#even if neil hadn’t more or less assured us everything was going to be alright in s3

[bookshopbentley]

something very simple about aziraphale and crowley that is maybe my favorite thing about them is that they always find their way back to each other . i mean , in their earlier meetings when communication isn’t so readily available , it’s more or less implied that they just bump into each other . and even when aziraphale pops up to ‘ intervene ‘ in crowley’s ‘ evil ‘ plans , most of the time he doesn’t know it’s crowley . and crowley is consistently given random opportunities to pop up and save aziraphale . none of it is intentionally planned .

anyways , my point is this . no matter the circumstances , on good terms or not , crowley and aziraphale always have , and always will wind up by each other’s sides , whether it’s intentional or not . no matter how long it takes . because they are simply fated .

[the-singlest-pringle]

A Sweet Song

Prompt 5 of Surprise from this list: "You got this for me?"

It was not common knowledge that Billy played the violin.

Read it here on AO3.

It was not common knowledge that Billy played the violin. “Not common knowledge” meaning there were only four people that knew: Max, Neil, Old Lady Garcia, and his music teacher from California, Ms. Petrov. Neil was never meant to find out, but after word of Billy’s first (and last) performance got out, Neil smashed his violin, along with his left hand. It wasn’t long after that when Neil caught Billy with a boy. Neil lost his shit, nearly beating Billy to death, then he packed up the whole family in less than a week and moved them to the boondocks.

It was now April, meaning it was nearly his birthday and also that it would be six months since he last touched a violin. The first few months without his violin were the hardest. Billy swore that he was going through withdrawal. His hands yearned for the violin, fingers itching to play. He longed to wrap his fingers around the neck, to slide his bow across the strings, and carefully finger out some Paganini. Billy would drive to the quarry and listen to his stash of classical music. One time he actually broke down because of it. His heart ached for his violin as he cried out in mourning.

Now that it’s been six months, he’s had time to adjust. He still gets that itch when his emotions are high, but Harrington helps quell his hunger. In fact, dating Harrington had been the best thing to happen to Billy in a long time. He was kind, caring, and provided the support that Billy desperately needed yet woefully lacked. He took care of Billy when he was hospitalized because of Neil (again) and was there for him when Neil lost custody and Hopper took him in. Billy was convinced that he loved Harrington, which is why he decided to add Harrington to the list of people that knew his secret.

It was a normal night, the Party gathering at the Wheeler’s for another Dungeons and Dragons campaign, when Billy said (out of nowhere), “You know, I used to play the violin.”

He and Steve had gone upstairs to grab more snacks, so they were alone in the kitchen. Steve was already attempting to balance two boxes of cookies and three bags of chips in his arms when he heard Billy. He started to clumsily juggle and drop the snacks while stuttering out a surprised “What? Are you serious?”

Billy chuckled at Steve’s shock. “Yeah, I am. I even performed at Royce Hall back in Cali once.”

“Bee, that’s amazing!” Steve exclaims as he crouches down to collect the snacks. “How come I’m just finding out about this now?”

“Well, only five people know about it, including you. And I felt that since we’ve been together long enough, you deserve to know everything about me, which means knowing that I play the violin,” Billy explains before quickly correcting himself with a, “Well, used to play.”

“You don’t anymore?” Steve asked.

“Nah. My old man made me stop when he found out.” Billy flexes the fingers of his left hand as he says this. “I played for nearly ten years in secret. I would tell my dad I had clubs after school, but instead, I would go to the music room and play.” He clenches his hand as he continues. “When Neil found out, he took a hammer to my violin, then to my hand to make sure I would stop.”

Steve sighed at the mention of Neil, making his way across the kitchen to take Billy’s hands in his. “Your dad is a dick and I hate everything he put you through.” He pushes a lock of hair out of Billy’s face and tilts up his chin so that they’re making eye contact. “I am so glad that you’re out of that situation and that you don’t ever have to deal with Neil again. I love you so much, okay?” Steve plants a kiss on Billy’s forehead for emphasis before Billy pulls Steve closer and practically smashes their lips together.

Billy smiles into the kiss, whispering out, “I love you, too,” before they’re interrupted by a familiar shrill voice that causes them to pull apart.

“Ugh! You guys are so gross !” Max says from the kitchen entryway. She was the only member of The Party that knew about Steve and Billy. Max made it a thing to point out how gross their PDA was, which she named DAFM (Displays of Affection in Front of Max).

“Yeah, shitbird? Well, you stink,” Billy quips.

“I do not, booger face!” Max retaliates.

“Carrot top!”

“Stupidhead!”

“Half-pint!”

“Shortstop!”

Billy gasps dramatically and feigns offense. “I am not short!”

Max rolls her eyes at that. “Tell that to every guy we know!”

“I’m literally taller than Jonathan,” Billy defends.

“That doesn’t count!”

Steve just sits back and laughs at the two siblings quarreling before intervening when the volume reaches near screaming level. “Alright, alright. Break it up, you two. You’re both shorter than me and that’s all that matters. Now can we head back downstairs?”

“Ugh. Fine, ” Billy and Max say in unison. Max makes her way downstairs as Billy and Steve gather the snacks.

Billy steals a kiss from Steve before they head down the stairs, Billy announcing his presence with a “‘Sup, fuckers? What’d we miss?”, earning him a smack to the arm from Steve. They settle into the couch, a comfortable distance apart, as the rest of The Party continues playing DND.

-

The next time Billy playing the violin is mentioned is during Billy’s birthday party. It’s a pretty lively event considering Billy had next to no one just months ago. But now he has a family and friends, all of which have gathered to celebrate him. Just thinking about it makes him smile.

Billy is about halfway through opening gifts when he comes across a rather large box. It’s covered in sheet music wrapping paper with a bow on top. Curiously, he shakes the box, causing Harrington to say “Careful! It’s fragile,” revealing that it’s from him.

Knowing the size of the box, the wrapping paper, and the person who gave the gift, it doesn’t take long for Billy to piece together what it is.

“No… no way,” Billy says while frantically tearing the wrapping paper off the box. That earns him a chorus of people asking what it is and a smile from Harrington. “I swear to god, Harrington, if this is a joke…”

Billy slides the case out of the box, unzipping it then opening it slowly. He stares for a few seconds, not fully comprehending what he’s seeing. Staring back at him is a brand new violin. The rest of The Party is eager to see the contents of the case, but all Billy can focus on is the instrument in front of him.

“You got this for me?” Billy asks, still not believing what he’s seeing. Steve nods in assent.

Before Steve can register what’s happening, he’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug from Billy to everyone’s surprise. The Party’s confusion only multiplies when they see that a violin is what caused Billy to hug Harrington. When Billy pulls away, he looks like he’s so happy that he might cry. Steve is sure that he almost does.

“Thank you so much, Steve. I- I don’t even know what to say.” Billy is stumbling over his words, so overcome with emotions. Back in October, he was so sure that he would never touch a violin again, but now that he’s free from Neil, he can do whatever he wants. And what he wants right now more than anything is to play.

Billy slowly takes the violin out of the case. He puts the shoulder rest on the instrument and rosins the bow a bit. Billy looks up nervously at Steve, silently asking for assurance. Steve smiles at him and gestures to the center of the rug as if to say “go ahead”. Billy can feel all eyes on him when he stands up. He doesn’t even know if his fingers healed properly, but he doesn’t really care. He just wants to play. So he gets up into position, takes a breath, closes his eyes, and starts playing.

The whole Party is in awe as they watch. It’s clear that Billy puts every emotion into how he plays. His fingers dance gracefully across the neck of the violin while his right arm moves the bow fluidly across the strings. His tone is practically perfect. An untrained ear wouldn’t be able to tell that he hadn’t played in over six months.

When Billy finishes, the whole room is silent before Joyce starts clapping. Then everyone joins in, Max leading a standing ovation. Billy blushes, embarrassed by the attention, but smiles at the praise, happy people enjoy him playing just as much as he does. When everyone finishes clapping, Billy is bombarded with questions and praises.

“Oh my god, that was amazing!”

“Since when did you start playing the violin?”

“What song was that?”

“How come you never told anyone?”

“I can’t believe that Billy Hargrove just played violin in my living room!”

Billy laughs out several “thank you”s as he puts the violin away in its case. “I started playing when I was seven,” Billy starts to explain. “The piece I just played is called ‘Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, Op. 61’ by Camille Saint-Saëns, and I never told anyone because of Neil.” The Party didn’t know the details of his situation with Neil, but gossip spreads quickly in a small town, so they knew Neil lost custody for some reason.

“Sweetheart, you played beautifully,” Joyce praised.

“You really did,” Lucas agrees, which surprises Billy.

“Could you play something else?” Dustin asks, exciting a chorus of agreements.

Billy doesn’t know if anyone besides Ms. Petrov has asked him to play. He’s still getting over the shock of it all. But he agrees. So he takes out his violin again. His violin. And he plays for The Party. He plays all night long, playing Bach to Beethoven, and even some rock songs. He plays until his out-of-practice fingers cramp. He plays because he’s happy. Billy feels fulfilled as ever with his friends and family around him, with Steve by his side, and with a violin in his hand.

[ughgclden]

bee, love, don’t apologise, please, it’s okay, and first and foremost, are you alright?? i hope you’re taking care of yourself, love, but i understand, i don’t think there’s been a year since third grade that i haven’t gotten pneumonia in the winter. I hope you’re feeling alright!!

honestly, dead poets society is one of my only personality traits anymore, i find myself drawing parallels to it constantly, for no reason but i love thinking about it. i’ve watched it so many times at this point, it’s,,, concerning. those tests always take me way less time than they give me, and i used to feel really awkward, i remember i took a bio one once, four hours they gave me, 45 minutes in, i was finished, and the moderator didn’t believe me. i aced it too, like the silly little neil kinnie i am. i’ve gotten used to the ‘worse’ side of being a neil kinnie, and honestly, now that my mum isn’t as controlling about everything as she used to be, it’s easier to deal with. i remember once, i’d gotten an 89 in algebra, and she threatened to pull me out of the fall show. that was a neil perry moment if i ever had one lol. the biggest thing these days is just imposter syndrome, imposter syndrome like oh you’re not hispanic enough, but also, you’re not queer enough, nonbinary enough, things like that. It’s exacerbated some days, but i try.

i watched the it movies on my cousin’s hbo,,, i may or may not have used it without her permission since she forgot to log out of my computer, but that’s neither here nor there. i remember having such a hard time taking the first one seriously initially, because of all the new kids on the block jokes, having a mum who was obsessed with them made it hard, especially when i actually got them all- in truth, the only midnight premiere i’ve been able to make was the force awakens, and i had school the next day too. i’m definitely a richie kinnie, and i have the internalised homophobia (only towards myself though) to prove it /hj my waterbottle has both a sticker of neil on it and a sticker of the r + e carving on it. in case there was any doubt about me lmao. stan kin makes sense for you, honestly, i can see it, i can see it.

okay so listen- no really, i’d bought them with the intention of only drinking half of one that night and spreading them out like that, but then came 9:45pm, and i had a research paper (on womens’ pockets/lack thereof) due at 10am that i simply hadn’t even started, so i downed them all in an hour and got the paper turned in at 5:56 in the morning. but i scare you huh? /hj bee, you’re too sweet, in truth, i’m fairly inelegant, but i try, as for the comforting and cosy, i’ll take you at your word, since that is something only someone interacting with me could discern. i do try to be kind to others for the most part. mainly i think because i’m usually on the other end of mean people.

