in the release of the Ultimania Alpha (when Roxas was just “Mysterious Boy”). Here we could see Roxas’ face and model much more clearly than that of the picture at the end of the GBA version of CoM. The Ultimania Alpha features this as his profile header (and also on the correlation chart):

“Who does he (you) look like? The key person of “II””

- KH Ultimania Alpha—Roxas’ Profile, pg.12 

First, it’s good to establish that by design, the characters of Sora and Roxas do and were intended to [basically] have the same face, save for a few differences made. They also have other attributes that are considerate of each other, but we’ll highlight the face specifics. This is certainly non-debatable from an external application that they are to be correlated characters by design.

“The facial models of Roxas and Sora are basically the same, but the chin is slightly different. When I put on his hair, Roxas looked a little bit stout, so I made him thinner.”

- KH2 Ultimania—Tomohiro Kayano [3D Modeling Director], pg. 345

“Roxas: I traced Sora for this piece. My image of Roxas actually came first, before Sora, and I had already drawn him for the first project document. The concept of "between" was something I kept in mind: since Sora's outfit was to be black this time, I made Roxas' base color white, and I also added a black and white checked pattern. The cross on his chest isn't a necklace, it's part of his zipper, and it is the motif of the Nobodies. Also, his hair is supposed to be the exact same length as Sora's.”

- KH2 Ultimania, pg. 701 [via KHInsider]

“Roxas A lot of thought was put into this character. Based on the premise that he was 'an expression of the reverse, hidden inside Sora', I gave him pretty much the exact same face as Sora, just with slightly narrower eyes. And then, I made white the basis for his clothes, in contrast to KHII Sora. The black and white checkered pattern, 'neither darkness nor light', was to be a hint. My absolute favourite scene of his has to be the one at the end of the opening of KHII, when he says 'looks like my summer vacation is over'. I put a lot of feeling into creating that, as I intended it to feel, for a moment, like the end.”

- Nomura, KH Character’s Report Vol. 1 [via KHInsider]

The third one is the most interesting because it’s the only one to provide an explanation to the external application of the similarity—it being based on the connection that the characters shared and how they’re perceived against one another. Roxas being the “reverse” of Sora was utilized in more ways than the face, more so than what is understood by how that could apply to Riku’s design.

If considering the relevancy of correlating Sora and Roxas’ designs outside of representing their connection to one another (i.e. just by design alone in representing it—external), the answer can also be assumed from the game’s revelations. Meaning, after playing KH2, it would be reasonable that people would essentially believe that the answer to Q1 was answered as:

“Because Roxas is Sora’s Nobody”

Hah.

However, in the reality of the internal explanation that directly influences the characters, this didn’t quite turn out to be the answer that was presented. Not only that, but the question changed. BBS happened, and instead, we receive an answer that turns Q1 into a misleading question, and presents another in its place:

Q2: “Why do Roxas and Ventus look alike?”

No, seriously. It is the literal question posed in the BBS Ultimania:

“Why do Roxas and Ventus look alike? A: Because inside Sora, which is Roxas’ body, is Ventus’ heart.

As was shown in the opening to KH BbS and the ending to Last Episode, Sora and Ventus’ heart are linked (P.646). And so Roxas, who is a part of Sora, was affected by that and looks just like Ventus.”

- BBS Ultimania, pg. 616 [via KHInsider]

The answer here is pretty straight forward. The “why” is propositioned by two things: Sora and Ventus’ hearts being linked and Ventus’ heart residing in Sora when Roxas was created. Whether it was just one or both of these reasons is inconsequential—Roxas took his physical appearance from Ventus, NOT Sora. This is the internal explanation given on the topic of Roxas’ and Ventus’ appearance, not the external as previously given in KH2.

Since BBS, the idea of Roxas = Sora has essentially been replaced with the actuality of Roxas = Ventus multiple, if not every single, time appearance is mentioned or corresponding questions were answered.

"Ven has the same hairstyle, face, clothes, and voice of Roxas, but just who is he?”

“The face of the polygon model of Ventus that appears in this title is, strictly speaking, different to the one from KH BBS. The one in KH BBS was subtly altered from Roxas' face, but this time, in order to increase efficiency on motion work, we used the same model for Ventus and Roxas.”

“Yes, it is the same actor. Therefore the player will only look at Ven as Roxas from Kingdom Hearts 2.”

[blazed through because those quotes are too long]

* Keep in mind it’s usually about how VEN looks like Roxas, because Roxas was introduced as a character first. Internally for the story, it’s really the other way around.

And, in the mountains of paratextual material that has covered the two characters since BBS, it has opted to mention the similar notion of Roxas getting his appearance from Ven—this being mostly by the specification of the face. The idea that Roxas and Ventus share the same “physical entity” has been introduced and cemented by the explanations given by BBS.

So, instead of getting Q1 v.2:

“Okay? But uhh, still, why do Sora and Ventus [Roxas] look alike, then?”

We get this:

Q3: “Why do Sora and Vanitas look alike?”

The answer, of course, was explained in a similar fashion to Q2:

“How did you decide on the design for their faces?

Nomura: Well Terra’s look was already a decided thing, we just had to make him look a bit younger. I knew that Ventus should look either like Sora or Roxas, and I wasn’t sure which one to go with, but I thought Vanitas looking like Sora would have a bigger impact so I had Ventus look like Roxas instead. And there is a reason that Vanitas looks like Sora. As Sora filled in Ventus’ fractured heart, the fractured part (Vanitas) was effected by Sora and ended up with Sora’s face. So if it had been Riku who had filled in Ventus’ heart, Vanitas would have looked like Riku.” 

- BBS Ultimania, pg. 646 [via KHInsider]

Similar to the above, instead of Vanitas, who comes from Ventus, looking as such of his existential bond, instead it emphasizes that of Sora = Vanitas by the physical attributes. Interestingly enough, in the same quote is the proposition of whether Ventus would look like either Sora or Roxas in development, lending more to the idea of this separation of their appearance. Similarly, this is mentioned consistently in how Vanitas looks like Sora. This extends even beyond the Ultimania books, as even the KH3 Character Files book emphasizes that Vanitas has “Sora’s face” and resemblance. [pg.86]  

If you read my posts in the original chain, you’d understand that what I’m pointing out is that, instead of establishing an equilibrium between the four characters, it instead creates the separation of two different physical entities:

Sora [Vanitas] and Ventus [Roxas].

This would be different than what was cleanly set between Kairi, Namine, and Xion—this being accompanied by external and internal reasons that not only captured the connections between the characters, but also have literal, internal reasons applied that are part of the narrative.

“How did you go about designing Xion's outward appearance?

Nomura: It was decided from the start that she would have a deep connection to Kairi, so she was based on Kairi with her hair changed a little. We were actually thinking of changing nothing but the colour of her hair, but when designs were drawn up her hairstyle was made quite a bit different too. Even the 3D polygon model's face is the same as Kairi's, apart from the hair. So, if you look at the 3D models of Xion, Namine and Kairi, they have the same face and differ only in their hair, but unexpectedly have individual personalities.”

- Days Ultimania, pg. 485 [via KHInsider]

Actually, the quote itself is similar to the comment made by Tomohiro Kayano above about Sora and Roxas’ 3D facial models being “basically the same”, except the girls are without difference of detail to the face, with the note of being the same while the hair is specifically what differs. This turns out to be an interesting detail because, there’s never an attempt to create a distinction between the three characters outside of what has been spoken for—their hair. And, they have the internal explanation to boot for what makes it literal in and of itself.

This is different than that of the Sora [Vanitas] and Ventus [Roxas] entities, where for internal functionality, there is then a difference by the face in those two and what it means for the characters in the story. As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t even an attempt to establish that they all have “the same face, but different hair.”

Where’s the equilibrium?

The further we go into the explanations that take a different road than that of what Q1 proposes, the question itself starts to become irrelevant—the mystery of the question’s origin (that between Roxas and Sora) was instead supplied by other lore reasoning in the world. All the while, setting a distinction between the two physical entities by “the face” as opposed to just answering the original question.

At least, in an internal way.

Really, Q1 is already answered—this answer being more external, that Roxas has “pretty much the exact same face” as Sora as a way to represent their connection to one another, with the “pretty much” representing the differences that can be accounted for.

However, when it comes to an in-world, internal explanation, instead of providing a lore-based reasoning to express in the narrative, which would’ve been thought to be the same reasoning (because he’s Sora’s Nobody) as the external reasoning, instead we have an answer that makes the Q1, now, seem misleading.

To be fair, it doesn’t necessarily eliminate the Q1, just makes it seem less likely to be answered or if even to be something to be asked anymore. That’s because, in all the ways we understand what resulted from the connection made between Sora and Ventus, we haven’t exactly been given an explicit negative to the possibility of the original premise:

Premise: “Do you believe it’s possible for it to be explained that Ventus influenced Sora’s physical appearance when their hearts connected?”

or, to reintroduce it in a familiar angle:

Q1 v.2: “Why do Sora and Ventus [Roxas] look alike?”

It’s not explicitly negated, but in all the information I could find, this following quote is the closest to answering either question.

– So it’s not “Once Sora’s story is finished, another hero’s story will begin”, the hero is always Sora.

Nomura: Yes. One of the concepts behind the KH series is that the main character Sora isn’t special, he’s just a normal boy. Yes he does have connections with Ventus’ heart, among others, but he hasn’t inherited anything from them. He’s just a normal boy you could find anywhere. I wanted to make Sora a character that the player could take onto themselves and feel that you don’t have to be special. But connect to many people and you will realize your secret potential. With BbS I want to make fans excited to see Sora’s return. The secret event is a symbol of that, so I hope everyone will get to see it and wait for Sora’s next adventure.

- BBS Ultimania, pg. 650 [Via KHInsider]

Unlike the other quotes supplied for the topic of Sora and Ventus’ connection, this quote was on the conversation of Sora’s adventures post-KH3. However, the comment itself is still in retrospect of the internal attributes of Sora’s character, even specifically mentioning his connection to Ventus’ heart, putting it in perspective of that particular circumstance that happens in the game.

So, what do we have now?

That comment doesn’t completely negate the premise, technically, but it also doesn’t support it either. In tandem with everything else in what HAS been done with the connection between Sora and Ventus....

It doesn’t look likely.

There’s also the mention of Aqua pointing out how Sora is:

ENG: “the spitting image of Ven”

JPN: “ヴェンそのもの [Ven himself]”

Even though there isn’t anything conclusive to whether she, just like with Riku, was talking more about Sora and Ven’s disposition than their physical face, the BBS Ultimania does go with the former.

“Guided by a warm light, Aqua meets two boys on the island. Their atmosphere [presence] was similar to that of Terra and Ventus.”

- BBS Ultimania, pg.384

As it is, the fact remains that there hasn’t been any attempt in equalizing the appearance between Sora and Ventus outside of what could already be understood externally through Sora and Roxas. 

The understanding of it being unlikely to be addressed or to be a truth doesn’t rely on “it wasn’t talked about”. Because, IT WAS talked about—the topic surrounding this HAS been approached, it HAS been explained, and the premise at hand isn’t anything offered as actuality.

So, why should I assume then that the information we’ve received for years, that has been explained and told in so many ways, is incomplete?

It could change, sure, but it’s not incomplete as it is. As to this day, we can safely say that the literal equalization of similarity isn’t between Sora and Ventus, because it, as of right now, literally isn’t in accordance to the observable facts. It hasn’t happened, even if to predict it to happen. And if to weigh the possibility of this change occurring, after all the facts presented above and how the subject has been breached, that yes—it’s an unlikely change.

Not impossible, but improbable.

And that is VERY reasonable to say after 10+ years and an immense amount of supplemental paratext produced to say something about it.

This being by not what information is lacking, but by what has been provided. And even then, the frequency and different angles in which the information has been touched upon makes it hit much harder.

If in the attempt to play devil’s advocate on myself, I would proposition that the proposed premise would be setup by the concept behind the story of BBS:

"There is no coincidence in fate"

In which, along with the questions of “why Riku was chosen to wield the keyblade, or why Kairi met Sora and Riku”, the original question (Why do Sora and Roxas look alike?) could’ve been a part of that, and thus, explained similar to that of the Kairi, Namine, and Xion situation—that Sora AND Roxas were influenced by Ventus (and, logically, Vanitas would’ve been as well), and that being why they look alike.

But nope.

Instead, we got it all the other way around where Sora is the character influencing the other characters, and being connected to all three through that direction, not backwards. Creating, really, the impression that the visual similarity between Sora and Ventus IS fate, but through this, it is part of that scheme in which two people who just so happen to be similar are connected to one another.

Their resemblance and their connection is by the design of fate and the way it was meant to be—not necessarily due to a direct phenomenon, but that two people who have that similarity were fated to have the connection they have.

It certainly has been done in storytelling before, so it isn’t a crazy concept anyway.

Don’t know for certain, but from the information available, that actually seems more likely.

Sora has not been affected by Ventus, and the fact that this information isn’t presented as incomplete, this idea becomes less plausible to even be implemented, if not, irrelevant. This would be the same to Q1 as it is, where it was diverted by other information and questions.

All the while, in recognizing the distinction given between the two physical entities of Sora[Vanitas] and Ventus[Roxas], I much more prefer how they’ve handled it so far, where that bridge between Sora and Ventus isn’t closed by that type of phenomenon, but instead, through the efforts of capturing the connection that the characters have. This is directly through the acknowledgement of how the story has implemented understanding of the distinction between the two, particular the face, NOT just the hair. This is also in accordance to story things, in that in the connection between Sora and Ventus, this is primarily a one-sided affair in how Sora influences Ven, NOT the other way around, and I’m fine with that in how it is represented in the story.

This is especially for the sake of Sora and Roxas’ characters is very concerned with his identity in relation to his existential ties towards Sora, and Sora is the normal boy who has “secret potential” by his ability to connect with other people. I’ve of zero interest of Sora’s character being tainted with that type of effect, especially now and in everything that hasn’t [would’ve] acted in accordance to it.

Sigh.

Anyway, that’s just what it is. Don’t send me any more asks expecting me to post this, because I honestly don’t have anything else to say about it that would be that much different. My points would largely be the same. If you have concerns though (like some quotes I got myself since KHInsider didn’t have them), just message me, and I’ll send some screen shots and whatnot.

Anyway, overall, it still remains an interesting thing to thing about alongside the concepts that are implemented in KH. That, I can agree on.

[octothorpetopus]

I Forgot That You Existed (Part 1)

Link to part 2

"Yeah, we're not so worried about you not 'getting some.'" Frank put air quotes around the words.

"Well, we kind of are. It's just that the 'some' we're worried about you not getting is emotional fulfillment."

"True." Richie looked back and forth between his friends.

"Guys, I'm not getting a fucking online dating profile. I'm not forty. Stop bugging me."

"Richie, we're worried about you."

"What the hell are you, my mother?"

"Just download the fucking app, Tozier." Frank snatched the phone out of Richie's hand and held it just out of reach. Nina held Richie back as he reached for it.

"You motherfucker, give me my phone back!" Frank didn't respond.

"Say cheese!" He snapped a picture of Richie, who had sat sullenly back down. He typed speedily for a few moments (Frank's typing skills were the envy of all rapid-fire texters), then pressed a button. There was a soft whoosh as the profile was posted, and Frank tossed Richie his phone back.

"Fuck you, Frank." The phone chimed and all three of them gathered around to look at it.

"Holy shit," Nina said softly. "You got a match."

Meanwhile, in an LAX waiting room, Eddie Kaspbrak's phone buzzed in his back pocket. He ignored it, focusing instead on the pitch he was mentally writing and the steady sound his suitcase made as he rolled it back and forth in short paces. He hated investor meetings, but it was his company, and he had to get it off the ground if he ever wanted to be anything more than a 34-year-old asthmatic business major with no friends, no life, and no idea where he was going. Metaphorically. Literally, he was going to the Los Angeles Hilton, if his cab would ever get here. His phone buzzed again. He sighed and pulled it out.

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MATCH read the notification. He swiped and opened the phone. The wheel in the middle of the screen spun for what seemed like hours. Shitty airport WiFi. Finally, a profile popped up. The guy in the picture was... alright, he guessed. There was something a little oddball about him. And a little familiar, too. But then, maybe he just had one of those faces. Or, he realized, maybe he was a stand-up comedian that he’d seen in New York last year. Eddie smiled to himself, amused by the coincidence. At the time, he had no idea just how deep that coincidence really went.

“He’s kinda cute,” Nina offered and shrugged.

”I don’t know. He’s got sort of a sad puppy look. It’s a little off-putting.”

”Nobody asked you, Frank.”

”Nobody asked you either, Nina.”

”Both if you shut up.” Richie held up a hand to silence them. “Look, if I go on this one date, will you promise to get off my ass about getting a date?” Nina and Frank looked at each other and nodded.

”Deal.”

”Fine, then.” Richie’s thumb hovered above the LIKE button. “But what if-?”

”Oh, just shut up!” Nina exclaimed, and pushed the button for him.

Eddie considered it briefly. He was only in LA for a few days, maybe a week. There would be no second date, no relationship to come from this. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the voice in his head telling him yes, that this was important. And besides, what was the harm? Lots of people only went on one date. He pressed the LIKE button too.

”Fuck me,” he whispered as a message popped up on the screen.

CONGRATULATIONS!

Both of you liked each other!

Now you can start chatting.

Make a date, and hopefully, a connection.

Eddie rolled his eyes. This was the exact kind of cheesy bullshit he hadn't wanted when he had signed up for this app a year ago on a whim. A chat window opened up.

This is the start of your messages with RICHIE TOZIER

RICHIE TOZIER IS TYPING...

Richie had sent Nina and Frank away. He was tired and annoyed and frankly, talking to strangers on the internet (something he vaguely recalled his mother telling him never to do) sounded far more appealing than trying to deal with his friends at the moment. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. What could he... say? "Hi, you're kind of hot?" "You ever date a comedian?" Maybe he'd just skip words and go directly to emojis. And then it came to him, a line he used to use on girls all the time back in school (girls who were well-above his league, and he knew it).

This is the start of your messages with EDWARD KASPBRAK

RICHIE TOZIER: I could use some spare change, and you're a dime.

He felt stupid even as he wrote it, but he pressed send before he had a chance to give it a second thought. Well, he thought, there goes that idea. And then, Edward Kaspbrak started typing.

Eddie was in his cab now, staring down at the absolutely asinine pick-up line he'd just been sent by a man who was at best a 6 and a half. But once again, he had a sense of déjà vu. Not just like he had heard that line before, but like it was somehow meaningful. If it had been anyone else, he was sure he would've ignored the message and moved on. But it wasn't just anyone, and even if Eddie didn't quite know why he remembered Richie Tozier, he wasn't giving up quite yet.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: You use that line on all the boys?

RICHIE TOZIER: I've got a whole library full of them, I don't need to reuse that one.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: Hey, this might sound weird, but have we met before? I have the weirdest feeling that we have.

RICHIE TOZIER: I'm pretty sure I would've remembered meeting you, dude.

Eddie flushed scarlet in the back of the cab. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said something like that to him. Truly, he couldn't.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: I'm probably wrong. Anyway, are you free tonight?

Richie thought for a moment. He was supposed to go get drinks with some other comedian buddies of his, then maybe crash an open-mic night that they had frequented in their early comedy days. But then he looked back at the man on his phone, the one who looked just a little bit sad even though he was smiling as widely as can be in his picture, and typed out a quick reply.

RICHIE TOZIER: I actually am. I know a good place, pretty quiet. I'll text you the address. You eaten yet?

EDWARD KASPBRAK: Yeah, why?

RICHIE TOZIER: The drinks are good, but the food... it's good that you already ate.

Eddie fussed with his hair one last time in the hotel mirror. It just... wouldn't sit right, even though it looked exactly like it always did. And his clothes, all he had was what he’d brought for business meetings and casual dress, nothing like what he’d normally wear on a date. He checked his watch again. He had given himself fifteen minutes to get there, even though the concierge at the hotel told him it’d take maybe ten, if traffic was bad, and since it was a Wednesday it probably wouldn't be.

To say Eddie hadn't been on a date in awhile would be an understatement. He hadn't been on a first date in seven months. He hadn't been on a second date in a year and a half. He hadn't been on a third date in three years. And as for his last real relationship... well, Eddie had never been in a real relationship. Not that he could remember, anyway. In college, there had been a four-month thing with a girl, but that was mostly just to please his mother. He and the girl (Rosa was her name) had been good friends, and still were, but their whole relationship had been something of a friendship with a few awkward makeout sessions thrown in for good measure. The fact that he didn't like women was probably a factor in his disastrous relationships, both with women and with his mother, but she had been dead for three years this October and he was finally living the way he had always meant to. He just... hadn't gotten around to it when she was still alive.

He took one last look in the mirror. He wasn't satisfied, but then, when was he ever? It was a warm early summer night, so he thought he'd walk. Or maybe he shouldn't. There would surely be people smoking outside, and with his asthma...

Similarly, Richie was trying on his third outfit. He had tried just the Hawaiian shirt, then just a T-shirt and leather jacket, and then all three simultaneously. Funnily enough, the multi-layered look was his favorite.

"You got this, Richie." He looked himself in the eyes (through the mirror, not any kind of crazy witchcraft shit), and cracked a grin. "Except that you're talking to yourself. Fuckin' weirdo." But he grew sober, and his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his leg.

Richie didn't date, per se, but he went out a lot, and then went home, usually with a different guy, although he had been known to call up an old flame from time to time. He had dated, and he wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, but he was, not to toot his own horn, famous. And usually, famous guys, especially ones that weren't classically hot, didn't get dates. They got laid.

His Mustang was parked in the driveway, and even before he started it the wind off the ocean whipped his hair into a frenzy. As he sped off into the Santa Monica sunset, the butterflies in his stomach began to dissipate. This was going to be different. He could feel it.

Eddie had been waiting outside the bar for almost ten minutes. It was his fault, of course, for getting there so early, but the pacing outside the front door did nothing to calm his nerves. Nor did the gentle roar of the cherry-red Mustang that pulled up next to the curb, nor did the profoundly familiar face that got out of it. Richie Tozier walked two paces towards him and stopped in his tracks, his eyes even wider behind his fishbowl glasses than usual. Eddie spoke first, his vocal cords hardly functional.

"Holy-"

"-shit," Richie finished. All of a sudden, everything clicked into place. Why the name had sounded so familiar, and the face had been even more so. Why he had been so nervous in the first place. Eddie fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gray piece of plastic. His inhaler. He took two quick puffs of it and shook his head, as if in a stupor. Richie, who had screeched to a halt upon seeing his childhood friend (and first love, but that was another story), started again, and hugged Eddie with a force he didn't know he had in him. Eddie hugged him back, just as tightly.

"Holy shit, man," Eddie repeated.

"Yeah." They finally released each other and Richie took a step back, looking Eddie up and down. "Damn, Eds. You're looking good."

"So are you." Richie shook his head.

"I feel like such a fucking moron, but... I didn't even realize it was you until I saw you just now. You're going by Edward now?"

"Not... not really. And to tell you the truth, I only thought I recognized you because I saw one of your shows when you were in New York last winter." Richie laughed, deep and warm.

"Shit. Was it any good? Wait, don't answer that."

"It was great."

"Well, um... since we're here..." Richie gestured at the bar's frosted glass doors. "Want to get a drink?" Eddie smiled, and his dimples were craters in his cheeks.

"Yeah. I really do."

[gukyi]

a heart full of love | myg

summary: people say that actors are the most dramatic people in the world but those people haven't met a certain min yoongi.

{enemies to lovers!au, high school!au, actor!au}

pairing: yoongi x female reader word count: 10k genre: fluff, angst so light a feather weighs more warnings: bad references to les miserables and memes, in that order. yoongi being outrageous. lots of caps lock. unrealistic portrayals of the arts. musical directors that are way too chill to be high school teachers. possible megaphone misuse.  a/n: how long have i put off this fic? too long, honestly. but here it is, finally!! i wrote the majority of this between the hours of 10pm and 5am. forgive my mistakes. happy birthday to one of my closest irl friends, who literally requested i write this in april. i’m so sorry. it’s finally here. also happy birthday, but i said this already.

If you lived in some Black Mirror-esque alternate universe where every single human being lived their life and interacted with others as though they were merely profiles on a social media website, the first thing you would do is use the Block feature in your everyday life. And you would use it on none other than Min Yoongi.

It’s a massive shame that there’s no real life unfollow, blocked, reported feature because Min Yoongi, Unnecessary Nuisance Extraordinaire, is quite deserving of all three. Especially considering there is no occurrence in your life more unfortunate than the fact that Min Yoongi just had to waltz into the drama club interest meeting in freshman year, sit his ass down at one of the desks, and sign his name in ugly penmanship under the words Interested in Stage Crew? written in Comic Sans.

You didn’t know it yet, no, not when you barely knew his name and could barely see him under the massive black hoodie he was wearing, but Min Yoongi wrote his name down under the Stage Crew interest line and you wrote yours down under Acting interest line and it was like you signed off your soul. Like you said “I do” to the personification of the word irritation, committed yourself to a thorn in your side for the next four years. A thorn that seems to have a particular penchant for the dramatic arts. It’s a shame that Min Yoongi isn’t interested in acting, but then again, you think that if you had to stand on a stage next to him, there’s no telling what could happen.

🅱️rama 🅱️lub 🅱️officers

you (12:46PM): are you guys good for the meeting this afternoon? you (12:46PM): in the choir room

namjoon (12:48PM): I still don’t have dues from half of the drama club

you (12:50PM): threaten them

namjoon (12:51PM): With what?

you (12:52PM): idk you (12:52PM): the wrath of kim namjoon ig

seokjin (12:54PM): i wouldn’t exactly call the wrath of kim namjoon particularly threatening

you (12:55PM): no one asked u seokjin you (12:55PM): you’re in love with him

seokjin (1:01PM): love is a great and wonderful thing y/n

min (1:03PM): yeah y/n ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

you (1:05PM): do not start with me min

min (1:05PM): i just want to love you y/n

you (1:06PM): fuck off you (1:07PM): i didn’t ask

namjoon: (1:07PM): Can you not make declarations of love in the drama officers group chat?

you (1:08PM): i am not the one making the love declarations here

min (1:09PM): <3

you (1:10PM): i hate you

seokjin (1:34PM): I will forever be shocked that Park and Bae let the two of you be officers in the same club

When the bell rings you dash out of your last class of the day, making a beeline for the choir room so you can get there before the rush of the other drama students. It’s very unprofessional for the President of the drama club to be late to her own meeting. You quickly weave your way through the hordes of other students and arrive at your destination, earlier that mostly everyone else.

Mostly.

Min Yoongi is sitting at the shitty piano right by the door, the one that’s always out of tune no matter what your poor choir director does to try and fix it, playing a distant melody of a tune you vaguely know but cannot name. It would probably be nice if it weren’t for the fact that the piano itself sounds terrible and the fact that it is Min Yoongi who is pressing those keys.

He seems to perk up when he notices you’re here, just because he thrives off of your displeasure as any guy as dramatic and obnoxious as he is would. He begins to play the melody more forcefully, passionate and strong, like he’s trying to tell you something. The only thing is that you already know what he’s going to say.

“It’s called Liebestraume,” Yoongi says aloud as he continues to play, knowing that your eyes are trained on him.

“And?” You prompt.

“It means love dream,” he begins to explain, making you roll your eyes as you start heading over to the chalkboard obscured from your vision at the present moment. Though beautiful, you don’t want to hear any more of Min Yoongi playing it on that poor, mildly broken piano. It sounds off and with his fingers on the keys it makes you feel even more aggravated than you already are when you’re in his presence. Which, during drama season, is always.

As you round the corner in this L-shape of a choir room, you are greeted with the sight of a perfectly Not Blank chalkboard. In fact, there’s this horrific scrawl in all capital letters on it. It reads:

Y/N,

WILL YOU GO OUT ON A DATE WITH ME? CHECK ☐ YES ☐ NO

— MIN YOONGI

You turn around to glare at a wonderfully guilty-looking Min Yoongi, who’s smiling proudly at the monstrosity he’s written on the board. He’s always fucking like this, and it’s ridiculous and out-of-hand but you are powerless to stop it. The worst part is that he’s written your name and his so there’s no confusion whatsoever as to who this message is addressed to and who it’s from. Such blatant call-outage makes your cheeks heat up, both in mortification and fury.

