#frankly ridiculous that this has happened TWICE in a ROW.

[butchdykekondraki]

im going to think about that stupid fucking line forever. "my marriages all sucked shit bc i was too busy hanging out with you" <- NORMAL THING STRAIGHT MEN SAY ABOUT THEIR COLLEAGUES SURELYYYYYY

[shurisneakers]

shut in [3]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”

A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.

“How dangerous is it?”

“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”

“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.

“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.” 

“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”

The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.

Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”

The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator. 

You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.

Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.

“I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”

“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was. 

“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”

“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.

You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.

Bed.

“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.

“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”

“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.

“Code?”

You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”

“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.

“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.

“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.

“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”

“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”

“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”

“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation. 

“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently. 

“Where are you?”

“We’re safe.” 

“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”

“Will do.”

With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.

You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.

“If it has somethin’ to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”

“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.

“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.

“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”

You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.

Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.

“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”

“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”

“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”

That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.

“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”

Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.

You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.

Isolation.

“You got any suggestions?”

“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.

“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.

“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.

“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway. 

Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day. 

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”

You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.

You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.

Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here. 

You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.

Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.

Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.

It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.

You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.

You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.

Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.

Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.

“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.

“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.

“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”

On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.

“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”

You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.

Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.

“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”

Part 4

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story

Summary:

Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her 'eighth' year without Harry and Ron, with the horrors of the war still fresh in her mind, but determined to start anew. Malfoy seems subdued, altered by the events of the past year or so, though he's not without his acerbic tongue. Assigned Theodore Nott as her patrol partner for their prefect duties, she finally has the time to get to know the two Slytherins, and discovers that there's a whole lot more to them than the prejudice of their past and the snake on their house badge.

Slow-burn Draco x Theo x Hermione, endgame happy trio with lots of fluff and smut. Title taken from 'She walks in beauty' by Byron. Also posted to my Ao3.

___

Chapter One - A fresh start

She didn't mean to flinch.  

“Granger,” Malfoy said curtly as he sat down beside her in their first Advanced Arithmancy Studies of the new term. His usual sneer and bravado were somewhat lacklustre though, like the colours of a tapestry bleached and robbed of their vibrancy by the power of the sun.  

Still, she really didn’t mean to flinch. After all, she’d seen him once or twice since that last battle - the now infamous ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ - so it shouldn’t have been so jarring to see him back in his ordinary school robes, with an ordinary Slytherin tie on and an ordinary white school shirt; a quill in his hand instead of a wand brandished…  

But it really was jarring.  

He was a young man in a schoolboy’s uniform and it was frankly ridiculous. It felt somehow like they were trying to pretend as if nothing had happened; like there weren’t huge gaping holes in friendship groups and families, even if the masonry of Hogwarts castle had been restored almost without blemish. The word gouged into her left arm burned dully beneath her blouse. It was ridiculous to pretend; none of them would ever forget what they’d endured in the past two years.  

Malfoy looked older than he should have done at eighteen, and there was something serious, even dolorous, about the set of his brows and his hard, grey eyes. She’d grown so used to seeing him stalking around the halls and corridors of Hogwarts like a spectre; dressed from head to toe in severe black, accentuating the white-blond of his hair and rendering the silver of his eyes colder, the shadows beneath them deeper. His once gold-tinged blond hair had faded to completely, starry white now, and it even had a slight wave to it, which actually went some way towards softening him a little around the edges. He’d apparently realised that an overabundance of hair oil did nothing to ease the slimy impression he gave, and she surprised herself as she snuck a quick glance at him in the classroom to find that she thought the softer look rather suited him.

What little colour there had been in him to begin with, though, had faded to ink and paper monochrome. 

Now, as Malfoy turned away from her to glare at the front of the classroom and slouch across the desk, resting his sharp chin in a graceful, long-fingered hand, she shot another sidelong look at him and weighed him anew.  

The last time she’d seen him before the start of school had been at his trial. He’d looked truly awful then - worse even than in that dreadful pause during the battle, that holding of breath before the final screams began, when they’d all believed Harry dead and Voldemort victorious. Malfoy had looked like a standing corpse in the empty embrace of Voldemort.  

Gaunt and haunted in the Ministry courtroom docks, it was obvious that he’d been held in the cells in Azkaban for nearly a month before being brought to London. He’d turned eighteen in those cells, no doubt alone. That particular thought made her chest ache. No one deserved to come of age in utter isolation in Azkaban; and certainly not Malfoy of all people. He’d saved their lives in the end, and she’d testified to that in person. He’d refused to identify Harry at the Manor, even though it had been painfully obvious to anyone who’d seen Harry even once who he was, and he’d surrendered his wand to Harry after their brief skirmish. The protest he’d put up had been so farcically thin, it was a miracle that no one had seen right through it. Even in the midst of chaos, he’d done what he could to make it right. The Ministry had said she could make a written statement for them to read out, but Gryffindors didn’t flinch away from difficult situations, and so she’d spoken her testimony aloud in front of everyone.  

Malfoy had stared at her the whole time with those lifeless, ice-grey eyes. His gaunt face was a porcelain mask behind the rune-inlaid bars of the magic-resistant cage which they’d locked him in like an animal while his mother had wept and Hermione had been cross-examined almost to tears herself. They’d made her feel like she was the one in the dock for daring to state the truth about how he and his mother had saved them all. Then again, to have a mudblood defend a family like the Malfoys might have been one stretch too far for most.  

He’d clawed back a bit of weight again in the months before school started up again, but he was still on the leaner side of slim. He still had dark shadows under his eyes too, and the lids looked heavy and almost bruised. His profile, as she now saw it in the classroom, was all sharp angles and hard plains. His jaw was set and a tendon in his neck jutted like a guy-rope, pulled taut and thrumming with the ever-present tension in his body. It seemed to be the only thing holding him together. Even his shoulders were hunched and solid. He looked caught between expecting a blow to the back of the head and being half a second away from drawing his wand. In short, he still looked terrible.  

She stared too long.  

“Waiting for me to bare my arm and cast the Dark Mark above the castle, Granger?” he sneered sidelong at her under his breath. “I think I’ll have to disappoint you.” She thought she heard him mutter something else under his breath, but she didn’t catch it.

Closing her eyes briefly, she looked away without responding. He was just lashing out and she wasn’t going to rise to it. A seventh year in the row in front had gasped at his words, and began a hushed and scandalised whispering with her neighbour, but Hermione remained silent, staring unseeing at her open textbook. No one really knew what it had been like for any of them - the ones at the core of it all - regardless of the side they’d been on.  

What had McGonagall said in her welcome speech in the Great Hall the night before? “Hogwarts is entering a new age of openness and tolerance, of compassion and companionship, where walls must be torn down and old grudges laid to rest if we are to heal and move forward as a whole - as a unified community -  in both school and society at large.” She wasn’t wrong. If Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy could sit side by side in a classroom without disrupting the space-time continuum, there was hope for everyone, she mused, allowing a tiny smile to play across her lips.  

A moment later, someone slid into the lecture hall benches on Malfoy’s other side and she caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott, before Professor Vector swept in amid a billow of robes, and the class of mixed seventh and ‘eighth’ years fell quiet. The movement of his silver-blond head told her that Malfoy had been staring at her since his little outburst and had only just looked away.

The room was not overly full, and she had been a little surprised to find that Malfoy was taking Arithmancy this year as one of his N.E.W.T. subjects. His strengths had always lain in the practical rather than the theoretical. Not that he wasn’t smart in either field; he’d matched her almost grade-for-grade in nearly every subject they’d taken together since first year. Nott, however, she wasn’t at all surprised to see there. He was the only one who’d ever beaten her test scores - though admittedly only once back in third year when things had been somewhat more… hectic for her. Between the three of them, they probably made up the brightest minds in the student body at that moment.

Nott leaned forward as Vector began her introductory spiel, and ducked his gaze beneath Malfoy’s chin to sneak a look at her. When Hermione’s eye was drawn by the movement, he met her gaze and flashed her a grin that brought dimples to his cheeks. He was then promptly and unceremoniously shoved back against the classroom bench by the flat of Malfoy’s palm. His back connected with a soft ‘oof’ and he laughed under his breath before falling silent under Vector’s dark glare.  

Hermione frowned, but quickly lost herself in the beautiful and relative complexities of higher level Arithmancy.  

At the end of the class, she packed up her belongings and filed out of classroom 7A alone, heading for the Great Hall and lunch with a growling stomach and a strange knot of tension in her chest. It showed no signs of loosening all day. It felt odd to be walking the halls alone, without Ron on one side and Harry on the other to share a joke or a worry on their way to the next fixture. She ached at their absence, and wrote them each a short letter over her lunch break to tell them how her first morning had gone. She left out her musings over Malfoy, however, and concentrated on the work and how the castle had been restored almost perfectly to its condition prior to the takeover, save for the memorial to the fallen in the courtyard.  

Long after supper that evening, having completed her first Arithmancy assignment already, she headed up to the newly-repurposed Prefects’ Common Room for their first meeting with Headmistress McGonagall. That ball of tension in her chest had gnarled itself tighter and tighter around her heart and lungs, but it wasn't until a first year actually squeaked that she finally realised why people had been shying away from her all afternoon in the corridors and in the Gryffindor common room. Her scowl had become as fierce as a basilisk’s stare. She almost snorted at the idea, especially since her route to the common room had taken her past the girls’ bathrooms, where all the chamber of secrets chaos had found its focus. Famed war heroine Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio, was glowering like a thunderhead, and people veered away as if she might start spewing acid.  

“Ah, Miss Granger,” McGonagall’s lilting voice called as she finally reached the prefects’ common room at about a minute to nine. “Wonderful. Now we’re just missing Mister Nott, and then we can begin.”

“Nott’s a prefect?” Hermione hissed at Ginny, and the head girl nodded. “Since when? He wasn’t one before…” All anyone had to do was impose a certain inflection on the word ‘before’ and all the implications were well understood.  

“He was given Malfoy’s badge,” she whispered back. “Can’t very well have that Death Eater ferret stalking the halls at night, can we? McGonagall picked Nott to fill out the Slytherin numbers since Pansy Parkinson and most of the others didn’t return this year.”

“Ex-Death Eater ferret,” Hermione murmured pointedly, recalling his subdued glower in the classroom that morning, and Ginny pulled a face as she conceded the truth.  

“Still a bloody ferret though,” she huffed. “And he’s here on probation don’t forget. If he fucks up, he’s going straight to Azkaban to join his father.”

Mulling it over, Hermione fell silent, and a moment later the door opened again and Nott stepped inside.  

She’d never really taken the time to look at him before; he had been a part of Malfoy and Pansy’s little gaggle of Slytherins since the beginning, apparently having known Malfoy since early childhood, but she’d not known him to take part in many of Malfoy’s petty cruelties. He seemed rather bookish, but definitely not shy; aloof but not arrogant. If he hadn’t aligned himself with the Malfoys, he might perhaps have been someone with whom she could have got along. Intellectually, of course. He was still a Slytherin and the son of a convicted Death Eater…  

Now as he stepped into the cosy little room and apologised for his tardiness to the headmistress, and also to Ginny with a quick flash of his eyes, Hermione took stock of his high cheekbones dusted with a plethora of freckles, his sapphire blue eyes that noticed everything and revealed almost nothing, his floppy, dark brown hair that curled attractively in a somewhat old-fashioned and timeless manner and glimmered with gentle highlights in the dancing flames of the fireplace. He was tall too at almost six foot - taller than Malfoy by a good few inches - and a fraction broader at the shoulder. Gone was the skinny, lanky, coltish boy whose robes had hung off him like he was no more than a wire coat-hanger. Merlin, she thought, he’s actually quite handsome now.  

A second later, he caught her staring at him and her cheeks flushed unexpectedly hot.  

Still oddly flustered, she looked away and focused on McGonagall as she began to inform the newer prefects of the duties and expectations of the role, before going on to assign patrol partners. Even in the flickering warmth of the fire, the headmistress looked tired and drained. No doubt the most recent toll on her had been the immense effort of readying the blasted and battered castle for the start of term after the Battle of Hogwarts.  

“In the interests of continuing and promoting congenial inter-house relations, I’m going to be splitting the patrols up. You will no longer be patrolling by house. You will meet in the entrance hall and begin your patrols from there. Now, Padma, you will pair with Hannah; Ernest with Anthony; Cho with Michael; Hermione with Theodore; the rest of you will find your pairs on the rota, and of course the heads of school will patrol together. Any questions?”

Hermione glanced across the room and found Nott staring at her with a strange quirk to his mouth that was almost a smile. He was leaning against the carved masonry of the door frame, ankles and arms casually crossed - the very picture of nonchalance. She raised one eyebrow at him, and his expression blossomed into a full grin, all white teeth and dimples. Rolling her eyes, she looked away, hearing a very low, faint chuckle.  

“The rota will be posted here in the prefects’ common room, along with the upcoming password for the door,” McGonagall went on. “Anyone found abusing their position, or caught docking or awarding points gratuitously, will be permanently and immediately removed of all privileges. Thank you, and goodnight.” With a flourish, she sent the parchment with the rota fluttering across the room to pin itself to the cork board, and left.  

The younger prefects huddled around it, keen to see which nights they were on duty and someone called, “Granger, Nott! You’re up first!”

“Wonderful,” Nott purred suddenly standing at her elbow. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello properly earlier.”  

Good Godric, he really was tall, she realised as she turned slowly to regard him and tilted her chin up. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken,” she said carefully.  

“I don’t believe we have,” he returned with an easy, genuine smile. He had all the politeness and poise of a pureblood, trained from birth to schmooze and glide his way through social situations, and she reminded herself not to be charmed by it. He was still a Slytherin, and his father was a notorious and sadistic Death Eater, even if Theodore had mostly stayed out of it himself. He held out his right hand and she stared at it. He had ink stains on his thumb and first two fingers, just like she did. “Theodore Nott,” he grinned. “Call me Theo.”

With another roll of her eyes, she acquiesced to his playful little farce and shook his hand as if they’d just met. “Hermione Granger.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Ginny snorted, sidling up and digging her in the ribs, the gesture making her yelp and lurch towards Nott. He steadied her with a hand on her upper arm and smiled. Ginny glared at him and he let go, still chuckling. “If you fuck around with her, Nott,” Ginny glowered, her face darkening.  

“Ginny,” Hermione said softly, turning to her. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s not as if I don’t know how to take care of myself anyway…”

“I know that!” Ginny countered hotly. The red in her cheeks eclipsed her freckles for a moment before she took a deep breath. “The same goes for everyone else,” she snarled as she sensed they had an audience. “If anyone pisses around or puts a single bloody toe out of line, I will hex it off, McGonagall will hear of it, and you will be out of here. Got it?”