i’m just perceptive like that bee, i dunno what to tell you, something just tells me, you know? /j and thank you, i always feel a little silly talking about it, because most of the tattoos i want are dead poets society tattoos, i guess some part of me, within the part of me that feels so incredibly tied to it, feels as if if i were able to get a tattoo i’d owe it to the movie in some way, if that makes any sense. i’ve already begged a friend of mine to go with me to get my first once i get to new york, the question though, is what to get first. i’ve got time to make a decision (for once in my life) i just spend a lot of time thinking about it.

honestly, i have never known a school rule to make sense. banning ripped jeans? banning dyed hair? it’s almost as if if they don’t stifle everything natural about kids expressing themselves they dont feel like they’re doing anything. but i digress. the same-sex couple rules were. awful. 12 year old me had enough going on without having an administrator yell at my friend and i for hugging in the courtyard and not leaving until we were a foot apart, but hey.

okay, jumping over a fence to go to a mcdonalds? how coming of age indie movie manic pixie dream girl of you /hj

200k words, is that a challenge? also ahaha not at all like my italian uncle up there just opened a ‘pizzeria’ /hj but mob!star au? might be a project i should start… granted, i’m not as good a storyteller as you, but i can try.

when i was little, i wanted to revolutionise things, i guess. i even actually wrote out a campaign, i wonder if its still somewhere. thank you for believing in me, but these days, bee, i’m thinking less about changing the world, and more about making it the next few weeks, and then the ones after that. little star was aware of so much, but also so little. i wonder what they’d think of me now, honestly.

i did, in fact, teach archery, it was so fun but my arms got SO SORE, and the kid who challenged my archery skills seemed surprised when i actually,, hit the bullseyes. my inner susan was happy then. incidentally the experience is also why i made a playlist called “touchstarved and wanting to teach you to shoot a bow” which low-key slaps when i’m lonely. and bee omg i cannot believe you said im better than susan pevensie i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life thank you- and yes, yes it was named aslan, however did you guess? /j prince caspian<33333

i’ll let you know my results from the tournament, as soon as they come out, and i say this having just put on pjs after taking off my suit, and sitting in the room with my cat in my dear evan hansen hoodie, frantically refreshing the results page because i’m anxious and impatient.

i hope you have a good night, with fitful and restful sleep, i’m sorry this got to be so long, but you know me, i certainly can talk. i’m honestly shocked i even made it to finals, considering i was running off four hours of sleep, having gone to bed at three last night. whoops.

all my love, hugs, and a warm mug of tea,

yours,

star✨

p.s i said yes so that?? happened?? it honestly feels surreal but we’re not gonna be in the same place anymore come the end of this year, so that’ll be something to deal with

P.p.s might just start adding spanish or latin or russian phrases to these if i keep having to translate your cute french bee /lh /hj

star my love, i know you said don't apologise, but i think the word 'sorry' makes up about 60% of my vocabulary. i'm okay!! was just a bit icky, but luckily i've recovered now!!

that's so nice - and again, makes so much sense for you. i think you would work perfectly in welton, i know it. i love bringing the messages from that film into my own life, as silly as it may sound. i'm astonished, and so fucking jealous of you. i used to finish tests maybe half an hour early, but hours is so impressive??? fun fact i did finish my physics final in about 45 minutes and slept for the other hour <3 neil would b proud my love!!! oh my god - i'm so sorry that happened??? but that is also so neil kinnie??? it seems futile me saying this, but i assure you that you are hispanic enough, and queer enough, and non-binary enough. you are enough, period. more than enough even. imposter syndrome is the worst, and i'm so so sorry you're dealing with it.

she did that to herself, you just saw an opportunity /lh a midnight premiere of the force awakens sounds so cute though omg - i hope you had the absolute best time. the r + e carving actually broke me. as a die hard reddie shipper since 2017, seeing the movie make it basically canon?! had me a mess in the cinema.

you are ridiculously comforting and cosy, everything about you feels like a warm hug from a familiar face and i love it. and the way you write is so smooth, it makes me think of a quill smoothly gliding across parchment, the deep black ink unsmudged and pristine. that seems a little pretentious of me, but oh well.

i also want some dps tattoos!! i desperately want "and still we sleep" from todd's poem, and was also so so tempted to get an outline drawing of meeks + pitts dancing on the roof. i love that, and i can't wait until the day you get it, whichever one it may be. my one concern is becoming addicted to them and making my bank account suffer - at least my piercing obsession is a little easier to fund /hj

i've NEVER gotten that - they claim it's 'distracting' but how on earth would it be?? when i got to college, no one was distracted by my dyed hair, and i certainly wasn't distracted by other people's outfits or painted nails. you were yelled at. for hugging. a friend.. what the fuck is wrong with these people??

just call me ramona flowers star /j it was possibly the highlight of my school career, sans hiding in the back room of the music room to avoid a maths test

i bet you're an amazing storyteller, if these letters are anything to go by. it would be a new york times best seller, i know it

we all have to take things one step at a time, i think. that's the only way i really get through things if i'm honest. one day after another and the cycle repeats. i love wondering what young me would think of me now - i'd probably be intimidated of myself, but i like to think i'd be proud that i'm still here, pursuing something i love

that playlist. sounds nothing short of sheer perfection. i too am touch starved and want to teach someone to shoot a bow - even though i.. cannot shoot a bow... but i can wield a sword so, it's close enough.

i saw your message about the tournament results - im so fucking proud of you!!!! you deserve it so so much and i couldn't be happier for you. see, your words and ideas are changing the world, even if you don't realise it.

ps; that is so fun???? omg im so happy for you star, you deserve tis <33 i hope towards the end of this year whatever happens leaves you both happy, no matter how far the distance.

pps; omg no.. please don't do that.. aha that would be awful... definitely wouldn't make my heart race.. haha not at all

all of my love, star. pardon the pun, but you are out of this world ;) i'll leave you with one of my favourite quotes;

il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé <3

[tanyawritesstories]

Sons of Kamino | An OC story

I wrote this little piece about my OC Clone Battalion and their General just for fun and thought I'd publish it. I'm extremely nervous about posting OC stuff because I don't think it's that good, so please be nice 🥺 I hope y'all like it, if not, I finished writing a sequel to Frozen Miracles that I should have published soon 😊

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: none just post-Order 66 angst

•••

It was silent. He had never been in a ship that was pure silence. All that could be heard was the whirring of the thrusters and occasional footsteps as one of his brothers got up to walk around. He looked up from the floor for the first time in half an hour, glancing around he saw only pain and anguish. So many of his brothers lay on the floor of the ship in pain. Not all of their pain was physical, in fact most of it was mental. They had all just gone through the biggest betrayal they would ever see in their lives.

The entire army, every single one of their brothers, the Republic they fought for, their own bodies, had betrayed them. They were all still struggling to comprehend it, some doing better than others. He had known about it before it happened, but it was still horrifying to see a brother of his raise his weapon against him. They hadn’t killed anyone, not a single soldier of this battalion had died and for that he was proud, relieved.

Their battalion was one of the best out there. He remembered all the adventures and missions he had gone on, remembered how happy civilians were to see the droids gone and the clone soldiers in their place. The 607th Elite Stealth Battalion. He huffed in amusement. To think that name would never be heard again was haunting. He was brought out of his reminiscing by a tap on his pauldron, he looked up to see their medic looking back at him.

“Are you alright, Commander?” He asked. Concern could be seen in his brown eyes that were a shade lighter than the rest of his brothers. “I’m fine, Chance. Just tired,” he answered, before chuckling, “The war is over, I’m not technically your Commander anymore.” Chance sighed as he looked over his brother. He’d never seen his Commander look so broken and vulnerable before. “I’ll get you a stim, sir,” Chance said, turning around. “No,” he stopped him, “I don’t need one. Save them for everyone else.” The medic sighed again but left to check on the others.

He didn’t feel like their Commander right now, he felt like a failure. The battalion was small, only about 100 men and every single one was on the mend. The chips had been removed and destroyed along with all their comm devices, no one could contact them, the General had made sure of that. They were ghosts right now and that was exactly what they needed to be safe.

He forced himself to look up and take in the sight of his men. He knew every one of their names, it didn’t matter if they were shinies or the first few men in the battalion that had managed to survive the entire war. His eyes landed on his two ARC troopers, Trigger and Ace. They were tough men and amazing soldiers, batch mates and two of the closest troopers he’d ever seen. The two war hardened men sat next to each other hugging, both looked tired and lost. Trigger was the more talkative of the two, loud and boisterous, almost always seen with a smirk on his face and his beloved DC-15LE slung over his back. He was probably one of the best snipers in the GAR with that thing. Ace was more quiet and observative, he preferred to listen and watch. When he did talk, not a single pointless word came out of his mouth. He was just starting to open up a little, finally coming to terms with his sexuality and the fact that he preferred men over women when everything collapsed again.

The medic, Chance, was doing his best to stay strong for his brothers, and for himself. He had confessed a dangerous secret to his Commander two deployments ago. He was surprised to learn that his Commander stood for it as long as it stayed a secret. Chance had a family in progress, he had met a woman on Coruscant almost a year ago and fallen in love with her. He had learned not too long ago that their attempts to have a child were a success, he had a wife and unborn baby he wanted to spend the rest of his days with.

The Commander’s eyes panned over to one of their newest troops. Hotstuff was normally always joking, laughing or flirting with someone. Also, usually a pain in the Commander's ass. Now he sat on the cold floor, head in his hands, stone faced and silent. A few feet away, Arrow sat watching everyone around him, helping where he needed to. He appeared to be the one taking this the best, Arrow was used to trauma. He used to be in the 327th until he was discovered one night by the General of the 607th, tied to a wall, bloody and bruised having just been sexually assaulted. The General had saved his life, killed his abusers, and had him transferred to the 607th after spending a month of recovery in the General’s private apartment in the upper levels of Coruscant.

The Commander sighed again, his head lowering back to the floor of the ship. They’d stolen the ship from the Separatists and were now headed Maker knows where, as far away from the core worlds as possible. He reached up and ran his hand over the shaved sides of his head where he knew the wing tattoos lay on his skin. He had been thinking of growing his hair out in those spots, this would be a perfect time. He wanted to forget who he was.

“Commander Finch!”

He closed his eyes and stood up, looking to see who called him. It was Track, their explosives expert, another usually fun and energetic man who was now drained of energy and enthusiasm.

“What is it, Track?” He asked the man currently jogging towards him. “General Akana wants to speak to you,” Track informed. Finch looked towards the cockpit doors, the General had been locked in there for the past hour, only checking in on them over the ship speakers. He sighed, “thank you, Track.”

Finch made his way to the cockpit door and knocked. “It’s me,” he said softly. He didn’t need to speak loud or specify who he was, his General knew it was him. He heard the door unlock and it slid open, he entered and made sure it closed behind him. He saw the outline of the General against the bright lights of hyperspace. Finch noticed that the autopilot light was on.

“How are they?”

He sighed and walked to stand behind the pilots chair. “How are you?” He asked. “You haven’t come out of here in almost two hours.”

“I’m fine, how are the men? Do they need my help?”