“Are you serious, Min?” You ask, speechless. The rest of the drama club trickles in, including your fellow officers, Seokjin and Namjoon, and each person gets a nice good look at the chalkboard as they sit down in the choir chairs. By the time the room is half-filled, most people are looking at you, waiting for your response. You swear you can see Taehyung over by the director’s desk with his phone out. He’s definitely recording this whole thing to put on his Snapchat, because he’s one of those people that has ten minute Snapchat stories like the heathen he is.

“When am I not, Y/N?” Yoongi asks in response, cruising on up to where Namjoon and Seokjin stand, waiting for the meeting to begin. He takes his sweet time, relishing in the attention he’s receiving and the press he’s focusing on you. Your misery seems to fuel him.

Pretty soon all of the officers are standing up at the front of the room, ready to start the meeting and cover all of the bases before sending everyone home for the afternoon. Well, all of them besides you. You’re still staring, flabbergasted, at the message written on the chalkboard.

“Well?” Seokjin prompts, looking like he’s about to keel over with laughter. Him and Namjoon seem to be enjoying themselves quite a lot up there. “Aren’t you going to respond?”

The ever-growing drama club crowd laughs, looking at you expectantly. Half of them probably think you’re going to check YES and the world will end because it will be the first time you have ever accepted a date request from Min Yoongi, and the other half probably think you’re going to brutally circle NO before moving on with the meeting entirely. Taehyung’s filming you no matter what happens.

You reach down for the eraser on the ledge at the bottom of the chalkboard, and wipe the whole damn message away, word by word, line by line, until all that’s left is:

☐ NO

and that’s that. Not the best way to turn him down—you’ve definitely done better—but good enough for now and certainly good enough for Taehyung, who is absolutely laughing his entire head off in that back corner. When you turn back to the front of the room where the rest of the drama club officers await you, Yoongi’s pouting, puppy dog eyes on full display, pretending to be heartbroken at your rejection.

“Oh, stuff it, Min,” you chide, marching over to stand in between Seokjin and Yoongi as you clap your hands to begin the meeting.

It goes fairly well. Yoongi gives his instructions to his neck of the woods: the stage crew kids gathered in the top right corner of the seats, all of whom are on their phones and not paying attention to anything that the rest of the officers are saying. Quite frankly, you’re not even sure if they’re listening to Yoongi either. He’s their only representation in the republic known as the Drama Club Officers and they’re barely giving him even a margin of their attention. Namjoon manages to get dues from a couple more people. Seokjin is loud and reckless and everybody loves him, as per usual. You manage the whole thing, switching slides and relaying information from the musical directors.

When the meeting is over, Taehyung hangs back with the officers, partly because he’s your best friend and partly because he’s also your ride. Namjoon records the names of all of the students who gave him money and Seokjin waits around because they always leave school together.

Yoongi grabs his stuff and pulls on his black beanie, letting the thick wool cover his platinum bangs, looking longingly at the ☐ NO still left on the chalkboard. He stuffs his headphones into his ears and begins to head out, but not before shouting, “Don’t forget about me, Y/N!”

You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried.

Seokjin and Namjoon head out soon after, leaving you and Taehyung alone in the choir room as you pull on your jackets and adjust your backpacks. Taehyung’s keys jingle on the lanyard he’s got wrapped around his hand.

“I’d say that was a pretty successful meeting, wouldn’t you?” He asks on the way out, headed towards the exit that leads to the parking lot where his busted old car waits.

“Other than the Yoongi fiasco in the beginning, yeah, I think it went alright,” you say, only the slightest bit (more like a medium amount) bitter. Min Yoongi always has to be so… Yoongi.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I know you hate his guts, Y/N, but seriously. You’re playing Eponine in Les Miserables and yet when a love confession comes knocking on your door, you turn the lights off.”

“He doesn’t really mean it,” you insist like it’s obvious, because it is. No way in hell does Yoongi actually want to go out with you. He exists to torture you, nothing more, nothing less.

Your best friend sighs. His car beeps as he unlocks it. Some days you wonder what your life would be like if you had never met Min Yoongi, but then you remember that not even the kindest goddess could have prevented the firestorm known as your relationship.

You’re leaning against the stage, rehearsing your lines in your head when you hear the heavy stage door opening then slamming shut, heavy footsteps ringing out throughout the theater.

There’s just enough time to spot Taehyung marching in, proud as ever, jumping from the stage ledge to the carpeted pit below, and shouting, “Guess who just failed his calc test!”

Nobody applauds. In fact, nobody seems to take any note of him besides you and the director, who is shaking his head as he writes something down on his clipboard. But you have to take notice of him because he’s your best friend.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” you chide as he strides up to you. You don’t need to move your eyes from your script to know that he’s smiling. He reaches into his bag to show you the proof—a fucking satchel that cost him an arm and a leg at Urban Outfitters because he is a piece of shameless hipster trash and extremely proud of it—pulling out a crumpled looking thing stapled together in the top left corner. On the front, right next to where Taehyung’s scribbled his name (it looks like a goose has written it), a bright red 36/100.

“Look at her, Y/N,” Taehyung says, shoving the thing in your face. You fumble with it, trying to balance it between your fingers along with your thick (with two C’s) script. You leaf through it. There’s one page where Taehyung just drew a game of hangman. He didn’t even try to write anything down. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“What were you trying to spell out?” You ask, showing him the hangman page.

“I suck at calc.”

“You weren’t even gonna like, beg for an A?”

Taehyung looks only a little affronted. “I may be shameless but I’m not that shameless. At least I have the dignity to know when even I can’t schmooze my way to a good grade like Cher from Clueless. I just don’t have that kind of skill, Y/N! Or a rotating closet! My life is awful.”

“You know what, I think the role of Marius will be a good reality check for you. It’ll teach you to be humble. And to cherish what you already have. And to sing your feelings away.”

Taehyung scoffs. “I do that regularly.” He’s not wrong. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve found him singing a Billboard Top 50 song as a form of self-expression to achieve some sort of fake deep catharsis. He once broke out into a ballad version of Justin Bieber’s Never Say Never after missing a question while you were playing Kahoot in chemistry two years ago.

“So what do you have in calc now?”

“A 69.7%,” Taehyung declares like it’s an achievement.

“You scammed your way to a C? How?” You ask in shock. You can’t believe that Taehyung somehow managed to score enough points for him to not be failing that class. You’ve seen his test scores. His grades. He has used his un-handed-in calculus homework as a tissue before.

“My charm,” Taehyung boasts, making you cough up a laugh. At your skepticism, he adds, “and this extra credit review game we did.”

“You’re unbearable,” you tell him in disbelief, your voice still fond. You know that Taehyung doesn’t really want much to do with math, not when he happens to have a penchant for the arts. He’s just selectively studious.

Taehyung smiles to himself as he pulls out his own script, the edges of the folder bent and wrinkled and torn from being stuffed into and roughly pulled out of his satchel. “Bet my team members thought that too. Can’t say they were pleased with being paired up with me.”

“Who were you with?”

“Joy, Hana, and a certain guy whose name rhymes with Sin Boongi.”

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure who that is either.”

His sarcasm makes you roll your eyes. It’s not so much that you can’t stand the mention of Yoongi’s name as it is you can’t stand him existing, specifically near where you exist. If living on Mars were possible and feasible and if you were as wealthy and scandalous as Elon Musk, then you would either send Min Yoongi on the first ship to the red planet or jump on yourself.

Bitterly, you realize that even if a whole fucking planet separated the two of you, he’d still probably find some way to bother you.

“I mean, Joy and Hana probably greatly dislike me for mooching off of their genuine hard work but I know for a fact that I am not the primary target of Yoongi’s attention,” Taehyung tells you pointedly, crossing his arms in front of you as he gazes at you. You roll your eyes, roughly handing back his crumpled test and going back to your lines. You don’t need a reminder as to how much of a pain in every muscle in your body Yoongi is.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I chose for this to happen.”

“Ah, yes, it’s not your fault that Min Yoongi has been trying to confess his undying love for you since freshman year and you’ve done nothing but brutally reject him each time.”

This is the part in the story where you’re supposed to say that it wasn’t always like this. You’re supposed to reminisce about some time where you and Yoongi were childhood friends, neighbors, lovers who kissed each other on the kindergarten playground. A montage of your past together is supposed to play and make everyone in the audience watching the movie coo at how close the two of you used to be. And you’re supposed to be narrating the story of your life before the music takes a dark turn and gets all dramatic and you reveal this friendship-crushing event that destroyed your relationship and is meant to make the audience feel sympathetic towards you because you’ve painted yourself as the poor, helpless victim while Yoongi is the evil and malicious person out for your blood.

The truth is is that Yoongi isn’t out for your blood. He’s just out for your mild embarrassment, the kind that makes blood rush to your cheeks and a little frown to etch itself onto your face but the same kind that makes you realize that there could be worse things he does to you. That if this is the price to pay, you’ll take it.

The truth is is that it was always sort of like this.

“Well, how else am I supposed to reply? It’s not like Yoongi means anything by it,” you huff out.

“Gossiping about me, are we now, Y/N?”

You whip your head around to find—speak of the Devil and he shall appear—Yoongi marching across stage with a bucket of nails in his hand for the set construction. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was there for him to toss at you. He’s wearing paint-stained clothing, black covered in red and green and brown and white, a beanie sitting atop his bleach blonde hair. He looks so… infuriatingly good.

“Only about you,” you say sharply. Min Yoongi is your one and only nemesis in the entire drama club. Not even that kid Jungkook, who, despite his sheer size, is about as clumsy as a butterfly with a broken wing. He has, multiple times, run into you because he is too busy looking in the opposite direction when in motion. You don’t really blame him, though. He’s the only one who seems to know anything about filming things, which means that the directors put him in charge of anything to do with a camera. Which is a lot.

“I’m honored,” Yoongi tells you, one hand over his heart. He places the bucket down by the wooden planks on stage, a drill already waiting on top of them. “Keep an eye out for me, will you?”

“Min Yoongi, what are you planning now!” You shout, but he’s already beginning to drill, the noise of the drill bit pressing into the wood overwhelming your cries.

They’re the only words he speaks to you for the entire afternoon, leaving you fuming in place once more. Taehyung does absolutely nothing to help besides suggesting that you should put one of the frogs that the freshman biology kids have to dissect into his backpack, a plan that would perhaps work if it weren’t for the fact that it is equal parts hilarious and disgusting. Go big or go home, and you would rather sleep.

The only difference between before and now is that then Yoongi was a scrawny kid who wore all black and played basketball in the gymnasium alone and now he is, apparently, none of those things. Somewhere along the line Yoongi turned from a freshman into a senior and you don’t really know how you feel about it because the boy you are decidedly mortal enemies with is not supposed to look that good. That’s the problem here.

Of course, you could never voice this concern to anybody. Not even Taehyung, because Lord knows you would never hear the end of it from him. Taehyung’s wonderful, but he’s a bit of a blabbermouth, and when Taehyung finds out something the entire drama department will soon follow.

“People’s Song, folks!” One of the directors calls. “Everyone into the choir room!”

On your way over there, you lock eyes with Min Yoongi. He grins.

Ugh.

“Seokjin, are you even listening to me?” The choir director asks with a pointed look on his face, hands on his hips. Seokjin is too busy eating one of those snack packs of Nutella and breadsticks, turning around like a deer caught in the headlights, cheeks puffy and lips chocolate-y. Where did that come from? Is he even allowed to be eating in here?

“Vaguely,” he responds, making the director roll his eyes. “Can’t hear you over the sound of me quenching my hunger.”

All of the students in the room laugh over the sound of Seokjin’s teeth crunching down onto the snack.

Namjoon, with a tie around his forehead for some unknown reason (you know for a fact that the kids in charge of costumes did not put him up to this), strolls up to his boyfriend, disregarding the seating arrangement entirely to snatch a breadstick from the container. Seokjin takes notice of the accessory tied around his head and tugs on it slightly, making everyone close their eyes to shield them gross display of public affection.

The director sighs, paging back a bit in the score before hitting the pitch on his piano. “We’re starting at the top.”

He begins to play, the thick sound of the piano echoing throughout the room from the dinky speakers behind his desk. Seokjin clears his throat, coughing a little before starting.

“One day more,” he sings. “Another day, another destiny…”

Namjoon rests his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as he sings, peering down at his lines every now and then just to see when his entrance is coming up.

“One day more,” Seokjin ends his phrase and the director continues to play, waiting for Taehyung to enter.

The only thing is that Taehyung’s been absent from school for the past two days after coming down with strep throat. You have no idea where he contracted that from, especially considering you’ve gotten strep every year since you were eleven.

“Marius?” The director stops on a clunky note. “Where is he?”

“He’s sick,” you inform him. “Strep.”

“Fine,” the director sighs, rubbing his temples. He definitely doesn’t get paid enough. “Anyone willing to fill in? You don’t have to be any good, you just need to sing.”

No one seems to be willing to take Taehyung’s part. Not that you blame them, because Marius has a fairly decent range and everyone in high school cares too much about their reputation to be willing to sacrifice their own pride for the greater good.

Well, everyone except one person.

“I will,” Yoongi volunteers from out of nowhere. You furrow your brows in disbelief as you watch him stroll over to the front of the choir room. Where the hell did he come from? Has he been here the whole time? Yoongi has almost no business being in the choir room during a practice for one of the songs when he is 1) not a choir student and 2) in stage crew. It’s like he just manifested from the dust particles floating around.

“Alright, fine,” the choir director says gruffly. “Need a script?”

“No, it’s alright,” Yoongi says, cruising over and taking the seat right next to your own. He smiles casually at you, like it’s no big deal that he just volunteered to take Taehyung’s part for this one particular song.

“What the hell are you doing,” you mutter to him.

“Using my resources,” he hisses back.

“Okay, we’re starting from the beginning again. Seokjin?”

Seokjin looks up at the call of his name with half of a baby carrot sticking out of his mouth. There’s a Ziploc bag full of them sitting on Namjoon’s lap. He chews the offending vegetable like a rabbit, quickly and furiously, before swallowing down what’s left and clearing his throat once more.

He gets through his verse with relative ease and for a brief second you think this might actually just be a normal fucking rehearsal when—

“I did not live until today,” Yoongi sings in his rough voice, gravelly yet smooth all at once. It shocks you a little bit, how decent of a singer he is. He really does have a calling for the dramatics. “How can I live when we are parted?” You can feel his gaze on your figure, even if he is glancing back and forth at the lyrics he’s pulled up on his phone. He’s waiting to see how you’ll react.

“One day more,” Seokjin continues, but you can see the way his eyes are trained on the two of you. He’s trying to be subtle about it.

“Tomorrow you’ll be worlds away, and yet with you, my world has started,” Yoongi continues, even as Eunbi—Cosette—joins in from across the room. She doesn’t seem to care that Taehyung’s not here and that Yoongi’s taken his place. You don’t really blame her—she thinks that Taehyung is the baboon of the music department and quite frankly, her thoughts are not at all misled.

“One day more, all on my own,” you begin to sing softly, barely audible over the sound of the piano keys clunking throughout the room. You don’t really know if you have the guts to look up at Yoongi.

“Will we ever meet again?” He sings, except his words aren’t directed at Cosette.

“One more day with him not caring,” the lyrics come naturally to you but the feeling of everyone watching you will always be foreign, even if you were born to be a performer. Born to be on stage.

This is different than being on stage.

“I was born to be with you,” Yoongi declares more than he sings, reaching his arm out towards you. Slowly, you begin to look up at Yoongi, who looks just about as expressive as Taehyung is whenever he serenades the goldfish in his room. He’s got his arms outstretched towards you and is singing like his life depends on it, kind of because you have the slightest feeling that you’re about to end it when you’re done with this song.

“What a life I might have known,” you sing through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Yoongi. He is, to put it simply, wholly undeterred. This is supposed to be a romantic and wistful and hopeful tune and because of him, the entire damn song has gotten flipped—turned upside down. Marius isn’t even the one in love with Eponine. That’s the whole reason her character exists. Because he doesn’t love her.

Not that you’re implying that Yoongi feels any sort of romantic affection towards you. Impossible. There are plenty of reasons that Yoongi does shit like this but you doubt any of them are “because he loves you.”

“And I swear I will be true,” Yoongi promises, belts out with more emotion than you think you’ve ever seen him. This feels like it’s about to turn into a High School Musical scene from how dramatic Yoongi’s being.

“But he never saw me there.” It’s turned into a staring contest between you and him. Yoongi’s grinning wildly as he continues, making the tense press of your lips grow even tighter.

“One more day before the storm,” Namjoon jumps in, and it seems that he’s following Yoongi’s preferred plan of attack which is to sing like it is the last time he will ever sing. He jumps up like he’s literally part of the June Revolution, his fists curled in a power stance.

Yoongi joins in, leaping to his feet. Since when is Namjoon the instigator? “Do I follow where she goes?”

“At the barricades of freedom,” Namjoon follows, raising his arm in solidarity to whatever cause he stands for. Seokjin stands up as well, adjusting the tie around his boyfriend’s forehead as he does.

“Shall I join my brothers there?”

“When our ranks begin to form?”

“Do I stay, and do I dare?”

“Will you take your place with me?”

There comes a point where suddenly you are the only one who is still sitting in your chair, your feet rooted firmly to the ground in protest. Everyone around you is beginning to belt out the lyrics, even if it isn’t their part. You hate drama kids. Oh goodness, you hate them.

You think you might actually make it through this whole rehearsal without dying of embarrassment, but then Yoongi reaches down where he stands next to you and pulls you to your feet, making you gasp slightly at the tug. He’s gotten quite strong. It must be all of the carrying he does during stage crew.

“The time is now, the day is here!” Everyone shouts rather than sings. Yoongi looks right into your eyes as he says the lyrics and you wonder if he can see the disdain lacing your irises. If this is his attempt at another confession, it’s exceedingly poor.

“One day more!” Seokjin practically yodels before everyone dissolves into a fit of laughter. Even the choir director has a smile on his face.

“Won’t you love me, Y/N?” Yoongi asks you, closing his eyes dramatically as he opens his arms.

You look at him in disbelief. You hope he can’t see the way the fondness bleeds into your expression. “In your dreams, Min.”

It ends there.

you (7:03PM): how dare you

yeontan’s daddy (7:03PM): what did i do

you (7:04PM): be sick

yeontan’s daddy (7:04PM): well excuse me for getting strep from a certain someone

you (7:04PM): idk what ur talking about ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

yeontan’s daddy (7:05PM): Okay™ yeontan’s daddy (7:05PM): what happened today yeontan’s daddy (7:05PM): did i miss something

you (7:05PM): yoongi

yeontan’s daddy (7:06PM): omg noooooo i missed it!! yeontan’s daddy (7:06PM): i wonder if jk filmed it

you (7:06PM): im distressed and the only thing you can think about is if jungkook filmed it???????

yeontan’s daddy (7:07PM): are you questioning my priorities

you (7:07PM): i hate you

yeontan’s daddy (7:08PM): just like you hate yoongi

you (7:06PM): you are the worst best friend i have ever had

yeontan’s daddy (7:08PM): what did he do this time

you (7:09PM): he SANG TO ME you (7:09PM): SANG!! WITH HIS VOICE !!! you (7:09PM): HIS LIPS MOVED AND MADE NOISE

yeontan’s daddy (7:10PM): that is typically how people sing

you (7:10PM): HE SANG !!! IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED !!!!! I DON’T THINK SO !!!!!

yeontan’s daddy (7:10PM): i didn’t know yoongi sang

you (7:10PM): HE DOESN’T

yeontan’s daddy (7:10PM): you seem very emotional about this

you (7:10PM): IM ANGRY

yeontan’s daddy (7:11PM): is he at least a decent singer

you (7:11PM): YES

yeontan’s daddy (7:11PM): wow you’re mad

you (7:11PM): IM RAGING!!!!!

yeontan’s daddy (7:12PM): what did he sing? imo he definitely should have serenaded you with take on me

you (7:12PM): HE SANG YOUR FUCKING PART

yeontan’s daddy (7:12PM): mine????

you (7:12PM): BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T HERE TODAY

yeontan’s daddy (7:12PM): I DON’T HAVE A VOICE yeontan’s daddy (7:12PM): MY DOCTOR SAID IM CONTAGIOUS

you (7:13PM): IM MAD AT YOU

yeontan’s daddy (7:13PM): marius isn’t even in love with eponine??? it’s the other way around???

you (7:13PM): I KNOW

yeontan’s daddy (7:14PM): what were you even singing

you (7:14PM): ONE DAY MORE you (7:14PM): AND HE SANG ALL OF HIS LINES you (7:14PM): WHILE LOOKING AT ME you (7:14PM): AND IM ANGRY ABOUT IT

yeontan’s daddy (7:16PM): im going to be extremely disappointed if no one filmed this

you (7:16PM): EVERYONE JOINED IN you (7:16PM): HE GOT UP TO HIS FEET AND SUDDENLY IT WAS LIKE SOME HSM BULLSHIT you (7:16PM): I HATE THIS

yeontan’s daddy (7:19PM): i just double checked my lines for one day more and that’s like? very romantic? a 10/10 even if the delivery was a bit off

you (7:19PM): ARE YOU TAKING HIS SIDE!!!

yeontan’s daddy (7:19PM): is your caps lock button just… perpetually on

you (7:19PM): YES

yeontan’s daddy (7:19PM): you can’t possibly be this mad about being serenaded

you (7:20PM): IM DISTRESSED

yeontan’s daddy (7:20PM): is this because you literally have no idea how to navigate your feelings for yoongi

you (7:20PM): my only feelings for yoongi are disdain and general disgust

yeontan’s daddy (7:20PM): i really do not think that is true

you (7:20PM): what else could it be

yeontan’s daddy (7:23PM): hmmm yeontan’s daddy (7:23PM): i wonder

you (7:24PM): what the hell are you trying to say you (7:25PM): i know you fucking got this text you (7:26PM): do not leave me on read!!! you (7:34PM): taehyung!!!! how dare you!!!!! you (7:40PM): im calling the police !!!!! you (8:45PM): taehyung!!!!!!

It pains you to say so, but the set looks fantastic. As much as your petty grudges and general pride hate to admit it, Yoongi and his gang of gangly, uncoordinated, My Chemical Romance-listening stage crew students do a wonderful job each year, and this musical is no exception. On stage right now, in front of the background design of an unspecified French city in the early-to-mid 1800s is a pile of apparent rubbish. But it’s meant to be like that, old tables and chairs and even the damn piano from the choir room all mashed together, glued and nailed and enforced with random wooden planks here and there, meant to look like a real French barricade built haphazardly by students who most definitely aren’t gifted in the arts of engineering and invention. And if Namjoon, king of standing on top of things he shouldn’t be standing on top of, can climb to the top without either toppling over or bringing the whole construction down with him, then it must be sturdy as hell.

“You’re rousing, Namjoon,” the director tells him. The student in question is wobbling as he makes his way up the mountain of random household objects, Seokjin standing a couple of feet away on the sidelines and looking on fondly. “Be more… revolutionary. You’re calling everyone to action, right?”

“Right,” Namjoon nods, but the action makes him lose his footing for a quick second. He regains it nearly as fast, but not before Seokjin’s darting over, instinct telling him to protect the one he loves.

“Okay, so act like it,” the director says.

“Red, the blood of angry men!” Namjoon cries, his voice the slightest bit melodic that it needs to be. Seokjin looks on like a very pleased boyfriend.

“More! Angrier!” The director encourages. He’s been working on getting Namjoon to act more like a revolutionary in France in the early nineteenth century for a while now, most as a result of Namjoon’s insecurity of his ability to act like one. The thing is, you’ve seen Namjoon in debates in your political science class. And you’ve seen the way he protests the way that student minorities are always punished more severely than those that aren’t. And you’ve read his essays about the oppression of women’s rights in modern society. Namjoon’s about as revolutionary as they come, powerful, intelligent, noble—he just doesn’t know it.

“Red, the blood of angry men!” Namjoon says, getting provoked by the director. All of the students on stage are feeling the June Rebellion coursing through their veins, angry yet determined expressions lacing their features as they all engage in various revolutionary activity.

“Good, good!” The director emphasizes.

“Black, the dark of ages past!” continues Namjoon, getting a bit daring and moving to stand taller. He’s nearly at the top of the Mount Everest of rubbish. “Red, a world about to dawn!”

Namjoon takes one giant step, knee knocking into the edge of some table, and reaches the very peak of the trash pile. He balances himself on some sort of ledge and triumphantly raises both of his fists in the air, and with a great big, empowering grin, shouts, “Black, the night that ends at last!”

At this exact moment, ironically enough, all of the lights on stage shut off. The ones in the pit soon follow after a split second, and then the entire auditorium is shrouded in darkness.

“What the fuck,” you can hear Namjoon mutter to himself. He doesn’t dare move for fear of misplacing his foot and crashing to the stage floor.

“Go, Yoongi, go!”

The director doesn’t even have time to shout Hoseok’s name before you hear some random scuffling, rushed and quick and very disorganized. You whip your head around, hoping to spot the offending stage crew manager and the entourage he has somehow gathered to do his dirty work, but then the lights flicker back on, one by one from the back of the auditorium all the way to the stage, where Min Yoongi stands in the center with the megaphone held to his mouth.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. You already know exactly what’s about to happen and you try and hide yourself, sinking into the sweater you’re wearing as you quickly scan for any means of escape or disguise. Maybe you can go hide behind Jungkook, since he’s standing in the middle of the seats with a fat camera in his hand, filming the whole thing. You’re about to make a mad dash before Yoongi can do anything when you hear a crackling sound and—

“Y/N!” Yoongi shouts into the megaphone, his voice mildly unintelligible and cracked around the edges. He doesn’t really need to shout, not when he’s got a megaphone in his hand, but here he is.

“Oh my God,” you say in shock, your head slowly sinking into your hands. “Oh. My God.”

“IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN GOING TO HARVARD AND GETTING TO DATE YOU, I WOULD DATE YOU,” Yoongi continues, voice blaring. “SORRY FOR CAUSING ALL OF THIS RUCKUS, DIRECTORS, BUT YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO ‘EM. SPECIFICALLY Y/N. BECAUSE I LOVE HER.”

“Christ almighty,” you continue to mutter, knowing fully well that Jungkook is panning back and forth between where you stand in the pit and where Yoongi stands on stage.

“I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH GRANDER I CAN GO WITH THESE, Y/N. I’M RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS. YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED.”

Taehyung snickers somewhere next to you.

“IN ANY CASE, NOW THAT I’VE CAUSED ENOUGH DISRUPTION, PLEASE DON’T FIRE ME AS HEAD OF STAGE CREW. WE FINISHED ALL OF THE SETUP. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO DO. I HAVE ONE FINAL QUESTION.”

It’s a wonder that Yoongi hasn’t auditioned for any sort of drama show because he’d almost be guaranteed a main role. What with all of this nonsense.

“WILL YOU, Y/N, DO ME THE HONOR OF GOING OUT ON A DATE WITH ME?”

Yoongi then proceeds to hand the megaphone off to Jimin, who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere, who grabs it in his baby-sized hands and rushes towards you with it. He hands it over to you and points to the button you’re meant to press to get the thing to turn on.

“Is this the best you can do, Min?” You ask in response, a challenge that he’s definitely going to accept. You’re digging your own grave here but you don’t have the heart to just straight up reject him, especially not when he’s managed to corral all of the kids in stage crew and the tech kids up in the light and soundbooth to do this for him. This is like some twisted promposal gone completely wrong. “Step your game up and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

With that, you hand the megaphone back to a very disgruntled director and continue on with your day. On stage, Yoongi is handing out high-fives to his entire crew, considering this endeavor a success. Or at least, a not-failure. The directors are trying to wrangle everyone up again to rehearse but consider their efforts fruitless and give a ten minute break.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say no,” Taehyung says in disbelief as he comes up next to you, arms crossed over his chest. “I thought Yoongi was a goner.”

“I’m being benevolent,” you inform him. “Next time he pulls some shit like this and I’m locking him up in the catwalk. When they tear this school down they will find his skeleton, still wearing that goddamn black beanie.”

“Wow, you really thought that out,” Taehyung comments, mildly impressed. Then, because he’s got the attention span of a puppy in a park, “I can’t believe you said you’d consider it. Since when do you consider anything to do with Yoongi?”

“I told you I was being benevolent.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually warming up to the idea of going out with him. I’ll die of shock.”