Her outburst was met with a mixture of nods and snickers, and with that, she left.  

“Come on,” Hermione said with a quick, awkward laugh. “Let’s get going.”

“Eager, Granger?” he chuckled, holding the door open and ushering her through first. The gesture didn’t seem facetious, and she nodded curtly at him in thanks as she stepped out into the corridor. “I assume, since you’re an old hand at this whole prefect thing, that you know the routes and the hot spots better than anyone. Lead the way…”

“Why did you get made a prefect?” she wondered aloud instead of responding. “You’ve never shown any interest in anything relating to school spirit before.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered easily, striding to catch up with her after softly closing the door behind him. “I watch Draco play quidditch on a regular basis. Have done for years.”

“Watching sports doesn’t count towards the wellbeing of the whole school, Nott,” she sniffed dismissively, turning left at a portrait of a white haired old witch who appeared to be having a discussion about astronomy with her kneazel, and hopping onto a staircase before it decided to move.  

He sprang after her easily enough. He might not have had seeker reflexes, but he certainly wasn’t clumsy either. “Of course it does,” he said. “If no one showed up, morale would plummet faster than a dropped quaffle and you know it. But you’re right; I haven’t shown much interest other than that… No time like the present,” he added a little breathily.  

“Indeed. I heard Malfoy is trying out for seeker of the Slytherin team this year. Ginny says he’s good.”  

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be able to bolster your already admirable school spirit then by being a prefect as well as continuing to support him from the stands then,” she said sarcastically.  

Nott only laughed lightly and strode along beside her, but after a while he cleared his throat and said, “Listen, about earlier in Arithmancy… Draco told me what happened… what he said…” He scratched his jawline and grimaced. “Don’t mind him…” he faltered. It sounded like he was aiming for a light tone, but he missed a mile. “He doesn’t really mean it when he says things…” he didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to.

“I know,” she said, pausing to listen at the end of a shadowy corridor. As she glanced up at him, she witnessed a flicker of surprise in Nott’s dark blue eyes. “Malfoy’s always lashed out like that when he’s feeling defensive. And it’s no wonder he had a go at me today - it must be hell for him being back here with everyone staring and whispering.” She sighed. “Better than the alternatives, I’m sure, but still. It’s brave of him to come back to Hogwarts.”  

Theodore blinked twice, and then a slow, dazzling smile dawned on his handsome face.  

Merlin, had he always been that good looking? She refused to let that of all things become a problem on their first patrol, and so, fighting to keep a blush off her cheeks, she marched off down another corridor before he could say another word.

It was true, although it had taken her actually speaking the words aloud to realise it. Malfoy had always had some pithy, nasty, venomous comeback whenever he was cornered, his words designed to inflict enough showy, hurtful damage to allow him to escape. In a world where he’d been rendered all but helpless by others, buffeted this way and that by more powerful players, and with impossible choices forced on him, his sharp tongue and hard, silver glare had been some of his only defences.  

He really is like a snake, she thought wryly: beautiful, quick, and deadly, but… perhaps largely harmless if left un-threatened.  

To her surprise, it took Nott a brief moment to catch up with her. 

___

Part Two

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[politics-notmything]

If it’s true what they say

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tw- Anne says fuck twice

For some reason, after around five years of this, Anne has not yet learned her lesson. Once again, she had woken up and instantly shot out of bed upon reading the face of the clock, which indicated it was ten minutes until the end of breakfast. Although, while she still hasn’t figured out how to wake up early, she has mastered the art of getting ready in a flash. After rolling out of bed, she had to quickly locate wherever the fuck her uniform was (usually on the floor) and throw it on. Oftentimes, she didn’t even bother to change out of her pyjamas and was just able to cover them with her long, black robes. Today was one of those days. It’s not like anyone would notice, anyway. She could always go back up to her dorm room later, during a free period or lunch, to properly change. Next came rapidly brushing her teeth and hair all while tugging on her socks, then shoes. Once that was done, she could run (more like fall) up the steps of the Slytherin common room and dash into the Great Hall. And that’s the step she was at now.

             Out of breath and panting heavily, ANNE reached the Great Hall with five minutes to spare. She quickly located Kitty sitting at their usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, and she flopped down next to her friend. Anne grabbed some toast and eggs, making a quick breakfast sandwich, and took a bite out of it. As she chewed, she took the two hair ties from around her wrist and quickly pulled her hair into her typical messy spacebuns.

Next to her, Katherine was finishing off the last of her orange juice while listening to another Jane Seymour describe the wild dream she had last night. Anne was only able to catch a few words of the story. Something about Henry VII and his SIX wives? It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but Kitty seemed to be dying from laughter, so she supposed it’d be funnier if she’d actually heard the whole story. Speaking of, that reminded her, she still had to force Kat to watch High School Musical with her. For some reason, Katherine has not yet watched the iconic movie trilogy featuring the one and only Zac Efron and Anne made a quick mental note to make Kitty watch it with her once they were home for the holidays.

Once Jane had finished their tale, Kat turned towards Anne, tears of laughter still in her eyes.

“G’morning, Annie,” she chuckled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You missed the owls again. Your dad sent you a letter.” From her robes, she pulled a white envelope with “ANNE BOLEYN” written on the front in her dad’s messy scrawl. Ever since her first year, her father has sent her a letter each week, checking up on her and it almost always ended with him screaming at her. More often than not, Kat technically got the letter and then proceeded to pass it along to her.

Anne took the letter from Kat and opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope as always. Her eyes quickly scanned over the parchment paper as Kitty peered over her shoulder. Most of the letter contained the typical stuff, although her dad also asked how the Quidditch match had gone. Upon reading that, Anne let out an audible groan and jammed it back into the envelope, then into the pocket of her robes. Great. On the bright side, he was usually pretty forgiving about Anne’s antics as long as it wasn’t extremely out of line.

As the clock struck eight a.m., students began filing out of the Great Hall and heading towards their first classes. Hurriedly, Anne scooped the remnants of her sandwich in a napkin and ran to catch up with Kat who had already started walking away from the table.

================================

Twirling a stick between her gloved hands, Anne watched the flower before her intently, only half-listening to whatever Sprout was lecturing them about. She’d only caught the introduction to the class’s activity, caring for Fanged Geraniums or something like that, before she became more interested in the magical flower and zoned out. Currently, her assigned plant was attempting to snap at the stick with its rows of sharp teeth.

“Fuck,” she quietly cursed. Katherine had just elbowed her, drawing her attention fro just a moment away from the Geranium. It seized the opportunity and used the distraction as a chance to finally nip at her fingers. Thankfully, Anne was able to swiftly draw her hand back in time before she lost any vital body parts and glared at her friend. “What the hell?”

The younger girl said nothing and just tilted her head towards Sprout who was now pacing around the greenhouse as she talked, getting increasingly closer to the pair. Immediately, Anne dropped the stick, which the Fanged Geranium gladly gobbled up, and tried her best to look as if she’d been listening the whole time.

Professor Sprout looked at her with raised eyebrows but didn’t make a move to call her out about it. “Alright now, get to work, class.”

As soon as she said that, Anne turned to Kitty. “Okay, so, what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

“Annie, why do you never pay attention?” Kat asked, already starting to tend to her plant. It was clear from her tone that it was meant to be a rhetorical question. “You know this is going to be on the O.W.L.s, right?”

“I dunno,” Anne responded, watching Kat’s actions and attempting to replicate them with her own Geranium. Somehow, she must’ve gotten it right because the plant stopped snapping at her hands whenever they got close to it. “I just can’t, y'know?”

“Sure, Anne,” Kitty said, sarcastically, and looked up from what she was doing, turning her attention to the Slytherin. Her gaze shifted downward, to the now passive plant in front of Anne. “What the heck, how? You weren’t even listening.”

The Boleyn girl stared back at her friend with a somewhat smug expression on her face and looked back down at the Fanged Geranium, grinning.

===========================

Yawning, Boleyn drummed her fingers against the round Divination table as she did her best to follow Professor Trelawney’s ramblings. Quite frankly, though, she couldn’t care less about whatever the fuck her dreams meant. Half the time, she can’t even remember what happens in them. But, older students said Divination would be an easy class so here she was. They were mostly right. All the homework was just taking some shit she saw and then making it more dramatic. Thinking about candles? Write about how Hogwarts burned down in your dream journal. Simple.

Really, the hardest part about the subject was having to endure over an hour of Trelawney’s lessons every other day. She would always talk about weird, “prophetic” shit like reading tea leaves or seeing visions. Anne didn’t understand any of that crap, and quite frankly didn’t care, either. There were two kinds of people when it came to Trelawney. Most didn’t believe any of the bullshit she spewed, but there were a handful of students that hung on each and every word no matter how ridiculous.

Anne looked at Kat for a moment before grabbing a piece of parchment out of her bag and scribbling a note, then sliding it across the table to the Hufflepuff.

Would u rather-

Sit through 100 hours of Binns or 100 hours of this bullshit w T?

Kitty glanced at Anne with a slight smile tugging at her lips, then began to write a response. Depends on the day. Sometimes Trelawney lets us drink tea.

Anne grinned, shaking her head. Of course, Kitty could find the good in Trelawney’s dumb classes.

At least the ghost dude actually teaches us shit though.

Kat rolled her eyes slightly and leaned down to respond, but they both heard an annoyed huff come from behind them. It was Catherine Parr. Anne turned around and gave her a look that clearly said, “What the hell are you looking at, smartass?”

Cathy turned to her best friend who was sitting beside her, to borrow a quill and quickly wrote something neatly on a scrap of parchment, then proceeded to hand it to Anne with a condescending look.

Stop passing notes, it's really distracting.

Anne glared quickly before scribbling a response.

Hypocrite.

She dropped the paper in front of Cathy, then, without a second glance, turned back to Kat, who was finishing up the last word of her note.

But Trelawney knows stuff about divination, remember that one time she predicted that you would fall in love with a girl who’s name started with an ‘M’, then a few weeks later you started majorly crushing on this girl named Maggie?

Anne smiled slightly, the glitterball was, of course, right. She tended to be right at that sort of thing. Every now and then, Trelawney had a moment of clarity in which her predictions turned out to be correct. They never quite ended up the way you’d expect them to though. Instead of responding to Kitty’s last comment, Anne wrote, 

Catherine is pissing me off. She just gave me the fucking stink eye.

Kitty frowned, shaking her head. 

Which one?

Anne nodded in understanding as Catherine of Aragon and Catherine Parr both sat behind them.

The smart one... who’s also kinda hot.

She scribbled out the last part.

Anne was about to continue on, but a particular voice piped up from behind them. “Excuse me, Professor? Anne and Katherine Howard have been passing notes for the past fifteen minutes and it’s been very distracting to me and others sitting near them.”

Parr. Of fucking course, it was Cathy who would call them out. Anne felt a flash of anger and annoyance but held her tongue. After the whole “losing the first Quidditch match of the year” ordeal, Anne had been careful to avoid getting in too much trouble, and she knew that if she responded to the Ravenclaw, it would only get increasingly worse for her.

Professor Trelawney turned her head to face Boleyn, with a look of distaste on her face. Anne wasn’t very well-liked by many of the professors, except maybe Madame Hooch. She was particularly good at flying and Kitty’s talent with Charms meant that when they were learning Incendio, she was among one of the first to conjure up a stream of fire. 

“Ooooooh,” a handful of the other students called out.

Another one, in particular (it sounded like Anna of Cleves) shouted “Exposed!” Anne flushed red with embarrassment.

“Ah, oh. Um, five points from the both of you,” It was clear that Trelawney wasn’t going to make it a big deal; it wasn’t often that she doled out punishments to students. But, it was more than enough to fuel the anger inside of the gremlin.

Anne spun around to give Cathy a death glare, to which Cath returned with a fake smile and a shrug of her shoulders. She then rotated in her seat towards Kat, who had pointedly turned to face Trelawney, clearly not wanting to lose any more points. Rolling her eyes, Anne followed Kitty’s lead and tried to listen to whatever the hell the nutso professor was going on about.

[pisang-goreng-ao3]

Coming to America

Beta: @sugarandspace​

Artist: Amanda

---

Chapter 1: Another beautiful day in Edom

 It’s eight in the morning and Raphael makes his way down the hallway, the sun already beaming through the windows. His steps are audible in the empty hallway, briskly moving over the polished marble. Stopping at large wooden doors, ornately with carved flowers, he takes a deep breath, opens them, and steps inside. He taps on a panel in the wall on his left, it opens with a click and he presses some buttons. Looking up, musicians walk in to take their places on the balcony. Once seated, Raphael gives a curt nod to the conductor, silently instructing the string quartet to begin.

 The curtains slowly open as Bach’s Air fills the room. As the sun hits his face and the music reaches his ears, Magnus stirs and considers opening his eyes. Is it morning already? He props himself up on his elbows and, like every morning, finds Raphael flanked by two servants standing in his doorway. 

“Good morning, your Highness,” Raphael says as he bows. 

“Good morning,” Magnus mumbles back. 

“And, of course, happy birthday, Your Highness,” Raphael continues. 

“…Right, it is my birthday,” says Magnus, as a wave of nausea and dread come over him. Well, he couldn’t avoid this forever, could he? He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and is promptly helped into slippers and a robe by a servant. Said servant bows and retreats, so Magnus can follow Raphael into his en suite.

 Magnus is well aware that his bathroom is larger than some people’s homes. The white marble is polished to perfection, the crystal chandelier refracts the light into rainbows and the scent of sandalwood envelops him more with every step. 

Raphael stops and turns, claps his hands twice and two more servants appear. 

“Good morning, Your Highness, and happy birthday!” as they too bow reverently. After their greeting, Raphael turns around and walks out again, disappearing from their view. 

Magnus figures he might as well try. “Good morning, Dorothea, Elliot! Please, would you be so kind and grant me a birthday wish?” 

“Anything for you, Your Highness!” they bow.

Magnus takes a deep breath, finds his most charming smile, and says, “Since it is my 29th birthday, would you be so kind to let me bathe and dress myself? Just this once?”

Dot and Elliot chuckle politely. “Oh, Your Majesty, you have such a great sense of humor! Now, let us get started. We do not want you to start such an important day as today by being late for breakfast.”

 Magnus lets his mind wander as they move around him doing their daily tasks, from brushing his teeth to bathing him and washing his hair. At some point in his life, he was sure he loved this kind of treatment and would never get enough of it. That he had enjoyed being the crown prince of Edom, and the lifestyle that came with it. 

From an early age he had been assured that as the royal he was, there was no need for him to worry about menial tasks such as washing or dressing yourself when there were servants who were honored to do it for you. But the last couple of years it had only added to him feeling useless.

 “Your Highness must be excited about tonight,” says Dot, as she applies a fresh coat of nail polish.  