Finch walked closer and swiveled the chair around to face him. The blue lights of stars blurring by cast light on the General’s face. Even in this state, Finch thought she looked beautiful. “The men will be fine. How are you feeling?” Finch knew it was a stupid question, given what she had felt through the Force and the reaction she had when the Order struck.

“I’ll be fine, I knew it was coming,” she said briefly. “Just because you knew it was coming doesn’t make it hurt less,” Finch told her. “I’ll be fine, Finch, trust me. I’ll get through it,” she tried to assure him with a fake smile. She swiveled the chair back to face the controls and aimlessly pressed a few buttons.

“I’ve been your Commander long enough to know when you’re lying,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?” She looked up at him with a sad smile on her face. “No, Finch, you’ve already done more than enough.” He sighed and watched her stare out the viewport, the minimal light letting him see the dried tear stains on her face. “You felt it all, didn’t you? Through the Force,” he questioned. She closed her eyes and he knew he had asked a bad question. When she opened them again he saw the light reflecting off her once again glassy blue eyes, filled with tears.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, turning around to leave. "Wait," she turned around and stood, grabbing his arm to keep him from going. "I'm sorry, I should have told you what was happening when I collapsed," she said, letting go of his arm and blinking back tears.

"It's just...I could almost see that red lightsaber as it cut through his stomach," she was barely able to finish her sentence before breaking down in tears, covering her face with her hands. Her knees gave up and Finch caught her, lowering her slowly to the ground beside him. He just held her in his arms whispering comforting words to her and rubbing her back. She was young and had lost so much, first her parents, then her adoptive mother, then her best friend, and her lover, she was broken.

He knew she’d lost people to the Order by the names she had called out. Kit. Anakin. Cody. Plo. Rex. Jesse. Aayla. Ahsoka. Those were just a few.

Finch held his General until she stopped crying and got up to return to her seat. “Tell the men we’re stopping at Florrum to pick up a few things, then we’ll be heading to Coruscant to rescue Chance’s wife and Zip’s girlfriend,” she informed, her steel stern walls already back in place. “Yes, sir,” he said.

She had promised her men everything, a new life wherever they wanted doing whatever they wanted. Chance was planning to live on a desolate planet and raise a family where the Empire couldn’t reach him. Trigger wanted to become a bounty hunter once everything settled down, most likely Ace would go with him. Zip wanted to marry his girlfriend and become a writer. Neil wanted to try and start a school with Flanker and Nash as teachers. Arrow wanted to start a shelter for victims of sexual abuse. They all had wants and goals, only they looked attainable now that they were free. Finch wanted something too but he was almost certain his wish was unattainable.

He was sure he wasn’t the first clone Commander to fall in love with their General.

He looked down at his hands, the armor covering the back of them engraved with the Republic symbol. This was not his symbol anymore. He was free, not property, he could do what he wanted. He may have been born in a test tube, a clone with millions of look-alikes, but he would always be a soldier. Only now he didn't have a leash.

[sareyen]

X-Pressions of the Heart: A Boyband AU (Part 1/3)

Read on ao3

Charles is a member of the popular boyband X-Boys. Erik is a harsh music journalist. This is exactly as cliche as it sounds.

Chapter 1

“Fuck no,” Erik said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down his boss, Emma Frost. Even though he was standing while she was sitting at her desk, the immaculately-dressed woman did not flinch as she regarded Erik with something bordering on apathy. Emma simply gestured her white-sleeved arm at the chair opposite her desk, Erik glaring at her before plonking himself down.

“You didn’t even hear what I wanted you to do,” Emma said, manicured nails clacking on her keyboard as she responded to emails from some of the other music journalists under her employment.

“I saw your face – you’re definitely going to try and make me do something I don’t want to do,” Erik grumbled, but Emma ignored him, eyes glued onto the computer screen in front of her.

Erik opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘why did you call me in here if you’re just going to answer emails’, but was cut off when Emma just raised a finger in a brisk ‘shut up’ motion. Erik swallowed his annoyance, sinking further into his chair and glaring at his boss.

Erik had been working for Emma and her music journalism company ‘Brotherhood of Music’ for years, and is her longest-serving and closest journalist under her payroll. Erik had been there since the beginning, and had almost been made a co-CEO, but Erik hadn’t wanted to be stuck inside the office answering emails all day. No, he had wanted to be amongst the music, in the heart of it.

Emma was unphased by Erik’s rudeness, too used to his abrasive personality after years of working with him. Erik was really the only employee who could blatantly disrespect Emma this way; none of the other employees had the balls to talk back to the woman they dubbed the ‘Ice Queen’ while controlling their pay checks. Erik, on the other hand, was known around the small office as ‘The Shark’, and terrified all of his co-workers.

Emma finally finished responding to the morning’s emails, turning to Erik with a smooth swivel of her plush white leather chair. Emma flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and linked her fingers together as she leaned on her desk, smiling at him with a little too much feigned sweetness etched into her features. Erik narrowed his eyes, alert.

“I have a job for you, sugar,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“Not with that expression, you don’t,” Erik countered. “Spit it out, Emma.”

“I do have a job for you, don’t need to be such a sour puss about it,” Emma said languidly, glossy lips beginning to spread into a smile, one that Erik did not like at all. Whenever Emma had that smile, she was definitely roping him into a job he did not want to do. The last time he saw that smile, he had ended up being stuck on a week-long tour with a terrible, terrible punk band that had vocals that he likened to a cat being dismembered. Not only was the music bad, Erik had been forced to stay with the band in their shitty, cockroach-infested hotel and dragged to their Satanic ritual parties, in which Erik was sure cats were actually being dismembered ‘for the music’.

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it Emma,” Erik said again, his boss just grinning. Another reason Erik hated that look on Emma’s face was because she knew that Erik would give in. Even after working with Emma for so long, Erik hadn’t been able to fend off Emma’s power of persuasion (or manipulation, and sometimes, blackmail) to get what she wants. That’s why she was called the Ice Queen – no one could say no to the Queen, not even the resident shark.

“I do find it adorable how you think you have a say in this, sugar. But yes, you will do this job,” Emma said, laughing. “Whether you like it or not, Erik, I’m assigning you to cover X-Boys. I’m sure even you know who they are?”

X-Boys.

Who didn’t know X-Boys? Even Erik, who abhorred modern pop music like it was the plague knew of X-Boys, the newest teenage-centric generic recycled boyband hitting the music scene. X-Boys, who had been formed on a shitty TV show after producers didn’t know what to do with five somewhat aesthetically pleasing tween-looking foetuses with less pleasing voices. X-Boys, who made the shittiest, cheesiest and most lyrically bland music in history?

“Fuck no,” Erik said quickly, getting up from his chair. “No, Emma. I’d take ‘Satan Katz’ and their satanic sacrificial blood magic and demon orgies over X-Boys any day. Hell, I’d take interviewing Jojo Siwa over X-Boys. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening, Emma.”

“Erik, sit,” Emma ordered, but Erik just flipped her off as he made for the door. “If you do this job, I’ll delete The Photo from my hard drive.”

Erik, hand on the doorknob, paused. Emma was already smiling in smug victory before Erik even turned back around, hesitant scowl on his face.

“You’d delete it from all of your hard drives?” Erik asked, Emma smiling sweetly, gesturing back to the chair in front of her.

“Sit, Erik.”

Erik sat.

“Now, I know how you feel about pop music and boy bands, and trust me, I would have sent anyone else to do this if I could. Even if you don’t like them, X-Boys is big, and I can’t afford one of the new journalists to fuck it up,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“What about Angel? She usually covers all of this pop shit, while I cover real music,” Erik said, Emma rolling her eyes at that.

It was no secret that Erik was a bit of a music snob, but should anyone be surprised? Erik was a music journalist, it was literally his job to be able to differentiate good music from utterly shitty music, and frankly, modern pop was a huge churning pit of recycled one-chord trash with lyrics that sounded like they were written by mid-pubescent horny teenagers who had discovered their right hands for the first time.

Erik did not waste his time interviewing wannabe artists like X-Boys. No, Erik interviewed real artists, like Big Black, Wire, Neil Young and The Clash. Erik wanted to interview real legends, like Elton John and Fleetwood Mac. Not X-Boys, with their clean-cut looks, floppy hair and fucking baby voices that needed two layers of autotune to even make their songs a fraction more tolerable.

A fraction.

“Angel is busy covering both Taylor Swift and Katy Perry right now, so she’s spread a little thin. Plus, Erik, you’re my best, and we need this article to do well, whether you praise them or-”

“I would never praise them,” Erik scoffed, Emma giving Erik a resigned look.

“Or break them to pieces with your prose, whatever. People always read your work even if it’s about an obscure band only you’ve heard playing in shitty bars, Erik, so covering a big group like X-Boys will be good for the company. You know that music journalism hasn’t been as… lucrative as in the past. We need this, for the company,” Emma sighed. That was true; the company hadn’t been doing particularly well lately, even after shifting to a more online publication medium. Erik also blamed modern pop on that; there was no real music to review any more, just pop artists churning out the same albums over and over.

Erik stared at his boss, noticing the slight crease in her brow. If Emma was letting herself develop wrinkles, then things were, maybe, quite dire.

“… And you said you’ll delete The Photo?” Erik said slowly, Emma’s mouth twitching.

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Erik. I promise. I’ll delete it from my phone, my work computer, my laptop and my three hard drives. Capiche?”

“Fine,” Erik grumbled out, already developing a minor headache. “I’ll interview the prepubescent children who don’t have a lick of creativity in their tone-deaf bones.”

“There’s our shark. Sounds like you already have a title for your article,” Emma said, Erik grinning at that with a full show of his teeth.

***

“Hey, Charles, Hank and I are gonna head off first,” Alex called, blonde hair peeking out from around the door frame of the dance studio.

“Alright, have a good night,” Charles replied, smiling at his band mates, who had already showered and were dressed in casual clothes, bags slung over their shoulders. Hank frowned a little at Charles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his sharp nose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have dinner with us?” Hank asked, worried for his friend. Charles warmed at his concern, but waved it away, leaning over to continue stretching his limbs in front of the mirrors that spanned the entirety of the wall in front of him, only obscured by the ballet barre.

“I’m sure, Hank. I just want to practise the choreography a bit more, you know how the second verse of Love Me, Hate Me trips me up. Go and enjoy dinner,” Charles assured his friends, who glanced at each other before nodding, waving as they left. Charles heard their footsteps echo down the now-empty halls and the swing of the dance studio doors, before everything was plunged into silence once again.

It was just past 6:30 in the evening, and the band had been practicing the choreography for their concert tour scheduled to start in just under a month. It was their first world tour, and Charles was immensely excited, but also beyond nervous.

Charles had always loved singing and music, but he had never expected to get to where he was today – in a world-famous boy band about to embark on a world tour. When Charles had entered the X Factor, he had just been a college graduate whose singing experience started and ended with belting out heartfelt ballads or emotional acoustic songs in the shower, performing for the bottles of shampoo and conditioner lining the shower caddy.

Charles had auditioned by singing an original song of his, one called Paralysed. He had written the first iteration of his life-changing song when he was only fourteen and feeling like he had hit rock bottom. Charles had fallen into a dark place, the heavy-handed torment supplied by Cain and the coldness at the hands of his mother dragging him somewhere no child should ever have to tread. He had felt trapped and paralysed in his palatial family home, and those feelings had inspired what, at the time, had just been a poem scribbled into the margin of his notebook and a background hum in his head.