“You sure that strep throat didn’t infect your brain?” You tease, ruffling his head.

“I think it might have, considering I just had a dream where you said you might actually consider going on a date with Yoongi.”

“I’m getting his hopes up so that I can crush them with my bare hands,” you say, glancing towards Yoongi. He seems to notice your gaze upon him and sends you some classic finger guns and an incredibly greasy wink, neither of which you return. “Like a grape.”

“I have never seen you crush a grape with your bare hands before.”

“Bring grapes tomorrow.”

“Regardless, you’re not that cruel, Y/N. You told Yoongi to step his game up and he will and if you reject him, I won’t be able to figure out if it’s all in good fun or not. It’s a fine line to cross, Y/N,” Taehyung warns cautiously, giving you a pointed look. You sigh. This isn’t how you pictured this conversation with Taehyung going. You thought he would just applaud you for not being so heartless but now he’s off preaching.

“I don’t know why he keeps doing it,” you think aloud. It’s never-ending, the confessions, over and over again without any sort of break in between. They’ve become so common that it’s a part of your routine at this point, something you just expect to happen despite their general spontaneity. It’s not so much that they’re predictable as it is they’re nice surprises.

Taehyung frowns. “Have you ever told him to stop?” He asks you with his eyebrows raised, a valid point to be making. “You know that if you told him to stop he would, right? He’s not that much of an asshole.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself when the realization hits you. It’s never occurred to you that you’ve never told Yoongi to stop with all of this nonsense, even after year after year of it. You know Yoongi well enough to know that if something he was doing made you feel truly uncomfortable, he wouldn’t continue doing it. He’s a decent guy like that. Taehyung’s right. Yoongi would stop the moment you asked him to.

But why haven’t you? Even after four years of having to hear him proclaim his undying affection for you in elaborate and schemed ways, you’ve never once told him no. You’ve accepted it as reality and continued on with your life.

It’s come so far that now you just expect them.

Like you’re waiting for the next time.

“You’re thinking awful hard about this,” Taehyung notes as he pops a piece of white cheddar popcorn into his mouth.

“I’m distressed,” you tell him.

“Have you ever once considered the idea that you may, in fact, enjoy the attention you receive from him?”

You scoff as a knee-jerk reaction. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hate him.”

Taehyung frowns. “I don’t really think that you do.”

“Can you stop doing that?” You ask bitterly.

Taehyung raises a brow. “Doing what?”

“Being all cryptic and shit. Whenever we talk about me and Yoongi all you do is dodge my questions and be vague. Extremely unhelpful,” you pout. Taehyung’s your best friend—he should be the one telling you the things you don’t know. Every time you ask him to spell something out for you he jumbles up the letters like a child with a magnetic alphabet on his fridge.

“I’m not here to police your feelings for him,” Taehyung tells you.

“My feelings for him?”

“Tell me right now, to my face, that you hate him. If you can, I’ll believe you.”

You turn to him, glare into Taehyung’s deep brown eyes, and open your mouth. The words should come easily to you—after all, you’ve been repeating them to yourself for years now—but your tongue is dry.

You know you can’t say that you hate Yoongi. Because you don’t. You really, really don’t. Maybe he’s loud and obnoxious and spontaneous and outrageous but you don’t hate that about him. He cares deeply and works hard and always makes sure that the stage crew is organized and prepared and treats them with respect and you don’t hate him. You can’t.

“Knew it,” Taehyung says, shaking his head. “You’re awfully soft, did you know that, Y/N? Always have been.”

“I take personal offense to that.”

“You’re such a goner for him, don’t you know that?” Taehyung asks. He motions his head towards Yoongi, who’s laughing on stage with Jimin and Seokjin. They’re tossing Goldfish into each other’s mouth, and one hits Yoongi on the nose before falling to the floor. He’s laughing. They all are, but Yoongi beaming. He outshines everyone on stage even if he isn’t an actor himself. He’s wondrous.

You sigh. “Yeah. I know.”

After your final dress rehearsal, everyone’s deadbeat tired. It’s nearing eleven at night and you think you’ve set a record for how long you can be in your school building in one go. Even Taehyung’s about to fall asleep, and the man downed a venti Starbucks coffee during the last period of the day.

“Good run, folks!” Your director shouts. “You guys will be amazing on Thursday, I know it! Get some much needed rest. No practice tomorrow, so don’t show up here otherwise I’ll have to hear about it from management!”

Everyone groans out their response as they gather their bags, wiping off the makeup on their faces with dried-out wipes and dampened paper towels. Right now, there is no place more enticing to you than your bed back home, sheets crumpled and warm.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” Taehyung shouts as he’s bounding down the steps outside, jumping into the passenger seat of his older brother’s car. Normally he’d be offering to drive you home but his car’s in the shop. The damn thing was on its last legs anyway. It needed some repairs.

“See you!” You wave back, turning to go back inside the auditorium. It’s oddly cold tonight, and you underprepared with just a t-shirt, so you’re trying to conserve as much warmth as you can before your ride comes.

The auditorium’s mostly cleared out, lights dim and hazy. But there in the middle is Yoongi, leaning down to clean up the remnants of the nonsense on stage. He looks so alone, up on stage without anybody else. Nobody seems to have stayed back to help him.

Your ride can wait a couple minutes.

You drop your backpack down in one of the seats next to the aisle as you walk up to him, strides longer to get you there faster.

“Need some help?” You ask.

Your voice catches him off guard, and he looks up with his mouth in the shape of a small ‘o’. He blinks a couple of times, like he’s processing the fact that you’re here, standing in front of him, offering a hand.

“Me? Oh, yeah. That would be nice, thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

You come up on stage and Yoongi directs you to the broom hanging up on the wall so you can dust away anything left on stage—not that there’s very much. In his hands, Yoongi’s got a couple stray pieces of paper and some safety pins that must have fallen off some of the costumes. Jimin will need those.

You fall into this silence as the two of you clean up what’s left. Most of it’s just tidying up, organizing the props on the tables backstage so that everything’s in order for the show in a couple days, but it’s important. Important enough for you and Yoongi to be the only two people left to do it.

This is the kind of thing that’s supposed to be awkward and romantic at the same time. You and Yoongi are the only ones left in this dark auditorium as the moon waits above your head for some miracle to play out. You don’t know what to say to each other but your company is enough of an icebreaker. His mere presence fills up the space, even if he’s one lonely man on a giant stage. Yoongi’s exhausted, the bags under his eyes deep and dark, much like your own. Alongside being part of the drama club as a whole, you’re also officers of it, meaning the two of you take on responsibilities nobody else in the club would dare to. You love this, love being on stage and acting and entertaining others, but days like this are draining.

“You should get some rest,” Yoongi breaks through the layer of tension in the air. You didn’t even realize that it had settled until he waved it away. He walks up to you with a damp rag in his hand from wiping down the set for the last time to clean it of any dust that might have settled.

“You too,” you tell him softly, holding the broom close to your body to give your hands something to do.

“I’m not the one performing on stage in a couple days,” says Yoongi, smiling to himself.

“Just because I’m under the lights and you aren’t doesn’t make you any less important, Min,” you say to him, looking down at your feet because you don’t think you could bear looking into his eyes. It’s dark, everything’s dark, from his hat to his clothes to the stage to the auditorium to his irises. “Without you, we’d have no show.”

“I—I mean I just move stuff off and on stage,” Yoongi admits shyly. Why does he think so little of himself? Doesn’t he know how much he matters?

“You built the damn stage,” you tell him, finally mustering up enough courage to look him in the eye. You signal to the rest of the set, designed and constructed and decorated perfectly, a display of all of his hard work, right in front of him. There’s not a thing out of place. At least, it doesn’t look that way to you. “This was all you.”

“I had a lot of help,” he whispers.

“So did I,” you tell him. “What you do here matters, Min,” you stress, hoping he’ll understand. Hoping he’ll know how much his work means to you. How much he means to you. “You matter.”

It’s then that Yoongi looks up. He’s got his dark pink lips in that little ‘o’ again, but then they shift into a small smile, miniscule. You’d probably hardly be able to see it if you weren’t so close to him. His eyes crinkle up ever so slightly. God, he’s…

“I’ll see you at the show on Thursday, okay?” Yoongi asks, eyes hopeful. He doesn’t need to be hopeful, not when you and him both have to show up no matter what, but he asks it like he isn’t sure. He should be.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. For some reason, you can’t wait to see him again.

“Eponine! Eponine, come on!”

Namjoon’s shouting your name as you rush backstage. It’s the finale for Act One and you barely had time to get yourself situated since your last scene, dirtying up your clothes a bit more and covering your cheeks with brown and black eyeshadow. Time passes by too quickly for this show, strange enough since it’s long as hell.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you whisper shout in response, coming up next to Namjoon. You look across the stage in the hopes that maybe you can catch a glimpse of Yoongi, but you’ve barely seen him at all since you arrived to get into your costume. Maybe a couple of glances, here or there, but other than that he seems to be entirely AWOL.

“One Day More, One Day More!” Namjoon tells you in a hurry and you rush on stage, hidden in the darkness as you stand, waiting for your cue.

The lights on stage come back on. Seokjin stands in the center in his Jean Valjean costume, looks out into the audience, and begins to sing. Soon enough, Taehyung and Eunbi join him on stage, standing a few feet away from him as they sing to each other. The spotlight’s on just them for right now as they share their song, but soon enough you feel the heat of the light on you and join in.

Just for now, any thought of Yoongi evaporates from your mind. You can’t really think of him, not as you stand on stage and sing for your friends, your family, anyone who has come to see this show on this rainy Thursday night. The Act One Finale is always your favorite thing to perform, just because it’s so energetic, inclusive, fun.

Soon the entire cast is on stage, each person singing their part as the pit plays beneath you. It’s your first showing but undoubtedly not your best, even as you accidentally stumble over your words when you spot Yoongi rushing around backstage, just a momentary glimpse of him. He looks awfully busy.

The song comes to a close and the lights turn off to a round of applause from the audience. The curtains close, the whirring of the machine that moves them barely audible over the sound of the cast members shuffling off stage. Intermission’s meant to last about fifteen minutes, just long enough for everyone to change and clean up and for the stage crew to set up for the next scene. You’re sweating from being under the lights, hair matted by your forehead where your perspiration collects, and you wipe away what you can with a paper towel as you head off stage to take a breather.

You’re barely out into the hallway when you feel someone grab onto your wrist at the same time a voice outside says, “Attention, everyone, could I just get your attention for a moment?”

It’s Yoongi.

Eyes wide, you turn to the person holding onto your wrist to find your best friend smiling guiltily at you, like he knows something you don’t. He definitely knows something you don’t.

“Taehyung, what on earth are you doing?” You hiss at him, but he shrugs.

“I’m being the best friend in the entire world,” Taehyung responds, before he pulls you down to the doors that lead to the pit, opening them and pushing you into the auditorium. Almost immediately, a light shines on you, and you wince as your eyes adjust to the glare. Taehyung waves up to Hoseok. “Go!” Taehyung shouts, motioning up to where Yoongi stands, rocking back and forth in his all black Converse, a microphone in his hand.

Your hardened expression softens into something grossly fond as you make your way up the stairs onto the stage, the spotlight following your each and every step. Yoongi waits at the top like a groom watching his bride come down the aisle. You can’t help but feel like that comparison isn’t too far off.

“Sorry to disrupt your, uh, intermission, everyone,” he says gruffly into the microphone. “This’ll be really quick.” You can tell that he doesn’t want to look into your eyes but he can’t figure out a better place to put his gaze. “Anyway, Y/N, you know that I do a lot of dumb sh—I mean, stuff to get your attention and then you said that I should step my game up so here we are.”

Even if this the most public any one of his elaborate confessions has been, it doesn’t feel that way. You’ve got an entire audience this time, both in the seats and backstage, everyone watching as Yoongi tries one more time. You can hear the doors leading to the pit opening as the entire cast tries to get a glimpse of what’s happening on stage.

This feels different.

It feels different because suddenly Yoongi’s the speechless one, cheeks bright red as he tries to curl into his clothing, sink into the fabric impossibly closer. You’re the one receiving whatever love confession is on the end of this but now he’s the one who’s unsure and embarrassed. It’s kind of endearing, really.

“You’ve probably heard me say this a bunch but I figured there was no better way to say it than in front of the audience for the first night of our show, right?” He forces a chuckle and it makes him cough a little. You can’t help but smile at him. “I don’t know, you’ve always been so wonderful and kind and strong and funny and you make everyone around you laugh, even me, and I make all of these elaborate schemes to ask you out on a date with me but I feel like doing this whole thing just for a date is a bit shallow, so I’ve decided on something else.”

It’s then that Jung Hoseok, decked out in a black hoodie three times the size of his torso and skintight pants, shuffles onto stage with a single rose in his hand. It’s a lavender purple rose. You didn’t even realize that they sold those.

“Anyway, what I’m really trying to say before everyone in the audience gets fed up with me for taking time out of their intermission is, well,” Yoongi teeters on his feet awkwardly, leaning his weight from one side to the other as he twirls the rose between his fingers. “Will you go to prom with me?”

You open your mouth to respond but Seokjin beats you to it.

“Say yes!” He shouts from the sidelines, making Yoongi laugh.

Yoongi looks so nervous. So unsure of himself yet so hopeful, wishing and wishing and wishing. You’ve got a four year streak of turning him down and for the longest time you swore you’d never break it but things are different now.

“I’d love to, Min.”

Yoongi lights up, not even like a Christmas tree but like the whole fucking Christmas display at the mall, the one with reindeers and snowflakes and everything. He lights up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. He carefully gives the rose to you but you crush it between your fingers as you hug him, pull him close.

Everyone in the audience cheers. Taehyung’s shouting, “That’s my best friend! That’s my best friend right there!” Next to him, Jungkook’s got his camera up, filming the boy in all black with a pink tinge to his cheeks and the girl in tattered rags with dirt covering her face.

When you and Yoongi walk off stage to join your friends behind the scenes, he laces his fingers in between yours. You don’t anticipate on letting go for a long while.

“Can we banish them from the couch?” Hoseok asks loudly, over the music playing from the television. “They’re being all date-y and shit.”

“We are dating, you asshole,” Yoongi shouts. He’s got one arm wrapped around your side as the other holds the phone up in front of your faces, your body curled into him with your knees tucked close to your chest, leaning against him.

“That’s up to the man of the house, Hobi,” Jimin says as he hands Hoseok another root beer. He motions to Seokjin, who is entirely too busy laughing his entire ass off as he plays What Do You Meme? with Namjoon, Taehyung, Eunbi, and Jungkook on the carpet. They seem to be having a grand old time. You move your head over slightly to see them battling over who won the card with that blue button meme with the giant word NUT written on top of it. Namjoon eventually gives the round to Seokjin, prompting everyone else to accuse them of cheating because they’re dating.

“I hate this so much,” Hoseok says, sighing. “What are you guys even watching?”

“It’s this video of an owner dressing up as their dog’s favorite toy,” Yoongi says without taking his eyes off of the video. The dog starts smothering its owner in kisses. God, you don’t deserve dogs.

“You guys might not want to sit on the left side of that couch!” Seokjin shouts as a warning from across the way, eyebrows raised and cheeks tinged a hazy red in the dim light of his living room.

You and Yoongi look at each other, confused for a brief second, before the both of you start groaning, quickly getting up from where you were seated and searching for another place of lodging. Did you need to know what Seokjin and Namjoon do in their free time? Absolutely not. Did you find out anyway? Unfortunately.

“Hey, deal us in,” you say to Taehyung, settling down in between him and Jungkook. Yoongi takes a seat beside you as Taehyung hands each of you seven cards. Your boyfriend—God, that’s so nice to say—instantly laughs, hearty and loud and wonderful, upon reading the first one.

The next meme Namjoon pulls from the box is the one photo from when Obama gave Joe Biden the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Everyone laughs at the sight of it as they play their cards. It’s Seokjin’s turn to judge.

When he flips over the last card, it’s a freestyle one. Taehyung immediately claims it as his own.

“Go on, give us what you got, Tae,” Namjoon says.

Taehyung clears his throat before announcing, “When Y/N finally said yes to going out with Yoongi after four years of being too constipated in her feelings to realize that she liked him.”

The night fades out like the end of a film, the last scene of a play, with everyone laughing as you beat your best friend with your fists for being so goddamn awful. Yoongi presses an insistent kiss to your forehead as Seokjin easily hands that one to Taehyung, who takes the meme card with pride.

The curtain closes.

thank you so much for reading! i just learned that i can’t put links on my posts otherwise tumblr x-nays them for the search engine, so if you wanna talk to me, hit up my ask box!

[phantasticworks]

Terminal

I’ve been awol for a while because I’ve been working all summer and I’ve recently moved back to school and life has been busy but I’ve actually been working on this for four months (between my episodes of writers block and working on my other wip) but I am finally back with another one shot! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

read on ao3

Words: 20k

Description: Phil finds himself stuck in an airport in Florida when a nasty storm blows in from the coast. His phone is dying and his will to live without it is too. He stumbles across a cute brunette who may be just as dorky as himself, and of course flirting ensues. And maybe this cute stranger has a charger to spare? Really your goal as a reader is to solve the incredible important mystery of whether or not he gets his phone charged (and maybe have a little Phan story along the way)

Warnings: mentions of depression, swearing, smut, the usual

Phil hated airports.

Actually, that’s not entirely factual.

It wasn’t that he hated the airports themselves, although they weren’t anything to write home about, honestly. He was actually just a little annoyed with the delays. Like, how many times can a flight be delayed before it’s just cancelled altogether? Phil didn’t know, and he really didn’t want to find out.

His flight back home to London had already been delayed twice, each time for another hour. He couldn’t tell much from looking outside other than the fact that it looked like it was nearing midnight, although the clock on his phone told him it was barely four in the afternoon. In theory, he knew that this meant the storm was really bad and he should be concerned for his safety, but he didn’t see the point in being too fussed about it, considering he was in a massive building and they weren’t on the coast.

Luckily, his family had flown back the day before. Since he was now a responsible, financially stable adult, he’d bought his own tickets and hotel room. Unfortunately, he had misunderstood the dates that the rest of his family was flying out, and he’d booked everything a day late. Which really hadn’t upset him all that much anyway, since it had been a week-long trip. He was just annoyed about it now that he was having to wait in the stupid airport while his family was already safe and sound back in England. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t upset about the part where his family was safe; obviously he was glad they’d gotten home fine, but he was just irritated at the inconvenience of waiting.

He’d gotten bored sitting in the boarding area of his flight, so he’d been wandering the airport, staying close enough to check to flight board every now and then as he popped into the different shops throughout the massive building. He’d stumbled into a little airport café at some point, and after ordering a caramel macchiato he’d settled into a booth close to the front. Bored, he pulls out his phone with the intention of playing flappy bird. After only a few tries, he gets the message that his phone battery is at twenty percent. Wonderful. His charger is wherever his main suitcase is, so he’s out of luck for now.

He sighs, looking out of the window to look at the unideal weather they were stuck in. If someone had told him that his trip to America would be this hard to come back from, he’d never have gone in the first place. Well, that probably wasn’t entirely true either; he loved going to Disney World with his family, and just because he was stuck in the airport due to some sort of hurricane didn’t mean he regretted going on the trip entirely.

Phil tries very hard to keep this in mind ten minutes later when he’s walked out of the café to check the flight board, only to find that his flight has been delayed another three hours. He lets out a long, annoyed breath, apparently startling the man standing next to him. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He normally wasn’t such a sour person, even in the face of inconveniences like this. He fully blamed it on the fact that not only was he stuck in the airport, but he didn’t have his phone charger.

“’S fine,” the man responds, his voice causing Phil to take a second look.

He wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn’t heard a familiar accent, but upon realizing this man is also British, Phil can’t help it. He takes a moment to survey the man’s profile, trying his hardest to be casual about it. The man was tall, maybe an inch taller than himself, although it’s hard to tell from the poor posture he possesses. His hair is a deep brown, and so curly that Phil can only marvel at it for a moment. He’s dressed almost entirely in black, aside from the white t-shirt that he’s wearing under the black bomber jacket. It’s a good look on him, Phil thinks, although, he could probably use a little color.

Almost as if his thought has summoned the attention of the stranger, his heard turns, catching Phil staring at him. Too embarrassed to do much of anything, Phil looks down, feeling his face heat up. “Where are you headed?” The man’s voice says softly, breaking the silence.

Glancing up, Phil takes in his dark brown eyes, unsurprised that they match his hair perfectly. “London,” he answers with a nod to the board. “I mean, I’m obviously not headed there for another eighty-four years, or however long it takes the storm to pass,” he attempts a joke, smiling broadly when the brunette laughs.

“Right? I’m going to be collecting social security by the time we get on the damn plane,” the brunette rolls his eyes, bringing a hand up to brush a stray curl back. Phil unashamedly follows the motion, returning his gaze when his hand falls away.

“Definitely,” Phil says, a little awkwardly as he scrambles for something else to say.

Before he even has the chance, the man’s phone begins ringing, and he shoots Phil an apologetic smile as he fishes it out. “Nice meeting you, mate,” he says easily before turning and pacing away, bringing his phone up to his ear as he goes.

Phil tries his hardest not to pout, but he is a little annoyed at this turn of events. He’d wanted to keep talking to the rather attractive stranger, if only for some company with someone who isn’t American. Nothing against Americans, of course; he just felt it was easier to hold a conversation with someone he had more in common with. That and, well he was rather attractive, and Phil definitely wouldn’t have been averse to flirting with him a bit.

Sadly, all of that is now out of the picture, as the brunette turns a corner, disappearing from his sight, probably forever. Phil heaves a deep sigh. Oh well. It’s not like he was seriously looking for anyone, especially not just someone he happened to stumble across at an airport.

Resigning himself for a life devoid of cute British brunette guys who have a sense of humor that matches his own, he finds himself walking away from his terminal yet again, on the lookout for something interesting to occupy his time. When he finds the Disney World merch store, he’s intrigued, but decides not to stop. He’d had his fill of the little cartoon mice this week.

Instead, he finds himself in the Kennedy Space Center shop. It was always amazing to go in and see all the cool space stuff, and he quickly forgot his encounter with the cute stranger as he searched through the various t-shirts on a rack.

That is, until he glances over at another shopper and finds none other than the cute stranger himself. Although he’s a little surprised to see him again, Phil finds himself smiling, casually making his way around the circle of clothes to get a little closer to him. “Fancy seeing you again,” he says casually as he shoots the man a friendly smile.

The brunette’s gaze shoots up at his voice, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I see you’re a nerd as well, then.” His cheek dips with the indentation of a dimple, and Phil nearly swoons on the spot.

Nodding, he grins. “Oh, absolutely. Space, Pokemon, Buffy, the whole nine yards for sure.” He holds a shirt out and grimaces at it; it’s tacky, with ugly cats in space suits on it.

“Right. You look like the type,” the brunette smiles, leaning his elbow on the rack closest to him and observing Phil as he goes to put the shirt back. “Wait, wait. Can I see that?” His eyes flick from the ugly shirt up to meet Phil’s gaze, and he makes a face but hands it over.

Phil watches with distaste as the other man turns the shirt around, looking at how the cats are shown from the back on the back of the shirt. He’s got this adorable little smile on his face, and Phil can’t help but thinking even though it’s possibly the ugliest shirt he’s ever seen in his life, it would probably look fantastic on him. He considers that it’s probably a strange thing to think of a complete stranger, but that still doesn’t stop him from saying it. “That’ll look cute on you.” He smirks when the other man’s cheeks flood with a light pink color, pleased by this reaction.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, tucking the shirt back in the rack before filtering through it, probably looking for his size. He glances over his shoulder at Phil before smiling sweetly. “I’m Dan. I don’t think I said that earlier.”

Phil smiles back, leaning against the clothes rack. “Phil. Nice to meet you, Dan.”

Dan finally pulls out a shirt and holds it up to his chest, glancing down. It’s by far too big for him, but he just smiles and tucks it under his arm. Phil quirks an eyebrow, and Dan just shrugs. “I think it’ll make a nice sleep shirt.” His cheeks flood with color right after he says this, and Phil smiles at him.

“It looks very comfy,” he agrees, his attention drawn to a shoe display next to him. He turns and begins scanning the shoes there, a certain pair of sneakers catching his eye. He can tell that Dan is still standing close by, but he pretends not to notice as he looks at the cool patches on this shoe, the kind that are Velcro and can be removed and replaced with different ones. He begins looking for his size, smirking when he sees Dan begin looking at a rack of space-themed jewelry on the rack beside him.

“So, you’re not from London, are you?” The brunette finally asks, his eyes studying a necklace that Phil really doesn’t think he’s interested in buying.

He smiles as he stands up straighter, unable to find a size eleven in the shoe he wanted. Which sucked, because they were freaking cool shoes. “What gave it away?” He asks, affecting his voice with his nearly-lost Northern accent.

Dan grins, shrugging. “Some things you say just give it away, mate.”

Phil rolls his eyes at this. “Well, you sound a bit like Christopher Robin yourself, so I don’t think you get to judge.” He smirks when Dan grimaces at this.

“I love Winnie the Pooh, but you can’t just say that,” Dan says, flicking the jewelry rack so it spins around.

“I’m not surprised. You’re quite posh.” Phil is thoroughly enjoying this, but Dan seems only mildly embarrassed, so he’s pretty sure he isn’t actually offended.

“Well…” Dan shrugs before a smirk tugs at his lips. “Is it terrible if I ask you to say “ace” so I can get the full effect of your northern accent?” He asks, his brown eyes dancing with mischief.

Phil pretends to be completely offended, but his laughter ruins the effect. “It is, but you’re cute, so I’ll do it.” Dan blushes at this before Phil speaks again. “Ace,” he says, his voice sounding deeply northern when he does.

Dan barely gives him a minute before he’s giggling hysterically, a dimple carving itself out in his cheek. Phil struggles not to focus on that little indentation, but it’s so endearing he can’t help but smile. “Oh my god,” Dan nearly gasps. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. Ace!” He mocks, this sending him into yet another fit of giggles.

Phil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms at the brunette. “That’s like racist. Or… regionist! Yeah.”

The brunette bites his lip, trying to contain his giggles. “If you say so.” He shrugs then, before glancing over at the shoes Phil had been looking at. “They didn’t have your size?” He guesses, stepping closer to look at the shoe Phil had been looking at.

Sighing, Phil shakes his head. “Sadly no. No one ever does, my feet are too big.” He frowns as he glances over shoe boxes, almost every other size besides an eleven.

Dan smirks, and even though Phil doesn’t really know him, he can tell this is going to be bad. “Well, you know what they say about men with big feet.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and if he hadn’t made it incredibly dorky with that expression, Phil probably would have blushed.

Instead, he bursts into laughter. “I’m sorry, were you trying to be sexy? That was bad. That was so bad.”

Dan’s lips twitch into a frown, and he shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, I was just being factual. I don’t know where your head was, mate.”

Phil smirks at this. “I think you know exactly where my head was,” he suggests, raising an eyebrow.

The brunette glances away from him at this, and Phil’s almost positive he can see a light pink tinge to his cheeks. “Well now who’s being sexy,” he mumbles, stepping over to a different rack of shirts.

Phil steps around him, casually following him without seeming too creepy. “I mean, you are, but thanks for the compliment.” He grins at the way Dan’s eyes widen. Phil was honestly surprised with himself. He almost never flirted, especially not with strangers in an airport. Yet here he was, flirting with this man he barely knew. Scratch that, he didn’t know him, at all. All he knew was his first name, he had a questionable taste in clothing, and an even more questionable taste in humor. But Phil knew he was a sucker for that sort of thing.

Dan seems to fumble at this, and Phil finds it completely endearing. But he finds that ten minutes flirting with this stranger is probably more than enough, and with the intention of not making himself seem like a creepy stalker, he turns to leave. He heavily debates inviting Dan to go eat dinner with him, but he figured that was a bit far, even for him. So instead, he just waves to him. “It’s been nice talking with you, Dan. See you around.”

As he says this, the brunette glances up, looking a little disappointed. “Yeah, see you.” He does a little two-finger salute that Phil thinks is probably the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

Smiling to himself, he leaves the store in search of an airport restaurant that isn’t disgustingly overpriced, a certain brunette occupying his thoughts as he makes his way through the maze of shops and terminals.