Oh yes, and there was that. 

“Can’t say that I am, my dear Dorothea. How can a man be excited about being married off to a woman he’s never met?” says Magnus, in between blowing on the drying polish on his other hand.

Dot avoids his eyes. “Oh Your Highness, I am sure it will all be wonderful.”

Magnus takes his hand from the table where Dot was trying to give him a manicure.

“Dot, sweetheart, I know what you’re trying to do. But please, just… At least call me Magnus when you’re trying to reassure me my life won’t be ruined after tonight.” 

Dot visibly forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your nails are almost done, Prince Magnus. Now, let’s finish up here so we can get you over to Elliot to get you dressed.”

Magnus looks at Dot and Elliot as they work on preparing his outfit for the morning. He has known them for years now, and had a front row seat watching them fall in love and finally get married two years ago. 

“I mean, look at you guys. You make marriage look like a dream come true. Because you both wanted to. You look so happy together, you’re basically glowing! Frankly, it’s a bit unfair to rub that in my face on a daily basis,” he jokes.

 They stop fussing with his clothes and whisper something to each other. Finally they turn and look at him with apologetic expressions. “Prince Magnus… We’re sorry. You know we’re not allowed to talk about this. But to be honest, we do feel for you.” Elliot starts. “We care about you. We’ve watched you grow into a man ready to be a king these last few years.”

Dot walks over to him to take Magnus’ hand in hers, and says, “I know you wish this was different, but we believe you’re ready. We know you are. You’re ready to take the throne a few years from now and this wedding is the last step. It is tradition. It’s how your father married your mother – and you must agree that your mother is the most wonderful person, right? Have faith, my Prince. I’m sure they have found you a worthy queen.”

 Magnus sighs. He knows there really is no way out of this no matter how much he wishes there would be. The least he could do was pray Dot and Elliot were right. 

“Thank you both, I’m lucky to have you in my life. Now, let’s get me dressed.”

---

Magnus gently touches the sides of his head, careful not to touch the hair that’s pulled into an impeccable topknot. They shaved his hair at the sides of his head this morning to look sharp for the ceremony, and he loves the feeling against his fingertips. 

Dressed in a burgundy colored linen pants and a loose linen top with ornate golden pattern swirling across, Magnus follows Raphael to the dining room, stopping as he opens the doors for him.

“Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Magnus!” he proclaims. Servants standing on the side of the doors shower Magnus with rose petals.

Magnus shrugs the petals off his shoulders and walks in the room where his parents are already seated at their ridiculously large table. He shrugs off the rose petals that had landed on his shoulders and walks over to his mother to kiss her cheek. “Good morning mother, father,” he says as he takes his place on the far end of the table that could have hosted a soccer team. 

“You are late,” King Asmodeus frowns. “And today is a day where tardiness can not be overlooked.”

Magnus stares at his plate. “Apologies, father. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh Asmodeus, it’s only 15 minutes, no harm done,” his mother says before she turns to Magnus. 

“Happy birthday, my dear boy. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. We are so blessed to witness this day.” Queen Raniya smiles at him, and Magnus returns it. There isn’t a person in this world he loves as much as his mother. “Thank you, mother. You look lovely this morning.” 

 Breakfast is surprisingly uneventful. Servants put a napkin on his lap and fill his plate with the usual, but he doesn’t enjoy his fresh fruits or coffee at all. He mindlessly pokes at his plate, unable to clear his mind. His parents look at him inquisitively.

“Is something troubling you, my son?” Asmodeus asks, sounding more stern than a father probably should. 

“No, father.”

“Son, please. I am more than the magnificent ruler of Edom and all its inhabitants. I am also a concerned dad.” 

Magnus can’t help but laugh a little at that. It’s not that he thinks his father doesn’t love him, but he has never been much of a concerned or involved father figure.

“Well, father…” Magnus starts, putting down his fork, before he wonders how can anyone have a serious conversation with three meters of empty table between them. He stands up, ignoring the confused look on his parents faces -and the panicked ones of the servants- and sits down next to his mother.

 She smiles at him lovingly. “What is it, my boy?” 

Magnus grabs her hand. “Well, first of all, it’s things like this.” 

Queen Raniya doesn’t seem to understand. “Like what?” she asks.

“This!” Magnus wildly gestures with his hands to the servants all around the room, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Being announced to any room. Having rose petals thrown at me. I can’t even sit myself down in a chair!”

“What is the matter, dear? You are the son of a king, why shouldn’t you be showered with the petals of roses?” His mother asks him, looking quite confused.

“But mother, if there were no rose petals, I would still be the son of a king!” Magnus counters. “And it’s not just that, it’s everything! The cooking, the pampering, the dressing, the bathing… I’m 29 years old! For once I’d like to cook for myself, take care of myself, dress myself – and why, why can’t I find my own partner?”

 “Aha!” Asmodeus smirks. “So that’s what this is about. Don’t worry, my boy. We have gone through a great deal of trouble to select a very fine wife for you.”

Magnus takes a deep breath. “But what if I do not love her?”

“It is normal to be a bit nervous before meeting your queen. Your mother and I… We were quite frightened, to be honest with you.” Asmodeus looks at his wife affectionately. 

She smiles back at him, saying, “When I first met your father, I was so nervous, I became nauseous! But… Over the years, I have grown to love your father. Very much.”

“So you see, my son, there is a very fine line between love and nausea,” Asmodeus concludes. Raniya just stares at him. Judging by his mother’s facial expression, that wasn’t the message she had hoped to convey.

 Magnus sighs. He realizes there is no time left for subtlety in this last ditch effort to get through to his father. “I understand,” he begins, “But father… When I marry, I want someone to love me for who I am, not what I am.”

“And who are you?” Asmodeus looks at him with an amused expression.

“I am a man who has never tied his own shoes before!” Magnus exclaims, wondering if he could sound any more desperate than this. 

“Wrong! You are a prince who has never tied his own shoes before,” Asmodeus looks at his coffee, swirling it in his cup. “Besides, believe me. I have tied my own shoes once. It is an overrated experience.”

 “But father, that is not the point -” Magnus begins.

Asmodeus gives him a cold look and raises his voice. “No, Magnus. Let us be clear. The point is that as of today, you are 29 years old. By law you are to be married before the age of 30 in order to remain eligible for the throne. And since your mother and I were not blessed with more children, you are the sole heir to the throne of Edom. We have been more than patient with you as it is. We have humored all of your dalliances, even those male ones, because you were diligent enough with your studies. You have had your time to play and now it is up. A wife has been chosen for you. You will fulfil your duty.”

 Magnus tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone dry. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but somehow it felt like his last sliver of hope just disappeared. This was real. There was no escape. And he feels guilt, because he knows his mother would have loved to have more children, and here she is stuck with one son who is apparently too pathetic to fulfill his only purpose in life.

Suddenly, the door bursts open to reveal a man in green workout gear, sporting a big grin. “Good morning! It’s another beautiful day in Edom!” he belts through the dining room. 

King Asmodeus snaps, “What is it, Ragnor? Why must you interrupt us like this? Have you no manners?” he belts back even louder.

 “I’ve come to take the birthday boy for his daily workout! We can’t have him looking out of shape tonight!” Ragnor says, seemingly unaffected as the smile never leaves his face. 

He turns to Magnus’ mother. “Queen Raniya, you look exceptionally radiant today,” he says smoothly, as he kisses her hand. 

“Is that so, Ragnor?” Her amusement is audible. “Say hello to your mother for me, will you? Tell her we must catch up over tea soon.” 

Magnus is grateful for his best friend -who has been hired as his personal servant for a few years now- barging in so he’s able to excuse himself from breakfast. 

“Yes, Ragnor, let’s go get me in shape. Excuse me father, mother…” he mutters as he kisses his mother on her forehead. She squeezes his hand as he turns to leave. Ragnor bows to the royal couple, and leads Magnus out of the dining room. 

---

“Now let’s see if you can defend your lazy arse at the ripe old age of 29.” Ragnor baits, tossing a staff at him. Magnus shoots him a faux annoyed glare, but isn’t too worried. 

Because his father had been dead set on him never leaving the country, Asmodeus had gone through great lengths to bring in people from all over the world for Magnus to socialize with. Ragnor was born and raised in London, where his father worked at the Edomite embassy. The family had moved back when he was 12, and once in Edom, Ragnor was immediately introduced to Magnus. He didn’t know what to think of the boy with the aura of a hundred-year-old, so naturally they had been best friends ever since. 

As adults, they had concocted the plan where Ragnor had become his personal servant, after it hadn’t worked out with previous applicants. Apparently he didn’t have other ambitions in life, Magnus was fairly sure he enjoyed the royal lifestyle. Which he was more than fine with, the life wasn’t nearly as lonely with his best friend by his side at all times.

Magnus taunts him with a simple hand gesture and takes his stance. Center. Right. Right. He focuses on parrying Ragnor’s strikes in the most elaborate way, rather than looking for an opportunity to get a hit with his stick himself. He flips and twirls effortlessly, much to Ragnor’s annoyance.

 “OK twinkle toes, time for a break,” Ragnor pants as he reaches for his bottle of water. “So what you’re saying is… You got confirmation -again- of the fact that your father and half the court have been going through the effort of finding you the perfect wife, and you’re moping about it?” Ragnor summarizes in his own way. Magnus sighs, grabs a towel and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

 “You’re saying that like it’s no big deal at all! How would you like it if you were married off to some stranger? As for perfect, that’s my father’s definition of perfect, not mine,” Magnus took a sip from his water bottle. “I want to marry someone I love. And maybe that someone is a man. But it’s most definitely not someone my father selected for me, that I have never even met before our engagement.”

“No offense, my friend, but maybe this is exactly what you need. You’re 29 and you have not exactly been very successful at finding yourself someone worthwhile.” Something about his English accent made it sound even worse, Magnus thinks. 

“I mean, let’s be completely honest here,” he continues, “George, Etta, Farrokh. Did you even catch their last names? What about that son of the previous Peruvian ambassador, what’s his face…” Ragnor stops his rant to think.

 “…Imasu. Yeah, you’re right. That was a disaster. Looking back, they were all hopeless.” Magnus feels embarrassed having to admit that Ragnor is kind of right. Even during those relationships, he couldn’t fool himself into believing they were marriage material. 

“Can you blame me for hoping they’d eventually see me as more than the crown prince? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am doomed. Maybe after Camille I shouldn’t even try any kind of relationship anymore, renounce my throne and just… I don’t know. Sign myself up for a life as a monk in a monastery somewhere up in the mountains.” Magnus gracefully slides down the wall to sit on the floor. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling, that is frankly way too ornate for a gym.

 Ragnor rolls his eyes in such an exaggerated way Magnus fears they might end up stuck in his skull. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, my friend. We talked about this. Camille is a one-of-a-kind sort of evil, she is gone, and you really shouldn’t let the rest of your life be dictated by that vampire.”

 “Easy for you to say…” Magnus mumbles, moving his torso forward to stretch out his leg muscles. 

He had met Camille at university, in his small class dedicated to teaching the children of the Edom elite. The daughter of a French noblewoman and a high ranking Edomite military official of French descent, she had set her sights on him since day one. And he had let her. She had long wavy hair, a curvy figure, was always dressed to kill and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Magnus had let himself get swept away by this new experience. 

Usually his dates were so impressed by dating the crown prince, that they lost every bit of their own personality. They expected him to take the lead on everything, and he was sure they would bark like dogs if he asked them to. The fact that Camille wasn’t afraid to go against him and ask him to do things, to get her things, all while keeping their relationship a secret... It had made him feel alive again. After a year together, Magnus had to stay behind while Camille moved back to France with her family.

 She had told him they could make it work if he loved her enough, and he believed her - until her social media was full of evidence of the contrary. He had called Camille to ask her how she could do this to him, she only laughed and called him a fool for thinking she wouldn’t do everything to enjoy student life at the Sorbonne. 

Magnus feels like his heart had never really recovered after that particular break up, even though in retrospect he realized how unhealthy their relationship had been.. Again he had been used for his money and royal status, just in a different way from the others.

 “…I think it really just might be me.”

---

Magnus overlooks the lavishly decorated ballroom, filled with Edom high society. Rich tapestries were hung across the walls and crystal chandeliers light the room. The ladies and gentlemen, displaying all their gold and jewels like human Christmas trees, walk around trying to outshine one another. This is the world he grew up in and he never realized it was so incredibly fake. He recognizes some of the faces from work – the prime minister is here, the mayor of Edom City, the chief of police, admirals, generals. Everyone who is someone in Edom’s high society apparently got an invite for this circus.

 On the dais, his father is seated in his large golden throne, wearing his most formal crown that was designed by his great-great-great-grandfather. It’s a sight to behold and could even put the St. Edward’s Crown to shame - clearly his father wasn’t about to be out-decorated by any of his guests in attendance. 

His mother and Magnus himself are sitting on significantly more modest thrones on both his sides. Queen Raniya looks lovely, he thinks, wearing a modest golden tiara on her headscarf that was loosely draped over her head and across her chest. While Raphael had insisted Magnus would wear his military uniform for the night, he had refused. They had apparently felt sorry enough for him to offer an alternative for once. So now he sits here in a traditional Edomite tunic, purple and embroidered with gold with a high collar, and loose black pants. A subtle golden crown is attached to his topknot, because he’s the crown prince, and it’s his engagement party.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling this lonely before. Or nauseous, for that matter; his father’s words about the fine line between love and nausea dancing in his mind. Forcing himself to ignore those words, he lets his gaze roam through the ballroom again.

Finally he finds Ragnor in the crowd, chatting with their American friend Catarina. She was the newest addition to his international entourage: a 25-year-old exchange student from St. John’s University in Queens, studying to be a nurse practitioner. She and Magnus had clicked in a way he hadn’t experienced since meeting Ragnor as a teenager. As for Ragnor... He wouldn’t admit to it, but Magnus was sure he had developed a massive crush on the nursing student since meeting her a few months ago.

He manages to catch their eyes and they both give him an awkward but strangely comforting smile while clutching their glasses of champagne. Magnus takes a deep breath and looks straight ahead again, letting the sounds coming from the ballroom wash over him.

 Minutes, or maybe hours, pass. Suddenly, the sound of a gong makes the chatter of the audience die down immediately. Magnus’s stomach flips in the worst way. The ceremony is about to begin.

A man in an imposing military uniform steps forward. “Your Majesty, King Asmodeus! His Royal Highness and benevolent ruler of all of Edom!” he exclaims and bows deep, then stands up straight in a way that suits his garb. “I am Colonel Belcourt. And today, with your blessing, I offer my daughter to your son.”

 Asmodeus stands up from his throne. “My blessing is granted. Let the courtship commence!”