He had finished writing the song, as well as many others, by the time he had graduated with a degree in genetics (something he was interested in apart from music), but he never thought that it would ever be more than a hobby.

But then, Raven had apparently submitted a video of him singing to the X Factor production team, and that was how he found himself on the show. He hadn’t gone through as a solo act like he had originally planned, since his talent apparently wasn’t enough to stand on its own, and had been pushed into a group with four strangers into a group called X-Boys alongside Alex Summers, Hank McCoy, Sean Cassidy and Armando Muñoz.

They had been strangers back then, four boys completely out of their depth on national television, but they had grown a lot since that first live show. The strangers became friends – family, even – and now they were one of, if not the, biggest boy bands in the world.

Charles still found himself wondering how this happened to him; inside, he was still the guy who sang Celine Dion in the shower and wrote an ode dedicated to cup noodles (a short song titled ‘MSG and Me’ that had been a party favourite at college). On the outside, though, he was Charles Xavier, oldest member of X-Boys and, probably, the most left-footed member of the group.

Charles, fundamentally, was a singer-songwriter. He hadn’t ever really thought that he would be a member of a boy band that not only had to sing, but dance at the same time. It wasn’t that Charles never danced – he had danced quite a lot in college, but mainly when he was drunk as a skunk, and even then it had veered more into ‘lap dance’ territory than actual choreographed dance moves.

Still, Charles could move. He just had a bit of trouble memorising such complex choreography, especially when compared to the other members of his group. Even the shy and dorky Hank picked up the choreography faster than Charles, the boy somehow quick-footed and with a strong, powerful body.

So, that was why Charles often stayed behind in the dance studio, even when the rest of his band mates had gone home. Tonight was no exception, and Charles sighed heavily as he stopped stretching and stood up. His dance clothes were already damp with sweat from the day’s rehearsals, the loose tank-top sticking to his back and the inner layer of his black sweatpants far too humid. Charles’s brown hair clung to his pale forehead, and his cheeks were flushed with colour from the exercise.

Charles took a drink from his water bottle, before flicking through his phone to replay Love Me, Hate Me for what felt like the millionth time that night. The heavy electronic beat began to pump through the speakers his phone was connected to, and Charles closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, before launching into the choreography, determined to nail the routine this time.

‘This is important to all of us,’ Charles thought to himself as he spun, sweat droplets flying through the air. ‘I have to work harder so I don’t let them down.’

Charles danced late into the night, and by the time he went home, he had no more energy to expend and promptly passed out on his bed, hoping to get enough rest so he could rinse and repeat the day after.

***

“You’ll be allowed to follow them around while they prepare for the tour,” Emma told Erik, who was looking more and more sour as Emma gave him the details of his assignment. “Their record company, Hellfire Records, has allowed you and only you such intimate coverage, so use it wisely. You’ll interview them during their rehearsals and preparation, talk about their newly released album, and then review their concert at the end. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Erik huffed to himself, scratching his bare stomach as he waited for his coffee machine to spit out his strong, black coffee, which he would definitely need if he was going to get through his background research of X-Boys. Coffee, and maybe a couple pops of aspirin (or Valium), would hopefully get him through listening to their ear-grating album without wanting to throw himself off the roof of his apartment complex.

Erik was going to meet the band for the first time in just under a week for preliminary interviews, and even though he hated the assignment, he was still going to do his job. Unlike most of the other artists he usually covered for Brotherhood of Music, he knew nothing about X-Boys except that they’re a group of prissy boys who sing inane songs about love and breakups, with ‘Baby, you’re so beautiful, a work of art,” being the most lyrical line in any of their songs, which, to Erik, sounded like carbon copies of one another.

Erik was already growing irritated by the time his old coffee machine had finished dribbling out the last of his brew, and Erik padded back to his couch with his mug, settling into the centre dip. He kicked his legs up onto his coffee table, pulled his sticker-laden laptop onto his grey-sweatpant clothed thighs, and quickly searched up X-Boys on Google.

Erik immediately let out a disgusted noise from the back of his throat as a few fan sites popped up, all just sounding like screaming teenage girls who were the type to cover their walls in a collage of their favourite celebrity’s teen magazine posters while writing fan fiction about having babies with their perfect, family-friendly crushes.

Erik went to Wikipedia first, just to get a grasp of the members of the group, of which Erik found out there were five. Erik glanced at the names, only lingering long enough to memorise them for future reference when he would need to interview them.

As Erik read, his preconceived notions about the band were only confirmed; they really were another mass-produced company group, a ragtag bunch of boys who dreamed big but delivered little, famous because they were maybe a little pretty. Or, at least, that kind of short one with the really blue eyes that the camera could somehow pick up from far away was kind of pretty.

But, he was probably 16-years-old, maximum, and Erik grimaced. Looking up some more articles about them, most of them titled ‘New Boys on the Block!’ or ‘The Next 1D!’, Erik began to find out more about the individual members. From the texts Erik flicked through, it seemed like Hank McCoy was the designated ‘endearingly shy’ member, while Alex Summers was the token blonde white boy with a slight bad-boy streak. Sean Cassidy was the goofy one that could apparently sing ridiculously high, while Armando Muñoz (stage name Darwin, for some reason) was the politically correct addition so critics couldn’t say that there was no diversity (but putting one black member into a group was a piss-poor attempt at making things inclusive). All four of these guys were 20 or under, making Erik roll his eyes. Their mothers must be so proud that they were all millionaires while still sucking on their teats.

Lastly, there was Charles Xavier, the oldest member at 24 years old. 24 wasn’t particularly young, not when the majority of the band were still technically teens. Xavier was only 6 years younger than Erik, which in the long run, wasn’t that much of an age difference. What was ridiculous about him, though, was that he was the jailbait-looking guy with the floppy brown hair, bottomless blue eyes, and, now that Erik was looking at a high-definition group shot taking up the majority of his screen, bright red lips that looked more obscene than appropriate for a teenage wet dream. Gott.

Even though the group was adamant that they didn’t have a ‘leader’, Xavier seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. Erik was sure that was just on the basis of age and not talent, because like Hell any of these boys would actually have a shred of musicality with their ‘doof-doof baby come here’ tracks.

Xavier also looked like the paragon of ‘Boy Band Member’ – he was overly smiley, exceptionally kind and respectful, eloquent and handsome in a boyish, youthful way. Even the cynical, music snob Erik had to admit that the guy was attractive, even if he looked like his voice hadn’t broken yet. And to look like that at 24, that was just… not right. The guy could attract paedophiles legally.

Erik closed the tabs, Charles Xavier’s face disappearing from his screen, and the journalist moved on to listen to their new album – X-Pression. G'tt, the title name almost gave Erik a stroke. The album cover was a painful attempt at being artistic, with the five boys lying with their heads together submerged in water, wearing all white and looking pensive. Ugh. Erik’s cup of coffee was already drained, but he hadn’t needed to reach for the aspirin – yet. Reading about the group was one thing, but needing to listen to them was a whole other ball game.

Erik considered getting some headphones like he usually would if he were listening to another artist that he was covering, but he couldn’t do it. Erik’s ears weren’t insured, and he needed his ears for his job. There was no way he was risking the safety of his ear drums for a group like X-Boys.

So, Erik listened to the X-Pression album, and by the end, he really wished his eardrums had blown before having to listen to that horror.

It was terrible.  Terrible couldn’t even cut it. Copy-and-pasted beats overlaid with the same three-chord progressions and electronic beeping every other artist used. The lyrics to their songs were all bland and emotionless, and Erik would have been more inspired by Kristen Stewart reading him the daily weather report. Erik shouldn’t have been surprised, though, not when the first three songs on the album were called ‘Sweet Love’, ‘Strawberry Crush’ and ‘Love Me, Hate Me’.

“Music is dead,” Erik groaned to himself, walking to his kitchen and popping an aspirin into his mouth and swallowing it down with some whisky, not caring if the mix made him shit blood later. Anything was better than the splitting headache that 14-song torture tracklist gave him.

Erik had to give himself a break, flushing out his system with some real music and another glass of scotch. If he was going to move on to their group’s music videos (G'tt help him) he wasn’t going to do it 100% sober.

Sooner than he would like, Erik searched up the group on YouTube, watching their latest music video for Sweet Love. It was everything Erik expected – a group of boys in outfits that screamed twink to Erik, but apparently sex-bomb to 14-year-olds worldwide, dancing to the excessively perky pop song like they loved nothing more than shimmying to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

‘But wow, Xavier’s ass…’ Erik thought idly to himself, ignoring all of the other members, his eyes immediately falling to the oldest member of the group. In Xavier’s white pants, he could see the plush curves of his ample ass, which swung left and right as he danced. Xavier was by no means the best dancer out of the five, but there was something mesmerising about the way he moved his hips, the motion strangely obscener than Erik expected the blue-eyed boy to be capable of.

‘I bet that ass would be great riding my cock,’ Erik thought to himself, before realising what he was staring at and thinking about, letting out a choked noise.

“What the fuck,” Erik growled to himself, tearing his eyes from Xavier’s ass, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It was the whisky. It had to be the whisky.

And maybe the fact that Erik hadn’t gotten laid for a good minute.

Slamming the screen of his laptop down, Erik made himself focus on other things, and actively pushed all thoughts of Xavier’s blue eyes, red lips and perky ass out of his mind.

***

It was a Monday morning at 10:30am, and Charles had his leg kicked up on the ballet barre, leaning to stretch his joints before another practise session. Even though they had most of the choreography down pat now, they still had to keep up regular practises to make sure their bodies didn’t lose the ingrained movements or the fluidity and elasticity of their limbs.

Today, though, they would apparently have a guest observing them, and Charles was more excited about practise than usual. The owner of X-Boys’s record label, Sebastian Shaw, dictated the group’s actions with an iron fist, and everything X-Boys was involved in was either run by him first or designed by him. Charles wasn’t overly fond of the man, even if he had given Charles his big break – Shaw was, in the end, a business man, and Charles felt like he couldn’t care less about the music. Sometimes Charles felt a little bit like a marionette, but in the end, X-Boys’s music made their fans happy, and that’s what Charles wanted.

But, one of Shaw’s decisions that Charles did like, was that he had hired Erik Lehnsherr to cover X-Boys’s X-Pression World Tour. Charles was a fan of Lehnsherr’s work, and had been following his articles long before Raven had auditioned him for X Factor. Lehnsherr’s prose was blatantly honest, never lavishing praise on the artists he covered if he didn’t deem them fit for it, nor did he ever criticise just for the sake of it. He wrote about what was great and what was bad about artists and their music without bias, just appreciating the music for what it was – music.

Charles had discovered a lot of great music from reading Lehnsherr’s articles, and knew the man had great taste. It also didn’t help that Charles knew he was drop-dead gorgeous. Though Lehnsherr mainly produced written pieces, a number of years ago he had done a video interview with the lead singer of a popular metal band called ‘Devilish Teleporter’, whose stage name was Azazel. The video had gone viral because Lehnsherr had ripped into the man’s music so hard in person that the devil actually cried.