---

Phil isn’t sure how long he spends at the little Chinese restaurant he’d found, but people-watching everyone around him keeps him occupied for a while. He sips his Coke as he watches the various people milling about, creating stories for each of them in his head. It’s the kind of life he’s stuck with without his phone to keep him occupied. He didn’t want to buy a new charger, as it seemed like almost everything about airport shops were more expensive, but he figured eventually he’d need to.

Eventually he grows tired of his people-watching game and goes instead to find somewhere to hang out at his terminal until his flight boards, or more likely, gets delayed yet again. It was almost completely black outside now, even though it wasn’t that late, and if they were closer to the coast, Phil would’ve been a bit more concerned about how bad the weather seemed to be getting.

He’s looking around at all the occupied chairs at his terminal when he spots a mop of curly brown hair by the window, sitting on the floor due to the lack of available seating. Without thinking about how creepy this will probably make him seem, he makes his way over to Dan. As he gets closer, Phil realizes he’s got an open journal of sorts on his lap, his hand moving quickly across the page as he writes. Phil pauses for a moment, debating whether he should interrupt him, seeing as he looks rather busy.

Almost as soon as the thought has entered his head, Dan suddenly glances up, his warm brown eyes widening slightly as the meet Phil’s gaze. Rather than be disturbed by Phil’s presence, the brunette only smiles, which Phil takes to be an open invitation.

“It’s incredible that we keep bumping into each other,” Phil teases as he steps closer to Dan, their proximity forcing the brunette to tilt his head back to hold his gaze.

“We’re on the same flight, mate. I don’t think there’s a whole lot of mystery there.”

Phil nearly blushes at that, feeling quite daft now that it’s been spoken so bluntly. “Well, yeah,” he stutters out, bringing a hand to the back of his neck rather awkwardly.

Dan smiles at this, nodding to the floor beside him. “You’re welcome to join me if you’re just looking for company,” he says easily, shifting so that Phil has more room to sit.

He hesitates, but another look at Dan’s cute dimpled smile has him sitting down almost immediately, curling his legs up in a criss-cross fashion. Dan looks pleased, but turns back to his journal, writing along a page with quick, messy strokes of his pencil. Phil doesn’t read what he’s writing, but he does glance over and take note of the slightly-below average handwriting that is only barely better than his own.

Too awkward to just sit in comfortable silence like a normal human, Phil shifts so he can look out at the rest of the people in the terminal, sitting properly side by side with Dan. “So… busy airport, huh?” He says nonchalantly, any semblance of normalcy from their earlier conversation leaving him. He wasn’t sure what it was making him feel so nervous; he thought maybe it’s the casual atmosphere of sitting down next to someone rather than talking to them in the middle of a store.

Dan glances up at him, a thin smile on his lips. Phil feels his stomach drop and hopes that Dan isn’t already tired of him being there. The brunette reaches up and pushes one of his curls back, and Phil’s eyes follow the motion. “It is, probably just a lot of holiday travelers. Florida’s a popular place, you know.” He shrugs, his eyes flicking back down to his journal.

Phil nods at this, awkwardly glancing down at his hands as he struggles to come up with a conversation topic. He glances at the notebook again, getting an idea from that. “Are you a writer?” He asks, thinking it an innocent enough question.

Apparently, this assumption is wrong, if Dan’s subtle flinch is anything to go by. “Um, no,” he says, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.

He offers no further explanation, so Phil is left to stare at his profile, his mouth shifting into an awkward ‘O’ shape. Fumbling for anything to repair this awkward conversation and maybe get back to their earlier conversational chemistry, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. “Do you like video games?”

Honestly, someone should just take away his vocal chords now, because that would be less painful than the sting of embarrassment he feels immediately after saying this. He imagines a plane careening into this part of the terminal, just to destroy him so he won’t have to face the undoubtedly annoyed response Dan is likely to have to his weird question. Sadly, well actually maybe not, this doesn’t happen, and he’s left to glance over at Dan after a moment, hoping that he’s not completely weirded out.

The brunette is staring at him with a strange look on his face, but he’s smiling. Phil counts this as a blessing. “I do, actually. I’m a big fan of Guild Wars, but I like a lot of the classics, too. How about you?”

Phil grins after hearing this, nodding. Games were his area. He could talk about video games with a willing listener for hours, if he’s completely honest. “I don’t play a lot of Guild Wars, but I’ve played before. I’ve been into Fortnite a lot recently, but as far as classics, Crash Bandicoot, all the way.”

Something seems to shift in Dan then, going from politely interested to excited all at once. The chocolatey brown of his eyes light up and he shifts around so he’s facing Phil, his journal falling shut. “Yes! That’s literally one of my favorites. None of my friends ever want to play it with me, because they say it’s for kids.” He rolls his eyes at this, as if he’s never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. If Phil didn’t like him before, he definitely did now.

“Right? It’s so hard finding someone to play with. I usually end up playing with myself instead.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, his smile dropping when he catches sight of the strange look on Dan’s face. He’s biting his lip, holding back laughter. “What?” Phil asks, thinking over his words. His face heats quickly when he realizes what it sounded like he was implying. “Oh my god, that’s not- I don’t, I mean, I do, but- fuck.” He’s a stuttering mess with Dan watching him in amusement, and he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about it.

Dan bursts into laughter then, clutching at his stomach as he leans over. “Oh my god, Phil. You really just said that.” He takes a moment to catch his breath, sending a charming smile Phil’s way then, as if he hadn’t just been in hysterics over Phil’s unintentional innuendo and everything that followed.

Shrugging, Phil glances down at his hands once more, trying to will his blush away. “Sometimes I say things that I don’t understand, and it’s just… it’s just not a good time,” he admits bashfully, not meeting Dan’s eyes.

The brunette bumps shoulders with him, clearly good-natured enough not to tease him about it too long. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute,” he informs him, a cheeky smile on his face when Phil’s head darts up to look at him.

Phil rolls his eyes, trying to hide the flipping of his heart in his chest at Dan’s soft gaze and easy smile. “Yeah, well,” he grumbles, stumbling to formulate a cohesive response. “Your mum,” he finishes lamely.

Dan giggles at this, the sound bringing a grin to Phil’s face. “Your mum,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Phil, that’s hardly mature,” he says with mock disappointment.

Keeping up his appearance of a child, Phil sticks his tongue out at him, crossing his arms to add to the effect. “Yeah, well, no one says you have to be mature. I’ve lived long enough I can make my own rules,” he announces, lifting his chin petulantly.

“Yeah? How long have you lived, then?” He asks nonchalantly, sending Phil a smirk.

Phil rolls his eyes at this, shifting around a bit. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of his age; that would be ridiculous. But sometimes saying that he was actually thirty-two was a bit disheartening. “Um, would you believe me if I said twenty-six?” He jokes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Dan was obviously younger than him, probably twenty-three if Phil had to guess, and he seriously didn’t want to scare him off by being way older than him.

The brunette snorts at this. “I might’ve if you hadn’t asked me that. Now I’d just think you’re lying.” He bumps Phil’s arm with his elbow good-naturedly, a dimple carving itself onto his cheek as he smiles.

Tearing his gaze away from the little crescent of cuteness on the other’s skin, Phil looks across the terminal, biting his lip. “Well, if you must know,” he sighs dramatically. “I just turned thirty-two.” He cringes as the words leave his mouth, unintentionally. He can’t help but glance at Dan for his reaction, barely surprised when he sees that his chocolate brown eyes have widened. Phil was right, he never should have told him, he’s disgusted, Phil’s basically a pedophile, and- wait, he’s laughing.

“Phil,” Dan giggles, shaking his head. The ease and familiarity of hearing him say it worries Phil, but he reasons with himself that it’s just due to the fact that he’s heard his name is whole life. It has nothing to do with Dan himself.

“What?” He demands, slightly defensive.

Dan smiles, leaning back against the wall. “You’re acting like you’re really old,” he claims, propping his arm up onto his knee, which he’s pulled closer to his body.

Phil shrugs at this, unable to argue. He was. He felt old, might as well act it, too. “I mean, not all of us can be twenty-three and spritely, Daniel.” He softens the sharpness in his tone with a small smile.

The brunette looks dumbstruck, his eyebrow arching up in surprise. “I’m twenty-seven, twenty-eight in June, mate.” He looks a little uncomfortable saying this, but Phil’s not entirely sure why.

“Really?” When Dan nods hesitantly, Phil shakes his head slowly. “You really look younger. And I mean that as a compliment, I promise.”

Dan laughs at this, rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling. “Well I would sure hope you could come up with better insults,” he teases.

Phil shrugs, looking to the side. “I’m not very good at trash talk, actually.” He considers this for a moment before adding, “I do get a little vicious during Mario Kart, though.”

“I’d love to see that, actually. Are you a sore loser, too?” Dan shifts so that his shoulder is leaning against the wall and he’s more fully facing Phil. Phil likes this, because he feels like he has his full attention. Something about that pleases him.

“I mean, I don’t think so, but some liars say that I am.” He’s definitely thinking back on his friends who frequently game with him, and they definitely think he’s a sore loser. And maybe he is, but still. Dan doesn’t have to know this.

Dan grins, his dimple taking Phil’s attention immediately. “I think you definitely are,” he says decidedly, nodding along as if he’s got Phil all sorted out.

Phil raises an eyebrow to this. “I guess one day we’ll just have to put that to the test, Daniel.” He’s only half-joking. If they’re both living in London, it actually makes plenty of sense for them to get together sometimes and hangout, since they seemed to have a lot in common.

The brunette’s cheeks fill with a soft pink color, and Phil bites back a grin as he turns away, nodding quickly. “Definitely,” he agrees quietly.

There’s a pause while Phil debates the morals of asking this near-stranger out right now. He considers the fact that they’re stuck in this airport for the foreseeable future, with nothing to do, and seemingly very similar interests. Taking a shot in the dark, he knocks his knee against Dan’s. “Let’s get coffee,” he suggests, cringing when it comes out sounding like a statement.

The shock on Dan’s face is almost comical, but it honestly just makes Phil a little nervous, wondering what kind of shock this is. He hopes the good kind. “Like… when we get back to London? Or- now? Like right now?” He stutters, his hand rubbing along his knee in sort of an anxious fashion.

Phil immediately feels guilty for putting him in an uncomfortable position, and he’s quick to try and remedy it. “We don’t have to, obviously. But, um… yeah, I meant now, if you want. Or back in London. Or now and back in London, preferably. You know, if you want.” He’s tripping over his words and his cheeks are burning in embarrassment, but Dan has a soft smile on his face as he watches Phil fumble for the right thing to say.

“Okay,” the brunette says easily.

A little surprised at how easy that was, Phil purses his lips. “Oh. Well. Right.” He’s frantically trying to remember where the café he’d been at earlier was, but quickly realizes there’s a coffee shop down the corridor from their terminal. Turning to face Dan, he rolls his shoulders back confidently. “Meet me at the coffee shop down the hall in ten minutes?” He requests.

Dan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he glances over to where the sign of the shop could just barely be made out from where they’re seated. “What? Why can’t we just walk together?” He inquires, looking baffled.

Phil grins, moving to stand. He ignores the slight ache from sitting on the hard ground for so long, instead paying attention to the way Dan’s eyes slowly drag up his long legs and up to his face. He smirks when Dan flushes and looks away adorably. “We have to meet there, you goose. Otherwise it doesn’t count as a date.”

“A date?” Dan squawks. Phil smiles at the blossoming pink on his cheekbones, secretly very pleased with this reaction.

“Sure,” Phil says with a shrug. “I mean, who knows when the flight will actually be rescheduled, why not go on a coffee date while we’re here?”

Something shifts in Dan’s face then, as if he’s just realized something, and his eyes flicker to the ground. Phil barely catches the downward curve of his lips into a small frown before the expression is gone and Dan is glancing back up at him with a half-smile. “Sure. See you there, then.”

Phil nods a little slowly, suddenly uncertain if this is even something Dan wants. What if he’d read the signs wrong and Dan isn’t interested in him at all? Before he has time to panic, he sends him a smile before turning to make his way to the coffee shop, determined not to let himself ruin this before it’s even begun.

Ten minutes later, Phil is standing just on the inside of the little coffee shop when Dan walks in, looking a little awkward as he brushes a hand through his curls. He gives Phil an awkward smile when he sees him, walking to stand beside him. “Hi,” he says quietly.

Phil grins at him. “I’m so glad you could make it, Dan! It’s been too long!”

Dan gives him a strange look. “It’s… It’s been ten minutes, just like you asked.” He sounds adorably confused now.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Phil leans closer to stage-whisper. “I’m just playing into the typical date-script. People always say stuff like that when they’re on a date with someone, you know.”

Crinkling his nose at this, Dan shifts back on his heels. “Well, yeah. I’ve been on dates before, mate. I know how they work.” He almost sounds bitter as he says this, and Phil wonders if he’s seriously annoyed with him. Before he can spiral too much, though, Dan shoots him a smile. “But I guess I’ll let it slide- if you’re buying.”

Phil gapes at his cheeky grin, but quickly recovers. He nods with a laugh, gesturing to the counter. “Of course. It’d be a shit date if I wasn’t a gentleman who paid.”

Dan glances over at him as they step up to the counter, shrugging. “Bit heteronormative, if you ask me.”

Phil shrugs as well, glancing over the menu as he responds. “Not really. I think if you ask someone out, you’re implying you’ll pay. If you’d invited me, I’d be pretending I didn’t have my wallet right now,” he teases.

“Yeah?” Dan responds, quirking an eyebrow.

Grinning, Phil bumps his shoulder against Dan’s. “Course not. I’m not that much of a prick. But, assuming you want to go on another coffee date when we get back to London… I’ll be paying then, too, since I asked.”

Dan frowns at this, but it’s their turn to order and he can’t respond when the barista asks them to go ahead and place their order.

A few minutes later and they’re sitting down at a small table close to the front of the shop, each of them with a caramel macchiato. They both laugh a little when they realize they’ve ordered the same drink, and Phil thinks it’s incredibly endearing when Dan begins nervously fiddling with his hair as they settle at the table they’ve chosen.

“Your hair looks cute, you know,” he comments after they’ve sat sipping on their drinks for a few moments.

Dan glances up immediately, a surprised look on his face. “Oh, um, I-“ he stumbles over his words, glancing away from Phil and continuing to run a hand through his hair.

Phil smiles at this and leans closer. “Are you nervous?” He whispers loudly.

“No,” Dan says adamantly, ducking his head. Phil can just tell that this is a lie, and he hesitates for barely a minute before pressing his foot against Dan’s under the table.

“It’s fine, if you are. I’m nervous too.”

“Right,” Dan snorts, glancing up at him with a roll of his eyes. “I’m sure you’re just shaking like a leaf.”

Phil is a little taken aback by the bitter tone in Dan’s voice, but he brushes it away. “I am nervous,” he shrugs. “I don’t go out very much, and I definitely don’t go out with cute guys very much.”

Dan looks down at the table once more, tracing the grain of the table with his fingernail. “Really?” He asks quietly.

Smiling softly at the man in front of him, Phil brushes his foot with his own yet again. “Yes, really.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes before Dan lets out a quiet groan and sits back in his seat. Phil watches him with raised eyebrows, a little concerned that he might have changed his mind about going out for coffee. He’s surprised when Dan speaks next. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t fit,” he mumbles, trying to wash the words down with his coffee.

Phil gapes at him for a moment before his lips curl into a smirk. “Yeah?” he says teasingly.

Dan rolls his eyes at this. “Shut up,” he rolls his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Wanna play desert island?” He asks, shifting the conversation completely.

“Sure,” Phil says easily, going along with whatever whim it seems that Dan has had.

So that’s what they do for the next hour or so. They take turns sharing their top five movies, books, tv shows, and even dive into music. Only a few minutes into the music topic, however, Phil realizes that Dan is much more of a music enthusiast than himself and he quickly concedes that whole conversation. Honestly, it was entertaining to see Dan seem to get so worked up over something so objectively simple, but Phil still wanted to learn so much more about him. He made a mental note that if they did continue this when they got back to London, he’d devote an entire afternoon to Dan’s musical musings.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a charger, would you?” Phil says at some point, realizing his battery has drained to seven percent since they started talking.

Dan smiles and nods, fishing around in his bag for what Phil assumes is a charger. He hands it over with a triumphant grin, which Phil copies. “Here you go.”

“You’re an actual lifesaver, Dan.”

The brunette smiles at this. “Just don’t lose it. You seem like the kind of guy who loses things a lot.” He has a knowing sort of look to him, as if he really does know this.

“I do not!” Phil protests. It’s not entirely a lie. He does lose things, but not like, all the time.

Dan quirks an eyebrow. “Where’s your charger?” When Phil goes quiet, Dan smirks, shaking his head in amusement. “And there lies my point,” he laughs.

Phil juts his lip out in a pout, feigning offence. “Well, I assume it’s wherever the rest of the luggage is. But I most definitely did not lose it.” He sends up a silent prayer that it’s still in his suitcase where he left it. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he opened his suitcase later only to find that his charger was gone?

“Sure, bub. Whatever you say,” Dan drawls.

Phil rolls his eyes but tucks the charger into the port and plugs his phone in. “Well now you can’t escape for a while, because I’ve got your charger,” he says smugly, hoping that Dan takes this to be casually flirtatious instead of too forward.

Dan shrugs. “It’s my spare.” Phil’s face probably noticeably falls upon hearing this, and Dan’s face shifts into one of panic. “Oh, I didn’t mean- like, I don’t want to, um… I didn’t mean I was going to leave. I just… I carry two chargers,” he explains hurriedly, looking a little embarrassed by the end of his rant.

Phil takes a moment to just smile at the brunette before he bothers responding. “Honestly, I’m just impressed that you’re smart enough to carry two chargers,” he says, hiding his smile behind a sip of his drink.

A fleeting look of amusement crosses Dan’s face before he seems to register what Phil has said. “Wait, does that mean you don’t think I’m very smart? That’s pretty damn offensive, Phil.”

“I never said that!” Phil protests.

“Yes, but you did sort of imply it.”

“I’ll imply your mum,” Phil shoots back, biting his lip when he realizes how childish that was.

Dan barely blinks before he begins giggling. “Oh my god,” he gasps through the laughter. “You’re like, a proper nerd, aren’t you?” He asks, sounding nothing short of fond.

Phil shrugs, feeling his cheeks heating at the question.

Seeming to catch onto Phil’s slight embarrassment, Dan presses his foot against Phil’s, smiling gently when their eyes meet. “I’m proper into nerds, so don’t worry about it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, then,” Phil smiles.

---

“So, let me get this straight,” Dan says through a gasp as he struggles to contain his laughter. Phil is flushed with embarrassment with Dan’s reaction to the story he’d told him, but all things considered, it was warranted. “You mean to tell me you broke your hand by doing a piggy-back race with someone shorter than you?”

Phil shrugs, and pretends to be very intrigued by the cup in front of him. “Yeah… that’s about it, yeah.”

Dan shakes his head, a fond look on his face. “Phil Lester, man of many talents.”

“Oh, come off it, I bet you did stupid things in uni as well, don’t try to lie.” He intends this to be teasing and completely harmless, so he’s surprised when Dan’s face morphs into a grimace, his gaze dropping to the mug in front of him.

“Yeah, like drop out,” he mutters bitterly.

Phil isn’t positive what to make of this, but he stutters out an apology for bringing it up. “I’m sorry, Dan, I didn’t mean to-“

Dan cuts him off with a sigh and a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s fine. Not like I go around advertising it. You didn’t know.” He shoots Phil a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Feeling a little guilty and also a little embarrassed for bringing up something that was clearly a sore subject, Phil blurts the first thing he thinks of. “It isn’t for everyone, you know.” At Dan’s confused stare, he continues, stumbling over his words awkwardly. “University. Not everyone enjoys it, and not everyone needs it. Hell, I have two degrees and I don’t really use either of them.”

Dan tilts his head at this but seems a little less reproachful of the topic than he did before. “Yeah?” he prompts.

Phil nods. “English Linguistics and Video Post-Production. Yet I work at a publishing company instead.”

At this, Dan’s eyes light up. “You work at a publishing company?” His voice is pitched up an octave, clearly excited about this new information.

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs, feeling a little awkward now. “I’m not like, a top-tier editor or anything. I do edit, but I’m not like, great at it. It’s really just a job for me.”

Dan nods in understanding before drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and looking out towards the corridor. “What company?” He asks timidly.

Phil rattles off the name and Dan only nods. It goes quiet for a moment, and Phil is struggling to hold himself back from asking, once again, if Dan was a writer. Sure, he’d said no earlier, but maybe now that they know each other a little more Dan will feel like sharing something like that? And it wasn’t like Phil was some sort of recruiter, although he’d probably be in his boss’ good graces if he did find a promising new young writer.

It feels too personal too ask, considering Dan’s earlier response, so he decides to just leave it alone. For now.

Before he can go as far as asking anymore questions, a pleasant tune is played over the airport intercom system and a feeling of nervousness settles in Phil’s stomach. He hoped they’d finally have an answer about the flight rescheduling.

“Good afternoon, Orlando International Airport travelers. Due to inclement and dangerous weather, all international flights have been cancelled until further notice. If you would, please see the flight attendant at your gate for information about flight rescheduling. We apologize for the inconvenience and wish you safe travels!”

“Well, fuck,” Dan says, eloquent as ever.

Phil bites his lip to stifle a surprised laugh at his bluntness, but nods. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Did you have anything you needed to rush back to London for?”

Dan rolls his eyes with a smile. “Oh, yes. I definitely needed to rush back to my empty flat and my existential crises. I’ve been missing that something terrible.”

“Oh,” Phil lets out, a little uncertain if he’s kidding or not. There’s an edge to his tone like he might not be, and Phil isn’t entirely sure how to interpret that.

“Kidding, mate.” Dan reaches across the table and lightly brushes his fingertips against Phil’s wrist. “I do need to go pick up some antidepressants, but I think that can probably wait until I can safely cross the Atlantic.”

Phil frowns a little at this, pushing his empty cup around on the table. “Do you have enough with you? Like, the antidepressants?” He asks quietly. This definitely feels like crossing a line of casual friendship with a near-stranger, but Dan’s the one who brought it up, so surely, it’s safe territory.

Dan has a soft smile on his face as he looks up at Phil, and Phil can just feel his heart melting at the sight of the dimple on his cheek. “I do. Thank you for asking.”

Relieved that Dan didn’t seem to feel like this was too personal a topic, Phil nods before glancing down at his cup again. It’s quiet for a few minutes before Phil realizes they’ve been sat there for probably over two hours. He needed to call his parents and tell them what happened, and Dan probably didn’t want to spend all of his time with a stranger.

“I should probably go. Gotta call my mum and let her know I haven’t died yet or anything. And I should probably let you get back to your writing.” Phil doesn’t want to leave but he just doesn’t feel that he should stay, either.

Dan nods quickly, but Phil is almost positive that he sees a look of sadness wash over his face before it disappears. “Yeah, yeah. Sure. Well, I guess, um… I’ll see you later?”

Phil smiles at how awkward this seems to be for Dan. He hands him his charger back and then unlocks his own phone, pulling up a space for a new contact and handing it back to him. “Here. So I can get in touch with you when we get back to London.”

The small smile that works its way onto Dan’s lips is gorgeous, and Phil finds himself staring at his lips like an absolute creep while Dan types in his information. “I texted myself, so I’d have your number, too.” Dan tells him when he hands the phone back.

Glancing down at the screen, Phil finds this to be true. After typing in his information, Dan had sent himself a message, which was only an emoji spoon beside a boy with brown hair.

“Is this your way of saying you want to spoon me?” Phil teases him.

Dan flushes, shaking his head. “No! I mean, not that I wouldn’t- that’s not what-“

Phil cuts him off with a giggle. “It’s fine, Dan. I’m only teasing.” He stands from the table then, and Dan follows suit. “I’ll see you later, Dan. Have fun writing.”

Before he can lose his nerve, Phil steps just a bit closer, almost as if he’s going to step past Dan entirely, and then he presses his lips to Dan’s cheek softly. When he pulls away, he catches the surprised look on Dan’s face, but it’s replaced by a smile as Phil turns to walk away. “Bye, Phil.”

And Phil hadn’t had a whole lot of great first dates, but he already knew that he would be impatiently waiting for their second.

---

Phil calls his mum after he and Dan part ways and lets her know about his flight being cancelled, and while she’s worried initially, she’s relieved that he’s safe and will be coming home as soon as the weather clears up. He listens to her worrying and her concerns for a respectable amount of time before telling her he should probably go to save his battery percentage. This starts another lecture on forgetting his phone charger in his luggage, which he reluctantly listens to for nearly a half hour.

Eventually, though, he makes his way back to his terminal and spots Dan sitting beside the big windows that outlook the blacktop, just like before, and he quickly comes up with another excuse to get off the phone with his mum. He loved Kath, he really did. But right now, he wanted to go talk to his cute new friend, and he couldn’t exactly do that while on the phone.

Deciding that he’s pretty much become the creepy stranger who just invites themselves into conversations anyway, he makes his way over and plops himself onto the floor across from the brunette.

Dan glances up almost immediately after Phil sits, jumping a bit. A smile takes over his surprised expression, but Phil feels a little guilty for startling him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says awkwardly, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“’S fine.” Dan smiles at him and closes the journal in his lap. This makes Phil feel a little guiltier, because he feels like he’s interrupted something.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Do you want me to go so you can write? I completely didn’t think of that before just inviting myself over. I can go-“ Phil is halfway to standing before Dan reaches a hand out to stop him.

“No, you’re fine! I promise. I, um… I could use the company, actually.” He bites his lip after saying this and shifts his eyes to the floor as if he’s embarrassed.

Phil smiles at this, missing Dan’s touch as soon as he pulls his hand away from his arm. “That two hours didn’t ruin your opinion of me?” He inquires with a laugh.

Dan rolls his eyes good-naturedly, his lips twitching into a smile. “No, surprisingly not. I mean, I think you’re a little odd, sure, but I think I can tolerate a little odd.”

“Oh, so you’re only tolerating me?” He can’t help but tease him.

“Would you prefer I did something else?” Dan smirks, his eyes gleaming in a way that makes Phil feel hot.

Phil isn’t entirely surprised by this bold almost-flirting that Dan’s doing. He did a lot of that over coffee earlier too. Even still, it takes him a moment to form a proper response to the blatant flirtation. “I guess it depends on what you’re offering?” He cringes as it comes out more like a question, but Dan seems unbothered, his tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip.

Shrugging casually, Dan leans back against the window, allowing his head to be propped up by the glass. “I think there’s a few too many people here for you to receive anything on the menu for now,” Dan’s lips pull up into a smirk, and Phil is almost positive that this man is going to be the death of him.

“Oh,” he croaks out, glancing around at the other weary passengers milling about the terminal. “That’s a damn shame,” Phil mumbles, glancing down at his hands with what is probably a blush on his cheeks.

“Mhm,” Dan hums. There’s a silence that wraps around them, but before it has the chance to feel suffocating, Dan is speaking again. “Have you talked to the flight attendants about getting a new flight?”

Phil drops his gaze to his hands again as he shakes his head, feeling embarrassed. Honestly, it had slipped his mind, but even if it hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have done it yet. He hated talking to people about things like that, which was probably a little odd, considering his willingness to flirt with a stranger in an airport.

“I, uh… I don’t do so well with things like that, so no. I’m working up to it, though.” The admission has him cringing at himself, and he really hopes that it doesn’t ruin Dan’s opinion of him so soon.

Instead of laughing, which is what Phil expected, Dan reaches over and brushes his knuckles over Phil’s hand. “Do you want me to go with you to ask?” He asks sweetly, a gentle smile on his face when Phil finally raises his gaze to look at him.

Bless him, honestly, for being such a sweetheart. Phil nods, smiling sheepishly. “Um, I’d appreciate that, yeah.”

Dan smiles at him before tucking his journal into his backpack and standing, holding a hand out to help Phil up. Phil takes it with a smile, more than pleased by the contact, and even more pleased when Dan doesn’t pull away even after Phil is already standing. Instead, he leads Phil over to the attendant’s counter with their hands still intertwined, quietly commenting on the fact that the only attendant there looked a bit like Shakira.

“Hi, we’re on the flight to London, and we were wondering when we could get that rescheduled?” Dan takes the lead the moment they stop in front of the attendant, a charming smile on his face. Phil stays silent, his nerves making it hard for him to hold eye contact with the employee stood in front of them, who gives them a surveying look.