 The Colonel cleared his throat, “I humbly present my daughter, Miss Imani Belcourt!”

The gong sounds again, and the crowd parts through the middle. Gamelan music begins to play and about 30 dancers in Edom ceremonial dress move into the room. Gracefully the men and women dance in pairs, portraying the courtship rituals and people falling in love. 

Asmodeus turns his head and lays down his hand on Magnus’. He squeezes gently along with a curt but pleased nod. Magnus returns a polite smile and brings his hands to his lap instead. The last thing he wants right now is for his father to give these kinds of comforting gestures he has never given before. 

Magnus forces himself to focus back on the dancers. He loves all forms of dance, but he can’t find it in him to appreciate anything about this performance.

One by one the dancers take a pose, creating a pathway. The music changes into something more delicate as the flutes take the lead melody, and a figure of a woman in a sparkling golden dress appears at the end of the ballroom. She spreads her arms and seems to float between the dancers towards the throne, the click of her heels muffled by the sound of her train rushing along the floor. As his bride-to-be strides down to halfway across the ballroom, she begins to take a familiar, curvy shape.

 Magnus struggles to breathe as he feels his heart pounding. It can’t be, can it? The Belcourts are a military family, surely Imani is a cousin that looks just like her? Right?

 His worst nightmare comes true once Imani -well, Camille- stops in front of the dais next to Colonel Belcourt. Who must be her father (apparently, as they never got to the meet-the-family part of a relationship) and puts her hand in his. She lowers her gaze while curtsying the royal family, and shoots Magnus a wicked grin while looking back up again.

 Magnus feels the bile rising in his throat. He can’t do this. He can’t. He jerkily stands up from his throne and all but storms towards Camille.

 “May I talk to you in private for a moment, please?” Magnus grits out between clenched teeth. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before grabbing her wrist and urges her onto and then to the left side of the dais, through a door that leads to a sitting room. He feels the eyes of everyone in the ballroom burning on his back, but is too overwhelmed to care. After slamming the door shut, he leans his forehead against it and takes a deep grounding breath.

 “What? Am I not all you ever looked for in a woman? I definitely recall you saying so. More than once,” she smirks. Magnus turns to face her, feeling all pain she ever inflicted like it just happened. It rages through him like a tornado.

 “I could not have been more mistaken. And you are no woman, in fact, I’m not sure you’re actually human! Do you even have a soul?” Magnus blurts out as he frantically paces along the room. “You know what? Don’t answer that. And what’s with Imani? Did you give me a false name on purpose, just to mess with me?”

 “Magnus, darling, calm down. Camille is my middle name, and I always liked the sound of it better. And since we didn’t exactly spend a lot of time talking… I knew you would appreciate the surprise.” As if her tone of voice wasn’t infuriating enough, she throws in a wink with her self-satisfied expression.

 He stops pacing, and looks at her. “Why don’t you fuck off back to France? Because I’m sure as hell not marrying you. So get lost.”

 “Yes, you are. I’ve been selected. Come on Magnus, we had so much fun, we can get there again,” Camille purrs, seductively making her way over to Magnus.

 Magnus clenches his hands into fists at his side as Camille ends right in front of him, disregarding his personal space, while smirking. For a second he is afraid she’d grab him by the lapels and kiss him, but instead she stops when her toes touch his own, the same smirk never leaving her face.

 “I will make such a beautiful queen,” she whispers. In that moment, Magnus wishes his glare could literally shoot daggers.

 The door flies open and Asmodeus barges in. “Ah! I see the two of you are getting along!”

 Magnus rolls his eyes. Of course his father chooses to interpret the mere inches between them as a good sign, conveniently ignoring his body language.

 Magnus turns away from Camille and walks to his father, nervously wringing his hands together. “Father, about this wedding…” Magnus begins.

 He is interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat. He looks to the door opening and sees Raphael standing there with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Your Majesty, the guests are waiting.”

 “Let them wait!” Asmodeus barks impatiently. “I am talking to my son.” He turns back towards Magnus. “Come, my son, let’s go for a stroll.”

 Camille curtsies and doesn’t break her eye contact with Magnus. “It was an honor to meet you. I will wait for you, my Prince.” She gracefully moves herself towards the ballroom.

 “Fine girl, isn’t she?” Asmodeus looks pleased. “I told you not to worry. She will give you much pleasure, don’t you think?”

---

Magnus follows his father into the palace gardens. Ever since he was a boy he loved to go on walks here, through the carefully crafted pathways, looking at the flowerbeds that were planted to form intricate designs. Beautiful birds fly from tree to tree while singing their songs, the soft light of the lanterns make it feel like something out of a fairy tale.

 “Time does fly, my son. It feels like yesterday I ordered your first diaper change. And now you’re a man, who’s about to be married,” Asmodeus smiles contently.

 “Father, I won’t marry Camille. I refuse.” 

“Nonsense, Magnus. We’ve gone through a lot of trouble to select this girl for you. She is from a very respectable military family with foreign ties. Prepared and ready to become a queen, and a mother.”

“But I’ll never be ready for her! Father, please! I’m 29 years old, and I have never even left Edom! I have yet to experience what the outside world has to offer, and now my life is over!” Magnus nearly trips over his own tongue, trying to get the words out.

 “So… You want to sow your royal oats?” Asmodeus says with a smirk.

 “No, it’s not that, it’s that Camille isn’t who she-” Magnus starts.

 “You are right!” Asmodeus laughs. “Now listen. This is the last time I will humor you, Magnus. Get out, see the world, enjoy yourself! Fulfill every erotic desire. And in 90 days you will come back and marry this girl.”

 “But father…”

 “It is settled.” Asmodeus pats his schouder roughly behoren making a sharp turn and striding back into the palace.

---

Magnus isn’t sure how he found his way back to a study in the west wing of the palace. He stares at a painting of his great grandfather and feels tears stinging in the corner of his eyes. This possibly couldn’t have gone any worse than it did. Right now, he would give anything to be married off to anyone but Camille

 “What the hell was that? What is she even doing here?!” Ragnor storms in, closely followed by Catarina. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” Catarina must see the tears in his eyes because she immediately moves to wrap his arms around him. He can’t help that some of those tears roll down his face.

“What have I done in my life to deserve this?” he mumbles into her shoulder.

Ragnor looks lost for words. If he wasn’t feeling so miserable Magnus would be enjoying the fact that apparently, there are things that can shut Ragnor up. 

“Come, sit with us.” Catarina guides Magnus to the sitting area. As she sits down with him on the loveseat, Ragnor takes one of the fauteuils. Catarina gently strokes his back while Magnus tries to stop his quiet tears.

“I am so sorry, my friend. I don’t know what else to say.” Ragnor finally says. 

“It’s OK. I don’t know either.” Magnus’ vision blurs again as his eyes fill up with tears again. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t do this, I can’t!” His voice breaks and he leans into Catarina as she pulls him towards her in an effort to comfort him.

He lets himself be comforted in silence as he cries. After a few minutes, he forces himself to get it together. In an effort to lighten the mood, he says, “Well, at least my father has given me permission to finally leave Edom before my wedding from hell. 90 days. That should give me enough time to go hiking in South America and move to a remote mountain village where the outside world will never find me.”

“Come on, we both know you’re way too high maintenance to survive in a village without electricity or plumbing,” Ragnor snorts. “But I suppose it’s preferable to marrying a random person in Las Vegas or something, because this way, you’ll eventually come back home.”

Magnus shoots up from the couch. “Ragnor, that’s brilliant!”

“Wait, what?” Catarina says, while Ragnor just stares at him blankly.

“That’s exactly what I need to do. I need to find my own spouse! I need to go somewhere, far away where no one knows who I am. That way, I can find someone who’ll love me as me, not as the crown prince of Edom!” he paces through the room, gesturing wildly. “And if we get married in Vegas, I can’t get married to Camille! And I’ll have someone to rule by my side so my father can’t possibly get upset. After all, all he wants is for me to get married.”

“Magnus, I’m sorry, but that is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” Ragnor interrupts his pacing and firmly places his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. “You can’t just move across the world, find someone, lie to them about who you are, fall in love, get married and then tell them, hey, guess what, you’re royalty now, and we’re expected to rule over a proud island nation soon!”

Ragnor leans his forehead against Magnus’. “You are my best friend and I know you are desperate. But please, this plan is a recipe for disaster. We will find another way to get Camille out of the picture.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this, Ragnor. I need to get away.” Magnus hears his voice breaking again.

“And we will. Your father gave you 90 days and carte blanche. We can travel anywhere you want, in style, while we figure this out,” says Ragnor.

Magnus swallows thickly. “No. I don’t want to travel in style. I wasn’t kidding. I know I shouldn’t go and get married to someone over 90 days, but... I do want to know what it’s like to live like a normal person. Just to be by myself, to take care of myself, just be Magnus, for once in my life.”

Ragnor looks at him sympathetically. “As you wish. Now, where in the world would you like to do that?” 

Magnus sighs. “You know, I absolutely have no idea. Preferably somewhere I speak the language, and far from Edom.”

Catarina clears her throat. “You know, I kept my place in Brooklyn, because my exchange was only for a year and a half and it’s hard to find something that nice. I mean, it’s nothing fancy, it only has one bedroom. But one of you can sleep on the couch. If you’d like.”

Magnus looks at Catarina, who plays with her hands nervously. “Are you saying we could stay at your place in New York?” 

“Well, yeah, but, don’t expect too much of it. It’s nothing like you’re used to here in the palace, but if you want to, you could. I can send a message to my landlord, saying I met you guys at university here, and you need a place to stay while doing research in America. Luke is great, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.” Catarina looks at him expectantly. 

Magnus flings himself into her arms. “Cat, that’s perfect! That’s exactly the kind of mundane, normal experience I’m looking for!” He kisses her cheek and turns around.

“Ragnor, pack your bags. We’re going to America!”

Chapter 2: The mundane life of two ordinary exchange students

Even when flying first class, the journey from Edom to New York is long and tiring. After layovers in Singapore and Amsterdam, they finally find themselves at John F. Kennedy International Airport. Magnus feels the excitement of being here buzzing under his skin like magic. 

Ragnor, however, doesn’t feel as energetic after having travelled for about thirty hours. Unlike Magnus, he appears to not be able to sleep on a plane. He drags himself and his suitcase after Magnus. 

Packing had turned out to be another fight between him, his father and Raphael. They had insisted on preparing a full set of royal baggage, but Magnus had insisted they wouldn’t need all of that in New York. Of course, he hadn’t exactly told his father about their plan to stay at Catarina’s one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Instead, he told them they would get a suite at the Waldorf Astoria, and they would love to go shopping for more clothes. 

His insistence that a suitcase and a backpack was therefore enough, was only accepted if he, in turn, took a staggering amount of “pocket cash” and a credit card with him. Knowing this was the closest he’d get to getting his way, Magnus accepted. He planned to spend as little of the money as he possibly could, fully committed to the idea of living the next 90 days as a normal guy for the first time in his life.

Plenty of pocket cash did make it easy to grab a taxi to Catarina’s place. After stacking their suitcases in the minivan, he gave the driver the note where she had scribbled the address on for them. It takes them about 45 minutes to get there and Magnus doesn’t know where to look. He’s never been allowed travel, not even to join his father on formal state visits. Asmodeus had always said that was a privilege he would have access to once he was married, and that hadn’t really worked out for him so far. 

Edom City was in no way comparable to New York. He immediately understood what songs meant by concrete jungle. It was December and snow was falling from the sky. Magnus had never seen snow in real life before. The average temperature in Edom was 30 degrees Celsius -86 degrees Fahrenheit, he looked that up before they left- year-round. 

With an excited grin on his face he turns to Ragnor, who looks tired and grumpy. 

“There’s snow. I forgot all about how much I hated the bloody stuff,” he mumbles.

Magnus punches him playfully. “Oh come now, look at it! It can’t be that bad. It’s so beautiful.” 

The rest of the trip he dreamily stares out of the window, thinking of all the mundane ways he could meet someone normal and fall in love.

---

As soon as Magnus steps out of the taxi he understands why Ragnor was so bothered by the mere sight of snow. He has never been this cold in his life and they are most definitely not prepared for it.

As Ragnor pays the cab driver, Magnus turns and looks at their new neighborhood. They have stopped at a small parking lot between two old looking buildings looming over them. There’s a lot of reddish bricks and a lot of doors, and it takes them longer than they are willing to admit to find the right doorbell.

“Hey, you must be Cat’s friends!” A tall man in a police uniform with dark skin and a neatly groomed beard says as he opens the door. Behind him a hallway appears, all brown tiles and aged wallpaper.

“And you must be Mr. Garroway!” Magnus says, holding out his hand. “I’m Magnus, and that’s Ragnor.” he points to where Ragnor is shivering next to their suitcases. 

“Please, come on in!” Luke motions. They drag their things up the stone steps and he closes the door behind them. 

Magnus clears his throat. “We are most grateful you’re allowing us to stay in Catarina’s apartment for three months,” he says, consciously trying to make a great first impression.

“No problem at all. Cat’s pretty much the perfect tenant and since she’s vouching for you guys, I’m sure we’ll get along fine. And before I forget, Mr. Garroway is my old man! Please call me Luke,” he says with an easy smile. 

Magnus grins back, he likes this guy already. They move themselves and their suitcases further into the hallway. There’s a white door, and a wooden staircase going up. 

“This door here, that’s me. Don’t hesitate to knock when you need anything.” He glances at his watch. “I really hate to be rude, but I have to get into work soon. So if you’ll follow me I’ll show you to the apartment.” Luke gestures to the staircase next to his front door. 

Luke points his hand in the direction of narrow stairs. “You’re gonna have to haul those up here.” He points to their luggage. “This place is kind of old. I don’t think the people that built this all those years ago thought things through properly. I mean, they had furniture back then too, right?”

They smile politely and Luke turns to go ahead of them, scaling the stairs and opening the door. Magnus is glad he and Ragnor have spent years having daily staff fighting practice because there’s no way he would’ve made it in one piece otherwise.

Magnus walks through the door and steps into the room that’s on his left. It’s an open space, a small living area with a couch and a tv, next to a 4-person dining table separating it from a small kitchen. Straight ahead there he sees two doors, presumably leading to the bedroom and bathroom. Everything seems about as big as his en suite palace bathroom and while he feels a little bad about it, he couldn’t be more excited. It’s as utterly normal as he had imagined.

Luke’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “So, Cat said she met you guys at school on the island? And you’re here to do research?”

“...Yes. Yes, we are ordinary students. Here to do research. At the university.” Magnus nods with a big grin on his face. He can hear Ragnor snorting behind him, and swings his arm backward in the hopes to swat his arm. 

“Mr. Garrowa-” Magnus starts, cut short by Luke’s raised eyebrows and unimpressed look.