Erik Lehnsherr was, undeniably, hot. Charles’s exact type – ruggedly handsome, chiselled features, sharp jaw and mesmerising blue-grey eyes. 16-year-old Charles had definitely wanked to mental images of Lehnsherr ever since that video came out 8 years ago, and Charles never thought he would ever get to meet him in real life.

Charles knew that Lehnsherr never covered musicians like X-Boys, but the romantic in Charles couldn’t help but think that maybe this was just meant to be. Charles laughed at himself at the silly thought, amused and giddy, before returning his focus to loosening up his quads.

Sean and Darwin chatted lightly as they also stretched, while Hank was busy warming up his throat, always a bit nervous when he knew he was going to be interviewed. Alex, on the other hand, was doing push ups in front of the mirror – he was apparently trying to bulk up a bit before the world tour, making Charles chuckle in amusement.

“Hey, Charles,” a female voice said, drawing nearer to him. Charles turned from where he was leaning over his legs, smiling when he saw Moira MacTaggert walking over to him, hand raised in a wave. Charles returned it, dropping his leg and meeting her halfway across the room.

Moira was X-Boys’s manager and a good friend of Charles’s. Moira and Charles had become good friends, mainly because they were somewhat close in age, Moira only three years older than Charles. The rest of the group teasingly called them the group’s Mother and Father, though Sean did so a little grudgingly (he had a very obvious boner for Moira, even though she made it clear that she could not see an 18-year-old like that, legal or not).

“Hey, Moira. How has your morning been?” Charles asked chirpily, Moira smiling at him after they hugged.

“Same as usual, which means busy,” Moira said, huffing. “Shaw’s got me running around with the tour approaching, plus organising time for interviews with the guy from Brotherhood of Music.” Charles’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Lehnsherr, but Moira didn’t notice. “I read some of that guy’s work – he’s harsh.”

“Honest, Moira,” Charles said, laughing a little. “He’s just honest. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It will be if he starts ripping into you guys,” Moira sighed, giving Charles a knowing look. Another reason why Charles and Moira got along well was the fact that they knew X-Boys’s music was pretty… shallow. Charles liked it because it made their fans happy, and it was genuinely fun dancing and singing with his friends, but in terms of musical inspiration, Charles knew X-Boys was not it.

Charles himself wrote songs better than the work Shaw chose for them, but apparently his music didn’t have the right ‘vibe’ for the band. So, Charles kept his music to himself, sometimes performing it for Moira or his sister, Raven. Or the shampoo and conditioner in his shower.

Mainly for his shampoo and conditioner.

“I don’t get why Shaw asked Brotherhood to cover you guys,” Moira muttered under her breath, Charles shrugging.

“I think Shaw knows the CEO, Emma Frost? I overheard that Shaw had asked for one of their other journalists to cover us, a reporter named Angel Salvadore, since she usually writes flattering reviews about pop artists. But Frost assigned Lehnsherr instead.”

“Must have been a bad break up,” Moira sighed, Charles snorting.

“At least to Frost. Shaw is still trying to get back with her,” Charles said, the two friends chuckling, before Moira’s phone buzzed, giving Charles an exasperated look. “Go, it’s probably Shaw about the journalist. He should be coming sometime soon.”

Moira nodded, quickly walking out of the room with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone, and Charles returned to stretching his limbs.

It was when Charles was bending over into a comfortable downward dog that the door to the studio opened, first revealing Shaw and Moira, and followed by the one and only Erik Lehnsherr. Charles immediately blushed when the man’s eyes drifted across him after casting a cursory glance over the rest of the room. Charles was sure that he was imagining that Lehnsherr’s eyes lingered on him a little more than the other members.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Charles thought to himself, straightening back up as the group headed over to where Shaw was looking at them sternly.

“Boys, this is Erik Lehnsherr from Brotherhood of Music. He’ll be covering your tour in their publication,” Shaw said a little stiffly, eyeing Lehnsherr’s imposing form discreetly. He then turned his gaze onto the young boys, giving them all hard looks. ‘So behave,’ his eyes warned silently, and Charles could feel Hank gulp beside him. Shaw nodded to Erik, patting his shoulder, before heading out.

Alex, Sean, Darwin and Hank were all aware of Lehnsherr’s reputation, and warily looked at each other. It was just Charles who stepped forward, extending a hand towards the man, warm smile on his face.

“Hi, Mr Lehnsherr, it’s great to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work. Oh, and I guess I should introduce myself – I’m Charles Xavier, but please call me Charles,” Charles said smoothly, and Erik’s brow creased for a moment, before smoothing out and taking Charles’s hand, shaking it with a firm grasp. Erik’s hand was warm and slightly rough, and Charles shivered at the touch.

Charles hadn’t realised that Erik was so much taller than him, and had to tilt his head upwards to meet his eyes. And God, Erik was much more attractive in person than in the video. That video was made 8 years ago, and Erik had only grown into his looks now that he was thirty. He had been clean-shaven back then, but now sported a sultry dusting of ginger scruff across his stoic jaw, and Charles was a goner.

It wasn’t conducive to PG-13 thoughts when Erik Lehnsherr was wearing dark jeans which showed off long and lean legs (plus what Charles could make out as a sizeable cock), white V-neck top exposing sensual collar bones and a well-worn leather jacket. A walking wet dream, if Charles had ever seen one.

“Nice to meet you too, Charles,” Erik said, voice smooth yet gruff. “And just call me Erik.”

“Erik, then,” Charles repeated, smiling as his tongue wrapped around the name. Moira narrowed her eyes, picking up on the slight change in Charles’s tone and eyes.

Charles was older than the other members, who had joined X-Boys as teens, and thus not having had a college experience. Charles, though, had joined after he got his degree, and lived through three solid years of college and partaking in everything that it had to offer.

Charles had been pretty liberal with his body at college, something that Moira and the rest of the company’s management had kept pretty hush-hush. It was easy to persuade the public that Charles Xavier was a complete angel, a picture of innocence, with his shorter stature, baby face and angel-blue eyes. But, his high school and college friends knew better than to be fooled – yes, Charles was kind and sweet, but he was also wild in the sack and, in college, was not shy in making that known.

Before he became famous, Charles was not unfamiliar with picking up men and women from bars, and he was very successful at that too. Charles felt a surge of excitement bubble up inside him – it had been a long time since he had been able to flirt with a dirty edge, usually only being playfully flirty and charming for cameras and fans.

The look he gave Erik now, though, was not playfully flirty.

It was downright filthy, and if he had used it in a bar, he would probably be in the bathroom sucking the man off.

Erik’s eyes narrowed a little, thin lips pressing together tightly. Charles and Erik just stared at each other for a moment, before there was a cough from behind Erik, Charles remembering that they weren’t alone in the room. Moira had coughed, giving Charles a raised brow which he ignored, turning to his band mates.

“These are the other members of X-Boys,” Charles said, pretending that he hadn’t just been sexing Erik up with his eyes. Sean, Hank, Darwin and Alex introduced themselves one by one, Erik just giving them curt nods, before turning back to Charles with a direct gaze. His grey eyes were contemplative, like he was trying to figure Charles out. Or, like he was trying to imagine what he looked like out of his slightly revealing dance outfit.

“Um…” Charles started, licking his lips. “We were about to start dance rehearsals. I suppose you’ll be wanting to see that, so you can mention it in your piece on us? Moira said that she gave us time for some prelim interviews after, is that right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Erik said brusquely, nodding and stepping back to lean on a purposefully exposed concrete wall, arms crossed. Charles could hazard a guess that Erik could care less about them and their dancing, and probably cared about their music less, which made him a little glum. He had expected that to be the case after following Erik’s work, but it still hurt when people dismissed their work so quickly. Sure, it wasn’t ground-breaking, but Charles had spent a lot of late nights perfecting the choreography and stabilising his vocals. Even though X-Boys didn’t produce the music Charles made himself, he appreciated the work that went into it.

He wanted to show Erik that, yes, they made music targeted at teenagers attracted to pretty boys, but they were still valid. And that, maybe, Charles was more than a pretty boy and someone Erik could find attractive in a non-PG way.

At the mention of rehearsal, the younger members of X-Boys quickly dispersed to their positions, Hank fiddling with the music system. Charles found his own mark on the floor, glancing back at Erik as he crossed his hands behind his back in Sweet Love’s starting pose, breath catching in his throat when he noticed that Erik was staring back at him.

‘Good God, you better not mess up the choreo, Xavier,’ Charles said to himself sternly, turning away from the hot German man who was definitely thinking about writing a scathing review of their work.

And who, Charles noticed, was kind of checking out his ass.

***

Charles’s ass was even better in person. That was the first thing Erik had thought when he entered the rehearsal room. He had honestly expected Charles’s looks to have been the product of stage make-up, carefully selected camera angles and maybe some sneaky CGI, but no. Charles had been bent into downward dog like it was as easy as breathing, and his plump ass had stretched out his ridiculously tight black compression pants.

Whoever dictated this man’s wardrobe today needed to be fired. Or get a raise. Erik hadn’t decided yet.

What he had decided, was that Charles Xavier’s ass looked illegal in those pants, the stretchy fabric clinging to the curves like they could barely hold it together. That ass was illegal and should be locked up, but also freed because shit. It was a criminally nice ass.

Though Charles had a deceivingly young and innocent face, his thighs and calves were strong and well-muscled, and the loose white tank-top Charles wore showed off his defined biceps and the slight rise of the veins on his forearms.

Erik’s cock may or may not have twitched a little in interest at the sight of Charles bending over, something Erik also decided that he would deny until he died.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik thought to himself as Xavier sauntered over to him, a sway in his step that made Erik’s eyes not quite know where to look. ‘Once he opens his mouth, he’ll have a scratchy voice like a pre-pubescent teen, and probably spew absolute nonsense, and any attraction you have will die.’ Erik continued to assure himself this, but the moment Xavier opened his mouth, all thoughts just died.

But his attraction did not.

Erik had not expected Xavier to have a fucking English accent. Erik had done some more research after watching that one music video, but had avoided interviews because, somewhere deep down, Erik was afraid of this.

This being finding out Xavier had a fucking posh English accent that was more hot than repulsive. No, Xavier’s voice was not repulsive in the slightest. It was smooth like rich butter, but with a slight edge that betrayed his age as being more than an immature 16-year-old who thought that every artistic choice he should ever make should be based on some wannabe ‘bad boy’ on TikTok.

No, Charles Xavier’s voice was comforting and sounded like it held the curve of a mischievous smile, like he knew that whenever someone met him, their minds turned to scrambled eggs that just kept repeating ‘crap, Charles Xavier is hot, his voice is hot, his ass is a work of art and maybe, maybe, I would subject myself to listening to horrible boy-band pop just to watch his face and his ass move across the screen in an artsy music video.

And Erik knew the look Charles had given him. He’d seen it plenty of times before, but usually from men in gay bars and not in a dance studio surrounded by barely-legal boys. It was a look Erik was accustomed to seeing on the faces of men gyrating against him in clubs to heavy bass tracks which weren’t too bad since you listened to them already half-sloshed in a club. It wasn’t a look Erik was supposed to find in a dance studio where Xavier, the undecided leader of a boy band, was swinging his hips to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

Erik had expected that once he met Charles Xavier in person, he would realise that the boy – man – was like all of the other cookie-cutter pop acts out there these days. He hadn’t expected to be trying to hide his hard-on in front of the boy-band and their manager because one appraising look from Xavier had made Erik imagine bending him across a ballet barre and fucking his plush ass as he made Xavier watch every one of Erik’s thrust in the dance mirror.