“Of course,” She says slowly, turning to her computer with an almost bored look on her face. Dan shoots Phil a look, pursing his lips as if he’s noticed how rude the lady is as well. “So, our earliest open flights to London aren’t until Monday morning, nine am,” she announces, glancing over at them with a plastered-on smile that Phil can tell is fake.

Dan gapes at her, and although it takes Phil a moment, he realizes that today is Saturday. Meaning they could be stuck in this airport for two nights. “You’re joking,” Dan deadpans, his voice full of disbelief. His hand slips out of Phil’s suddenly, instead clasping his other on top of the counter. His eyes narrow at the attendant, and Phil shifts awkwardly behind him. “It’s Saturday evening, ma’am. And you’re saying we’ll be stuck in this airport for two nights?”

His voice is growing louder, and Phil glances around at the other travelers, some of them giving them strange glances. Phil shifts on his feet, feeling incredibly awkward and out of place with the scene Dan’s causing. “Dan…” He warns quietly, reaching for his elbow.

“Well, you can still leave the airport and go to a hotel,” the attendant says, her smile gone in favor of a blank stare.

“Will the airport be offering accommodations?” Dan says, his voice taking on a sickly sweet quality. Phil has barely known him for three hours, and yet he can tell it’s full of sarcasm and irritation.

The lady has the nerve to smile back at him, and Phil can tell from the stiffening of Dan’s back that it just pisses him off more. “I’m afraid not, sir. We’ll only be covering the cost of the plane ticket.”

Dan blows out a breath, and Phil can sense an argument coming. Already nervous enough from the attention of the other passengers, Phil quickly grabs his arm, tugging him away from the counter. “Thank you so much, we’ll think on it.”

Before Dan can say another word, Phil slides his hand down Dan’s arm before intertwining their fingers and pulling him back over to their spot beside the window. Dan’s muttering to himself and when they come to a stop, his hand falls limp in Phil’s grasp. “I wasn’t finished talking to her,” he snips, his tone making Phil pause. Dan had yet to say anything snarky to him in a serious fashion, so this was a little more than surprising to him.

Phil shrugs, moving to sit in the floor and patting the space beside him. “Maybe not, but you seemed like you were getting a little upset.” When Dan doesn’t immediately sit down, instead pacing around in front of Phil, the older man sighs. “Thank you for talking to her for me,” he says softly. He hopes his tone, or his words, will get the brunette’s attention.

Somehow, his assumption actually works, and Dan pauses, glancing down at him. His gaze shifts from annoyed to almost fond, and he lets out a small sigh before moving to sit. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly. “I can’t believe they aren’t paying for hotel accommodations,” he continues, his voice bitter.

Phil gets the feeling that maybe this isn’t exactly about that, but probably more about Dan’s ability to pay for the hotel himself. After a quick moment of deliberation, Phil decides to go out on a limb to confirm his suspicion. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still stay in a hotel,” he says casually, waiting patiently to see Dan’s reaction.

Dan doesn’t surprise him. He scoffs softly, dropping his hand to pick at the ugly carpeting. “In theory, sure.” He’s quiet for a moment, but then he sighs and glances up at Phil with a sad sort of look. “I don’t really… I’m not really in the position to be spending money on hotel reservations. I just barely had this flight paid for, and…” he trails off, but Phil’s heard really all he needs to know.

After a beat of silence where Phil contemplates this news, chewing on his bottom lip, he finally decides to just go for it. “Stay with me, then.”

Unsurprisingly, Dan’s head jerks up at the words, a look of shock on his face. “What?” He breathes.

Phil shrugs, trying to appear more casual than he feels. “If we’re going to be here until Monday, I’m renting a hotel room. I want you to stay with me.” Feeling awkward with the almost-demanding way he’d said that, he continues. “Er, I mean, only if you want to, obviously. You don’t have to, but I just… I don’t want you to stay here, all by yourself. And… If you want, you can pay me back someday, after we’re back in London.”

Dan looks shocked, his brown eyes swirling with emotions that Phil can’t quite name. Eventually, he seems to settle on skeptical. “But… You barely know me. I barely know you. We just met, like, today, Phil.”

With a careless shrug, Phil says, “I know. But, I don’t think you’re the type to kill someone in their sleep, and I can assure you I’m far too lazy and squeamish to try it. Plus, I would love to see you in your cute cat shirt.” He grins as he says the last part, his tongue poking out just a bit.

Dan flushes, dropping his gaze to his hands, which are now fidgeting in his lap. “This is crazy,” he mutters.

“What is?” Phil asks him softly.

Waving a hand vaguely at the space between them, Dan lets out a short laugh. “This. Whatever we’re doing. We just met, and you…”

“I want you to spend the night with me. Yeah. But, honestly, Dan? Is it any worse than having like a one-night stand with someone? At least we sort of know each other, and it’s not like we have to sleep together or something.” Phil ducks his head to try to catch Dan’s gaze. “I won’t force you to, obviously. But I’d really love it if you’d come stay with me. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Dan seems speechless at this point, but after several seconds of intense eye contact, he finally nods slowly. “Okay,” he says softly.

“So, you’ll come with me?” Phil asks, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Dan shrugs. “I don’t see why not. But, um…” He flushes, and Phil wonders what he could possibly have to be embarrassed about now. “Will we… you know…”

Phil studies him, confused. “Will we… What?” He asks, shaking his head uncertainly.

Dan ducks his head, covering his face with his hands. “Oh god. Please don’t make me say it.”

Lost, Phil lets out an awkward laugh. “I’m not sure what I’m not supposed to make you say.”

Dan huffs, but then glances back up at Phil, an almost determined glint in his eye. “Sleep together? Are we going to sleep together?”

Startled at the blunt way it was phrased, Phil is left a little speechless himself. “Oh, um…” He glances around, hoping no one in their immediate vicinity is listening to them. “I mean, if you want. I’m a cuddler, so we can share a bed if- wait, did you mean-?”

“I meant like- yeah.” Dan nods, his eyes darting off to the side. “But, um, that too, I guess.”

Phil can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips, and Dan glances up at him in confusion. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says fondly. He stands up then, reaching a hand out for Dan. “C’mon. Let’s go tell the lady that we’d like to reschedule our flight, and we’ll sort out the rest after that.” Dan, although looking a little unsure, nods and allows Phil to pull him up. “And by we, I mean you, because she scares me.”

Dan lets out a laugh at this, reaching over to grab Phil’s hand again. “Fine, I’ll deal with the scary airport lady. Do you want to look for a hotel while I talk to her?”

Nodding, Phil reluctantly releases Dan’s hand to move over to an empty chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket to google the nearest hotels. Dan moves over to the attendant’s desk once again, and Phil frowns when he sees the way the lady barely smiles at him. Americans are truly something else.

Just as he’s clicked on the website for a decent looking hotel, Phil hears his name called. He glances up, his eyes finding Dan’s. “Can I see your ticket, love? I have to prove we were actually on this flight.” He rolls his eyes at this, since the attendant can’t see his face, and Phil smiles.

Tugging it out of his backpack, Phil moves to hand it to the brunette. “Here you go,” he says cheerily.

Dan smiles briefly before ducking his head slightly. “She thinks we’re together, so I’m going to let her think that and get the new seats together- if that’s alright, with you.” His voice is just quiet enough that the flight attendant probably can’t hear him over the sound of the other people milling about the terminal.

Phil nods, his lips curving up. “That’s perfect.” Fully aware of the attendant’s gaze on them, he leans forward and pecks Dan’s cheek gently. “I’ll go ahead and book us a room.”

“Oh, and I asked about luggage. She said it’s not likely that they’ll even be able to retrieve it, do you want me to try anyway?” Dan asks before turning back around.

Suppressing his disappointment at this, Phil shrugs. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to bother.”

Dan nods and runs a hand through his hair. “Be right back, then,” he replies before turning back around to the attendant. Phil hears him talking politely to the lady, so he takes that as his cue to return to his seat to work on the hotel thing.

Five minutes and a freshly booked hotel room later, Dan returns with two new tickets, handing one of them to Phil before tucking the other into his own backpack. “So, everything sorted?” He asks, shrugging the bag onto his shoulder.

“Mhm. We have a reservation under Lester at the Marriot. I ordered a car, and that should be here in like half an hour, I think.”

“Perfect. Wanna head to the front of the airport to wait?” Dan’s still standing, obviously expecting Phil to agree to this.

“Sure, that works.” Phil stands, tugging his own backpack onto his shoulder. He sneaks a peek at the flight attendant at the desk and noticed the sneer on her face as she watched them. Something he really hated dealing with was homophobia, and he was less prepared now than ever to handle someone who didn’t know them, or their situation, to be judging them.

He’s just about to make a remark to Dan about leaving, but the words die in his throat when he feels Dan’s hand slip into his. His eyes dart up to Dan’s, and he’s pretty sure the surprise on his face is likely very suspicious. Dan has a half smile on his lips, and he quickly leans in, brushing his lips against Phil’s cheek as he whispers, “I see the bitch glaring at us. I’m giving her a reason to glare.”

The grin that breaks out on Phil’s face then is really impossibly to stop, considering the fact that what Dan has done just fills him with adrenaline. He was out to his family and close friends, but he was never really offered the whole PDA option with his previous partners. It probably had something to do with his very unfortunate habit of falling for men who were closeted, or in some cases, men who thought they were straight but eventually realized that they weren’t.

“Ready to go, babe?” Dan says, in an overly sweet voice, clearly put on for the attendant.

Phil snickers but covers it with an unconvincing cough. He replies with an affirmative before he and Dan make their way to the front of the airport, where the car would hopefully come to pick them up soon. Phil fully expects Dan to drop his hand once they’ve made it out of their terminal and the flight attendant’s line of sight, but he makes no move to do so. Maybe this makes Phil blush, but he’d deny that if anyone were to confront him about it later.

After waiting in front of the airport for about ten minutes, quietly chatting about the weather and how much they missed England, their cab finally pulls up in front of them. “That was fast,” Dan remarks as he goes to climb in first.

“That’s what he said,” Phil mutters behind him.

The remark has Dan stopping in his tracks, slowly turning to stare at Phil, halfway in and halfway out of the car. Phil grins innocently. “I don’t have words, Lester. There are no words for how much I hated that.”

Phil rolls his eyes, shoving him forward gently. “That sounded like a lot of words to me, mate.”

Dan scrunches his face up as he slides into his seat, shooting the look at Phil as he climbs into the car as well. “Get away from me with your logic.”

Just to be a pest, Phil scoots as close as humanly possible to Dan, smiling innocently when he rolls his eyes at him. “What? I’m just getting comfy.” He doesn’t let Dan answer, instead choosing to turn around and give their driver the address of the hotel, just to be sure he knew where they were going.

The car ride is surprisingly quick, and Phil plays Crossy Road on his phone, Dan watching over his shoulder the whole time, both of them a little too awkward to make idle chit-chat with their driver. When they pull up outside of the hotel, Phil hands the man a few bills, not missing the way Dan purses his lips from beside him.

“What?” He asks as he climbs out of the car, holding the door open as Dan follows.

Dan shrugs. “I could have paid for that,” he says quietly as they walk to the hotel doors. Unlike when they were in the airport, Dan doesn’t reach for Phil’s hand.

A small weight settles in Phil’s chest at the thought that he’s hurt Dan’s feelings, and he frowns as he holds the door open for him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think- you can buy dinner, okay?”

Apparently, that’s the right thing to say, because Dan smiles brightly and nods. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that,” he says with a grin.

Phil rolls his eyes playfully. “You better,” he teases back.

There’s no one in the queue line, so they walk right up, smiling nervously at the clerk behind the counter. She smiles thinly, glancing between the two of them before her eyes settle on Dan. “Hi, how can I help you?”

Dan’s lip quirks up as he steps closer to speak to the clerk for them. “We’ve got a room booked for Lester,” he informs her, spelling it out afterwards and glancing over at Phil with a small smile. The relief Phil feels at not having to converse with her himself is immeasurable, and he sends Dan a grateful smile in return.

After a moment, she glances back up, a pitying smile on her face. “Sorry, there must be a mistake here, that reservation is in a room with only one bed.” She glances between the two of them again, biting her lip in what she probably thinks is an attractive manner when her gaze settles on Dan.

Dan smirks, shaking his head. “No mistake. Do you guys do room service? We might fancy some wine later, right babe?” He turns to smile at Phil, his eyes filled with mischief.

Phil struggles to hide his laughter. “That sounds lovely.” He turns back to the girl, digging in his pocket for his wallet and handing his credit card over, as well as his ID. “Here you go.”

Although her expression has shifted to one of contempt, the girl nods stiffly before running his card and fishing out their room key cards, sliding them across the counter with a pen and a form. “Sign at the bottom, please,” she mumbles, her gaze no longer focused on either of them.

Phil dutifully signs the paper and grabs their key cards, handing one to Dan before tucking his own into his pocket and grabbing his credit card. “Thanks!” With a cheerful wave, he turns away from the counter, making his way through the lobby of the hotel as if he has any clue where he’s going. He vaguely hears the receptionist suggest that he take a left to find their room, and he nods, tossing another wave over his shoulder, tugging Dan along by his hand.

“Did you see her face? She was so shocked!” Dan giggles, lacing his fingers through Phil’s as they walk. His excitement is palpable, and Phil’s lips quirk up into a smile at him.

“She did look pretty surprised,” Phil agrees with a nod. “Are you okay? You seem kind of hyper.”

Dan nods, then shrugs as he pulls out his keycard, checking the number before stopping at a door. “Yeah, I guess the gay part of me just thrives off straight shock and blatant homophobia.” He says this nonchalantly as he opens the door, but the words make Phil giggle.

“Wow, you’re really a hero in a rainbow cape, aren’t you?” Phil jokes as they step inside their room.

Dan crinkles his nose. “Rainbow isn’t really my aesthetic, I’m more of a monochrome person,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Phil rolls his eyes at this, tossing his phone and keycard onto the desk, followed by his backpack. “Alright, Edgelord.” He kicks his shoes off haphazardly before flopping down on the bed. “Oh my god, this bed is so nice,” he gushes.

There’s a soft laugh, and Phil tilts his head to watch Dan. The brunette places his backpack down beside Phil’s before leaning down and moving his shoes, tucking them under the desk neatly before taking his own off and doing the same. Phil watches as Dan stands up, his gaze still locked on their shoes. He seems to shake himself out of whatever thoughts he’s having, turning to face Phil. A blush covers his face when he sees that Phil’s gaze is already on him, and he quickly moves to sit on the end of the bed, looking rather awkward all of a sudden.

Phil smiles at him before patting the space beside him. “Come here.”

Dan obediently moves to the end of the bed and crawls up to sit beside Phil, staring down at him with those wide brown eyes. Phil can’t help himself, so he reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Dan’s knee, craving physical touch. Their gazes are locked as he continues the motion, and Dan slowly shifts closer until he can more comfortably drop his hand onto Phil’s arm. He drags his fingertips up the length of Phil’s arm, dipping under the sleeve of his t-shirt before trailing back down.

“You okay?” Phil murmurs.

“Yes,” Dan answers almost immediately, sending Phil a smile.

“You’d let me know if I made you uncomfortable, right?”

Dan looks surprised at this, then purses his lips amusedly. “Yes, of course I would.”

Phil nods, happy with this. “Good.” He moves to sit up then, pressing his back against the headboard. There’s a thought nagging in the back of his head, and he knows he needs some kind of clarification on it before their night continues. “I don’t know how far you want to take any of this, so to avoid any embarrassment or mistakes on either of our parts, I think we should talk about it.”

“Okay,” Dan nods easily. He tilts his head to the side, studying Phil closely. “How far did you want to go?” Despite the fact that this is what would probably be an awkward conversation with anyone else, Dan seems completely comfortable with discussing everything beforehand. This is a huge relief for Phil.

A smirk tugs on Phil’s lips. “Well, I’m up for anything. Like, if you want to properly sleep together, or if you just want to watch a film, or somewhere between the two. I’m genuinely happy with whatever you’re comfortable with, Dan.” Phil tries to sound sincere, because he is, and he wants Dan to feel absolutely comfortable with him, especially considering the oddity of their circumstances.

There’s an odd look on Dan’s face as he seems to process Phil’s words, and he swears softly as he looks down. A confusion filled moment later, his eyes return to Phil’s, and he sighs. “This is going to be so sappy, but you may honestly be the nicest person I’ve ever met, Phil.” He shakes his head with a laugh before moving to sit closer to Phil, their knees pressing together in the criss-cross way each of them are sitting.

Phil smiles at this. “I hope that’s not a nicer way of saying you think I’m boring.”

Dan fake gasps before grinning. “I would never!” He denies through a giggle.

“Oh, sure. I believe you.” Phil nods, trying to maintain a serious expression.

A pout pulls at Dan’s lips, and he tilts his head down to bat his eyelashes at Phil. The expression is so adorable, and it emphasizes the dimple on his cheek, so Phil really can’t help it when his body tells him to lean forward and press a gentle kiss to the concave skin. He feels Dan let out a shaky breath against his own cheek, and suddenly it hits him that he’s definitely just crossed a boundary.

Sitting back, horrified with himself, Phil hurries to apologize. “I’m sorry- I wasn’t-“

Dan cuts him off abruptly, a rosy patch appearing on his face. “I didn’t mind. I, um… You can do it again. Like, proper, if you want.” He stares down at the bed, but he’s chewing on his lip anxiously as he waits for Phil’s response.

Phil tries to hide his smile as he leans forward, trying to catch Dan’s gaze. “Would you like that?”

His cheeks more noticeably red now, Dan nods, his eyes looking anywhere but Phil’s.

“I need some words, Dan,” Phil says gently, moving his finger to stroke Dan’s jaw. “I won’t kiss you without your full verbal consent.”

This has Dan’s head snapping up, his wide eyes falling onto Phil’s face. His look of surprise would be concerning if it wasn’t so amusing. Phil quirks an eyebrow at him, tilting his head. “I don’t think… I’ve never had someone check like that before kissing me.”

“Oh.” Now it’s Phil’s turn to feel surprised. “I’m sorry? I just… I don’t know, I like to ask?” He says this almost as a question, suddenly a little unsure of himself.

Dan smiles at him, a fond look on his face. “No, I actually… I like that. I like that you asked first.”

Phil grins at this, tilting his head. “Well, you never actually answered me…”

With a smirk, Dan shifts closer, dropping his hand onto the base of Phil’s neck, his thumb stroking up and down the column of his throat. “I want you to kiss me.” Dan presses forward, his mouth hovering closely to Phil’s. “I want you to do way more than just kiss me, though.”

Phil shivers at his words, and he doesn’t waste any more time after that. He presses forward quickly, connecting their lips. An audible sigh tumbles from Dan’s lips at the contact, and the noise only encourages Phil to press forward more insistently. He tugs gently at Dan’s shirt, trying to guide him to sit on his lap. Dan seemingly misunderstands, reaching down and tugging the fabric up and over his head.

Smirking, Phil leans forward and runs a hand across Dan’s chest, dragging his thumb against a nipple as he goes. “That’s not quite what I meant, but it’ll do,” he teases.

Dan looks surprised, which is beautiful coupled with the way his skin is already flushed. “That’ll do, donkey, that’ll do,” he says suddenly, a Scottish lilt to his words. His face immediately floods with color and he reaches a hand up to cover his mouth, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say that aloud.

Unable to help himself, Phil tilts his head back and starts laughing loudly. He feels tears of mirth spring to his eyes as he giggles, struggling to get ahold of himself once he sees the mortified look on Dan’s face. “That was- oh my god, Dan,” Phil gasps. “That was so funny.”

“I- that was embarrassing!” Dan snaps, clearly more upset about it than he’d let on. “I- that wasn’t something I meant to- ugh.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, ducking his head to hide his face.

Phil sobers up seeing that Dan’s genuinely embarrassed. He reaches forward, petting Dan’s hair gently. “Dan, love, it’s honestly not as embarrassing as you think. I thought it was funny. I laughed.”

“Yeah, you laughed at me because it was stupid,” Dan mumbles bitterly, tilting his head to get Phil’s hand away.

“It was funny, Dan. You have a good sense of humor.” When Dan doesn’t respond to this, Phil decides to approach it from a different angle. That angle is by playing Dan at his own game. “I like your sense of humor. It’s one of your layers,” he says slowly. He’s staring at Dan so intensely that he sees the way his shoulders tense up, as he clearly starts to understand the reference. “You know what else has layers?” He grins brightly when Dan slowly raises his head.

“What?” Dan asks, almost smiling but trying to hide it.

“Cakes. Everybody loves cakes! Cakes have layers,” He says brightly, doing a horrible imitation of Eddie Murphy.

Dan’s lips quirk up into a half-smile. “Ogres are not like cakes,” he mumbles.

Phil grins before reaching over and brushing a curl out of Dan’s face. “No,” he hums in agreement. “I reckon they’re not.”

A soft look is on Dan’s face when he leans forward, pressing his lips to Phil’s in a soft, timid kiss, worlds away from the hot kisses they’d shared only moments before. “I really like you,” he whispers against Phil’s mouth.

“Guess what?” Phil whispers back, pressing another kiss to Dan’s lips before pulling away again. “I really like you too.”

“Can we…” Dan trails off, as if he’s unsure about what he wants to say.

“Can we?” Phil prompts gently, rubbing his thumb across Dan’s cheekbone slowly.

Dan takes a deep breath, leaning into Phil’s touch. “Can we not have sex tonight?”

Surprised, and a little confused, Phil leans away. “Oh- of course. We don’t- I mean, we won’t if you don’t want to do that… with me.” He feels an irrational sense of hurt in his chest, and he knows damn well that it’s unwarranted.

Dan’s eyes widen as if he’s been misunderstood. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Of course I want to, I just…” He trails off, his eyes roaming the wall as if his thoughts are written there, ready to be read off like a script. “I don’t think I want to go that far tonight. Not since we just met.”

Phil nods slowly, trying to wrap his mind around exactly what he thinks Dan wants, considering they’d been on a completely different page only minutes before. “Okay… That’s fine. We don’t have to do any of that.”

The brunette chews on his lip, contemplating. “Can we maybe, like, do some of it? I-“ he flushes then, as if he’s seriously still embarrassed. “I want you, but I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. And I feel like maybe we should have something to look forward to… for later, you know.”

Suddenly, Phil gets the idea that this is likely not about Dan’s aversion to sleeping with him at all. It’s about his aversion to only sleeping with him once. His anxiety settled, Phil smiles at the younger man. “Of course. We’ll need something to look forward to after our next date,” he says cheekily.

Dan laughs, but scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “About that, actually,” he starts.

Phil immediately goes back into panic mode, his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh are you- did you not want to-“

“No, no, no, let me talk,” Dan reprimands gently, flicking Phil’s elbow as punishment for his interruption. He ignores the way Phil pouts, rubbing the skin as if it actually hurt. “I want to, of course I want to. But, I don’t want to go get coffee.”

Phil frowns, confused. “Okay, well, did you-“

“No!” Dan says, louder this time. “Let me ask!”

Startled at Dan’s outburst, Phil leans back a bit, chuckling. “Okay, okay. Go ahead, then.”

Dan takes another deep breath, as if he’s trying to prepare himself for something. “I want to take you to dinner. There’s a restaurant near where I work that I’ve been dying to try, and I want to take you with me.”

Phil tries to force down the flattery he feels at the fact that he rode in the same train of thought as the other everyday parts of Dan’s life, at least for now. “I’d love to go with you,” Phil responds after realizing he hadn’t answered him yet. “When we get back to London we’ll figure out when to go.”

Dan smiles, appearing relieved. “And I can pay, right?” He sounds excited by this, to Phil’s amusement.

“I can-“

“You told me earlier that whoever asks is who pays. I get to pay, right?” Dan interrupts.

Phil sighs, staring at the other man with far too much fondness, all things considered. “Fine, yes, you can pay.”

Dan grins brightly. “Perfect,” he replies, leaning forward to kiss Phil quickly. “Can we order some food?” He asks then, placing a hand on his stomach. “I need to feed the baby.”

Phil blinks.

“The what?”

Dan smirks. “The baby.”

“What baby?” Phil asks, cautious in a way that he shouldn’t be, given that Dan is, as far as he knows, biologically a male and thus unable to carry children.

“Me, I’m the baby,” Dan responds, his eyes sparkling with joy when Phil huffs.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Phil groans, shoving at his shoulder lightly.

Dan giggles, catching his arm and pulling him closer. “No,” he sing-songs. “You like it! You think I’m funny!” He says gleefully.

Phil rolls his eyes, suddenly adamant on not agreeing with that very true statement. “Eh,” he says nonchalantly. “You’re okay.”

Dan pouts before apparently deciding he feels like being cheeky. He swings a leg over Phil’s thighs, so he’s settled on his lap. “Say it, say you think I’m funny,” he demands, dropping his arms to rest on Phil’s shoulders, his hands playing at the ends of his hair.

“I think you’re funny,” Phil deadpans. Smirking, he continues. “Funny looking!”

“Phil!” Dan whines.

Phil smiles, unable to help himself as he leans in and captures the other man’s mouth in a kiss. “You’re cute,” he mumbles against the chapped lips.

“Yeah,” Dan agrees absently before pressing closer, moving his lips against Phil’s gently. Pulling away a little, he bats his eyelashes at him. “I’m also hungry,” he reminds him.

Phil’s laugh echoes around the room. “You’re like a pet, or a kid. You have to be amused and fed and all this stuff. It’s really a lot of work, huh?”

Dan quirks an eyebrow. “At least you don’t have to change my nappy,” he jokes.

Phil’s lips curl up into a smirk. “I still want in your pants, though,” he says coyly.