“My apologies. Luke, we do not know cold winters where we are from, so I’m afraid we are a bit underdressed for the weather we found ourselves in. But we are poor students. Where can we buy winter clothes for our limited budget?”

Luke smiles at them. “Yeah, I remember those times when I was at the police academy. There are some stores at the mall. Two stops on the subway, you can’t miss it.”

Magnus rubs his hands together. “Perfect, we will look into that later.” 

Ragnor, who had walked himself over to the radiator in the kitchen, rolls his eyes at him.

“I really have to go now, or I’ll be late. But you know what? I bet you guys don’t have any plans for today after travelling for so long. I’m pretty sure I still have some old winter coats that you could use while you’re here. If you’d like? They’re nothing special, but it’ll save you some money on something you’re not gonna bring home with you anyway.” Luke looks at them for an answer.

Magnus feels a pang of guilt because he’s lying through his teeth and this man is offering him -a prince!- handouts out of the kindness of his heart. But this is what he wanted, right? To be treated like a normal student, and look like one?

He smiles. “Thank you, Luke, that is very kind of you. We would like to take you up on your offer.”

---

The next morning they step out in the coats that Luke brought over. Since Luke is taller and broader than both of them, they are noticeably on the bigger side.

Ragnor huffs. “We look ridiculous. Let’s go buy new ones.” 

“We will do no such thing! We cannot insult Luke like that. It was very generous of him to offer this and we will wear them,” Magnus says and twirls. “Plus, look at how normal these make us look! It’s amazing!”

Ragnor rolls his eyes -again- and shivers. “Well, I hate it. And I’m cold. Let’s find that subway station,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

They walk through the little park in between the buildings in the direction they were told to go. In the middle of the park are a couple of benches, where three elderly people are seated, holding small cardboard cups. A small Yorkshire terrier in a coat hops through the snow around the bench.

Magnus elbows Ragnor excitedly. “Look! Real Americans!” He whispers, as they walk towards the trio.

“Good morning, my neighbours!” Magnus beams.

“Hey! You must be the boys from Indonesia!” the man says and raises his coffee cup to them.

“How do you know it’s them? You can’t just assume these things. That’s rude,” one of the women interjects. She looks quite distinguished in her big, fluffy fake fur coat. Her hair is dyed a dark reddish brown, and she wears it in an impeccable updo. 

“We sure are though. And we are very happy to be here!” Magnus can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

“Well, we’re very happy to meet you two. You look like good kids,” the last lady nods. She is of Asian descent, but thankfully doesn’t look like she could be from Edom. She wears a much more practical green coat with a big red scarf. Her hair is grey with lighter streaks, tied together in a low ponytail, but the sparkle in her eyes makes her look younger.

“Where are my manners?” The man says, who is grey and balding, and has to put in some effort to stand up and greet them. “I’m Hodge, or so they say. These ladies here are my good friends Imogen and Jia,” he nods, as he clutches his cane.

Magnus moves to shake all of their hands and sternly looks at Ragnor, who begrudgingly takes one of his hands out of his pocket and greets the elderly trio as well.

“Just so you boys know,” Imogen starts, as she puts the little dog in her lap, “We’re the eyes and ears of the neighborhood. So if you need gossip, we’re your source,” she whispers loudly.

Magnus doesn’t really know why he would need gossip, but he wants to befriend his new neighbors either way. “That’s good to know. If you’ll excuse us, we must get going again. We’re trying to find the subway station.”

“Oh! You’re headed in the right direction. If you walk straight through the park, and…” Jia rattles off the same directions as Luke had given them, but they listen and thank her anyway.

The directions turn out to be accurate, and two stops later, they step out at a mall. Magnus has to drag Ragnor away from all the high-end boutiques, determined to find this store called Target, that Luke had recommended to them.

Ragnor walks through the aisles under harsh fluorescent lighting, between racks and tables of clothing. He stops and rubs the fabric of a sweater between his fingers and looks disappointed. Sighing, he looks at Magnus. “Tell me, why are we doing this again?”

“Because we’re ordinary exchange students, we cannot wear designer clothes or no one will believe us. Now pick some things and try them on,” Magnus says as he picks up a few basic t-shirts to wear under the button-downs and hoodies he tossed in his basket. 

They get themselves into fitting rooms next to each other as they shrug their own clothes off, and try the new ones on. They’re all hit or miss and nothing in between, but Magnus has never enjoyed anything more in his life. Most of his clothes are custom made traditional pieces. And as he grew older, his father organised for high-end designers to put on private shows at the palace. Magnus would be allowed to pick whatever he wanted, and they would tailor it for him right away. He has never tried on normal clothes before, in a store. And even if they don’t fit his body as well as his clothes in Edom, he’s happy with the result.

He slides the curtain open and steps out in a colorful button-down, dark wash slim fit jeans and a casual blazer. He spins in front of Ragnor, arm stretched out to the side.

Ragnor leans against the wall of his fitting room with his arms folded across his chest and gently smiles at Magnus. “Let’s go out tonight and celebrate your freedom,” he says, as he rubs his upper arms. “Maybe, if we drink enough, we could even forget about how cold we are.”

“Wonderful idea, my friend!” Magnus smirks as he turns to the mirror, quite pleased with himself. Maybe it won’t be that hard to find himself a date in America after all.

---

Walking into the first bar they find, Magnus straightens his new shirt, and looks around the place. He’s feeling good. Instead of his topknot, he had chosen to style his hair in a mohawk, taking full advantage of his father not being here to disapprove of it. 

In the middle of the bar is a small dance floor with flashing lights, with people awkwardly trying to move to the beat. Along the sides, groups of guys and girls with a lot of beer are making valiant efforts for their discussions to compete with the music. Ragnor leans in to Magnus. “Let’s go to the bar, I need a drink.” 

They walk down towards the far end of the bar, sit down on stools and order two whiskeys. It isn’t long until a girl comes up to Magnus and drapes herself over the bar in front of him. She’s stunning, she has long dark curls and is wearing an all leather ensemble.

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs. “Are you gonna buy me a drink?”

Magnus looks at Ragnor, who shrugs as a reply. Why not, he thinks. If this works out, the only thing he has to lose is Camille.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,” he smiles, and his smile falters a bit when she proceeds to run her finger over the price list and orders the most expensive cocktail on the menu. How, does she know he’s a prince? But maybe she just really likes this particular drink, he tells himself. Maybe it only looked like she was picking the most expensive drink on purpose?

“So how did you pretty boys get here?” she asks.

“Well, we just flew in yesterday. We’re students-” Magnus starts.

The woman in leather looks disappointed. “So, like, you didn’t drive here?”

Ragnor snorts, “No, you don’t exactly need a car in Brooklyn.” 

“Oh, well, too bad you really are cute. But I’m just not into men unless he drives a BMW,” she says and walks away with her cocktail. 

And just like that, Magnus is done. He throws back his whiskey in one go, tells Ragnor to pay the bartender and he’s out the door. Ragnor catches up with him outside and squeezes his shoulder.

They go to the next bar, and another one after that, and another one after that. Men, women, none of his admirers looked the same - but all of them wanted something similarly shallow. And Magnus is not looking for a quick hookup. Neither is Ragnor, who had mumbled something about missing Cat after his third drink. The ones that didn’t immediately express their interest in sex seemed completely crazy, and claimed things like the ability to talk to dead historical figures as long as they stared into a candle hard enough.

Right now they’re sitting in a booth at a cozy gay bar, and while he loves the interior and the general atmosphere, he’s not loving this new situation they find themselves in. Ragnor is slumped next to him, staring at his beer, while Magnus tries to listen to a handsome man with auburn hair and blue eyes who spotted him early on and immediately came up to introduce himself as Eddie. And then some. 

“...You know right now I’m just working on the videos, but really, I want to star in the videos, you know, become a singer, you know, pop, and some rock, just write my own songs, and produce my own songs. And then I’m gonna try and be an actor, because people keep telling me how talented I am, what a natural I am, and stuff like that. Like movies, of course, like Oscar-worthy dramas, because everyone says I have so much range, and my ability to make people cry with my performance like, all the time. So then, I’m gonna write my own stories, and direct my own stories, and produce the movies I’m doing...” 

Magnus is trying to pay attention, he swears, but he can’t get a single word in. The words wash over him like a waterfall and combined with the alcohol and the temperature of the room, he’s starting to feel a bit tired. Suddenly he’s back when Ragnor drops his head against his shoulder and he fears his friend is falling asleep, too.

It did seem to finally shut the auburn-haired man up, and Magnus decides to take advantage of that. “Eddie, I’m so sorry, it was nice meeting you but I’m gonna have to get my friend home now.” 

Before Eddie can get another word in, Magnus wraps his arm around Ragnor and maneuvers him right out of the place.

Outside, the fresh air rejuvenates them and they stroll towards Cat’s place.

“Is it my imagination or does everyone in New York have a severe emotional problem?” Magnus wonders out loud.

Ragnor huffs, “I worship the devil? No man has ever satisfied me, you’re cute, do you want to give it a try? I’m only into the group thing?” he summarizes the awful pick-up lines they heard over the course of the night. “If this is what normal people are like I’m not gonna last these next 88 days here!”

In the distance they see a small figure in a fluffy coat approaching, walking an excitable small dog on a leash. 

“Miss Imogen!” Magnus greets her politely.

She looks a bit startled at first, until she notices who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, the boys from Indonesia! I didn’t see you there, I was minding my steps because little Church always bounces around my feet! You have to be careful not to fall at my age, you see,” she says, feeding Church a treat once he sits down calmly.

“What are you boys up to tonight?” she asks.

“We were hoping to- ” Magnus doesn’t embarrass easily, but he isn’t sure how to talk about this to a little old grandma.”-where eh, where in New York would you go to, to find some nice people?

Miss Imogen does seem to catch on right away, though. “Well, you’ve got to go out and look, son! They won’t just fall on your lap!” her eyes gleam mischievously. 

“We’ve been to a lot of bars in Brooklyn tonight,” Ragnor sighs.

“Well that’s where you messed up, son, you can’t go to a bar to find a nice date!” she swats at Ragnor’s arm. 

“You’ve got to go to nice places, quiet places! Like, at a library, or a church. Or, you boys are students, right? Maybe your school hosts nice events. Speaking of events, this place where I’m going tonight - the Rainbow Rally. There’ll be some nice, good youth like yourselves there. It’s a fundraiser for those poor gay kids that get kicked out by their parents. Our local community center does a lot for all kinds of kids. Yes, yes, all good people there,” she nods.

Magnus looks at Ragnor with an excited expression. 

Ragnor shrugs, and sighs, “Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

---

The Rainbow Rally festivities had already started once they found their way to The Max Community Center. They step into the room that is unsurprisingly decorated with rainbow colored banners and balloons. The place is packed, but they spot two seats and quickly sit down on two empty plastic chairs. 

“My poor butt hurts already,” Ragnor hisses at him. Magnus decides to ignore him.

Up on stage, six girls who all looked in their twenties perform a dance routine to a 90s medley. They all wear black pants with a top in their own color. A girl with long dark hair in red, a girl with dark skin and curly hair in yellow, a pale redhead in green, an Asian girl in blue, a blond haired girl in purple and finally a brown haired girl in orange. They look like they have a lot of fun up there and have obviously put a lot of effort in.

As the medley comes to an end, the group takes their final pose and the audience gives them a standing ovation. Clearly, these girls are popular.

Ragnor claps, leans towards Magnus and mumbles, “Apparently these women are the best that Brooklyn has to offer. Pick one, and let’s go home.” 

Magnus snorts. “Patience, my friend. That’s not how this works. Besides, this evening is for a cause we should support. We’re staying.”

The audience sits back down again as the girls move out of their final pose, wave to the crowd, and hug each other. The girls wearing blue and purple have a little moment together, giving each other a quick kiss before putting their arms around each other, smiling brightly. 

A man wearing a blue suit and a ridiculous Mad Hatter-style top hat walks onto the stage holding a microphone. 

“Everyone, what a performance by our own dance troupe, Rainbow Power! They are some of the best volunteers we have: Isabelle, Maia, Helen, Aline, Rebecca and last but most definitely not least, my lovely daughter Clarissa!” 

The redhead’s embarrassed “Dad!” got picked up by the microphone enough to make the audience laugh. “Give it up one more time for our girls!” 

The audience claps and cheers enthusiastically as girls walk off the stage waving, leaving Mr. Mad Hatter standing there by himself. Not for long, as behind him a bespectacled young man fusses with microphones and other equipment, as a blond man tries to fix the wires.

The man in the top hat brings the mic back to his mouth. “I have a special treat for you today. She’s six years old and has the voice of an angel. No, scratch that, she is a literal angel. She can be a little bit shy, and she’s a bit nervous about performing tonight. So guys, gals and nonbinary pals, let us gently welcome little Madzie, and Simon Lewis who will accompany her on piano!”

The audience tones the volume of their clapping down considerably, as a little girl with braided pigtails, a little sparkly pink skirt and a little jean jacket walks up on stage. She’s holding the hand of the guy with glasses who set up the equipment, and he has to bend a little to accommodate her.

He sits down behind his electric piano, and little Madzie steps up onto a stool next to him. She stands in front of the mic and they hear her breathing a bit, before Simon asks her softly if she’s ready with a kind smile. She turns her head and nods.

Simon gently plays the intro to the song that Magnus doesn’t directly recognize until Madzie sings the first few lines, 

I believe the children are the future / teach them well and let them lead the way / show them all the beauty they possess inside. 

She starts off a bit insecure, but gets more confident with every line. Magnus is a big old softie and feels tears coming up. To his side he sees Ragnor looking touched as well. Everything about the performance is adorable.

For a six-year-old, Madzie’s closing notes are surprisingly clear and steady. Forgetting about being gentle, the audience gives another standing ovation. Madzie looks to the floor and shuffles her feet, but Simon takes her hand and together they walk to the middle of the stage and bow to the people. Madzie giggles.

The man in the top hat walks back on stage and whispers something in the ear of the young man. He laughs and pats him on the back and walks off the stage. 

“Put your hands together for our little Madzie here, who lives with her Nana here a block away. They sometimes struggle to make ends meet. But, she’s been coming to The Max for two years now and as you can hear, those free music lessons we’re able to provide -thanks to your generous donations- are paying off!”

The audience applauds, and Madzie is still holding the man’s hand and shyly looking down to her feet. 

“Hosting free classes and activities for our less privileged kids isn’t the only thing we do here at The Max. And that is what we are here for tonight. And as the founder and CEO of Morgenstern NetTech Innovators I am proud and honored to be the main sponsor of this event. However, this event would not have been a success without the main organizer of tonight’s festivities. Please come on up here, Mr. Alexander Lightwood!” 