Erik only realised that the routine was over when Xavier’s ass stopped moving, and that he was approaching him once again, but now a little slick with sweat and panting slightly. Charles lifted a water bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, exposing the column of his pale neck. A little water dribbled out and slid down the man’s chin, sliding down his neck and skirting around his pronounced Adam’s apple, finally disappearing beneath his loose tank top down the cleft of his strong pecs.

Then, as if Xavier knew what he was doing to Erik, the man lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a stomach that wasn’t cut deeply with muscle, but was toned yet a little soft-looking.

Erik wanted to lick the faint indentations of Charles Xavier’s abs. Among other things.

Erik’s mind was littered with a series of expletives in both English and German, Charles Xavier walking over to him with an easy, charming smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Xavier asked in that disarming English accent, and Erik’s head was forced to nod up and down stiffly, trying to will away the erection building in his jeans.

“Okay! Great! How about you guys run through the choreo for Love Me, Hate Me, and then go and freshen up for your prelim interviews,” Moira said, clapping her hands. The boys agreed, Charles just giving Moira a look, which she returned with a roll of her eyes, Erik looking at the two and the silent conversation they seemed to be having with narrowed eyes.

Erik felt annoyed for some reason, and it was definitely not because Charles Xavier gave Moira an odd smile that seemed strangely intimate.

No, definitely not.

***

“Oh, please, Charles. I saw you,” Moira said, gesturing to the bright red closed door across the large foyer of Hellfire Records. Behind it, Erik was conducting interviews with Sean and Darwin, while Alex and Hank had gone to grab some lunch. It had been organised so that the interviews were staggered after holding one whole group interview, which had gone smoothly enough.

It mainly consisted of the boys answering basic questions like ‘what is the style of the new album’ and ‘what is the meaning of the title track’. The questions had been pretty generic, but that was standard for a preliminary introductory interview.

Charles, and the rest of the boys too, had picked up the general vibe coming from Lehnsherr through it all, though. The man couldn’t make it any more obvious that he was not a fan of them nor their music. Hank had kept his eyes trained at his feet the entire interview, while Darwin had adapted, remaining his usual calm and unflappable self. Sean had kept raising his eye brows every time Erik would roll his eyes at one of their basic answers, before giving Moira looks as if saying ‘this guy is a dick’. Alex, on the other hand, looked pissed and glared at Lehnsherr, who just blinked back at him, unaffected and unamused.

Charles, though, had answered the man’s questions eloquently, never dropping the slight curve to his mouth, even when Erik would say something about ‘how the album sounds a lot like the last one’ and that ‘the writer of Sweet Love also wrote songs for One Direction, what do you have to say about that?’. In fact, Charles’s grin would widen a little every time Erik’s eyes turned to him with a challenging look, Charles just responding with measured and, admittedly, well-formed answers.

Somehow, Charles had made a song with lyrics like ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl’ sound like a love poem by John Donne, and Erik, for a split, split second, may have been persuaded that the meaning of Sweet Love was deeper than a guy being horny for a girl ‘sweeter than melted chocolate and lemon drop candy’.

After the group interview, Hank and Sean had been interviewed separately, and that had gone as well as everyone imagined (i.e. Alex ended up cussing at Lehnsherr and storming out, while Hank was busy apologising and bowing as he trailed off after the hot-headed band member). There was currently no screaming happening with Darwin and Sean’s interview, though, which Moira was thankful for.

Even though Alex had dropped the F-bomb in a recorded interview, Moira was more concerned about Charles. Not that he’d have a meltdown and engage in a screaming match with Lehnsherr like Alex had, but that he would push the journalist up against a wall and climb him like a tree.

“Saw what, Moira?” Charles asked, though he couldn’t help the twitch in his red lips, Moira rolling her eyes.

“I saw the way you were literally asking Lehnsherr to push you against a wall and bang you with your eyes,” Moira said flatly, Charles snorting.

“Please, Moira. Can you blame me? He’s hot. Exponentially hot,” Charles said, Moira groaning.

“Yes, you made that clear when you were mentally undressing him in the studio. Charles, I’ve heard enough college stories from you to know that you’ve got a track record miles long, and I wouldn’t have a problem with that if you weren’t an incredibly famous, recognisable public figure whose fan demographic has an average age of 15.”

“15-year-olds have sex, Moira. It’s not a foreign concept to them,” Charles said, Moira internally groaning in frustration.

“Yes, but Charles, you have a reputation and an image to uphold,” Moira said.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Charles said, scrunching up his nose. “Virginal and upbeat, basically overtly gay but ‘oh-so-straight’. A twink that can flirt with girls and be happily invited to your grandmother’s Tupperware party.”

Moira shot Charles a look, the 24-year-old levelling one back at her with equal force.

“Moira, I get that you’re just doing your job and looking out for me. Or, at least, looking out for the image Shaw has curated for me, but I’m a fucking 24-year-old paid to appeal to underage girls. That’s way more fucked up than me being interested in a man that’s actually legal. And insanely hot.”

“You… You have a point,” Moira said, Charles grinning. “But! Charles, your image right now is clean and scandal-free. Imagine what the paps and the public would do if they catch you with your tongue stuffed down the throat of someone like Lehnsherr. They’d never leave you alone, and in the end, we both know that you’re a regular guy. You’re not the caricature of a person Shaw paints you to be. You said it yourself once, remember?”

“I’m just a guy who likes writing songs about ramen and singing into my loofah,” Charles said, Moira smiling a little now, nodding warmly.

“Yeah. You’re that, and a regular 24-year-old guy. But, at least partially, you’re also a public figure. So just… be careful, okay? I’m not telling you not to go for it – as in Lehnsherr, because yeah, I’m not blind – but… be careful about it. I care about you, and I don’t want you to turn into one of those stars with major issues,” Moira said, Charles nodding, smiling at his friend.

“I know. Thanks for caring about more than just my image, Moira,” Charles said, kissing the woman’s cheek as the interviewing door opened, revealing Erik. Strangely, Darwin and Sean were still in the room, and when Charles craned his head to peek in, they were staring at each other like they had just seen their lives flash before their eyes.

Erik must have grilled them until they turned to stiff charcoal.

Erik’s eyes narrowed when he saw Charles standing by Moira, who just gave Charles one last look before heading into the interview room to check on the catatonic Sean and Darwin. She nodded at Erik when she passed him, but the man ignored her and made his way straight to Charles like a man on a mission.

And on a mission he was.

***

The other four band members that weren’t Charles Xavier weren’t terrible. They each had some semblance of a personality, even if it had taken Erik basically verbally abusing them to get them to break the boy-band façade.

In the end, though, Erik thought of them all as appetisers, just obstacles to get over before reaching the main course.

Charles Xavier.

In one look, Erik knew that there was more to him than the plastered pop smile and carefully styled hair. It wasn’t only that he was, to Erik, the most attractive one out of all of them (or, maybe the most attractive man Erik had ever seen, period), but he was… intriguing.

Erik didn’t put up any pretences. He had been rude during the group interview, and he knew Charles had picked up on his less-than-subtle jibes. Charles’s reactions could have gone one of two ways, Erik had imagined. On one hand, he could have crumbled to pieces with the slightest piece of criticism, one of those thin-skinned celebrities that cowered before the public. Opposingly, he could have been the type of celebrity whose head was too far up his ass to think that he was anything less than godly, the celebrity of all celebrities, and that any criticism Erik had was just because he was jealous of his fame and fortune.

But Charles Xavier had been neither of those. He had been something else entirely.

Charles had listened to Erik’s questions carefully, humming and nodding as he asked them. His devilishly red mouth even smiling at them, insults and all, like he enjoyed it. Erik had made a mental note that an eye-catching but not clickbaity title would be ‘Charles Xavier is a masochist who like being insulted (and not only in bed)’.

Charles had answered all of Erik’s questions thoughtfully, like he actually thought about the answer for himself and didn’t just read off a pre-planned ‘Pop Q&A Guide’ like the other members had. Charles defended his work, highlighting the nuances in the differences between genres featured in this album and their last, talking about how their choreography was difficult this time around because of how it drew upon European ballroom dancing styles mixed with hip-hop – which Charles had endearingly and self-deprecatingly said he was rubbish at – before going on to talk about how one of the last tracks was inspired heavily by Bossa Nova. He even drifted into an in-depth music analysis on the topic, one that Erik had unwittingly been drawn into, almost in a daze.

Erik did notice that Charles never explicitly said that their music was good. He just commented that some of the stylistic choices had been ‘interesting’ or ‘different’, but he hadn’t been like other artists who just said that their music was the best thing to ever happen to the industry since the dawn of time.

Erik even thought that, in the slightly amused quirk of Charles’s mouth, that he agreed with some of Erik’s thoughts on their music. Charles, maybe, also thought that Sweet Love was a slew of recycled notes strung together, but he balanced out that thought by saying that the choreography was challenging and a wonderful mixture of styles. Charles hadn’t quite sold out to the industry, but he was definitely a little complacent.

Erik was glad that Charles hadn’t been roped into one of the other duos he interviewed, somehow being scheduled to talk to Erik alone.

“Erik! How have the interviews been going?” Charles asked, a little bounce in his step. Erik noticed that he had changed clothes since the group interview (in which everyone had still worn their dance clothes), and was now wearing a pair of neat light-wash denim jeans, a white T-shirt and… a frumpy, baby-blue cardigan that, though horribly out-of-fashion, matched his eyes and made Erik’s arms itch to crumple the shorter man into his arms.

Erik ignored that thought.

“They’ve been alright,” Erik said, shrugging. Charles just raised a brow, silently calling Erik out on his lie, the man smirking. “Well, they’ve been pretty boring. But I’ve sat through worse.”

“Ah, are you talking about your piece on Warren Worthington?” Charles asked, chuckling a little. Erik blinked, surprised.

“You read that?” Erik asked, Charles nodding, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan of your work, Erik,” Charles said, touching Erik’s arm, the touch seemingly friendly on first glance, but lingering a little too long, heat a little too warm. Erik melted into it. “Did he really say that he was the new Elton John? Because if he did, you calling him a ‘self-obsessed and delusional twat’ was much deserved.”

Erik choked on a laugh at Charles’s cheeky expression, not expecting something like that to come out of his mouth.

“I can confirm that he really did say that. I was going to add a few more choice words in there, but my boss, Emma, didn’t want him to sue the Brotherhood for defamation,” Erik said, Charles letting out a loud, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Would it still be defamation if it’s all true, though?” Charles replied, Erik chuckling now.

“Emma didn’t want to risk it, and contrary to popular belief, I actually do like my job,” Erik said, Charles’s eyes softening then.

“It is obvious that you like your work, though. You wouldn’t be able to write articles with that much passion if you didn’t love music,” Charles said, Erik speechless for a moment. He regarded Charles carefully, and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

‘Is this the Xavier charm all of those teenagers and menopausal women keep going on about?’ Erik asked himself, a little pained. Erik was not going to be one of those people, even if he thought that Charles was very, very attractive even in that atrocious cardigan, and that his mind was more interesting than the last 100 musicians Erik has interviewed combined.

“Yeah,” was all Erik said to that, but Charles didn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, your interview?”