The groan he receives in response is quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds, usurped only by the whine of “Phillll,” that immediately follows it.

~~~

“I’m so full,” Dan announces a full room service-ordered pizza later.

“We ate a whole pizza. We’re gonna explode,” Phil complains, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I actually feel ill.”

Dan laughs quietly from beside him. “I can make you feel better,” he murmurs, his voice closer.

Phil moves his arm enough to look at Dan with one eye. “No offense, but I’m not in the mood to be sexy right now.”

The brunette rolls his eyes, reaching forward to flick Phil’s temple. “I didn’t mean it like that, you freak. I meant I can put on a film and snuggle you.”

Phil blinks. “Oh.”

“So?” Dan prods.

“Sure, yeah, let’s do that,” he agrees easily enough. He hands Dan the remote to the television since it’s closer to him. “Pick something good,” he instructs as he goes to slip under the covers.

Dan raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to take your jeans off?” he asks.

Phil stops, glances down at himself, and then turns to Dan slowly to smirk. “Are you trying to get me out of my pants, Daniel?”

“Tactless, Philip, absolutely tactless,” he mumbles. “Still, take them off. If we’re going to share a bed I will not be sharing it with someone who’s going to be rubbing denim all over me.”

“Who said I’ll be rubbing anything all over you?” Phil teases as he stands to shimmy out of the jeans.

Dan meets his eyes with a steady gaze. “I did,” he responds, his voice low. “Shirt, too.”

Phil feels a shiver run through him at this turn of events. “Oh- okay.” He tugs the shirt off at the neckline, and for once in his life, the movement is as smooth as he imagined, and he drops the fabric to the floor. He turns his gaze to Dan, finding him staring back, his gaze dark. “Better?” Phil asks, attempting sultry.

The brunette blinks slowly. “Are you always this messy?” He asks, his tone as unreadable as his expression.

Phil startles at that, having expected an entirely different reaction. “Sorry?” He stutters out.

Dan gestures to the clothes on the floor. “Those don’t go on the floor,” he chastises, his tone somewhere between amused and disapproving.

Blinking, Phil shifts his gaze to the clothes he’d carelessly dropped. “Oh. Well, I don’t have my luggage, remember?”

Dan opens his mouth as if he has something to say to that, but apparently, he decides against it, snapping his mouth shut again before shrugging.

Insufferably curious as usual, Phil can’t help but prod. “What?” He asks, placing his hands on his hips.

The brunette shakes his head, smiling thinly. “Just a pet peeve, you’re fine, c’mere.” He holds his arms out, inviting Phil into his embrace, but Phil doesn’t take the bait.

“No, just tell me. Is it because I threw my clothes on the floor?”

Rolling his eyes, Dan drops his arms. “If I tell you will you quit being weird and come snuggle me?”

“Maybe,” Phil sticks his tongue out childishly.

Dan snorts. “I just don’t like clutter.”

Phil blinks.

“That’s clutter?” He asks, gesturing to the crumpled clothes.

“Yes,” Dan confirms with a nod.

“Oh.”

“Come here now?”

“Let me-“ Phil cuts himself off, bending over to collect his clothes. He haphazardly folds them before laying them on the desk where he’d sat his backpack earlier. When he turns around, he finds Dan studying him with a soft look.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Again, he holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

Phil shakes his head, turning around and grabbing Dan’s backpack, which he knows contains a certain adorable cat shirt. “Pajama time,” he says enthusiastically.

Dan flushes. “Uh…” He trails off, the rosy patch adjacent to his dimple drawing a smile from Phil’s lips.

“Please? It’ll be comfier, and you’ll look so cute,” Phil says cheekily. Maybe he just wants to watch Dan undress, but there’s more to it than that. He wants to snuggle with the other man and snuggling with him in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers is just incredibly tempting to him.

The brunette rolls his eyes and lets out a huff but sits up and holds a hand out. “Hand me the shirt.”

Phil makes a gleeful noise before digging through the bag, tugging at the white fabric when he sees it. He makes sure to take the tags off first before handing it over, watching as Dan tugs his other shirt over his head. When he catches Phil’s stare, he flushes even more.

“Quit looking at me!” He whines, tugging the fabric over his head quickly so that Phil can no longer see his bare skin.

“Sorry,” Phil says, very little remorse in his voice. “I just think you’re very fit.”

Dan stares pointedly down at the shirt he is meticulously folding. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

Even with his pouting, Phil can see the small smile on his pink lips.

“Are you taking your jeans off?” Phil asks as he finally settles onto the bed beside him. “You’ll be comfier that way,” He tries to encourage.

Dan snorts. “You are absolutely thirsty, aren’t you, mate?”

Phil shrugs unashamedly. “I’m gay, and you’re hot. Simple man, simple pleasures,” Phil explains with a smile.

He expects the eyeroll he gets, and he doesn’t bat an eye as Dan stands and begins tugging his jeans down his legs. Their gazes meet briefly, and Dan freezes briefly before seeming to gather some courage, turning away and very obviously bending down to push the material down to his ankles. The position gives Phil a perfect view of Dan’s ass, which is obviously his intention.

Suddenly Phil doesn’t care quite as much about watching a good film.

When Dan is finished, he folds his jeans, placing those and his shirt onto the desk beside Phil’s neatly. When he turns around, there’s an innocent sort of smile on his face. “What?” He asks, clearly catching onto the shift in Phil’s energy.

“C’mere,” Phil rasps, patting his thighs.

Dan quirks a brow, putting a hand on his hip and giving Phil a disbelieving look. “You want me to sit on your lap?” he asks, sounding dubious at the very idea.

“Yeah, I do,” Phil answers confidently. “Please,” he adds, softer.

Dan’s face softens at this, and he immediately moves forward, climbing onto the bed and tossing a leg over Phil’s and coming to rest his ass atop Phil’s thighs, just as he wanted. “Okay?” He whispers, bringing a hand up to card through Phil’s inky hair.

Phil drops his own hands onto Dan’s thighs, just below the fabric of his boxers. “Perfect,” he replies, just as quiet.

The air around them is heavy with silence as they sit there, studying each other closely. It should feel awkward, or intimidating, but it only feels intimate, and dare Phil say it, safe. He traces small circles onto the skin of Dan’s thigh with his thumbs, and revels in the way Dan scratches at his scalp gently.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” Dan interrupts the silence with a whisper, his voice wavering as Phil watches his eyes flood with emotion.

“So, do I,” Phil replies. “It’s…“ he trails off as he tries to think of a way to describe it. “I feel like you’re someone I’ve known forever, but I’m only just finding you again.”

Dan ducks his head at this, letting out heavy breaths against Phil’s shoulder, his body beginning to tremble. “Fuck,” He whispers.

“Are you- I’m sorry, that was probably creepy and totally weird. I understand if you think I'm a serial murderer now,” Phil apologizes quickly, wincing as he recounts the very strange thing he’d just confessed to this man he’d only known for the past ten hours or so.

“No, I just-“ Dan takes another heavy breath. “It’s a lot, for me. To feel like this.”

Phil dares a question into the lull of silence. “Like what?”

Dan’s quiet for a long time.

Finally, he speaks. “Like I’m not alone.”

Phil’s positive his heart breaks at those words. His hands move to wrap around Dan’s back, tugging him into a hug. “I’m right here, love.”

After a few moments of him stroking up and down Dan’s back, coupled with pressing soft kisses to his hair, Phil finally manages to calm Dan down. He leans away slowly, carefully avoiding Phil’s gaze as he rubs his hands over his eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “God, I’m sorry I’m so weepy and emotional, like that’s not what you signed up for, fuck,” Dan rambles, leaning away and running a worried hand through his untamed curls.

Phil shushes him gently. “I signed up for you, Dan. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Dan stares at him for a moment, his gaze hardening. Before Phil can even think to question it, the other man leans forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Phil startles, but gently kisses back, trying to coax Dan out of his harshness. Dan’s not having that, though, nipping at Phil’s lips and rolling his hips down to grind against the older man.

Phil’s heart races at the change of pace, and not in an entirely good way. Gently, he presses his hands against Dan’s hips, halting his movements. “Dan,” he whispers against his lips, pulling away when Dan tries to follow. “You need to slow down,” He reprimands gently.

Dan huffs, shoving Phil’s hands off his hips and rocking down once again, making Phil gasp and shudder at the friction on his clothed cock. Dan doesn’t stop there, gripping the back of Phil’s neck and pulling him in again for another kiss.

As much as Phil is turned on, the concern he feels for Dan’s well-being is eclipsing the feeling his cock is trying to convince him he should focus on. Knowing that Dan isn’t fully stable right now, Phil once again presses against his hips, forcing them to a reluctant stop.

The cry that falls from Dan’s lips once his movements are stopped again is enough to break Phil’s heart all over again. He sounds positively wounded, and Phil can’t stand it. But he also can’t stand the idea of Dan forcing them to go too far right now in a fit of emotion. “Dan, stop,” he says, his voice authoritative in a way he hasn’t been so far.

Dan whines, he actually whines. “But-“

“You aren’t actually ready to go that far, you already told me that,” Phil reminds him, stroking his thumb over Dan’s cheekbone.

“I changed my mind,” Dan argues petulantly.

Phil levels him with an unimpressed stare. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

“You don’t know shit,” Dan snaps immediately.

Phil is a little taken aback by the sharp tone, but he tries to hide how hurt he actually is by it. “Okay,” he concedes quietly.

Dan’s face immediately falls as he catches himself. “I didn’t mean- Phil, I wasn’t-“

Phil cuts him off with a shrug. “It’s fine. You’re right, I don’t know as much as I probably should to be making such rash judgements.”

The brunette shakes his head adamantly, chocolate curls swaying over his forehead. “No, no, no, you know plenty. You’ve learned more, and listened to me more, in the past ten hours, than most of my friends have in the past ten months.”

Still not fully convinced that he hadn’t meant it, Phil shrugs. He’s going to try not to let his now sour mood cost them their comfortable evening, though. “Wanna watch a film still?”

Dan nods, swallowing hard. “Are you cross?”

Phil shakes his head, moving under the duvet. “No, I’m not cross. C’mere so we can snuggle.” He holds up the covers to allow Dan to crawl under them and get settled. Despite how comfortable they’ve already established that they feel with each other, it’s a little awkward as they try to maneuver into a position that’s comfortable for the both of them.

They end up with Phil resting his back against the head board, Dan sat between his legs, his back to Phil’s chest. It’s cozy, and Phil finds himself petting Dan’s curls gently as Dan channel surfs for something to watch.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” the younger man whispers.

Phil presses a kiss to his neck, not missing the way Dan shivers. “It’s okay.” He hesitates, a question burning on his tongue, but he’s almost positive he’s crossing a line. Rather than ask what he’s desperate to inquire about, he chooses a different path. “Do you need to do anything before you go to sleep?” He asks.

Dan stiffens in his arms, and Phil panics, thinking for sure that he’s messed up. “Brush my teeth?” He says, his voice lilting up as if it’s a question rather than an answer.

His attempt at asking about his medication indirectly foiled, Phil releases a small sigh. “I meant, like…” he trails off, pondering how to phrase it without sounding insensitive.

“Are you asking if I need to wank before I sleep?” Dan deadpans when Phil fails to respond.

Phil splutters at the question. “No! I mean, if you still wanted to like, not like- but- that’s not what I was asking.”

Dan turns enough to meet Phil’s gaze. “Then what the hell were you asking?” He’s smiling, clearly amused at how flustered Phil is.

Closing his eyes tightly to avoid any sort of anger Dan might harbor, Phil speaks without thinking. “I was trying to ask if you needed to take your medicine tonight. I wasn’t sure how to ask that delicately.”

He waits for an outburst, to feel Dan shove him away and curse him for being so nosy, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, he feels a hand cup his jaw before soft lips press to his. “Phil,” Dan breathes through a laugh.

Phil slowly opens his eyes, surprised to find Dan staring at him with the softest gaze. “I’m sorry,” he blurts before he can stop himself.

“Don’t be,” Dan immediately says. “I think it’s really sweet that you asked me that. You’re actually right, I need to take it before I sleep, but it makes me really drowsy, so when I take it I’ll be out pretty quick.” He says the last part with his eyes downcast, as if he’s embarrassed for some reason.

“Okay. Do you want to take it now? It’s getting late.” Phil honestly doesn’t care at all what time it is, but he doesn’t want to mess up Dan’s body’s chemistry by keeping him from taking his medicine when he should.

A grimace is on Dan’s face as he glances over at the clock. “Remind me in an hour?” He requests, his voice soft.

“Sure,” Phil replies with a smile. He grabs the discarded TV remote, continuing the search for something to watch. “What’re you in the mood for?” He asks, moving in to rest his chin atop Dan’s shoulder.

“I reckon I’m in the mood for you,” Dan says cheekily.

Phil rolls his eyes and tilts his head to lick Dan’s ear. He intends it to be a punishment for Dan’s inappropriate behavior, so he’s not expecting the quiet gasp and the shiver that rocks Dan’s body. “Hm,” Phil hums, intrigued at that response. “That’s interesting,” he teases. Dropping the remote after clicking play on a random title, he wraps his arms around Dan’s chest, holding the younger man in place against his body. This time he deliberately drags the tip of his tongue along the shell of Dan’s ear, pressing a kiss there before moving down to the spot just behind the lobe.

“Phil,” Dan breathes, his hand coming up to grip Phil’s arm.

“What?” Phil whispers. “Do you want me to stop?” It comes out sultry but it’s a serious question, and if Dan says yes he knows he’ll drop it immediately.

“No,” Dan nearly shouts. “Feels good.” He arches his neck, giving Phil more room to work.

“Good,” Phil hums before dropping his lips back to the expanse of skin, kissing a line down from his ear to the base of his throat. “Can I leave a mark?” He breathes, suddenly obsessed with the idea of leaving this piece of Dan covered in marks. Phil doesn’t generally think of himself as a possessive person by nature, but this time he feels is an exception.

“Fuck yes,” Dan all but moans. “Please.”

Phil smiles against the skin before opening his mouth and sucking, just hard enough to bring a little color to the area. He didn’t want to hurt the other man, obviously, but in a sick way, he wanted Dan to feel him even after they parted.

His teeth graze the spot just a little, and Dan’s body jerks. “Fuck,” he moans, long and drawn out. Phil glances down, smiling proudly to himself when he sees the obscene way that Dan’s boxers have tented with his arousal.

“More?” Phil whispers, double checking that Dan is still into this.

“Please.” It’s almost a sob.

So, Phil goes back to his gentle assault, scraping his teeth along the bites after each suction. He’s had this done to himself, he knows how electrifying it can feel to have the already tender area grazed like that, and from Dan’s physical response, he’s a fan of it.

“Please, please, please,” Dan chants.

Phil pulls away just a bit. “What do you need?” He asks.

“Touch me, please, I’m so close,” Dan babbles, practically thrashing in his arms at the pleasure.

Phil pauses at that. “You’re already close? Just from this?” He asks, breathing deeply against Dan’s neck before licking a stripe up the side.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” Dan whines.

Phil hums. “Think you could come just like this?” He doesn’t seriously think Dan could, but the imagery is.... intoxicating, to say the least.

Dan twists in his arms, trying to get friction on his cock. “Nuh-uh,” he protests. “Can’t- not close enough-“

“Okay, shh, I’ll get you there.” Phil’s mind is whirling with all the possibilities here, his own straining cock forgotten in favor of getting Dan off. He could easily wank him off in this position or he could even reposition them to suck him off. While both of those are equally as tempting, he almost loses it at the idea of wanking Dan while still sucking on his neck.

Phil drops a hand down to palm over the front of Dan’s pants, and the boy shudders against him. “Phil,” he gasps.

“This okay?” Phil whispers, moving his hand to dip his fingers under the waistband of the material.

“Yes,” Dan breathes.

With permission granted, Phil shucks Dan’s boxers down to his thighs, unconcerned about properly removing them right now. He makes a soft noise as he gets a look at Dan’s weeping cock, gently wrapping his hand around his length and giving it a squeeze. “What a beautiful cock,” he breathes into Dan’s ear, darting his tongue out to lick inside.

“Phil, don’t-“ Dan protests, his brown eyes wide as he tilts his head to stare at the older man.

“It is, though. Absolutely gorgeous, love,” he praises, stroking slowly as he whispers into Dan’s ear.

“Gonna come,” Dan whispers, dropping his head back to rest on Phil’s shoulder.

“Yeah? Your pretty dick is going to come all over my hand?” Phil hardly ever talks like this in bed, but something about Dan is intoxicating and he feels absolutely drunk off it. “Go on, then. Come for me.”

Dan whines, his hips rutting up into Phil’s hand as he chases his relief. “Close, close,” he whines helplessly.

Phil presses a kiss to his neck, nipping gently before licking over it. His left hand crawls up from where it had been resting on top of Dan’s stomach, rucking his shirt up as he goes. His thumb brushes against Dan’s nipple and he stills for a moment before moaning, his hips moving even faster up into Phil’s hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants.

“Shh, we’re in a hotel,” Phil reminds him, a little worried about being caught out.

Dan whines loudly at that, and Phil shrugs his shoulder so Dan’s head rolls to the side, just enough that Phil can capture his lips in a heated kiss. He presses his tongue inside, licking into Dan’s mouth and swallowing his noises as he strokes him faster.

He feels the moment that Dan’s orgasm overcomes him, his body going rigid and his mouth slackening against Phil’s before he shudders and moans into Phil’s mouth. Then he’s spilling wet and hot over Phil’s fingers, his hips still rolling gently as he rides out the pleasure.

“Good boy,” Phil murmurs on a whim.

Dan whines at this, his body slowly relaxing as the last waves subside, until he’s laying completely limp against the front of Phil’s body. Phil brings his wet hand up to his mouth, sucking a finger into his mouth to clean Dan’s come off. Dan opens his eyes at the noise, and his face goes a shade darker when he sees what Phil’s doing.

“Want some?” Phil offers with a smirk, holding his hand out.

Dan stares at him, his eyes wide, but he slowly, hesitantly opens his mouth in invitation. Phil smears a little onto Dan’s lower lip before pushing a finger into his mouth. He’s shocked when Dan closes his lips around the digit and begins sucking, swirling his tongue around as he swipes the mess clean. His gaze never falters, and Phil is mesmerized at the wrecked look on his face.

He moves onto the next finger without being asked, and within just a few moments, his hand is completely clean again. “Thanks for the snack,” Dan says with a smirk, appearing to be completely at himself again.

“That was...” Phil trails off, unsure of how to even explain how that made him feel.

Dan’s expression shifts to one of shyness. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Phil gapes at him, slowly shaking his head. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he informs him matter-of-factly.

If it’s even possible, Dan’s rosy cheeks just become darker at the compliment. “Really? I didn’t know if maybe it’d gross you out or something, it’s-“

Phil has to cut him off there. “No, fuck no. That was hot.”

Dan smiles genuinely at him before wriggling out of his grip and turning to face him instead. Phil’s legs part immediately to give him more room, his prominent erection very obvious at this angle. Dan makes no move to tuck himself back into his pants, and instead he pulls them off entirely, tossing them to the end of the bed.

“Thought you didn’t like clutter?” Phil teases.

“Sex clutter doesn’t count,” Dan snips back.

“Round two already?”

Dan grins. “Actually, this is more of part two to our round one. You still haven’t come once.”

“Hm, interesting observation,” he coughs out. Phil has been painfully aware of this fact, but since he was unsure what all Dan was comfortable doing, he didn’t want to push him any further yet. It seemed that Dan didn’t have these same reservations.

With a cheeky smile, Dan lays down, making himself comfy on the bed. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help.” He glances up at Phil then, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re okay with this, yeah?”

Phil nods. “Yes,” he assures him quickly. He’s aware of how desperate that probably sounds, but he can’t find it in him to care.

“I’m gonna suck you off, okay?” Dan asks, looking up at Phil with doe eyes.

“Fuck,” Phil whimpers. “That’s more than okay, yeah, shit.”

Dan smiles before leaning in and licking up Phil’s length, flicking his tongue over the tip before bending his neck to take the tip into his mouth. He swirls his tongue, suckling lightly before momentarily popping off. “Teeth?” Dan inquires.

Phil pauses before shaking his head. “No.”

Nodding, Dan goes right back in, this time bobbing his head to take more of him into his mouth. Phil groans when Dan hollows his cheeks, unable to help shifting his hips up a little to chase the wet heat. “Sorry,” he mumbles, flinging a hand up to grip at his own hair.

Dan peers up at him, pulling off with a frown. “Here, give me your hands.” He takes Phil’s hands and guides them to his hair, pressing them down against his scalp until Phil gets the picture.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“You can pull on it, I like that,” Dan says, his voice a little shy.

Phil takes a shuddering breath before complying and tugging Dan’s hair a little, enough to guide him back to his leaking cock. “There we go,” he murmurs when Dan’s lips part for the tip. “Good boy,” he says tentatively, testing it out. Dan had responded well to it when he was on the brink of release, but he was unsure if it was still a thing now.

Dan moans around him, and Phil relaxes, relieved to find something Dan is into as well. He chews on his lip as Dan works on taking him deeper, his red lips stretching beautifully around his length. Phil nearly purrs when Dan sucks just right, bobbing his head slowly before pulling off almost entirely and lapping at the precum.

Phil can’t help but groan at the way Dan is licking him. “You look like you’re eating a fucking ice lolly,” he pants.

Another lick and Dan pulls his mouth away long enough to smirk. “Tastes even better,” he says, his voice low and rough.

Even though he knows that Dan is trying to be sexy, Phil can’t help the snort of laughter that falls from his mouth. “Fuck, Dan.”

“Hm, maybe later, I’m busy right now,” Dan says cheekily.

Phil can’t help but roll his eyes at this. “You’re so- oh fuck,” he moans when Dan suddenly deepthroats him. Phil grips the sheets tightly, using all his willpower not to fuck into the wet warmth, knowing that in this position it would absolutely choke Dan. “Fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, moving a hand to stroke gently through Dan’s curls. “You’re so good at this, baby. So good.”

Dan hums, and slowly shifts his jaw. Phil feels it just as much as he sees it when Dan swallows around him, and Phil drops his head back with a groan. He’s close, he’s so close, but he doesn’t want to hurt Dan and he knows that when he comes he’s not going to be thinking about keeping himself still.

Gently, he grips Dan’s hair and pulls him off a little bit. Dan’s eyes are wide and slightly panicked when he looks up at him, but Phil only smiles reassuringly. “You’re doing lovely, but I don’t want to hurt you finishing like that.”

Dan crinkles his nose. “I don’t think someone has ever called my blowjob skills “lovely” and I’m not entirely sure what to make of that,” he rasps, his voice wrecked.

Phil rolls his eyes, tugging on a curl playfully. “My mum raised me right, I know how to give a man credit when credit is due.”

“Your mum raised you to give compliments to guys who are good at blowing you?” Dan asks sarcastically, that same smirk on his lips again.

Narrowing his eyes, Phil leans down and drags his fingers over Dan’s lips. “These are moving an awful lot, but not in the right way.” Unprompted, Dan’s mouth falls slightly agape, and Phil takes the opportunity to shove two fingers down into the wet warmth immediately. Dan’s eyes are wide, but he obediently begins sucking and bobbing his head. “There we go. Be a good boy and do it that way, okay?” He'd never fancied himself this bossy in bed, but here he was, being bossy and directive, but judging from the way Dan's eyes nearly roll back in his head, he doesn't mind.

Dan nods excitedly before sliding his mouth off of Phil’s fingers, settling back down between his legs to get back to work. Phil can’t help the soft noises falling from his lips as Dan works him to the edge, and when his orgasm hits a couple minutes later, it comes as a pleasant surprise. “Oh,” he gasps, tugging gently on Dan’s hair as he feels the feeling crash over him. “I’m-“ he tries to warn him, but Dan doesn’t catch what he’s trying to say, instead winding up with a mouthful. “Sorry,” Phil apologizes as he tries to catch his breath. “You can spit it out, I won’t care.”

The brunette gives him an apologetic smile, his mouth still full, as he slides off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom. Phil hears him spitting the contents out, followed by the sound of running water. He can’t even be offended honestly, he wasn’t the greatest at swallowing himself, and didn’t do it very often.

“Sorry,” Dan apologizes almost immediately upon walking back into the room, his smile one of guilt. “Haven’t learned to love the taste just yet.”

Phil laughs at that. “Mate, I don’t think I’ll ever love the taste, it’s fine.”

Dan crinkles his nose. “Don’t call me that, I just sucked your dick.”

Phil blinks. And then he promptly bursts into giggles. “Sorry, I just-“ he loses it again when he notices the indignant frown on Dan’s lips. “You just look so cute, all offended about that.”

“I’m not cute!” Dan protests.

Suppressing a smile, Phil shrugs. “Sure, whatever you say.” He tosses the sheet over himself then, not bothering with pulling his pants back on or anything. He felt loads more comfortable and confident than he had earlier, and he wasn’t about to lose that by retreating into his clothes. Unless his nakedness made Dan uncomfortable, of course. But judging by the way he too crawls under the blankets, naked aside from his cat t-shirt, Phil concludes he's not all that fussed about it.

“I’m tired,” Dan announces then, staring up at Phil as if it's his responsibility to change that.

Phil gives him a soft look. “I bet. And I hate to do this to you since you just sat down, but you still need to take your medicine.”

Dan groans. “Fuck. I forgot already.” He rolls over and looks up at Phil, his eyes wide and pleading and gorgeous. “Phil, I would be forever in your debt if you’d fetch my meds for me,” he says sweetly.

Phil responds with a snort. “I dunno, sounds like a rough deal. You get drugs and I’m stuck with you forever, or until I decide you’ve paid me back?”

Rolling his eyes, Dan’s mood seems to shift. “I know it’s a shit bargain, but I’m too lazy to get up.” He tries to force his casual, funny tone, but it falls flat, and Phil realizes he’s seriously annoyed about what Phil had said in jest.

“I was kidding, Dan,” Phil says gently. “I’d be honored to spend as much time with you as you’re willing to give.” He puts all the sincerity, all the honesty, that he can into those words.

Dan’s gaze falls down at this, and he fiddles with the corner of the pillowcase as a distraction. “Yeah, well…” He trails off. “Don’t be sappy,” he grouches.

Phil carefully reaches out and pets Dan’s curls. “I’m not. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’ve been nothing but lovely to be around, and I’ve been thrilled to spend the day in your company. Don’t sell yourself short, Daniel.”

A soft groan sounds and Dan’s rolling over to bury his head in Phil’s naked chest. “How do you exist?” He grumbles.

Phil grins. He can do the whole sarcastic, playful bit. Just maybe a little less direct this time. “Well you see, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much-“ He begins.

Dan yelps at this, pulling his head away from Phil’s chest like he’s been burnt. “Oh my god! No! I don’t want to hear about that!”

Cackling, Phil can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to Dan’s full lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“That was horrible. I’m considering withdrawing all admissions of my affection for you,” Dan announces pretentiously.

Phil smiles softly at this, slowly running a finger along the shell of Dan’s ear. “You have affection for me?” He asks, his voice almost a coo.

Dan’s face goes a shade darker at this. “Not anymore,” he proclaims.

Pushing his face against Dan’s hair to hide his grin, Phil hums in disagreement. “No, I don’t think so. I think you like me a lot, actually. I think you fancy me a bit.”

“Mm, maybe,” Dan says, half-heartedly.

Phil smiles and presses his face closer to Dan’s, shifting so that his mouth hovers just over Dan’s ear. “Well guess what?”

Dan tries to feign nonchalance when he says, “What?”

“I fancy you a lot,” Phil whispers.

The shiver that runs over Dan’s spine is impossible to miss. “Yeah?” He asks.

“A whole lot more than I should fancy a stranger I met in an airport,” he admits. And honestly, it’s the first time he’s really let himself process it. Here he was, meeting a man in an airport of all places, and falling for him in the span of a day, as if he has any right to get that close that quickly. And yet, he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like he’d known Dan forever, like there wasn’t a time that he hadn’t felt his heart beat faster at the short breaths he took, or the sight of those brown curls. It was insane, and maybe he was insane, but he felt so completely at home with Dan that he couldn’t imagine lying to the other man about how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a stranger you met at an airport,” Dan says quietly. His voice is so low Phil nearly doesn’t catch it, almost as if Dan hadn’t intended for him to hear.

His heart twists uncomfortably at those words. “No?” he asks.

“I wanna be more than that to you. I want…” Dan trails off, and his voice is wavering with uncertainty even when he finds the words. “I want to see where this goes. I don’t want to just be the guy you met at an airport and screwed around with in a hotel afterwards.” Phil opens his mouth to protest but Dan beats him to it. “See, I know you’re going to say I’m not that, but I want you to prove it.”

Phil pauses, trying to make sure Dan is finished before he tentatively asks, “How?”

Dan tilts his head so that he’s staring straight into Phil’s eyes, honey and caramel and chocolate drawing him in. “I want to date you. I want you to go on a date with me when we’re back in London, and I want to stay over at yours and have you stay over at mine and I want us to go to movies and dinner and be cheesy and lame and have sex and I want you to want to introduce me as someone besides the guy you met at an airport.”

His words are rushed and aren’t all coherent, but it’s a beautiful speech, and Phil’s heart is pounding by the end of it. It takes him a moment to figure out how to respond, and another to figure out how to make his mouth move again. “Okay. I hope you like horror movies and popcorn and cuddles because that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

Dan nods, his face totally serious. “And sex. I like sex.”

Phil has to laugh at that and press another lingering kiss to Dan’s willing mouth. “And sex,” he mumbles. Dan brushes the tip of his tongue across Phil’s lips, but instead of opening his mouth to him, Phil pulls away a little. “I hope you like “boyfriend” too, because I’m particularly fond for that word.”

The sound Dan makes then is a cross between a gasp and a squeak, but Phil is quickly swallowing it with his own mouth, leaving very little room for argument or response of any kind.

And maybe they were stupid and naïve, and this would never work, but maybe they were willing to try and put in the effort anyway. And Phil knew there was more to Dan than what was meeting his eye, but so far, he was willing to accept every part he’d been willing to share. There would likely be other conversations, logistics on how they would see each other when they didn’t even know where in London the other lived, but it wasn’t anything a google map and some patience couldn’t solve.

And maybe it wouldn’t be perfect, as things rarely are, and this would all fall apart in a month. Or, maybe they would be as close to perfect as he could want. The likelihood of either was really just a gamble at this point, but that was something he was willing to try for.

Phil hated making mistakes. He hated being a failure.

But he hated the idea of giving up on a good thing before it had even begun even more.

[70slovergirl]

Jimmy Page Fanfic

Hello, thank you for sticking with me down this road! I have all sorts of plans for this story, so I hope to keep you entertained.

I also wanted to give special thanks to the lovely @ritacaroline. I know my grammar is not great and she was so so nice to offer me help correcting some of my monstrous mistakes. She’s also a really great person overall so thank you for that Rita. I recommend checking out her Jimmy Page Fanfic, it’s called ‘In the Light’ and I’m personally hooked on the story.

P.S. The next chapter involves the concert and I know we all love a good Zep gig!

Chapter 5

There was a ringing that threatened to split my head in two. I’m never drinking again, I thought, cracking my eyes open to find the source of the incessant sound. The room was still heavily disorganized but splendidly bathed in a golden light that suggested it was still early in the day. The noise suddenly ceased, and I slumped back to bed, defeated. Those damn sequins on my dress had dug deeply into my skin, making me itchy and suddenly so uncomfortable that I couldn’t get back to sleep.

And then the strident ring began again.