The crowd immediately starts cheering like he has announced the most famous of celebrities, and Magnus is intrigued. He sees Madzie immediately letting go of Morgenstern’s hand and bolts across the stage to launch herself at a tall male figure, who picks her up and puts her on his hip, holding on to her with one arm.

As the man walks towards the microphone, Magnus’ feels his surroundings slowing down like he’s in a movie. This guy walks like a model, with dark hair and stubble that looks intentional, wearing grey trousers and a light pink dress shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows. How are his forearms gorgeous? As a finishing touch, he wears a tie with cartoon clouds and rainbows. 

He shakes the host’s hand, smiles to the audience and subtly tries to wave to someone, before speaking. “Thank you Valentine, for that introduction, and for doing a great job at hosting this evening so far. And of course, thank you to my friend Madzie here for treating us to that beautiful song.”

The audience applauds again, and the guy shares a smile with the girl on his arm, as she wraps her little arms around his neck. Magnus can feel himself melting.

“Madzie’s song makes a great point. The children are our future, and it is up for us to provide them the best possible start. For some children, this isn’t a given. And for kids and teens who discover that they’re gay or trans, for example… They face even more difficulties. Sometimes they get kicked out of their own homes. As a gay man myself, I’m sad to say that I know what that is like.” 

The audience is very quiet, as he clears his throat to carry on.

“That is why we’ve organized this evening. I’m proud to announce that we, as The Max, are working together with the Trevor Project to provide a safe space for all LGTBQ youth. We’re planning to run special workshops where these youth, regardless of background and orientation, can meet up with each other and share experiences. Or talk to one of our trained volunteers. We want to provide other emergency resources as well, and education to family members.”

He pauses and looks around the room. “As you can see, our volunteers are passing through the aisles with donation baskets. So please, give all you can. Now… We’re happy to get the kind of money that jingles, but we’d rather get the kind that folds,” he adds, with a youthful grin.

The baskets are passing through the rows and the chatter of people fills the room. One of them makes its way into Magnus’, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off the man on stage, who’s still holding the little girl. They seem to have a conversation away from the microphone, while she plays with his rainbow tie.

Ragnor clears his throat and holds up a bunch of 50 dollar bills folded together, that he still had on him after the shopping trip. “You wanted to donate something, right? We only have bills of 50 so it’s gonna be pretty generous I reckon-” 

Magnus mindlessly grabs the entire stack and puts it in the basket and hands it off. He can feel Ragnor’s astonishment, but he doesn’t care - this man on stage is perfect and he wants him. In every possible way.

The chatter dies down as the volunteers carry the baskets onto the stage.

Mr. Perfect moves towards the microphone again. “Thank you so much. Without you -our audience- this evening would not have been a success. And we still have some amazing performances for you, so I’m going to hand this microphone back to Valentine!”  

Under loud applause he smiles, bows gently, and walks off the stage. The volunteers carrying the baskets follow him. 

Magnus whimpers and elbows Ragnor repeatedly in his side. 

“Ouch, knock it off! What the hell was that for?” he whispers angrily while rubbing his hand over his ribcage.

“I think I’m in love,” Magnus whispers back, his eyes following this Alexander Lightwood.

Ragnor rolls his eyes. While Magnus is mentally planning his coronation alongside this beautiful man who’s apparently great with children because of course he’s perfect like that, he wonders if after this trip Ragnor’s eyes will be stuck spinning around in his sockets.

“-not able to donate money, maybe you can donate some of your time. At The Max we’re always looking for new volunteers! You’ll be able to make a real difference in the lives of our children. At the exit our staff will answer all of your questions and they’re ready to sign you right up!” Valentine gestures towards the exit, before announcing the next act.

Magnus stops listening after the call for new volunteers. He slowly turns his head towards Ragnor with the biggest grin on his face. “My friend, I just got the best idea!”

“No. Oh no. Definitely not!”

Chapter 3: Bane, Magnus Bane

“I hate you.” 

“Don’t be silly Ragnor, you love me.” Magnus says, as he looks into an old mirror on the wall. They’ve been given a stack of polos with the community center’s logo on it, with the apology that most common sizes are sadly out. 

Magnus snagged what was apparently the only small adult sized shirt out of the pile, because when he turns he sees Ragnor in a shirt several sizes too big. It hangs on Ragnor’s lean frame, the overall droopy look not helped by his expression. He looks annoyed, frustrated, overall done and everything in between.

“Come on now, just… French tuck it into your jeans. It’ll help.” Magnus suggests. He looks back at the mirror. His own shirt is probably a bit too snug, but if anything, it makes it cling to all the right places. He’s here on a mission, after all.

“Why can’t I wear the smaller size? Your shoulders are broader than mine.” 

“Because I’m the prince, and technically, you’re my servant. Plus, I’m here to woo a certain someone.” 

Ragnor shrugs his zip-up hoodie over his shirt and walks up to Magnus. He puts his hands on his shoulders and sighs.

“Magnus, I’m going to be honest with you. I love you and you’re my best friend, but this is by far the worst idea you have ever had.” he says, while looking straight at him.

Magnus wants to look away, but Ragnor demands eye contact.

“What do you think will happen? That within 87 days, the pretty boy will fall in love with you, and he won’t be upset when he finds out you’ve neglected to tell him that he’s expected to rule a country? And aside from that, you don’t actually know the guy! Sure, he made an impression up on that stage and honestly, it’s quite unfair how handsome he is, but you don’t know him. Hell, he might as well be in a relationship already.” 

Magnus knows he’s right and it stings. The fear of having to go back to Edom and marry Camille feels like a heavy weight that’s crushing his chest. He looks at Ragnor and fights the urge to cry.

He tries to find his voice, and what he says comes out sounding a lot more vulnerable than he intended. “Please… I-I can’t just-I got this feeling when I saw him. Like… You just know,  you know? I have to try, Ragnor. I have to.” 

He’s thankful Ragnor knows him so well. 

“OK. I really don’t agree with this, but I get it. Let’s see what we can do.” 

---

They step out of the staff room they were allowed to change in, and one of the girls who performed as part of the dance group is waiting for them. 

“Sorry again guys, the new shirts should be coming in soon and we’ll get you better fitting ones.” she apologizes, as she takes the shirts back from Ragnor and puts them back on a shelf.

“So, like I said, I’m Maia. I’m one of the volunteer team managers. I’m here a couple of days a week when school allows it, so, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other!” she claps her hands together and flashes them a friendly smile. “When I’m not here, there’s Clary, and Aline helps out when she has time. They’ll stop before the end of your shift so you’ll get to meet them today. Just so you know who to go to when you have questions.”

Magnus likes this energetic woman, she looks strong and mature despite her youthful face.

“What are you majoring in?” Magnus asks as she leads them to where they’ll be working.

“Marine biology, at Columbia.” she looks proud, and rightfully so. Magnus is impressed, and whistles between his teeth.

“I know,” she laughs, “I worked so hard to get in. I didn’t have a great home situation, I barely graduated high school and I didn’t even apply to any colleges. But then I found this center, I made some great friends and they got me to a better place. I started out taking classes at a local community college and ended up transferring to Columbia.”

She stops in front of cleaning supplies, and grabs hold of the wooden handle of the mop, and rolls the bucket forward. 

“You know, people think that we’re exaggerating when we tell our volunteers you're changing lives by helping us out. But it’s true, and I am proof of that. So thank you guys, and welcome to the family,” she smiles, and looks at Magnus as she rolls the cleaning supplies towards him. 

“So to start, we like to mop the floor every morning. You know how to mop, right?” she asks, looking at Magnus. He has never even touched a mop before in his life, but how hard could it be, really? So he nods, and she takes Ragnor to another room, who shoots Magnus one last look of disdain.

Mopping the floor turns out to be more work than he thought, but, after getting some help from a blond guy who introduced himself as Andrew Underhill in the small café attached to the center, he finds a good rhythm.

To make the chore more fun, he hums his favorite songs and adds some subtle dance moves. He hasn’t seen anyone other than Maia and Andrew, and they’re busy. Plus, the entrance of the building is just spacious enough, it’s honestly begging to be danced in.

Caught up in his smooth moves, he apparently stopped paying any attention to his surroundings because he dances right into someone, who then grabs his arms to steady him. Magnus spins around to apologize when his breath catches.

It’s him, and dammit, he is even more stunning up close. His eyes are intense and a shade of hazel he has never seen before. He’s tall, and broad-shouldered, and still looks amazing in a suit. His hair is a dark shade of brown and fluffy, like he’s been running his hands through it. Magnus knows he has never felt this kind of instant attraction to someone before.

And, if he’s not mistaken, he sees appreciation in Alexander Lightwood’s eyes, as he catches him running them over his body. Silently he thanks the heavens for this ridiculously tight shirt, because it looks like it’s working. He smirks at Alexander, who flushes a bit pink as he finds himself caught.

Magnus pulls himself together quickly. “I’m so sorry for bumping into you, but above all, good morning. I believe we haven’t been formally introduced?” he says as smooth as he can manage in front of this beautiful man, and holds out his hand.

“I’m Alexander. Lightwood. Well, Alec, really,” he says with a genuine, lopsided smile. “I own the center, together with my mother. I haven’t seen you around before, are you one of our new volunteers?” 

“Yes! Your speech during the Rainbow Rally was more than inspiring, I just had to sign myself up!” Magnus flashes him a broad smile. They seem to realize at the same that they’re still holding hands, and they awkwardly let go at once.

“That’s eh, that’s great to hear, we do amazing work here and your time is appreciated,” Alec smiles adorably shy. “I didn’t catch your name though?”

“Oh, my name is Magnus,” he says, cocking his head.

“Just Magnus?”

“Yes?” 

“You don’t have a last name?”

Well, shit. He actually doesn't have one. He certainly can’t tell Alexander that it’s not just Magnus, but His Royal Highness Asmodeus Magnus III, Prince of Edom - but no one had asked him for a normal last name, until now. His mind goes blank and he fears his charming expression has now turned into ‘deer caught in headlights’, as his eyes shoot across the room. They land on a couple of framed Batman comics hanging on the wall.

“...Bane?” he blurts out, immediately regretting his choice. Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up, probably because he’s making it sound like he’s asking him a question.

 “Yes, Bane. Magnus Bane.” he nods, because there’s no way he can take it back now without making the situation worse. 

Alec doesn’t look convinced, as he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure, I know what my own last name is,” he says jokingly. His heart beats fast and he feels his cheeks heating up, this time it’s not because of his brand new crush standing in front of him, but because he fears he has no choice but to double down. “I know it sounds weird in English, but it’s actually quite common where I’m from.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of your name, I-” Alec immediately rushes out with a concerned expression. 

“It’s quite alright, darling,” he says. He hates to admit it, but Ragnor was right: he already feels awful lying to this man’s face, and this was only the first time. But he himself decided to make this very normal bed, and he’s stubborn if nothing else, so now he’ll lie in it. 

Alec gives him a soft smile. “Well, I better get going, I have a meeting to prepare for.”

“Yes, of course. Hopefully we’ll get the chance to talk again. On a professional level,” Magnus says.

Alec rubs his hands together. “I- It was nice meeting you,” he says, still smiling, and turns to leave.

“Oh, Alexander!” Magnus calls out after he’s a few steps away. He turns back around again and looks at him questioningly.

“I have recently been placed in charge of garbage disposal, so… If you have anything that requires disposal, don’t be afraid to call on me. I’ll come take it out most urgently,” he says.

“That’s… Good to know.” Alec says, with an expression between confusion and laughter.

“When you think of garbage, think of Magnus!” he exclaims with the biggest grin he can muster.

Alexander nods, now visibly trying to hold back his laughter, and turns around again to walk towards the offices.

“...Oh, you fucking dumbass.” Magnus whispers to himself, and watches him walk away. He turns to the wall and thumps his head against it. The only thing going for him right now is that Ragnor wasn’t here to witness this exchange.

---

The rest of the week goes by quietly. He and Ragnor volunteer a shift every day, much to Ragnor’s annoyance. Most days he manages to greet Alec, but he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to really talk to him. Yet he is crushing harder and harder on this captivating man with every smile they exchange.

In the meanwhile, he has started to befriend the volunteer coordinators, Maia and Clary. They’re both still in college, which nearly made Magnus blow his cover as a fake student. He’s also getting along well with Andrew, who manages the café, even though he’s very flirty - even for Magnus’ taste.

It’s the weekend, and Magnus has taken up a volunteering shift by himself, letting Ragnor sleep back at the apartment. Although he’s sure he’s secretly planning to video chat with Cat while Magnus is out, which makes him happier than he thought it would. 

There’s a lot of kids running around this Saturday, as most classes are held during the weekend, and Magnus spots little Madzie from the rally. He had a coffee in the morning with Clary, who hosts several painting classes today. And also he met her boyfriend Jace, who introduced himself as being in charge of the boxing and judo programs. Jace also turned out to be Alexander’s brother, even though they look nothing alike. 

Magnus is helping Andrew out and having a pretty good time. He’s wiping down the counter as Alec walks in, and even in a plain black sweater he looks unfairly good. He’s trying to think of an excuse to go and talk to him, until he sees him sitting down at a table where a sharp -yet boring- dressed Desi looking man had been sitting for a while. The guy smiles, stands up to lean over the table to grab Alec’s chin and kisses him.

Magnus knows he doesn’t have any right to, but he feels like someone kicked him in the stomach. Of course this perfect man isn’t single, what was he thinking? He takes some deep breaths to gather himself and turns to Andrew.

“So… That’s Alexander’s... boyfriend?” he asks, and while he tries to go for casual he knows he’s probably failing. Spectacularly.

Andrew grimaces. “Yup. They’ve been together for a while now. He’s such a douchebag.” 

Magnus turns his head in shock. “Who, Alexander?!” 

“No, what the hell, of course not,” Andrew scoffs as he finishes polishing a tea glass. “He’s a literal angel. Too good for this world, especially with what he’s been through. We’ve been friends since college, he got me this job and everything after this thing that happened with my ex Lorenzo…” Andrew trails off for a bit.  “Doesn't matter. I meant Raj.”

Andrew throws the dishcloth over his shoulder and moves closer to him to mimic Magnus’ pose, leaning on the counter with his elbows. They try to look at the couple as subtle as they can.

“So… what’s the deal with Raj then?” Magnus asks quietly.

“Look. Some details are important to the story, but they’re just not my place to tell you. So this is gonna be vague on purpose.” Andrew looks down at his hands and plays with the watch on his wrist. “Alec met Raj when he was in a bad place. Really bad. He was so vulnerable and Raj… He just swooped in and didn’t take no for an answer, I guess? I don’t think Raj ever takes no for an answer. He always gets what he wants,” he scoffs. “And…”

Magnus looks at him questioningly. 