“Oh! Of course,” Charles said, Erik beginning to turn back to the interview room, but was stopped when Charles reached out to grab his wrist. G'tt, his grip is actually pretty strong for such a tiny person. I’m sure he’d grip my cock firmly if he-

Verdammt.

“It’s already 1:15, and I haven’t eaten since 6am. I’m absolutely famished,” Charles said, eyes impossibly wide, almost pleading. ‘Stay strong, Erik. G'tt.’ “How about you conduct your interview over lunch? It’ll be on me. I know a great café just down the road from here, it’s usually less busy by half past 1.” Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Charles barrelled on, like he knew what he had to say to change Erik’s mind. “They have really good coffee, beans from Jamaica, apparently.”

Coffee. Charles just had to play the good coffee card.

“I’m Jewish,” Erik suddenly said, Charles blinking. “The café has kosher options, right?”

“Oh! I’m actually not sure,” Charles said, brow creasing, looking genuinely concerned. Erik’s heart may have squeezed, just a little.

“No, I… I’m not strict about keeping kosher, but I do try to adhere to it as much as I can,” Erik said quickly, suddenly wanting to smooth out the crinkles between Charles’s brows. “As long as there are non-pork options, it should be fine.”

“I can definitely say yes to that, my friend,” Charles said, and Erik really should have been more put off at Charles’s casual term – because what 24-year-old actually calls someone ‘my friend’ – but he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. “They have an amazing steak sandwich. The vegetable pancake with salsa is also great, and it’s meat-free so that should definitely be fine.”

“Let’s go then,” Erik said, Charles beaming at him. Charles stopped by what looked like his locker before they left, pulling out a cap and some sunglasses. On the door of the locker, Erik noticed that Charles had stuck some pictures of him from what looked like college – Oxford, even. Erik did a minute double-take. No, that was definitely an Oxford shirt Charles was wearing as he… chugged the biggest vessel of beer Erik had seen in his life, and he was German.

Another picture was of Charles cross-dressing at what looked like another college party alongside a pretty blonde girl, and another picture was of him and the same girl, but when they looked quite a bit younger (and Charles already looked young to begin with).

These were versions of Charles that had never appeared in TMZ articles or fan pages.

And Erik decided that he liked them. He liked them quite a bit.

Next chapter (2/3) →

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Only Time Will Tell

Nikki’s here! And once again, all my author’s notes are on the Ao3 so check them out there!

[Read on Ao3]

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you two until she gets here?"

"We're sure, David," Max said, crossing his arms.

"I mean, if you really want me to stay here, I can!" David insisted. "I have all the time in the world to wait!"

Max looked at him. "...You were going to take pictures, weren't you?"

David's smiled widened as he held up the camera in his hands. "It's been five years since the three of you were together! It's a perfect opportunity to snap a few for the scrapbook!"

"Absolutely not," Max said. "Not in a million years."

"But Max—" David sighed heavily. "Alright, I get it. You kids don't want an adult hanging around and ruining your fun. You wanna be all grown up, right?"

"If I say yes, will you leave?"

David chuckled and started the car. "Just call me when you need to be picked up, or if you need anything—"

"David, holy shit, just go home!"

His smile widening, David rolled up the car window and headed out of the restaurant parking lot. Max let out a sigh once the car was finally out of sight. "God, I thought he'd never leave."

"Are you okay, dude? Neil asked. "You seem pretty crabby today, even moreso than usual."

"Your face is crabby," Max said, kicking a rock at his feet.

"Come on, man, what's wrong?" Neil asked. "You can tell me."

Max shrugged. "I don't know... I guess I'm just a little nervous about seeing Nikki again."

"You need to talk about it?" Neil asked, as he took a seat on the curb and patted the spot beside him.

"What are we, in the nineties?"

"Hey, do you see a bench nearby?" Neil pointed out.

"...Fair point," Max said, taking a seat beside him.

"So why are you nervous about seeing Nikki?" Neil asked. "It's only Nikki."

"Yeah, a Nikki I haven't seen in five years," Max pointed out. "People change, Neil."

"Trust me, I've been talking to her for about a year," Neil assured him. "She's still the same old Nikki. And it's not like either of us changed much since camp, right?"

"Yeah, except for my declining mental health," Max pointed out. "But I guess you have a point. I mean, my anxiety's still being annoying as shit, but that helps a little bit."

"Do you...like, have a crush on Nikki or something?" Neil asked. "Is that why you're so stressed about seeing her again?"

"What? Ew, no!" Max said, making a face. "She was like my little sister, dude!"

"Yeah, that's what they all say!" Neil said with a laugh.

"Shut the fuck up!" Max said. "Besides, how do I know you aren't the one with a crush on her?"

"Trust me, I'm not."

Max raised an eyebrow. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? What, do you have a crush on someone else?"

A light blush spread across Neil's face as he looked towards the opposite end of the parking lot, but he remained silent.

"...Neil?" Max asked.

Still no response.

"...Oh, my God, you do, don't you?!"

"Hey, there she is!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"No, I'm serious," Neil said, pointing. "That's her."

Sure enough, a white truck had pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and both boys stood up as it came to a stop near them. The passenger door was kicked open by a booted foot, and the culprit leaped out of the truck and landed in front of them with an excited cackle.

If Max hadn't known in advance that the person before him was Nikki, he would have never been able to guess if his life depended on it. Or at least, not at a first glance. Unlike Neil, who's appearance had remained fairly similar with only minor changes, her curly, mint-green pigtails had been replaced with a light-blue, side-shave haircut that covered the left side of her face. And instead of red overalls, she now wore a black-and-blue (a light, cobalt blue that matched her hair) varsity jacket that Max would expect some generic jock meathead to wear, denim jeans that had clearly seen better, less dirty days, and heavy, black boots that had been worn down with time.

But as Max looked closer, he knew there was no mistaking that wide smile or that 'I once ate twelve pine cones in one afternoon and would probably wrestle Bigfoot in match to the death if you dared me to' look in her eyes. A kind of look that could only be described as 'Nikki-esque'.

"Thanks for the ride, Anderson!" she said, turning back to the driver of the truck.

"Anything for you, Niks!" he said enthusiastically. "You need a ride home later?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, Mom was in one of her moods before I left. I might crash at someone's house if I need to. Either that, or head back to the school and sleep in the locker rooms again. Let me get back to you on that."

Anderson gave her a wave before she slammed the door shut and he drove off. With a wide smile, she spun around on the heel of her boot until she was facing Max and Neil. "Hey, nerds! Didja miss me?"

"Nikki, I saw you last week," Neil pointed out.

"That's still enough time to miss me!" Nikki said, her smile growing bigger as she approached them. "At least, I hope it is. Plus, I was more talking to Max, anyway."

Max stared at her in stunned silence for a moment before he opened his mouth: "You...are taller than me."

"Huh?"

"You're taller than me," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What the hell, when did that happen?!"

Sure enough, now that the two of them were standing face-to-face, Max could tell that Nikki was a few inches taller than him. Not as tall as Neil, but the difference was still obvious.

Nikki laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Well, damn, I guess I am!"

"I told you he didn't grow at all since camp," Neil said in an amused tone.

"You're both assholes!" Max griped. "Freakishly tall assholes!"

This comment made Nikki laughed harder. "God, it's so good to hear that angry voice again! How've you been?"

"Other than hurt over being betrayed by the people I trust?" Max asked, his mouth curling into a smile. "Depressed, mostly. Or pissed off. Or tired. Or a mix of all three."

"Yeah, Neil told me everything that happened," she said, her smile fading for a moment before returning instantly. "But I'm happy to hear you live so close now! And with David?! We can hang out just like old times!"

"Wasn't that kind of what we were supposed to be doing today?" Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah!" Nikki said with a laugh. "But I mean, we can do it all the time! Speaking of which, let's head inside because I am starving! Also I can get us the best table in the restaurant while wearing this." She tapped the front of her jacket proudly. "Athletic discount, baby!"

"That's a thing?" Max asked, as the three of them approached the restaurant entrance.

"Yeah, I guess it's some kind of tradition between the high schools in the area and Goldberg's," Nikki explained. "The football teams came here so often after games that they eventually decided to just start giving everyone a discount for the good business. All you gotta do to get it is wear your varsity jacket."

"That sounds like it could backfire horribly," Max pointed out. "What if someone steals your jacket and tries to take advantage of the perks?"

"They also have a list of names of people on each team," Neil spoke up. "It seems like a lot of effort on the restaurant's end, but hey, I get my burger for half-price when I'm with Nikki, so I'm not going to complain."

Max shrugged as he followed them into the restaurant. The idea still made no sense to him, but he definitely wasn't about to pass on paying less for his food.

-------------------

"So...football, huh?"

"Youngest player on the team in about ten years," Nikki boasted proudly. "Coach is also the school's PE teacher and, well, he saw how good I was in that subject and how much energy I had. He suggested the idea of letting me join the team to my mom, and she signed me up. I think it was just to keep me out of the house more, but hey, I get to tackle people and the amount of football field dirt I end up rolling in on a regular basis keeps my allergies at bay, so I take what I can get."

"Your mom's still giving you trouble?" Max asked.

Nikki fiddled with the straw in her drink. "Eh, depends on the day usually. And if she's in an especially bad mood, I usually tend to crash at someone's house for the night. Or, like I said earlier, just break into the school locker rooms and sleep there."

"That's awful, Nikki. I'm sorry."

Nikki shrugged. "Hey, life sucks sometimes, but I got my teammates to look out for me, and now I got both my best pals from camp to hang out with! And also..."

"Oh, here we go," Neil said with a knowing smile.

Nikki's smile also widened as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. After scrolling through her photos for a moment, she held it out in front of her for Max to see.

It was a picture of her and two other girls, cheerleaders by the looks of their outfits. It looked liked the picture had been taken after one of the football games, one that their team had won if Max were to judge by the rest of the football team cheering in the background.

"That's Cody and Natalia," Nikki said fondly. "It's me and my gals~!"

Max raised an eyebrow. "So, when you say your gals, do you mean..."

Nikki put her phone back in her pocket. "So, do you remember how back at camp, I was, like, completely obsessed with Ered? And how cool I thought she was and all that jazz? Turns out there was a reason for that."

"...Okay, so I'm pretty sure I know what you're hinting at," Max said slowly. "But I just want to make sure I'm not, like, being super offensive for immediately going there—"

"Yeah, I really, really like girls, Max," Nikki finished for him. "Like a ton. I mean, the day that I realized that I could actually date the cool girls I used to look up to was one of the best days of my life!"

Max stared at her. "That...actually does make a lot of sense the more I think about it. I mean, no wonder you were so hung up on trying to impress Ered."

"Yep! Turns out I'm just super gay!" Nikki said cheerfully. "And it's awesome!"

"Well, I'm happy for you, Nikki," Max said. "Even if you are a horrible traitor. I mean, first you're taller than me and then I find out you're a Cool Kid who's dating other cool kids? Damn, it's like I have no idea who you are anymore!"

Nikki snorted and flicked a fry at him. "Oh, shut up, you big jerk! Or should I say little jerk?"

"Ha! I should have used that when I first saw him!" Neil said with a laugh.

"No, you shut your fucking mouth!" Max said, pointing at him. "You already poked fun at my size, you don't get to do it again!"