“For Christ’s sake.” I muttered against the pillow, searching for the cherry-colored telephone on top of the bedside table. “Yes?” My annoyance was clear in my voice when I answered.

“Ms. Rayne, this is the hotel receptionist. You had a call, and the caller said you should get back as soon as possible. The number is here in the lobby, in case you would like to drop by.”

“Yeah, I’ll get back to them after lunch.” I yawned, my eyes already closed from the effort it took to reach for the phone.

“It’s four in the afternoon, Ms. Rayne.” Her stylized, almost robotic voice echoed back at me, and her words ran down my spine like a bucket of icy water.

Shiiiiit.

I literally ran to the bathroom in an effort to speed the process of making myself presentable. As the tap released a shower of warm, therapeutic water, I tried to count in my head the number of shots I had taken last night along with John Bonham, but just couldn’t come up with a plausible one. After that encounter with the aloof Page, I had gone back to the table full of the Zeppelin personnel joining the three remaning members. Whatever happened after that is not exactly clear.  

Racing back to my luggage, I rummaged through for something that didn’t require too much thinking. I was supposed to spend Saturday creating a profile on the band members, not sleeping off my colossal hangover. Man, I should be named Employee of the Month. I finally came across a pine colored maxi dress that sported a thin halter neck. I paired it along with some round, orange-tinted glasses to try to hide my bloodshot, hungover eyes, and I was out the door.

My feet followed firstly the trail to the lobby, and I finally placed a face on to the lady whose call had awoken me. She was already busy answering the phone, but happily handed me a piece of paper with a scribbled number. I didn’t recognize the digits, and there was no name nor address whatsoever. Nevertheless, I walked towards the telephone for guest calls and dialed it.

“Hi, this is Venus Rayne, you were trying to reach me?” I greeted as soon as the repeated tone ceased.

“Yes, Ms. Rayne, this is Ben Fong from Rolling Stone Magazine.” I burst out laughing, doubling over and holding my stomach.

“Yeah right, that’s a good one.” Giggling, I tried muffling the sound as I had gotten dirty looks from some guests hanging around. “Listen dude, I have a massive hangover, and this is certainly not helping.”

“Mr. Callaghan must��ve given me the wrong number. Are you not a journalist for Muse?”

Oh fuck.

“Uhhh, yeah. Yes, I mean.” I facepalmed myself, begging the earth to swallow me whole.

“…Great. Listen, you’re with Led Zeppelin for the weekend, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’re doing this Concerts You Can’t Miss this Summer piece and would really like to include Zep on it. And, you know, since today is their very first, we thought we might get your perspective on the matter. 150 words. What do you say?”

I was at loss for words. Being included on this particular magazine has been a goal of mine, and even if it was only an insignificant part, it would surely look good on my resume.

“Yes.” I finally let out with absolute confidence.

“Good. Just one more thing, this is due tomorrow six am sharp. It needs to go through the editor’s table before being published. I understand you have another deadline for Sunday. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Fuck yes.” Ben Long chuckled on the other side of the line as I fist bumped the air. The opportunities were lining themselves up for me, and I was not going to be afraid to take them. I sent my regards to the magazine’s team and hung up, feeling victorious.

“Oi, girlie.” I knew by the brusque voice that it belonged to none other than Mr. Grant, and I turned around to greet his sleepless face. “Breakfast.” He said, pointing towards the direction he was walking. The large manager didn’t stop to chat, and I trailed behind him, hoping to get on his good side.

“Tough night?” I asked, perhaps too chirpily.

“Fun night, Miss Rayne. I am surprised you’re up this early, considering the events that occurred.” My cheeks burned at his comment, but he seemed pleased, as though I had somehow earned his approval by drinking half the bar. “Hey chap, did you manage to wake them up?”

He was speaking to a roadie who rushed by with a distressed look painted on his face, hands deep in his pockets. “Bonham threw a pair of drumsticks at me, but they’re up.” With that remark the boy was gone, and I glanced at Mr. Grant to find him nodding.

“That sounds like him.” He muttered almost to himself and I contributed a chuckle.

We finally entered a deserted room, probably destined for reunions, and especially closed for the band. The table was filled edge to edge with all sorts of foods: fried bacon, scrambled and poached eggs, trails among trails of diverse breads, grilled veggies and fresh fruit. There was also champagne and orange juice for mimosas, along with bottles of heavier alcohol. Despite the fact there was literally no one, the grumpy manager asked me to take a seat and left without a beat.

I was buzzing, first as a result of the recent news and second, because it didn’t really matter I had overslept. Apparently a four pm breakfast was only natural for bands, and I took a mental note for future events. The possibilities of accompanying other rock groups on tour seemed suddenly reachable, and I found myself on cloud nine.

As I was reaching for some champagne to celebrate, two scantily dressed girls with long chestnut-colored hair entered the room, and I immediately identified them as groupies. Robert’s, I thought, deciding the best would be to simply ignore them.

“So, who did you come in with?” One of them asked me, and I only glared back. It was then that I noticed both of the girls shared my same hairstyle: wavy dark hair with a middle parting. It was certainly a strange coincidence, but I didn’t put too much thought into it, downing my mimosa.

A freshly showered Robert Plant then strutted in, his wet blond tresses stuck to his neck. His characteristic jolly smile was shining through despite the hangover I knew he too had to be sporting. The singer walked directly for me, obvious to the excited groupies that fought to get his attention.

“Really, Robert? You spent all night with those chicks and you can’t manage a hello?” I asked him, discreetly pointing their way with my slim, champagne flute. This produced a confused expression on the rock star’s face.

“Oh, they do not belong to me.” He shrugged bewildered, and without a care reached for my glass, drinking the leftover. There was a sudden blow, and in came the boisterous John Bonham, his face obviously tired but enthusiastic. As soon as he caught sight of me, the drummer came sprinting towards my seat.

“Bloody hell, Venus. That’s what I call getting hammered.” I high fived my new drinking buddy, and we ended cracking up over the ridiculous conversations we had last night while totally inebriated. “I don’t even know how this wanker could perform.” Bonham howled, referring to Robert and his league of unclaimed groupies.

“Actually, Planty here claims they aren’t his.” I responded while both band members devoured plates of traditional English breakfast. The drummer looked up at my statement, slightly puzzled.

“Well, they’re certainly not Jonesy’s, and Page goes for blondes.” Some peculiar ideas began popping up in my mind after Bonham’s remark, but I waved them away as pure speculation. “Now that I think about it, where was Jimmy last night?”

Like summoned by the mere sound of his name, the elusive player burst through the door and the entirety of the table fell silent.  Try as I might, I couldn’t resist stealing a curious look at him and at the way his hair released tiny drops of water that slid well into his open shirt. I was suddenly thirsty and knew no amount of alcohol could satisfy it.

Jimmy Page took a quick look at the members of the makeshift breakfast, until his eyes finally settled on me. I shifted nervously at the intensity of his glare, as his fellow partners followed the trail of their guitarist’s gaze to my seat. A beat later and he was gone without uttering a single word, both groupies following quickly behind him. Well, that answers that.

“What did you do?” Robert and John questioned in unison, shocked at our exchange but very much amused.  I shrugged and sank deeper into my chair, still dazed by the brief appearance of the British God. Or Devil, that suits him so much better.

“I’ll investigate.” The singer stated and rushed out of his seat laughing. Bonham quickly followed, not before congratulating me on managing to piss off the reclusive Jimmy. It didn’t seem like an accomplishment to me.

[falseroar]

Homo Necrosis

((Hi! So this is the thing I was talking about doing the other day with the one year anniversary of Who Killed Markiplier + Halloween coming up. Lot of firsts for me with this one, including the first time I’ve written anything pre-WKM outside of the occasional flashback. I had planned for it to be, well, scary, but then the Colonel started talking and it became...whatever this is instead. No note at the end this time, so I want to go ahead and say thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @skyewardlight @cherrybomb-jaguar @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior  @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident

Warning, this story contains: zombies, suggested violence (but no gore), death, mentions of animals attacking humans, unreliable narrator(s). ))

If my time as a detective taught me one thing, it was to spot a bad case coming from a mile away. Too bad it didn’t teach me how to say no to one before it was too late, especially when work was as hard to come by as it was that year.

My partner and I were willing to take whatever work we could get, and Markiplier was ready to give it out. Maybe you’ve heard of him, he was a bigshot actor in his day with all the cash to throw around. Over the last couple of months, he had us doing background checks on practically everyone he came into contact with, from employees to bare acquaintances to childhood friends. Might have called it paranoia, if the money wasn’t so good.

Then again, maybe he had good reason to be suspicious, with friends like William J. Barnum, aka “the Colonel.”

I’d seen his face before he came into the office that day, on the front page of the newspaper under a caption screaming “SAFARI HUNT GONE WRONG.” In any other town, that would have been all anyone talked about for weeks, but around here it was just one scandal among others, soon buried under headlines of celebrity deaths, shady politics, pictures of cute animals, and all the other detritus that my partner and I have to dig through every day.

But a picture could never capture the presence of the man who stalked into our offices like a hunter on the prowl, his dark eyes piercing even behind those massive glasses, his uniform and medals another testament to his time in the service to go with the title. Good thing my partner wasn’t here for this, because God was he gorgeous. Then again, maybe things would have gone differently if I hadn’t faced him alone that day.

“I do have an appointment I need to get to, so if you could tell me why you called me out here, that would be fantastic,” he said, his tone polite but not up to hiding the accusation in his voice. Best to cut to the chase, then.

“I just have a few questions for you, Mr. Barnum—”

“My friends call me the Colonel, you can do the same.”

“Right, Colonel. As you know, I’m a detective, and I’m paid to look into things that just don’t make sense. Like this story about the safari you went on a few months ago.”

“Oh, of course.” Any pretense to politeness dropped, and his voice dipped lower into a rumble as he said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you haven’t heard the real story.”

“And that’s exactly why I called you, Colonel.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“I’ve read the papers, I’ve talked to everyone who claims to have been involved, and not one of them has a clue what really happened on that trip. You’re the only one who can say for sure and you haven’t said a word, not even when your own neck was on the line.” I leaned forward on the desk between us, staring him down. “Why is that?”

“It’s not a story I like to tell.” He met my stare dead on, eyes unblinking as he asked, “Why do you care? Who’s paying you?”

“This is more to satisfy my own curiosity,” I answered, which was technically true. Mark had never asked my partner and I to specifically look into what happened on that trip. Just to find whatever we could about yet another one of his estranged friends, which he seemed to shed like old costumes on his way to yet another new role to play. “You don’t look like a man who has anything to hide.”

“Well of course I don’t! I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done.”

“Then prove it,” I said, knowing this was the kind of guy who would respond to a personal challenge to his honor more than anything. “Tell me what happened, and I won’t bother you anymore. No more calls, no more questions. Deal?”

“And you’ll stop digging around in my affairs?” the Colonel asked.

I’ll admit I paused at that. My partner and I, we weren’t always the most…discreet people around, but I hadn’t realized he had noticed we were asking around about him. Considering my partner was ready to close the folder on the guy, I felt it was safe enough to say, “Depends on what you tell me, but yeah, you got a deal.”

The Colonel sighed, stroking his mustache as he thought about it. He took so long to answer I was sure he was going to tell me off, but instead he said, “I’ve only told this story, the real story, to one person before now. It’s not easy, you know.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound every inch the understanding friend for a man I just met. “Take your time.”

“Could we open the window?”

It was sweltering in the office with the oppressive late summer heat beating down outside, not helped by the sunlight coming in through the blinds behind me and burning the back of my neck. The bright light highlighted the Colonel’s profile so that I could see even the tiniest twitch of his bushy black mustache while leaving my face in shadow, just the way I like it. The fan overhead turned like a dog on a Sunday afternoon, lazy as can be and with the occasional grunt of effort, just pushing the warm air around without making the effort to cool it down any.

“Construction across the street makes too much noise,” I said. Which was true, but it was good to see the Colonel already starting to sweat as he pulled his jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair, revealing a yellow shirt and bright red suspenders underneath. “This safari hunt, you went with three other men, correct?”

“Hunt? No, no, this was more of a sightseeing sort of thing, you know how it is. Foreign country, a chance to rough it out in the wilderness, and sometimes a man just wants to ride an ostrich.”

“You sure took a lot of guns for someone going on a sightseeing trip,” I pointed out. Not only did the newspaper have a photo of him posing with a rifle, I’d seen a list of the supplies the Colonel and the others had taken with them. They would have needed an elephant to tote the weapons and ammunition they had brought for just the four of them, not including their guide.

“Merely for protection. Believe me, I learned my lesson about trophy hunting after my time in Jumanji.”

“Jumanji?”

“Gesundheit. Yes, there were three others, good men all of them, uh…” He paused, his eyes going a little vacant as he tilted his head with the effort of recalling. “…Jim, right?”

“Robert, John, and Charles,” I said without even having to look at my notes.

“Huh. I wonder where I got the name Jim from?” The Colonel paused again until I cleared my throat and he said, “Right, right, good men, met them in my time in the service, no one else I’d rather have by my side. Well, up until the platypus incident.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“Platypus, in the watering hole. Took us all by surprise, especially John.”

“But…you were in Africa,” I said, and he nodded encouragingly. “Platypuses…Platypi? Those things are native to Australia.”

“That’s why it was such a surprise! Poor John never stood a chance,” the Colonel said, shaking his head sadly. “Poisonous barbs, you know.”

I felt my jaw going a little slack as I tried and failed to find an answer to that. “But they’re not that…What?!”

The Colonel sighed, the whiskers on the edge of his mustache shaking. “Exactly what our guide said. Of course, we couldn’t leave his body there with that monster, so we took him as far as we could before we had to stop and set up camp for the night.”

I frowned at that, but I had pretty much given up on questions if only to see where he was going with this.

“We set up the tents while our guide got the fire going, like usual. Even John was just sitting there where we left him without lifting a hand to help, just like he always did. I’ll admit we drank a little more than we normally did, but after what we had seen, well, who could blame us?

“I don’t remember turning in for the night, just the waking up in the dark, the fire nearly dead, and Jim saying—”

“Jim wasn’t there.”

“Right, Charles calling out, ‘John, is that you?’ And then he was yelling at us all, that we’d made a mistake, that John was okay because apparently platypus venom isn’t enough to actually kill a person?”

“So, John didn’t die,” I said, writing another question mark in my notes to go with all of the others.

“It was a dead man standing next to Charles when Jim and I got out of our tents,” the Colonel said.

“You mean Robert.”

“No, I mean John, he was dead as dead can be, and believe me, I’ve seen my share of dead people.” The Colonel leaned forward, deadly serious as he said, “Our guide took one look at him and rode out of there. I don’t even know how he found the zebra, much less got it to let him on, but that boy could ride. Robert and I were so busy watching, we didn’t even see John take the first bite until Charles started screaming.”

“Did you say bite?”

“Homo necrosis,” the Colonel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “All it took was one bite, and Charles was gone too.”

Yeah, I took that about as well as you’d expect, staring at the man who was tearing up in front of me as I said, “Zombies. You’re trying to tell me your companions became zombies.”

“That moan,” he said quietly. “That rattle and gasp, you’ve never heard anything like it. Our fire was gone, the only lit lantern riding away on the back of a zebra, all we had to go by was the moonlight and the sounds, all around us. Robert, or Jim, or whoever it was, he said they were barely able to walk, we could outrun them. Turns out, it’s hard to run when your foot gets caught in a hole not even outside of camp and you go down right on your face. Told the man those heels might have looked fabulous, but they just weren’t cut out for running from monsters. And just like that, he was one of them too.”

“He wore heels. On a safari.”

“Most fashionable zombie I’d ever seen,” the Colonel confirmed. He fiddled with one of his bright red suspenders as he continued, “That made what I had to do all the harder. I had my gun of course, always sleep with one under my pillow just in case. I’ve always been a crack shot, you know.”

“You killed them?”

“I wouldn’t call it killing if they’re already dead. I just put them back where they belong.”

We sat in silence, staring at each other while I let this sink in.

“You’re telling me, that a platypus, in Africa, poisoned one of your companions and turned him into a zombie, that said zombie turned the others into more zombies, and so you had to kill them.”

The Colonel considered this for a moment and shrugged. “I was never really sure it was the platypus that did it. John did have a habit of insulting every practitioner of the dark arts he came across after what happened with that shaman in France, so there’s a chance one of those curses finally caught up with him at a bad time. But yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

The man was absolutely insane. He literally confessed to killing three men to me, like some story about “homo necrosis” would make it anything but outright murder.

And he just sat there, as if I was supposed to believe him.

“You…seem to be taking it well,” I said.

“Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean I don’t care,” he snapped, his voice low and menacing again. He started to say something and his voice broke before he cleared his throat and started again. “Believe me or don’t, but I know I did what I had to do.”

I looked from him to the newspaper again.

Safari hunt gone wrong, it said. The story, as far as anyone else could piece it together from what little there was to go on, was that the men had been attacked on their trip by some animal. Lion was the best guess, probably provoked by a missed shot, or just wanting to take advantage of some unwary travelers. The only thing that could be gotten out of the guide when he returned was a bunch of babbling and the words “leave them, just leave them”, before he apparently moved to another continent.

Three bodies, all savaged by some animal, and all with bullets in their heads.

“I wouldn’t call it killing if they’re already dead.”

I looked back at the Colonel as his words ran through my head again and saw the honesty in his face. As crazy as his story was, on some level he actually believed it.

Or he had to believe it, for his own sake.

“…I think I’ve heard enough,” I said, probably the most honest thing I’d said all day. “Thanks for explaining things, Colonel.”

He seemed surprised but took my hand when I offered it as he stood up. “Right, well, glad that’s over with. Remember our deal?”

“I remember.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Oh! I’ve got to go!”

He ran out the door so fast he had to double back for the jacket he left on his chair, and I could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairwell as I called up my partner on the phone.

“Find out anything?” he asked, once I explained who I just spoke to.

“That he’s definitely a man I’d want to keep my eye on,” I said as I stood and walked around the desk, the phone’s cord trailing behind me and growing taut as I neared the window. “I think there’s more going on with him than we’ve found so far.”

I could see him now from the window, as he ran down the sidewalk toward a woman waiting on the corner. They embraced and locked lips with the kind of vigor that made me give a low whistle.

“Looks like he’s found someone else who wants to keep more than an eye on him.”

“Guess we’ll have to get digging then,” my partner said, and I could hear the sigh in his voice as he added, “Mark wants to have this done before the party in a couple of weeks. If he’s that worried about the guy, I don’t even know why he would want to invite him to whatever this ‘celebration’ is supposed to be about.”

“You know the saying, right? Best to keep your enemies close. Wink, wink.”

“You know I can’t see you winking over the phone, right?”

I smiled and started to respond, but my voice choked and died in my throat when I saw the face of the woman the Colonel had rushed out to meet, as they finally broke apart for air.

Celine. Mark’s wife.

As if sensing my stare, her eyes locked with mine and even from such a distance I could feel the chill straight through my soul as I lurched toward the window, trying to find the words to tell Abe what I had just seen.

But all he must have heard was the choked gasp and the crash of glass before the line cut out.

The phone cord tangled around my legs and tripped me up, or at least that’s what the autopsy report said. Funny though, that wouldn’t explain the pressure I felt on my shoulders, pushing me toward the closed window and my one-way trip to the ground below.

I wasn’t the first partner he lost to a sudden fall, although I might have been the first to get back up again hours later. Turns out I wouldn’t be the last one, either, but that’s a different story.

Guess I have to admit now that the Colonel’s version of events doesn’t sound so crazy anymore. One fall and a change of existence can really open your eyes to things.

I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not what he would have called homo necrosis.

There’s a different name for what I am, apparently: homeo sapio zombifus, or smart zombie if I do say so myself.

But I’ve taken up enough time with this tale and I can tell you’re starting to get antsy, so let me go ahead and tell you how much it means that you stuck around and listened to all of this.

Because another thing he forgot to mention?

How much telling a story can really work up the appetite.

[lastsonlost]

In the 1990s, the late Stanford neuroscientist Ben Barres transitioned from female to male. He was in his 40s, mid-career, and afterward he marveled at the stark changes in his professional life. Now that society saw him as male, his ideas were taken more seriously. He was able to complete a whole sentence without being interrupted by a man. 

A colleague who didn’t know he was transgender even praised his work as “much better than his sister’s.”Clinics have reported an increase in people seeking medical gender transitions in recent years, and research suggests the number of people identifying as transgender has risen in the past decade. 

Touchstones such as Caitlyn Jenner’s transition, the bathroom controversy, and the Amazon series “Transparent” have also made the topic a bigger part of the political and cultural conversation.But it is not always evident when someone has undergone a transition — especially if they have gone from female to male.

“The transgender guys have a relatively straightforward process — we just simply add testosterone and watch their bodies shift,” said Joshua Safer, executive director at the Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery at Mount Sinai Health System and Icahn School of Medicine in New York. “Within six months to a year they start to virilize — getting facial hair, a ruddier complexion, a change in body odor and a deepening of the voice.”

Transgender women have more difficulty “passing”; they tend to be bigger-boned and more masculine-looking, and these things are hard to reverse with hormone treatments, Safer said. “But the transgender men will go get jobs and the new boss doesn’t even know they’re trans.”

We spoke with four men who transitioned as adults to the bodies in which they feel more comfortable. Their experiences reveal that the gulf between how society treats women and men is in many ways as wide now as it was when Barres transitioned. But their diverse backgrounds provide further insight into how race and ethnicity inform the gender divide in subtle and sometimes surprising ways.

‘I’ll never call the police again’

Trystan Cotten, 50, Berkeley, Calif.

Professor of gender studies at California State University Stanislaus and editor of Transgress Press, which publishes books related to the transgender experience. Transitioned in 2008.

Life doesn’t get easier as an African American male. The way that police officers deal with me, the way that racism undermines my ability to feel safe in the world, affects my mobility, affects where I go. Other African American and Latino Americans grew up as boys and were taught to deal with that at an earlier age. I had to learn from my black and brown brothers about how to stay alive in my new body and retain some dignity while being demeaned by the cops.

One night somebody crashed a car into my neighbor’s house, and I called 911. I walk out to talk to the police officer, and he pulls a gun on me and says, “Stop! Stop! Get on the ground!” I turn around to see if there’s someone behind me, and he goes, “You! You! Get on the ground!” I’m in pajamas and barefoot. I get on the ground and he checks me, and afterward I said, “What was that all about?” He said, “You were moving kind of funny.” Later, people told me, “Man, you’re crazy. You never call the police.”

I get pulled over a lot more now. I got pulled over more in the first two years after my transition than I did the entire 20 years I was driving before that. Before, when I’d been stopped, even for real violations like driving 100 miles an hour, I got off. In fact, when it happened in Atlanta the officer and I got into a great conversation about the Braves. Now the first two questions they ask are: Do I have any weapons in the car, and am I on parole or probation?

Race influences how people choose to transition. I did an ethnographic study of trans men and found that 96 percent of African American and Latino men want to have surgery, while only 45 percent of white respondents do. That’s because a trans history can exacerbate racial profiling. When they pat you down, if you don’t have a penis it’s going to be obvious (or if you’re a trans woman and you have a penis, that becomes obvious). If they picked you up for popping a wheelie or smoking weed, if they find out you’re trans it can be worse for you.

There are also ways in which men deal with sexism and gender oppression that I was not aware of when I was walking around in a female body. A couple of years after my transition, I had a grad student I’d been mentoring. She started coming on to me, stalking me, sending me emails and texts. My adviser and the dean — both women — laughed it off. It went on for the better part of a year, and that was the year that I was going up for tenure. It was a very scary time. I felt very worried that if the student felt I was not returning her attentions she would claim that I had assaulted her. I felt like as a guy, I was not taken seriously. I had experienced harassment as a female person at another university and they had reacted immediately, sending a police escort with me to and from campus. I felt like if I had still been in my old body I would have gotten a lot more support.

Being a black man has changed the way I move in the world. I used to walk quickly or run to catch a bus. Now I walk at a slower pace, and if I’m late I don’t dare rush. I am hyper-aware of making sudden or abrupt movements, especially in airports, train stations and other public places. I avoid engaging with unfamiliar white folks, especially white women. If they catch my eye, white women usually clutch their purses and cross the street. While I love urban aesthetics, I stopped wearing hoodies and traded my baggy jeans, oversized jerseys and colorful skullcaps for closefitting jeans, khakis and sweaters. These changes blunt assumptions that I’m going to snatch purses or merchandise, or jump the subway turnstile. The less visible I am, the better my chances of surviving.

But it’s not foolproof. I’m an academic sitting at a desk so I exercise where I can. I walked to the post office to mail some books and I put on this 40-pound weight vest that I walk around in. It was about 3 or 4 in the afternoon and I’m walking back and all of a sudden police officers drove up, got out of their car, and stopped. I had my earphones on so I didn’t know they were talking to me. I looked up and there’s a helicopter above. And now I can kind of see why people run, because you might live if you run, even if you haven’t done anything. This was in Emeryville, one of the wealthiest enclaves in Northern California, where there’s security galore. Someone had seen me walking to the post office and called in and said they saw a Muslim with an explosives vest. One cop, a white guy, picked it up and laughed and said, “Oh, I think I know what this is. This is a weight belt.”

It’s not only humiliating, but it creates anxiety on a daily basis. Before, I used to feel safe going up to a police officer if I was lost or needed directions. But I don’t do that anymore. I hike a lot, and if I’m out hiking and I see a dead body, I’ll keep on walking. I’ll never call the police again.

‘It now feels as though I am on my own’

Zander Keig, 52, San Diego

Coast Guard veteran. Works at Naval Medical Center San Diego as a clinical social work case manager. Editor of anthologies about transgender men. Started transition in 2005.

Prior to my transition, I was an outspoken radical feminist. I spoke up often, loudly and with confidence. I was encouraged to speak up. I was given awards for my efforts, literally — it was like, “Oh, yeah, speak up, speak out.” When I speak up now, I am often given the direct or indirect message that I am “mansplaining,” “taking up too much space” or “asserting my white male heterosexual privilege.” Never mind that I am a first-generation Mexican American, a transsexual man, and married to the same woman I was with prior to my transition.

I find the assertion that I am now unable to speak out on issues I find important offensive and I refuse to allow anyone to silence me. My ability to empathize has grown exponentially, because I now factor men into my thinking and feeling about situations. Prior to my transition, I rarely considered how men experienced life or what they thought, wanted or liked about their lives. I have learned so much about the lives of men through my friendships with men, reading books and articles by and for men and through the men I serve as a licensed clinical social worker.

Social work is generally considered to be “female dominated,” with women making up about 80 percent of the profession in the United States. Currently I work exclusively with clinical nurse case managers, but in my previous position, as a medical social worker working with chronically homeless military veterans — mostly male — who were grappling with substance use disorder and severe mental illness, I was one of a few men among dozens of women.

Plenty of research shows that life events, medical conditions and family circumstances impact men and women differently. But when I would suggest that patient behavioral issues like anger or violence may be a symptom of trauma or depression, it would often get dismissed or outright challenged. The overarching theme was “men are violent” and there was “no excuse” for their actions.

I do notice that some women do expect me to acquiesce or concede to them more now: Let them speak first, let them board the bus first, let them sit down first, and so on. I also notice that in public spaces men are more collegial with me, which they express through verbal and nonverbal messages: head lifting when passing me on the sidewalk and using terms like “brother” and “boss man” to acknowledge me. As a former lesbian feminist, I was put off by the way that some women want to be treated by me, now that I am a man, because it violates a foundational belief I carry, which is that women are fully capable human beings who do not need men to acquiesce or concede to them.

What continues to strike me is the significant reduction in friendliness and kindness now extended to me in public spaces. It now feels as though I am on my own: No one, outside of family and close friends, is paying any attention to my well-being.

I can recall a moment where this difference hit home. A couple of years into my medical gender transition, I was traveling on a public bus early one weekend morning. There were six people on the bus, including me. One was a woman. She was talking on a mobile phone very loudly and remarked that “men are such a–holes.” I immediately looked up at her and then around at the other men. Not one had lifted his head to look at the woman or anyone else. The woman saw me look at her and then commented to the person she was speaking with about “some a–hole on the bus right now looking at me.” I was stunned, because I recall being in similar situations, but in the reverse, many times: A man would say or do something deemed obnoxious or offensive, and I would find solidarity with the women around me as we made eye contact, rolled our eyes and maybe even commented out loud on the situation. I’m not sure I understand why the men did not respond, but it made a lasting impression on me.