“And he’s why Alec went through a time where he hardly spent time with his friends anymore, me included.” The blond man has now taken his watch from his wrist and fidgets with the strap. 

“Raj, he gets jealous a lot. Like, I’m gay too, and therefore I’m obviously trying to get into Alec’s pants. Or so he said. Don’t get me wrong, Alec is definitely the most handsome man I have ever seen but like… He’s my friend. I don’t see him like that, at all. You know what I mean?” 

“I do. I’m bi, and I’ve had to deal with this kind of stuff too,” Magnus sighs. “Like because you’re not straight, you’re automatically attracted to anyone you talk to.”

“Right? That’s exactly what I mean. I’m sorry, man. No one deserves that kind of shit, especially not based on their sexuality.” He puts his hand on Magnus’ shoulder and gives him a kind smile.

“Anyway, Alec was so broken and I think at some point, he was glad that Raj was making decisions for him because he was so burned out. About two years ago, his brother and sister, his other two best friends and I, we held some kind of intervention. Told him things were not OK the way they were. And he listened. He got himself some therapy and now he’s smiling again. This past year has been really good for him.” 

“So, they must be pretty serious, if they’re still together,” Magnus says.

“I know Raj is. I mean, as serious as you can be about someone you really only want as a trophy husband. But Alec… I don’t know. Of course he cares for him, but I feel like he stays with him out of obligation. It’s hard to break up with someone after being together for a few years. But they don’t live together, like, Alec still lives with his siblings. Every conversation where Raj or Maryse brings up moving in together or getting married… He’s tense immediately, laughs everything off and changes the topic at lightspeed. So if you ask me, he’s not happy and this thing,” he gestures in their general direction, “Is not gonna last. But he won’t talk about it. At least, not to me.”

Magnus feels bad about how hopeful hearing all this gossip makes him, so he tries to ask something less loaded. “Maryse?”

“Maryse Trueblood, his mom, she’s the one he owns this place with. She’s on vacation now somewhere in the Caribbean but she’ll be back next week. Strong, passionate, and honest to God terrifying when she’s angry. But really sweet when you’re on her good side,” Andrew drags the dishcloth from his shoulder and slaps it against the counter. “So that’s that. If anyone brings it up, remember - act surprised, you know nothing.” 

“It’ll be like brand new information,” Magnus nods.

“Exactly. And Magnus?” 

“Yeah?”

“If you’re looking for a date, I’m single, you know,” Andrew winks and walks to the back.

Magnus laughs and shakes his head.

---

After his shift, Magnus bundles up again and walks home. It hasn’t snowed for the last two days, so the sidewalks are still mostly clear.

Everything Andrew had told him is dancing through his mind. He feels awful for being excited about his crush allegedly being unhappy in his current relationship, and picturing himself as the knight in shining armor who’s going to save him and live happily ever after as kings of Edom.

But what is he going to do, sabotage a relationship? Seduce Alexander and have him cheat on his boyfriend? No, he has been cheated on himself, he won’t make someone else go through that kind of pain. No matter how awful they allegedly are.

And who says Andrew is even right? He might as well be seeing what he wants to see because he wanted his friend back.

But if Alexander is unhappy… It can’t hurt to befriend him and be painfully charming, right? What does he have to lose? His worst-case scenario is having to go back to Edom and marry Camille. Plus, Magnus did always like a challenge… But how is he going to grab Alec’s attention?

“You’re thinking so loud, it’s making my head hurt, son.” 

Magnus jumps a little at the sudden interruption from his stream of thoughts, until he sees a familiar old man sitting on a bench by himself.

He smiles and bows his head a little. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hodge.”

“Come, sit. Tell old Hodge what’s wrong. No, wait,” he points his finger at Magnus and squints at him. “Let me guess, it’s girl trouble.”

Magnus sits down next to him and fumbles with his gloves. “...Kinda?”

Hodge nods. “Ah, I see. Boy trouble. Basically the same thing, right?” 

Magnus chortles. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.” 

“Tell me about it, and we’ll fix it, son.”

“So, I’m trying to gain the attention of a certain young man, but…” Magnus starts.

“And you’re sure he isn’t heterosexual?” Hodge interrupts.

“Oh yes, very sure,” Magnus says.

“Is this an American boy?” 

“I don’t know? I think so?” Magnus has no idea what that has to do with anything.

“You see, son, when you’re trying to attract the attention of a nice American boy or girl, you gotta get in well with their parents! This is a common misconception, it’s got nothing to do with you or what you look like. If you get in good with the folks, you get in good with your sweetheart.” Hodge finishes.

Magnus looks at him. He’s not convinced, and it must show on his face.

“I ain’t lying!” Hodge sounds a little insulted.

“Well, in that case, thank you for your wisdom.” Magnus stands up again and continues his walk home.

---

Hodge’s advice in the back of his head, he finds himself behind the café counter with Andrew next Wednesday. And while he likes Maia and Clary -or Helen and Aline, who he spent time with in between their dance classes last Sunday- he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about this with anyone else.

Not that he tells Andrew about his ulterior motives with Alexander, of course.

The central theme of this week had been the return of Maryse Trueblood. Andrew’s description had been pretty accurate. While mopping the floor, he had heard her talk on the phone with a delivery company who hadn’t held up their end of the deal. None of her rant was directed at him, but he felt put in his place all the same.

And save from an introduction and some greetings, he wasn’t actually able to “get in good” with Maryse at all. In fact, a compliment about her beautiful latest collection Burberry trench coat had only resulted in an expression of which he wasn’t even sure what it had meant to convey. But whatever it was, it wasn’t pleased. 

The return of Maryse did make him wonder about Alexander’s father. The fact that he was Lightwood and his mother Trueblood, he assumed his parents had gone through a divorce. To avoid awkward conversations, he figured he should subtly ask Andrew.

It’s a Wednesday morning, and they’re cleaning everything the elderly yoga class has left behind after their post-workout tea party.

“Hey Andrew?” 

“Yes, Magnus? Are you finally gonna ask me out?” he grins.

“No, not exactly,” Magnus rolls his eyes. “I was just wondering, is Maryse divorced?”

 Andrew’s flirty expression immediately drops to an uncomfortable one. “Why do you ask?” 

Magnus feels glad he didn’t ask Alexander or Maryse in person if this is Andrew’s reaction. He clears his throat. “Well, everyone talks about Alexander’s mother and brother and sister but I’ve never heard anyone talk about his father.” 

“There’s a reason for that, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing the details of that, either. But yeah, Maryse and his father Robert did get a divorce about ten years ago, and a few years after the divorce he died. It’s still a loaded topic for everyone so… It’s probably best if you don’t bring it up yourself. If one of them wants to tell you at some point, they will.” Andrew concludes and moves to put the coffee cups away.

“Hi guys!” Magnus’ day suddenly gets brighter when Alexander walks past and waves at them. Andrew just waves back.

“Hi!” he replies, a little too dreamily.

His mood dampens when he sees him walking outside where Raj is waiting in his car, smoking out of the window. It’s a very nice sports car. Raj flicks the cigarette on the sidewalk as Alec walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat. Magnus can’t help but sigh a little as he watches them drive off.

“So Raj drives a really nice car,” he states.

“Yeah, he likes to brag,” Andrew scoffs.

“He must work hard if he can afford a car like that.” 

Andrew barks out a laugh full of disdain. “What, prince Raj, work? You’ve got to be kidding me. He lives off his parents’ money. You went to the Rainbow Rally, right? You remember the guy hosting, with the goofy top hat?”

“I do,” Magnus says, biting on his bottom lip.

“That was Valentine Morgenstern, he’s Clary’s dad and one of the main sponsors of The Max. Anyway, he and his company developed that 4D-breaking-the-speed-barrier type internet, or whatever it’s called. Raj’s parents were wealthy before they invested in its development, but when that took off... “ he shakes his head. “They’re rich as royalty now. Raj technically works for them, but trust me, he hasn’t worked a single day in his life.” 

The first thought that pops into Magnus’ mind is thinking that him being a wealthy prince shouldn’t be much of a dealbreaker for Alexander if he’s ok with this - and immediately kicking himself for it.

“He’s a cheap bastard though, when it concerns others,” Andrew continues, always happy to rant about Raj. “The other night after the Rainbow Rally, when Alexander had sorted out the donations he found out someone put like a whole bundle of 50 dollar bills in. Raj took credit for it, and that was a big fat lie,” he scoffs. “He hates Alec working at The Max, he thinks he’s naive and wasting his talent on something as dumb as a community center. Our friends privately agree with me, that he'd never donate anything, let alone that much. So I’m not making this up because I hate the guy.” 

Magnus stills. He knows Andrew isn’t making it up, because it sounds exactly like the stack of money Ragnor handed him that night.

Andrew seemingly takes his silence as encouragement to keep on talking. “Like I said, Raj always gets what -or who- he wants. And he buys him the most extravagant shit. How are guys like us gonna ever compete with that, right?”

His tone is joking, but Magnus… He could. It wouldn’t even be a competition. Raj’s parents might be rich as proverbial royalty, but Magnus? He’s a literal royal. If he can’t follow Hodge’s advice and get in good with the folks, it wouldn’t hurt to try and buy him something extraordinary. Anonymously. 

Right?

---

Alec has stretched his legs out on their L-shaped couch, finally reading that book that everyone has been talking about. He’s been so busy with work, and Raj had demanded a lot of attention, so he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Izzy is dancing around the living room with exaggerated moves to the 90s medley she performed to during the fundraiser. He admires her. Often he wonders how someone can be both a technological genius and a social butterfly that knows how to move. He smiles fondly at her but shakes his head when she gestures at him to join her.

He’s not as shy as he used to be, but it takes effort for him to do the things that his job requires him to do - networking, finding new sponsors, public speaking. However he’s well aware of what he was like when he was younger, and has finally managed to be proud of himself and who he is becoming.

Flipping the page, he hears the doorbell as a background noise. 

“I’ll get it!” Izzy yells and turns the music down, but still dances her way to the front door.

“Special… -ightwood?” is all he manages to overhear.

“Sure, where do I sign?” Whatever it is, Izzy sounds excited.

He hears the door close and Izzy walks back into the living room with a small, but expensive-looking gift bag. She all but throws herself down on the couch next to him, reaches into the bag and takes out a luxuriously wrapped box.

Alec laughs, this is something that would only happen to Izzy. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, something for you,” she grins and she wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Alec says, surprised.

“Yeah, this guy was at the front door with like, security people. They said it was a special delivery for Mr. Alexander Lightwood,” she says.

Alec has no idea what this is about. Raj occasionally buys him expensive gaudy things. But he never gives them in private, because there’s no one to watch him flaunt his wealth - let alone having it delivered to his house when he won’t be there to brag about it.

While he feels a bit wary, his curiosity ends up winning.

“Well, do you mind if I open it, then?” he snatches the box from her hands and sticks out his tongue, like the mature older brother he is.

His hands feel too big for the delicate bows that hold the box together, but after some fumbling he manages to open the box. It reveals a beautiful classic Rolex watch with a moonphase mechanism. He is stunned.

Izzy whistles between her teeth. “Wow, this is the first thing Raj has bought you where he actually had your tastes in mind.”

Alec feels bad, but it’s another reason why he doubts it was Raj who sent the watch. He clears his throat and tries to find his voice. “Did it come with a card or anything?” 

Picking the bag off the floor, Izzy rummages through the wrapping paper and finds a card. Her eyes widen comically as she reads out loud: “From an Admirer - NOT RAJ.”

She jumps up and slaps Alec’s arm. “Somebody has been messing around!”

“I am not, you know me better than that! And I don’t even know anyone with this kind of money, other than Raj. Or the Morgensterns,” Alec says, insulted that his baby sister would think that of him.

Izzy puts her hands in her sides and says, “I don’t care how much a man admires you, but no one gets anyone a gift like that unless they think they have a chance to get with you.” 

Alec runs his fingers along the gold framing the face of the watch. Someone admires him. Enough to get him a watch that must have cost at least 20.000 dollars. And they did it anonymously. 

But that someone also knows he has a boyfriend. Because he made sure that Alec knows it wasn’t a gift from said boyfriend. Is this a test to see if he’s faithful? From Raj? Maybe it’s a crude joke, trying to trick him into thinking someone cares about him. 

“...Do you think it’s a real Rolex?” he asks Izzy with a small voice.

She seems to sense his inner turmoil and calms down to sit close to him. He lets her take the box, and looks at her while she inspects it.

“It has to be.” 

He takes the box back and takes the watch from it. Izzy leans against him and puts her head on his shoulder.

“Are you gonna tell me what goes on in your head, or am I going to tell you?” she asks.

Alec sighs. Izzy can read him like an open book, in all capital letters. Where some people say it’s best not to push people and let them come to you in their own time, Izzy bulldozes right over his defenses and speaks her mind. Because otherwise he’d never talk, she says.

And she’s probably right. Secretly he’s glad when she decides to put into words what she thinks he’s thinking, because that way he doesn’t have to himself. It makes it easier. 

So he says, “Go ahead.” 

“I think that you’re not happy with your life right now. I think you don’t love Raj in the sense that you want to marry him and raise a family. I think you stay with him because you feel like you owe him after what happened. Honestly, I think that you’re still thinking you don’t deserve to be loved at all.”

Alec swallows thickly, and doesn’t try to stop her from saying the things he’s been trying too hard to keep down inside.

“And I think that by receiving this watch that has clearly been bought with you -and only you- in mind, you once again realize Raj doesn’t love you for you, he only loves you as an accessory for him. And it’s suffocating you.”

Alec lets out a shaky breath.

“I think you might be right,” he whispers.

---

It’s been another week and New York has been spared more snowfall. This has significantly improved Ragnor’s mood, although Magnus suspects that his early morning video chat sessions with Catarina have something to do with that as well.

Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, and it amuses him to no end. Especially since Ragnor seems under the impression that he’s being very subtle about it.

What Ragnor hasn’t been subtle about however, is his disapproval of the anonymous Rolex delivery. In fact, he has been very vocal about what an awful idea he thinks it was.

Today they have been placed on sanitation duty and they’re cleaning the windows of the lobby on the inside. Outside, Alexander is walking up to the building, accompanied by two women he’s never seen before. He sees Magnus and waves at him with that shy smile that makes his knees go weak.

“Ragnor, there he is. And I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Good!” Ragnor tosses his cloth in a bucket. “Tell him you sent him that 25,000 dollar watch, then he can fall into your arms and we can leave this godforsaken place.”  

“No, I cannot do that,” Magnus says indignantly.

“Well, do something!” 

“Don’t worry, I do have a plan,” he says.

Ragnor throws his signature eye roll. “What are you gonna do, mop your way into his heart? 