"Oh, there's definitely something fun about your size, alright," Neil said. "Get it? Fun-sized? Small?"

Max gave him a look. "By the way, you never answered my question from earlier, dickhead."

"What question?"

"The one about you having a crush on someone?"

Neil's smile fell and he quickly distracted himself with his drink in an attempt to dodge the conversation, a motion that Nikki did not miss. "Oh, you asked Neil if he had a crush?"

"Yeah, while we were waiting for you," Max said.

"And what did he say?" she asked, casting Neil a knowing smile.

"Shut up, Nikki!" Neil hissed.

"...Wait, does Nikki know who it is?!" Max asked in disbelief. "Nikki, come on, spill the beans!"

"Sorry, Max," Nikki said innocently. "My lips are sealed unless he decides to talk about it. His business, not mine."

Max looked back at Neil. "Come on, man! I won't laugh, if that's what you're worried about!"

"I'm not worried you'll laugh," Neil explained. "I'm worried you'll question my taste in people."

"...What, is it a guy?" Max asked. "Because if that's it, I'm not gonna—"

"It's not that!" Neil said. "I mean...well, it is, but it's not. And it's not...really a crush anymore, since we're actually dating."

"Alright, so you've got a boyfriend. That's cool, good for you," Max said. "Do you wanna tell me who he is?"

Neil sighed. "...So, remember when I told you that the most exciting thing I did this year was go to Comic Con?"

"Yeah," Max said. "What, did you meet him there?"

"Well, I was walking around the con," Neil continued. "I...may have passed by the DnD area at one point."

"Your boyfriend's a DnD nerd?" Max asked. "That's not that weird. I mean, I'm surprised that you of all people would date someone who's interested in magic and dragons and shit. I mean, remember how pissed off you were with Harrison and his bullshit?"

"...You know, it's funny you should mention Harrison," Neil said, sinking lower into his seat while Nikki buried her face in her sleeves in an attempt to hide her uncontrollable giggles.

Max looked between them with slight confusion, before something began to click into place. "...Neil."

"...So, Harrison was at Comic Con..."

"Neil."

"And we might have talked. A lot."

"NEIL."

"And decided to get dinner together."

"Okay, you need to back up and explain everything, because what the ever-loving fuck, Neil?!" Max asked in disbelief. "Harrison?! You're dating Harrison?!"

"Look, I know what you're thinking," Neil said. "And I know you don't like him—"

"Oh, I don't give a shit about him one way or another," Max said. "Sure, the guy made me the butt of one of his tricks, but after all the shit I've been through, it's really not worth holding a grudge over, you know? But, like...don't you hate the guy? Didn't you once spend an entire day trying to disprove his trick, to an almost-obsessive degree—"

Max paused mid-sentence. "...Okay, so am I the only one here who didn't have some kind of gay crush on someone at that fucking camp?"

"What about Preston?" Nikki asked.

"What about him?" Max asked, eyeing her. "Guy was an over-dramatic dickhead who wrote shitty plays."

"Uh-huh," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Put those the fuck down," Max said, squinting at her. "Let's get back to the main topic here, which is Neil and Harrison being a thing. Which I'm fully supportive of, don't get me wrong. But like...there's irony, and then there's big, science-nerd Neil dating Harrison!"

"I'm still not sure how it happened, honestly," Neil admitted. "I mean, I saw him at the con, and...I don't know, maybe I've grown up since camp or maybe he's grown up, or hell, maybe we both grew up. But he's honestly not as big of a prick as he used to be. I mean, I still have no idea how he does his tricks and I do plan on getting that out of him one of these days but at the same time, it's like...even if I don't, I still like being around him."

"You don't care about figuring out his magic tricks because it's how he sends you gifts," Nikki said knowingly, as she took a bite of her burger.

"He does what now?" Max asked.

Once again, a light blush spread across Neil's face. "Every couple of days, I'll come home from school and find something on my desk from him. There's no way he'd be able to get into the house to leave it for me, and my mom doesn't...really know about him yet so he can't leave them with her—"

"Oh, yikes. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Neil said sadly. "But he usually gives me stuff for my lab, like new beakers or test tubes. Or he'll send me stuff he thinks I might like. Once he left me this really neat 'potions' kit, which I'm assuming he left in an attempt to sort-of merge my love for science with his love for magic. I thought it was sweet, and it turns out, there's actually a lot of chemistry involved in potion-making."

"Gayyyy," Nikki said with a laugh.

"Oh, shut up, Nikki," Neil said, glaring at her. "Like you're one to talk!"

"Hey, I've got two girlfriends and even I'm not as gay as you are for him," she said.

"All jokes aside," Max said. "It is pretty cool that he makes you so happy. It's pretty cool that both of you are dating people who make you so happy."

"Speaking of happy," Nikki said. "You definitely seem happier too, Max."

"I do?" Max asked with genuine surprise.

"I mean, back at camp you were always angry and always trying to ruin David's life," Nikki pointed out with a shrug. "I don't know, you seem a lot more relaxed now that you're actually living with him."

"Yeah, well...he doesn't exactly have much of a bar to clear when it comes to being a decent guardian after all the others I went through," Max said. "Plus, it's David. You know he puts a hundred-and-ten percent into it, even if no one asks him to, or wants him to."

"Would it kill you to give him a compliment that isn't followed by an insult?" Neil asked with a smirk.

"Hey, I did it when we first talked in study hall," Max said. "That's enough complimenting him for one week."

Nikki laughed. "I always liked David, even back at camp. He was a ton of fun."

"Is there no end to the traitorous acts from you?" Max asked dramatically.

"No, and also I really think you should message Preston," Nikki said. "Honestly, the two of you would get along."

"I don't have a crush on Preston, Nikki!" Max insisted. "Besides, I doubt I'd be lucky enough to find anyone else from that summer in the area. I mean, I still can't believe I managed to find both of you and David all in the same area. Hell, Neil meeting Harrison at one of the biggest cons in the country probably makes the most sense out of any of this."

"Let's all be real," Neil said. "Anyone parent willing to send their kid to Camp Campbell for the summer wouldn't be willing to shell out the extra cash to send them to a camp out of state. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone from that summer lived somewhere nearby."

"Yeah, that's a fair point," Max said. "God, that camp was shit."

"I don't know," Nikki said. "We all met each other because of it. I can't hate it for introducing me to some of my best friends."

Max smiled at her. "Okay, now you can't call Neil the gayest thing here, because that was the gayest thing I've ever heard in my life."

"That's homophobic."

"...Is it really?"

"Nah, not really," Nikki said, laughing again. "Mostly because you're right."

--------------------

"I told you she hadn't changed."

Max's smile widened as he continued to watch Nikki text away on her phone. "Yeah, okay, you were right. She's still Nikki."

"Also, uh...sorry for not telling you about Harrison before," Neil said.

"Hey, I get it. You were worried about what'd I'd think," Max said. "I mean, I'll make fun of you for dating Harrison, but not because he's a guy. It's because it's fucking Harrison. But if I go too far, just let me know and I'll back off."

Neil smiled and nudged his shoulder playfully. "Well, you're taking it better than my mom would."

"Yeah, I really don't like your mom," Max said with a scowl. "Or Nikki's, for that matter. You two deserve better."

"Okay, don't kill me for saying this, but you really sounded like David right there."

"...Ew," Max said, making a face. "But speaking of him, he wanted to know if either of you wanted to stay the night. I think he's probably more excited about me having friends to hang out with than I am."

"I'm in," Neil said. "And Nikki did say she needed a place to stay for the night."

"That's true," Max said, before turning his attention to Nikki. "Hey, Nikki! You wanna spend the night?"

"Sure!" Nikki said excitedly. "Mom's still in a mood, anyway. Plus I want to see if your room's as edgy as that sweater you're wearing."

"Hey, Hatred of Red Olives is a good band, and fuck the both of you for making fun of them," Max said defensively, as his eyes drifted to the car pulling into the parking lot. "Also, David's here."

David honked the horn enthusiastically as he came to a stop in the parking spot beside them. "Hi, kids! Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, it was fine," Max said. "Also they said yes to the sleepover thing."

David let out a noise of delight as he lifted the camera into view. "Oh, I knew they'd say yes! There's going to be so many scrapbook opportunities tonight!"

"If you snap so much as one picture of me, I'll throw your camera out the window," Max said. "And not any of the house windows, I'll chuck it right out of the car while you're going fifty."

"Hi, David!" Nikki said, waving at him. "Long time no see!"

"Hello, Nikki!" David said. "It's so wonderful to see you again! I almost didn't recognize you, you've grown so much!"

"It's great to see you, too!" Nikki said, smiling. "Honestly, it's a little weird. I half-expected you to be dead by now."

"Nikki, I'm not that old," David said, amused.

"No, I mean, I just never saw you living past twenty-seven for some reason," she said. "I don't know, maybe it's because of how many times I saw you get hit by a bus. Or hit. Or stabbed. Crushed. Mangled. Maybe I just subconsciously thought there'd come a day where you'd suddenly stop being invincible and crumble like a house of cards."

Max had to restrain himself from doubling over in a fit of laughter at her comment and the surprised look on David's face. Okay, Neil had definitely been right about Nikki staying the same after all these years. And not just her, but Neil, David, even Max himself...

A wave of realization washed over Max, as his thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had shared with David the day he'd been placed in his care. How a lot of things might have changed over the years, but a lot of things had also stayed the same.

The idea had definitely been comforting to Max at the time, but he hadn't been entirely sure if he could really believe in it. He knew just how much people would and did change with time, he knew that no matter how good you thought you had it, there was always a way for life to royally screw you over.

But as he stared at the three of them, he could almost feel that worry in the back of his mind disappear for good. The worry that kept telling him it wouldn't last, that there was always a chance that one of them (or all of them) would eventually get sick of him like everyone else, or that he could easily lose them like he had lost his parents.

But for once in what felt like a lifetime, he found it easier to push that worry away. He knew it would rear its ugly head again in time. But for now, he had a parent who cared about him after so many proved to be uncaring. He had friends he could trust after a year of having little to none.

Nikki was right. He was happier. Happier than he'd been in a long, long time.

"...Hey, David?"

"Yes?"

"...Maybe we could take one picture. Just because I know you'll cry if I don't agree to it and I don't want to deal with that all evening."

David's eyes lit up. "Of course! And it's such a perfect moment for one! I mean, look at the sunset—"

"Don't make me change my mind," Max said, with a look to the others. "Neil, Nik, you guys alright with a pic?"

"Sure!" Nikki said. "Only if I can get a copy. I'll put it up in my locker, next to the picture someone took of me pulling a live possum out of the school dumpster."

"I can't think of a higher honor," Max said with a smile.

"I'd like a copy of it, too," Neil said.

"Of course you can all get a picture," David assured them, as he held up the camera again with a wide smile. "Alright, everyone get close together and give me a big smile! That means you too, Max!"

"Haha, I could still toss your camera out the window on the way home," Max said, glaring at him.

David shook his head and held up the camera. Max couldn't resist giving him the requested smile as the picture was taken, even if he knew David would never let him live it down. He never wanted to forget how genuinely happy he felt in this moment, and he was willing deal with a lifetime of David fawning over how 'sweet his smile looked' or 'how happy he was' or some other overly doting bullshit as a result.

Plus there was always the option to hide David's copy later. Now that would definitely make him happy.