I took control of my career’

Chris Edwards, 49, Boston

Advertising creative director, public speaker and author of the memoir “Balls: It Takes Some to Get Some.” Transitioned in his mid-20s.

When I began my transition at age 26, a lot of my socialization came from the guys at work. For example, as a woman, I’d walk down the hall and bump into some of my female co-workers, and they’d say, “Hey, what’s up?” and I’d say, “Oh, I just got out of this client meeting. They killed all my scripts and now I have to go back and rewrite everything, blah blah blah. What’s up with you?” and then they’d tell me their stories. As a guy, I bump into a guy in the hall and he says, “What’s up?” and I launch into a story about my day and he’s already down the hall. And I’m thinking, well, that’s rude. So, I think, okay, well, I guess guys don’t really share, so next time I’ll keep it brief. By the third time, I realized you just nod.

The creative department is largely male, and the guys accepted me into the club. I learned by example and modeled my professional behavior accordingly. For example, I kept noticing that if guys wanted an assignment they’d just ask for it. If they wanted a raise or a promotion they’d ask for it. This was a foreign concept to me. As a woman, I never felt that it was polite to do that or that I had the power to do that. But after seeing it happen all around me I decided that if I felt I deserved something I was going to ask for it too. By doing that, I took control of my career. It was very empowering.

Apparently, people were only holding the door for me because I was a woman rather than out of common courtesy as I had assumed. Not just men, women too. I learned this the first time I left the house presenting as male, when a woman entered a department store in front of me and just let the door swing shut behind her. I was so caught off guard I walked into it face first.

When you’re socially transitioning, you want to blend in, not stand out, so it’s uncomfortable when little reminders pop up that you’re not like everybody else. I’m expected to know everything about sports. I like sports but I’m not in deep like a lot of guys. For example, I love watching football, but I never played the sport (wasn’t an option for girls back in my day) so there is a lot I don’t know. I remember the first time I was in a wedding as a groomsman. I was maybe three years into my transition and I was lined up for photos with all the other guys. And one of them shouted, “High school football pose!” and on cue everybody dropped down and squatted like the offensive line, and I was like, what the hell is going on? It was not instinctive to me since I never played. I tried to mirror what everyone was doing, but when you see the picture I’m kind of “offsides,” so to speak.

The hormones made me more impatient. I had lots of female friends and one of the qualities they loved about me was that I was a great listener. After being on testosterone, they informed me that my listening skills weren’t what they used to be. Here’s an example: I’m driving with one of my best friends, Beth, and I ask her “Is your sister meeting us for dinner?” Ten minutes later she’s still talking and I still have no idea if her sister is coming. So finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I snapped and said, “IS SHE COMING OR NOT?” And Beth was like, “You know, you used to like hearing all the backstory and how I’d get around to the answer. A lot of us have noticed you’ve become very impatient lately and we think it’s that damn testosterone!” It’s definitely true that some male behavior is governed by hormones. Instead of listening to a woman’s problem and being empathetic and nodding along, I would do the stereotypical guy thing — interrupt and provide a solution to cut the conversation short and move on. I’m trying to be better about this.

People ask if being a man made me more successful in my career. My answer is yes — but not for the reason you might think. As a man, I was finally comfortable in my own skin and that made me more confident. At work I noticed I was more direct: getting to the point, not apologizing before I said anything or tiptoeing around and trying to be delicate like I used to do. In meetings, I was more outspoken. I stopped posing my thoughts as questions. I’d say what I meant and what I wanted to happen instead of dropping hints and hoping people would read between the lines and pick up on what I really wanted. I was no longer shy about stating my opinions or defending my work. When I gave presentations I was brighter, funnier, more engaging. Not because I was a man. Because I was happy.

‘People assume I know the answer’

Alex Poon, 26, Boston

Project manager for Wayfair, an online home goods company. Alex is in the process of his physical transition; he did the chest surgery after college and started taking testosterone this spring.

Traditional Chinese culture is about conforming to your elders’ wishes and staying within gender boundaries. However, I grew up in the U.S., where I could explore my individuality and my own gender identity. When I was 15 I was attending an all-girls high school where we had to wear skirts, but I felt different from my peers. Around that point we began living with my Chinese grandfather towards the end of his life. He was so traditional and deeply set in his ways. I felt like I couldn’t cut my hair or dress how I wanted because I was afraid to upset him and have our last memories of each other be ruined.

Genetics are not in my favor for growing a lumberjack-style beard. Sometimes, Chinese faces are seen as “soft” with less defined jaw lines and a lack of facial fair. I worry that some of my feminine features like my “soft face” will make it hard to present as a masculine man, which is how I see myself. Instead, when people meet me for the first time, I’m often read as an effeminate man.

My voice has started cracking and becoming lower. Recently, I’ve been noticing the difference between being perceived as a woman versus being perceived as a man. I’ve been wondering how I can strike the right balance between remembering how it feels to be silenced and talked over with the privileges that come along with being perceived as a man. Now, when I lead meetings, I purposefully create pauses and moments where I try to draw others into the conversation and make space for everyone to contribute and ask questions.

People now assume I have logic, advice and seniority. They look at me and assume I know the answer, even when I don’t. I’ve been in meetings where everyone else in the room was a woman and more senior, yet I still got asked, “Alex, what do you think? We thought you would know.” I was at an all-team meeting with 40 people, and I was recognized by name for my team’s accomplishments. Whereas next to me, there was another successful team led by a woman, but she was never mentioned by name. I went up to her afterward and said, “Wow, that was not cool; your team actually did more than my team.” The stark difference made me feel uncomfortable and brought back feelings of when I had been in the same boat and not been given credit for my work.

When people thought I was a woman, they often gave me vague or roundabout answers when I asked a question. I’ve even had someone tell me, “If you just Googled it, you would know.” But now that I’m read as a man, I’ve found people give me direct and clear answers, even if it means they have to do some research on their own before getting back to me.

A part of me regrets not sharing with my grandfather who I truly am before he passed away. I wonder how our relationship might have been different if he had known this one piece about me and had still accepted me as his grandson. Traditionally, Chinese culture sees men as more valuable than women. Before, I was the youngest granddaughter, so the least important. Now, I’m the oldest grandson. I think about how he might have had different expectations or tried to instill certain traditional Chinese principles upon me more deeply, such as caring more about my grades or taking care of my siblings and elders. Though he never viewed me as a man, I ended up doing these things anyway.

Zander Keig contributed to this article in his personal capacity. The opinions expressed in this are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of the Department of Defense.

[destinationweddinganovel]

Alex’s Co-worker Coincidences

MARISSA

The afternoon is cool and overcast as I step outside. A shadow flashes in my periphery and I catch sight of someone ducking around the side of my apartment building. Nerves rattled, I keep my back to the brick facade and edge along. Footsteps swish across the overgrown wet grass. By the time I reach the corner, they’re long gone. Scanning the quiet residential streets lined with budding trees, I see only a young mother pushing her stroller up the sidewalk, stumbling toddler in tow.

I’m probably being paranoid. It’s been years since Connor’s ex made my existence a living nightmare but past traumas are hard to shake. Otherwise, things are going great with Alex. Just progressing more slowly than I’d like. For now most of our dates revolve hanging around the Caddie on Thursday nights, or the odd lunch during the week. He added me on Facebook so long as I don’t tag him. Too many clients access his profile, he tells me, and his ex is extremely nosy. So far, the breakup has been amicable and he doesn’t want to antagonize her. I can’t say I blame him.

Christine, on the other hand. A dreadful thought hits me as I trot up the road, droplets of rain spitting on my face. What little I know of Alex’s ex, even five and a half weeks in, has come from Reggie. That could’ve been her spying on me just now; I gather she’s psycho. Nor is this the first time I sensed someone following me. Especially whenever I’m out with Alex.

At Main Street, I text Gemma. “Running late. Gimmie ten.”

I slow my pace and take out my phone. I need to learn more about this woman beyond what Reggie has told me. Not so easy, since she barely exists online. On Alex’s LinkedIn profile I find three Christians, five Christophers, one Kristina, and dozens of Chris’s or Christines. None with her surname.

Continuing through his contact list, one familiar name leaps out: Bridget Donnelly, VP New Product Development. Small world. My boss for a summer internship way back when now works for the same company as Alex. Even in NYC, social circles crossed at the most unexpected times, so I shouldn’t be surprised by all the Venn diagrams here in Dorchester. It’s been more than a dozen years since I last saw her, but she looks pretty much the same. Older, maybe, but she must be well into her forties by now.

I click on her list of contacts and my heart seizes up: C. Johansson. That’s her surname, so it could be her. Blonde hair, early twenties. Her job at Y&M is a fairly junior position. This can't be the same woman, it can't be. Alex never said anything about he and his ex being coworkers! Neither did Reggie! I send Bridget a quick email inviting her to lunch, praying she’ll respond.

*     *     *     *     *

CHRISTINE

My head is killing me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and set down my iPad. I swear I’m getting cross-eyed from looking at Craigslist ads all day. They’re either in some luxury development way out of my budget or a shitty part of town and always the same fucking ad: non-smoker, gay+ vegan, must be tolerant. Tolerant is the clincher. These types only tolerate people exactly like themselves.

Sharing with roommates is out anyway. I’m twenty-four, too old for that bullshit. Always some slob who never pays bills on time, eats everybody else’s food, has scummy friends over to smoke pot all weekend. No thanks. I’ve lived in this condo for four years and yet, by law, Alex doesn’t owe me a thing. Would he, however, consider renting this place to me? I love it here. He might if I ask the right way.

The phone rings and my stomach lurches. “Hello?”

“Any luck finding a place?” Gavin checking up on me, at Alex’s prompting no doubt.

“Not yet,” I say, twirling the cord in my fingers. Alex has a thing for retro phones. Since I’m the one who bought it, I’m taking it with me. Same for the Neil Gaiman collection, the Isaac Asimov, and all those cult horror movies. Once, they were ours. Now, they are mine. Alex ‘ll have to buy his own.

“Alex is worried about you.” My bubble bursts as fast as it inflated when he adds, “We went out for drinks and he wanted to make sure you aren’t going to try and pull anything.”

That kind of worried. “What the fuck? No matter what I do he thinks of me as this, this—” I groan and stomp around the kitchen, my eyes burning. I feel crushed, as if the ceiling and floors above are caving in on me. My period’s late, my boobs are killing me, and if I tell him, there’s no chance he’ll believe me. I could get a blood test done, but I hate needles. “I give up. Was anybody else with you?”

“No,” Gavin says quickly. Too quickly. “A couple of old buddies swung by for a bit, but no new girlfriend if you were wondering. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone right now.”

Bull-fucking shit. Alex went straight to screwing Jules and Dominique after dumping me, as well as this brown-haired chick who clings to him like saran wrap.

“Listen Chris, I’ve been there and it sucks. I’ll help you find a new place, or you can crash at mine if you need. I don’t think he’s coming back. Not this time.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and slump on the floor, the checkered linoleum cold on my legs. I feel numb. Tapped out. No point in arguing. I also know an insincere promise when I hear one. I’ll be allowed to stay all right, so long as I’m never around when he has some chick over that he wants to fuck.

I rub my eyes and start packing a box of kitchen stuff. Each object has a memory attached to it. I take the poker chip magnet off the fridge that I’d bought only because I had to get something from that Bonanza store. Alex hated Las Vegas. He won’t miss the magnet. Next, I start on the cupboards. At the flea market in Orchard Park, I’d picked up a vintage red Fiesta pitcher. For Christmas, he surprised me with a pair of matching cups and saucers. Piece by piece, I managed to complete the whole set and now I want to drop it all out of the window and watch it shatter into a million pieces on the sidewalk below. I picture red shards exploding in slow-mo like droplets of splattering blood.

The front door lock tumbles. I stand and we exchange awkward glances as he steps inside.

“Hi!” I return to packing. My skin prickles and my heart’s going a mile a minute. I should tell him, but I can’t. Not yet. The words rise into the back of my throat like bile. I gulp them back down.

Alex eyes my box and the pile of newspaper, sets his briefcase on the counter. No how are you, any luck finding a place. He doesn’t give a shit. Will I ever get that through my skull?

“I’m going to check out a great little studio apartment later tonight,” I lie, hoping he’ll relax a little. “Small, but clean and gets lots of sun.”

“Hope it works out.” He opens the fridge and stares blankly at the mostly empty shelves inside.

“How’s Reggie?”

“I’m staying at my folks for now. Lina never said anything, but she was ‘accidentally’ slamming a lot more doors and cupboards. I took the hint.”

I regret never telling him why Reggie hates me when it could have made a difference. Alex has no clue what a creep he is, how many times he groped my ass or tried to get me into bed with him. He also cheats on his wife every chance he gets. Reggie’s game whenever they’re out, is to locate women who are hot for Alex. More times than I can count, I’ve seen Reggie trade tips on how to hook Alex for quickies in his SUV. Including with this new chick.

Alex is still staring at nothing in the fridge. Why is he here?

I lean against the wall opposite, keeping a comfortable distance. “Listen. I can crash on Gavin’s couch or my aunt Jen can––”

“Stay the full two months. I’m supposed to by law anyway. Two months notice.”

He knows how insane Jen is. Five cats last I counted, and her place reeks like she keeps at least a dozen. Her and my mother collect bongs the way some people collect Royal Doulton figurines.

Alex hasn’t moved from the fridge. I don’t know what he expects to find in there besides condiments and soda pop. Maybe he’s eyeing my leftover pizza. Don’t even think about it, bud. All I can keep down these days is that, Alpha-getti, and saltine crackers.

“You know, I’m going out for a walk.” I need to do something to settle my nerves; I’m so wired. I pick up my purse and say, “I’m off to the library. The new David Mitchell is out. If you’re here when I return, I’ll see you then, and if not, the next time. Whatever. Have a good one.”

Play it cool, I tell myself, releasing a breath from deep in my lungs. That is the only way Alex will come back to me. He is like a cat. The more standoffish I act, the more he tries to get into my good books. I always forget that when we’re together again. Why do so many people get off on not letting anybody else know where they stand with them? A power trip, insecurity, or are they too self-absorbed to see the mixed signals they send? I hate these games. Alex is the only real boyfriend I ever had so it’s not like I have a clue what other men are like. All I know is that my brother is the same.

“Take care.” He leans closer, about to kiss me, and then pecks my cheek. I feel a giant wave crashing over me as I stride out of the apartment. I caught that look in his eyes, that sad glimmer. He always does this! He lets his friends and his mother browbeat him into breaking up with me, and then he has too much pride to come back straight away. And yet he always does. The longest he ever made it without me was a couple of months. We’re soul mates and both he and I know it.

Let him have his stupid flings, see what’s out there so he remembers what he’s missing with me yet again. He always comes back to me. I have six weeks. If I play this right I won’t need to find somewhere else to live either.

[socialcaptainuk]

How to work properly with quick replies on Instagram?

Users who have already experienced this function in practice were satisfied with its operation. Today we will take a closer look at its main advantages and how to configure it.

People who run commercial Instagram accounts are probably tired of the fact that they have to respond to a whole heap of monotonous messages in Direct every day. You always have to spend a lot of time and effort on this, but such requests are not getting smaller. As a result, constantly working with messages only takes up precious hours, which affects the productivity of your business.

Fortunately, the developers of Instagram have made the work-life somewhat easier for the owners of business accounts in their service. At the beginning of 2019, an option called "Quick Answers" became available to a wide audience. Users who have already experienced this function in practice were satisfied with its operation. Today we will take a closer look at its main advantages and how to configure it.

What are Instagram quick replies?

In short, quick replies on Instagram are message templates for sending to Direct. The service allows you to save them and then quickly send them to the necessary users in just a couple of clicks. You will only have to spend time creating such a template and saving it in the memory of your account. Further sending of the prepared message will take no more than a couple of seconds. Please note that quick answers are available only in the functionality of commercial Instagram accounts. Instagram representatives managed to say that they pin their hopes on this option and are confident that it will become a real boon for owners of commercial profiles in the service.

How do I work with quick replies?

Have you already used the option to create quick replies? If not, then it does not matter: now we will analyze the process of setting up this function, after which you will not have any problems when working with it.

First, we advise you to check the inbox list of your commercial Instagram account. Choose a few questions that users ask you the most. After that, come up with such answers to them that will always remain relevant and will be organically perceived by your potential customers.

After that, you can proceed to setting up quick messages. First, go to your Instagram business account. Then you need to go to the profile settings section. From all the tabs available in it, click on the "Quick replies" option. In the window that opens, you will need to click on the "+" icon located in the upper right corner of the screen. This will open a tab where you can create a quick response.

First, click on the "Messages" field. In it, you will need to specify the text of your template, which will be sent out later as a quick response. After that, go to work with the field "Word for the quick entry". Here you will need to select the character set required to search for the desired answer in the future. After specifying all the necessary data, click on the checkmark located in the upper right corner of the screen. Immediately after that, the system will save the information you specified.

In the future, if you wish, you can edit the saved quick answer or permanently delete it. This can be done in just one click. Just select the blank you need and click on it once.

It is very easy to work with saved quick answer templates. First, you need to open your commercial Instagram account and go to its Direct. Next, open a dialog with the user you need. Enter a key request in the special field and click on the quick response icon in the lower right corner of the screen. After that, the system will quickly download the prepared message. Then you just have to send your answer.

You can go to the section of saved blanks in another way. To do this, click on the dialog icon. It can be found a little to the right of the "Send message" field.

New items in Yandex.Direct

In addition to the quick replies option, the Instagram development team has several other updates for the owners of commercial instablogs. Most of them are related to Yandex.Direct functionality. For example, previously, messages from users that you did not subscribe to your business account were sent by default to the "Correspondence Requests" section. Now everything has changed radically. Instagram's algorithms have started to automatically check the posting of users. If they think that the requests for correspondence from them are important to you, then the correspondence with them will immediately be available in the "Inbox" list.

Also, after updating the functionality of Direct for business accounts on Instagram, there was an option to move especially important dialogs to the "Flagged" section. In order to transfer the correspondence you need, go to it and click on the flag icon located in the upper right corner of the window. If you want to show only dialogs that are of interest to you by default in Yandex. Direct, then click on the filter icon in the upper-right part of the screen and select the "Marked" option. We advise you to mark messages that you want to pay more attention to in this way. Judging by the reviews of the owners of commercial Instagram profiles who tried this option, they liked the new product.

Correct Use Cases for Quick Answers

With the help of the quick replies option, you can significantly increase the efficiency of processing personal messages sent to the Direct of your Instagram business account. The developers of the social network themselves offered the owners of commercial profiles in the service several options for the effective use of the new function. In total, they mentioned four main methods.

1. Answers to frequently asked questions (do your followers often ask you about the same things? For example, do they clarify the delivery details of your orders or are interested in the intricacies of purchasing your goods? In this case, you definitely need to save the answers to such Having done this, you will very soon be convinced that with the help of templates for such messages, maintaining your business account on Instagram has become much less time-consuming. Saved minutes (or even hours) can be spent on other useful things to develop your online -business.

However, keep in mind that not every response to a user request needs to be prepared in advance. Look at the situation and respond with quick messages to those questions that do not require much thought. If the user contacts you with any specific problem, then take a couple of minutes to type his answer manually. SocialCaptain UK also advises you to prepare answers to frequently asked questions and place them in the stories section. Statistics show that users are very willing to get acquainted with the content from Stories, and therefore there is a chance that in these publications your potential buyers will find answers to their questions in advance).

2. Feedback during sweepstakes or sales (giveaways are a good way to promote your commercial Instagram account. If you decide to arrange such a prize drawing, then get ready for the fact that your business profile Direct will be filled with a huge number of incoming messages.

Even if you clarify the details of the ongoing competition as detailed as possible, there will still be users who either will not finish reading its terms or will find moments that are incomprehensible to themselves. Therefore, prepare a message in advance that will summarize the highlights of your giveaway or sale. Please forward this quick response further and spend time only sending the templates prepared in advance).

3 . Technical customer support (Instagram is not without reason called the most convenient social network for business in terms of ease of working with potential customers. If you want to optimize the work of the technical support service of your commercial Instagram account, then prepare template answers to those questions that your potential customers may have.

We draw your attention to the fact that you do not need to get too carried away with quick answers in this case. Every response message you send to users should be personalized. If possible, address your potential buyer in response by name and indicate the details of his problem.

If you constantly send out blanks instead of personalized messages, then your audience may consider you a bot. In this case, contact with potential customers will abruptly come to naught. It’s unlikely that anyone will enjoy chatting with a salesperson talking like a robot, right?).

4. Interaction with the audience (active communication in Direct is not an ordinary sign of politeness. By communicating with your audience in personal correspondence, you increase the loyalty of potential buyers to your commercial profile on Instagram. This gives you an advantage over competitors who bypass such moment interaction with the audience Users are more willing to order goods from those sellers who humanly communicate with their customers.

Once you have talked openly and warmly with your customer, you will win him over for a very long time. In the future, to accelerate the processing of messages from loyal customers, you can use the quick replies option. You shouldn't get too carried away with it. In this case, ready-made messages should serve you only as starting cues for further discussion of the details of orders made by customers). 

[1dfangirls35]

The Fallout Chapter 1

After nuclear war leaves the world in shambles, Charlotte Breslow finds herself simply trying to survive, until an unexpected stranger reminds her of what it means to live again.

Read on Wattpad

Chapter 1- 463

463 days. 463 days have passed since the world as I knew it  ended. It has been 463 days since I last saw my parents. 463 days since I last binged on Netflix. 463 days since I wandered through the grocery store, checked my email, or navigated through the lovely Los Angeles traffic. 

I pull out my notepad from inside my worn black backpack. Its once light blue edges now wearing down to a dusty tan color. The spine binding beginning to loosen, enough so it doesn't quite stay open. I flip to the inside cover and trace my fingers over the "To our dearest Charlotte, may your journey await" in my mother's swirly script. 

I flip to the page I've marked last, with the edge bent slightly inwards. 463, I write in bold print. Wednesday, July 15th, 2020. I stare at it for a moment, letting it sink in. Wrapping my head around those numbers, that date. It was the only thing that I had to grasp onto anymore after all. 

"And what day would it be today?" 463 days ago I would have jumped at the sound of my little brother Luke's voice behind me. Today, I don't even bother to turn around. 

"Today is Wednesday, July 15th," I respond.

"Well then happy hump day Charlie!" Luke pulls off some obnoxious dance move and I roll my eyes. Sometimes Luke's sense of humor was the only thing getting me through the day. 

"Happy hump day Luke," I respond back with a grin, although we both knew there was no such thing as hump day anymore. 

I shove the notebook back in its assigned pocket for safekeeping, and begin to gather my belongings. There wasn't much anymore. The blanket my grandma knitted for me before I left for college. The hairbrush that kept me from developing a rat's nest at the nape of my neck. The small pillow which had a hard lump I couldn't quite get rid of. My backpack, which carried things that I didn't dare use. The duffle bag where Luke and I kept all the necessities, soap, Pork and Beans, matches, and of course Oreo Cookies. Today the bag felt a little lighter, which meant that once again we were growing low on the very items keeping us alive. 

"Where to today?" Luke asks as he slides into the drivers seat of the maroon Honda Odyssey we lovingly referred to as Gertrude. I was always the navigator, because apparently my six months post graduation living in California had given me the knowledge to navigate its every where about. 

"Liam told me to check out Pomona. He said they found some good stock ups there last week."

"Where's he been anyway, we haven't seen Harry and him in ages." Ages was a bit of an exaggeration, it had only been 12 days by my records, but twelve days out on our own seemed like so much longer.

"Twelve days. It hasn't been ages, its been twelve days,." I partly snap. Luke always had a small level of distrust in Liam,Harry as well. He argues I don't know either of them well enough to be trusting our lives to them. I argue that in this time there isn't anyone else left to trust our lives to. "Remember I told you they were going to follow that lead on the safe zone Liam heard about."

"You mean the safe zone that Liam made up?" Luke says back with a roll of his eyes. 

"It very well might be out there Luke, what do you want to do wander around this wasteland for the rest of your life?" Luke grows mute at my comment, and I wonder if I've come at him a little too strong. Death had become quite a sensitive subject considering recent events. 

"Let's try Pomona today. We are going to meet back up with Liam and Harry on Friday," I say. If you had asked me 463 days ago who would be the leader of the group of four survivors in a nuclear fallout, I definitely wouldn't have volunteered my name. Hell, I wouldn't have even counted myself as a survivor. But a lot has changed in 463 days, that's for certain. 

********

The Spears Ridge neighborhood was marked by a large, multi-tone rock on the corner of the street. A large sign indicating a new neighborhood was usually a sign that it would be a good location. Neighborhoods with signs were like that, full of well-stocked cupboards and closets. Luke slowly turns Gertrude around the corner, driving slowly as I look ahead for any sign of others. 

The streets look deserted, and from what I could tell they hadn't been touched for a while. We pull up to a large brownstone at first. After one more survey of the area we decide this is a good place to start. Luke and I each grab a duffle and head towards the door. 

As we approach the front door, Luke checks the door frame for the key. I scour the mat and under the flower pots. 

"Got it," Luke exclaims, holding a small silver key in his hand. That's one thing I'd learned being out here: everyone had the same hiding places for their spare keys. Luke slides the key into the lock and I soon hear the satisfying click that means we have access. 

Walking in we can see its been left fairly untouched. There's a slight disorder that was no doubt a result of the warnings we heard 463 days ago. But there wasn't any disorder that suggested someone else had been here to raid through the closets. 

"Jackpot," Luke says aloud as he opens a pantry full of canned goods. I head upstairs and raid the bathroom, finding ample soap, shampoo and even some badly needed lotion. I find the closet of a young woman, and am so pleased by her clothing tastes that I snag a few outfits, pushing them into my bag. 

"To the next one?" I ask Luke as I walk back down the stairs. He gives me a head nod and we make our way towards the front door once again. We barely take a step out the door when we hear it. The noise that even 463 days hadn't erased the response of my hair standing on end. The sound of a gun shot. 

"Don't move," I reach out to grab Luke's shoulder holding him in place. We hear incomprehensible shouting, but no more gun shots. Seconds later we hear the sound of one car race down the drive, my heart stops for a moment as they rush past our vehicle, but luckily they don't seem to notice. Another vehicle rushes off behind them.  We wait a few minutes, trying to return our pulse to a normal rhythm. The road becomes silent once again.

"So I guess we better head back then," Luke says grabbing for the keys in his back pocket. 

"Why would we do that?" 

"Why wouldn't we? You heard those gun shots. Someone else was here," I can tell by the paleness of my brother's face that he had gotten a little spooked. I should have thought that through before going to a high profile neighborhood that Liam suggested. When Liam heard things, others did too. 

"Luke, listen to me," I grab my brother's shoulder in a reinforcing grasp. "Someone else was here, but they are gone now. You heard them race off didn't you? They left, two vehicles left. We will be fine," Luke takes a deep breath. "C'mon," I say standing to my feet and slinging my black duffle across my shoulder once again. 

The next house doesn't have much. The following looks like they hadn't even moved in. We walk up to the third house. When Luke tries the door its already open, not atypical. We walk in and observe the surroundings. Its a bit of a mess, but when we open the kitchen cabinets we find that nothing has yet been looted. There's enough food in there to last us months. 

"We might need another bag," Luke says with excitement. 

It's while we are filling the second bag to the brim that I hear it. A loud crash from the upper level. We instantly freeze. Luke looks at me with his "I told you so" eyes. I bring a finger to my lips and draw out the knife that I carry at the back of my belt nowadays. You could never be too careful anymore, especially after what happened when Liam and I went to Beverley Hills .

I begin to creep up the stairs, knife in hand. It's then that I hear another thud, the sound of a body hitting the floor. "Shit!" The voice echoes through the hallways, its deepness has a strange noise to it, almost resembling an accent. I put my back to wall as I reach the top of the staircase, and hold the knife to my chest. Then, taking a deep breath, I reveal myself to the person sharing the house with us.

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