The comment rubs Magnus the wrong way. “That, my friend, is not fair.” 

“What’s not fair is me doing manual labor.” Ragor grumbles and stares down at his hands. “I am badly in need of a manicure.”

Magnus barks out a laugh. “Oh listen to you, I am badly in need of a manicure,” he mocks. “People will think you’re the pampered prince, not me.” 

Ragnor turns to him and it looks like he’s debating on punching his arm, or come up with a spectacular rebuttal - but he does neither.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow. “Were you going to say something?”

Ragnor visibly gives up, picks up his cloth again and goes back to cleaning windows.

---

While putting back the window cleaning equipment in the supply closet, he spots Alexander and the two women at the café. He excuses himself to Maia for a bit as he shrugs off the zip-up hoodie to leave him in that snug fitting polo. Confidently he walks in the direction of the café, when he sees Andrew joining them.

It turns out he doesn’t even need to think of an excuse, because Andrew notices him and waves him over. He feels butterflies in his stomach when he comes close to the table and sees Alexander wearing his new watch. It looks amazing on his wrist, just like he imagined it would.

“Guys, this is my new friend Magnus!” Andrew introduces him to the table. “He’s from Indonesia and started volunteering here a few weeks ago.” 

“We’ve met,” Alexander smiles. “Please, take a seat.” 

Magnus grabs a chair from another table and sits at the head. 

The brown-haired girl next to him sticks out her hand, “Good to meet you Magnus, I’m Becky!” She has a contagious smile and bright dark eyes and has a very friendly, approachable energy to her.

She leans her shoulder into the blond woman next to her, who looks very calm and put together. “This is my wife,” she says.

The blond woman smiles and holds out her hand as well. “Lydia, nice to meet you,” she says. Her blue eyes are sharp, like they’re not about to miss anything that’s going on.

“So, Andrew says you’re from Indonesia, what brings you to New York? And The Max?” Lydia asks.

Magnus figured out a while ago it’s easier to just go with people mistakenly thinking he’s Indonesian. He feels like it makes it less likely for anyone to recognize him, even though the odds of someone recognizing the crown prince of a small Southeast Asian island nation are already pretty slim.

“I’m a student, my friend and I are here for our research. And at the Rainbow Rally, Alexander here inspired us so, that we figured we might as well take the opportunity to gain this valuable experience and do some good,” Magnus says. He can feel himself smiling dreamily at Alec, who returns a smile and looks a bit flustered at the praise.

Lydia cuts in with what feels like a rude awakening. “That’s nice, what university do you go to?”

“...The University of-of the United States,” Magnus blurts out.

Becky looks at him with a confused expression. “I’ve never heard of that.”

Magnus finds his most awkward smile again and shrugs. “It is a very small private university. We do not even have our own basketball team.” 

Andrew jumps in at that. “Oh, we have an extra ticket for the Knicks game this weekend, wanna come?” 

Magnus finds Alexander’s eyes who smiles at him again, with a soft nod and an expression that he feels says why not join us? 

“Yes,” Magnus breathes out.

“Great!” Becky claps her hands together excitedly. “It’s a triple date!” 

It’s a what now?! 

“It’ll be Becky and Lydia, me and Raj, and you can be Underhill’s date,” Alec says.

Andrew grins at him and lifts his eyebrows.

Oh, Magnus thinks. 

That took an unexpected turn.

Chapter 4: Learning to walk, run, climb and dance

Magnus has no idea what normal people wear to a sporting event. On top of that, basketball is pretty much a nonexistent sport in Edom. But he has seen movies, and from his limited research, people seem to wear shirts with team logos on it. Since he’s supposed to be a foreign student on a budget, he feels like he can’t go and buy one.

Instead, he dresses like he imagines a normal, casual date to be like. He picks a floral blue button down, and leaves a few unbuttoned at the top. He tucks his shirt into slim fit jeans and lets his feet slide into his boots. He didn’t bring any jewelry, so this’ll have to do. While he usually wears a topknot when volunteering, for this day out he feels like he could pull off a mohawk along with some sparkly black eyeliner.

Ragnor still thinks he’s dumb as fuck for voluntarily leaving the apartment in this weather, but Magnus doesn’t care. It might be a triple date, but it’s still a date. He can show off his good side and if nothing else, experience some more normal real life things, like going to a sports event with friends.

They had agreed to meet each other outside of Madison Square Garden. Magnus has no intention of making a bad impression by showing up late, but when he arrives he is surprised to find Becky and Lydia already standing there.  

It is nice getting to know two of Alec’s best friends, to learn about their hobbies and work. Becky talks about how she and Alec were only out to each other for the majority of their teenage years, being the only queer kids at their school. They end up talking about how Alexander had introduced Becky and Lydia during their college years, and how it had been love at first sight. And the time he went shopping for engagement rings with Lydia, and helped her set up the surprise proposal. Magnus didn’t think he could be even more taken by this man if he tried.

Soon after they are joined by Andrew, and the conversation shifts to excitement about the game, and how good their seats supposedly are. Becky and Andrew are throwing player names around like it’s a competition, and Lydia leans towards Magnus and confides in him that she has absolutely no interest whatsoever in basketball, but makes an effort because her wife loves it.

 Ten minutes later they are joined by Raj and Alec. Raj holds his hand stiffly around Alec’s waist, who in turn has his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He smiles when he sees his friends and that’s their cue to head into the venue.

Magnus calmly follows the group, who seem to know exactly where they need to go. He notices that five minutes ago the conversation involved everyone, and it is now dominated by Raj. Who is apparently responsible for these great tickets, because of his amazing connections. He catches Andrew’s eyes, who in turn makes a strangling motion with his hands. Magnus snorts.

They find their section and row and Magnus walks in after Lydia, Becky and Andrew. On his other side he finds Raj, and Alec and his long legs get the seat next to the staircase.

He realizes that he has never actually talked to Raj before. And now that he’s sitting next to him, he doesn’t know what to say. He realizes he’s probably biased anyway, now that Andrew found in him an outlet for all his Raj-related complaints. 

The game begins. Magnus sits back, and lets his eyes roam over the circus before him. The action on the court, real cheerleaders on the side, the enthusiastic fans in the stands. He rubs his hands over his upper legs.

“Wearing jeans must be a new experience for you.” Raj says.

Magnus doesn’t know how fast to turn his head to the man in disbelief.

Alec looks very uncomfortable and before Magnus can say anything, he looks at Magnus. “Are you able to follow the game?” he asks with an apologetic smile.

“Yes, I’m able to follow the game quite well,” Magnus gives Alec a polite nod back. He feels Andrew patting his knee in support.

“So what game do you play in the Philippines, Indonesia, wherever the hell you’re from? Chase the monkey?” Raj laughs at his own pathetic excuse for a joke, eyes not leaving the court.

Magnus sighs deep, forcing himself to not take the bait. “No, we mostly play football. I believe you call it soccer.”

“Soccer,” Raj scoffs. “Yeah, that’s a real funny sport, real manly. How y’all bounce that ball off your heads. I’m sorry, but that’s just not a real sport. I don’t watch any sport where men are afraid to use their hands.” 

At this point Magnus fears that regardless of what he says, Raj will mock it. He’s never had to encounter anything like this - he’s the sole heir to the throne of a wealthy island paradise. People usually bend over backwards to accommodate him.

He guesses it looks like Andrew might have been right about this guy after all. But right now, he’s had enough and figures he could use a nice long walk to the restrooms. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please…” 

Alec’s expression is hurt and looks like he’s about to say something, but Magnus purposely avoids his eyes as he gets up and shuffles out of the row. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Andrew calls after him.

“No, I’ll be able to find the restrooms by myself, don’t worry,” he smiles without meaning it and walks up the stairs out of the arena.

---

There’s an impressive line, even for the men’s room. But Magnus doesn’t mind. It gives him the opportunity to calm down a little, and above all, do some people watching. There’s elderly people in jerseys, parents with young children on their shoulders, adorable teenage couples walking hand in hand. 

He sees a concessions vendor walking past him with a tray of goods, their eyes met and he nods kindly at him as he walks past. A few seconds later he hears a man screaming.

“Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness! It is YOU!” the vendor exclaims. “I cannot believe it!” 

“Oh!” He falls to his knees and takes his Knicks cap from his head, and holds his hands out to him like he’s his savior. “Greetings, Your Highness!”, after which he starts bowing rapidly, his hands over his heart. 

Magnus panics and he feels his entire face flushing. 

This man knows who he is. 

The entire line to the men’s restroom has stopped and is staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, that must look odd even for New York standards. He leans towards the man and reaches his hands out to him. “Please sir, please stop bowing,” he urges with a fake smile. He looks around him, but thankfully doesn’t recognize anyone standing around.

The vendor grabs his hands and looks up at him and his eyes are full of wonder. “I am a loyal citizen of Edom!” he says loudly, seemingly unaware of the scene he’s making.

“Yes, but you’re going to spill your beverages,” Magnus keeps urging. “Please sir, please stand up.”

The vendor’s mouth falls open. “This is the greatest day of my life,” he says, and based on his expression, Magnus believes him. He feels bad to disappoint his loyal subject, but he can’t be found out. 

“Yes, it was very nice meeting you too. Please excuse me!” he puts up his widest smile and smoothly walks himself out of the line and back into the corridor, towards the entrance of where their row was located.

He sees Alexander and Andrew walking towards him, probably worried because he was taking so long. He takes a deep breath and gives them a small wave, letting them know he’s OK.

“Please! Please!” The pleads get louder and he hears someone running behind him. 

He turns around and is immediately face to face with the vendor from before. He has a co-worker with him now, who is holding a phone. “May I just have my picture taken with you?” he pleads. Magnus shrugs uncomfortably and the guy moves to stand next to him. 

The vendor, in his excitement, wraps his arm around Magnus, takes off his cap again and places it over his heart. They pose, Magnus forces a smile that’s too toothy, and his coworker snaps a few quick pictures. 

The guy turns to face him again and beams, “I will cherish this experience for the rest of my life.” 

Trying to make the situation seem more natural Magnus offers him a handshake, but instead he bows, and makes sure to connect his forehead to Magnus’ hand. 

“The rest of my life,” he seems to pledge, and repeats the motion. After him, the photographer walks up to him and mimics the forehead-to-hand bow. 

Giddy like a pair of starstruck teens the two walk away, leaving Magnus alone with Alexander and Andrew, who look gobsmacked. They look between themselves and back at Magnus with open mouths, so he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and smiles weakly at them gesturing to the entrance to the arena.

But they don’t move an inch. Alexander is the first one to find his voice. “...Who was that?” 

“Oh, just… A man I met in the restroom.” he nods with an awkward smile, and decides to just walk back to his seat, eventually followed by his friends.

---

Magnus doesn’t see Alexander around The Max for the next couple of days after the game. Somehow he’s glad, hoping he’ll have forgotten about the whole picture-with-a-random-stranger thing next time they see each other. When he does see him again it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and he’s sitting in the café at a table near the window. 

With Raj.

Magnus is mopping a corner of the café where some mothers and unruly toddlers had previously had lunch, with the remnants of said lunch smeared across the tables and floor. Ragnor laughed at him when Maia asked him to clean it, while he got to help her out with some paperwork.

He doesn’t mind though, because from where he’s cleaning he can overhear Raj and Alec.

“Babe, why don’t you quit this job?” Raj asks him.

“Because I love it here,” Alec says defensively. “Mom and I made this place into what it is today.”

“Yeah, but everything runs smoothly now, right? You’re my man, and my man doesn’t have to work. I’ll take care of you. I’ll get you everything you want.” 

Alexander’s shoulders are hunched and he’s making himself look a lot smaller than he is, while his hands are in front of him as Raj holds onto them.

“What can I get you?” Raj asks.

Magnus can hear a tired smile in Alec’s voice as he says, “Nothing, Raj, I’m fine.” 

Raj doesn’t seem to take no for an answer. “I’ll get you some… Coffee?” 

That gets a more genuine smile out of Alec. “Sure. Coffee is good,” he tells him.

“Be right back.” Raj says, as he gets up from the table. 

Magnus takes this opportunity to mop his way over to Alec, but pretends he doesn’t notice him.

“Hey, Magnus!” Alec says, and Magnus turns to see him smiling at him from where he’s leaning on the table. “Did you have a good time at the game?”

“Yes I did, thank you very much for inviting me,” Magnus smiles.

“Sit down, take a break for me,” Alec gestures to the chair Raj had been sitting in, and Magnus doesn’t have to think twice.

Alec stares at his hands, and lightly pinches the skin between his thumb and his index finder.

He swallows. “I- I wanted to apologize for Raj’s behavior at the game. I can’t believe the things he said to you, they were extremely offensive. Even for him. He can be quite obnoxious,” he says quietly, looking up at Magnus through his long lashes.

Magnus is captivated by his eyes. He’s never met anyone before whose eyes seemed to take the concept of mirror to the soul so literally. So he shrugs. “I’m sure he cannot help it.”

Alexander gives him a soft, lopsided smile. “You know, you’re a very unusual guy. I’ve never seen anyone mop the floor with so much pride as you put into it.” 

Magnus chuckles. “Well, you know what they say… He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

The expression in Alec’s eyes is wondrous, and Magnus wants nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss him. But he can’t, so instead he clarifies, “That was not mine, that was Nietzsche.” 

“See!” Alec says with unexpected passion, laying his hand over Magnus’, “That’s exactly what I mean. Most of our volunteers don’t go around mopping floors while quoting Nietzsche,” he laughs.

Magnus smiles back, but before he gets a chance to reply, he hears Maia scream.

He twists in his seat to look at what’s going on, and he sees a wild eyed young man with a knife in the middle of the café.

Ragnor has stepped in front of Maia, who is visibly shaking.

“How could you do this to me? You said you would love me forever!” he slurs, clearly under the influence of something. The café has gotten so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Still, he spins around, holding his knife out in front of him. “Everybody shut the fuck up!” 

“Jordan, please, don’t do this,” Maia sobs.

“Well, I have to now!” He stumbles towards her, swaying on his feet. “This is all your fault!”

Magnus feels like he has to do something. So he’s going to do what he has been training for all these years. He twists the wooden handle off the mop he was still holding on to, trying to meet Ragnor’s eyes. When they do, he quietly gestures towards the handle and Ragnor blinks fast, twice. Magnus knows he’s catching on.

“Excuse me for a moment, Alexander,” he whispers, but continues to look at Jordan’s back.

He gets up and holds the handle of the mop in front of him. Jordan hears his footsteps as he swings around, and stumbles a bit to the side, still swinging the knife around. He looks confused.

“Please, it would be wise of you to put the knife down,” Magnus says gently.

Jordan stumbles some more. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Stay out of this,” he shouts, making unsteady stabbing motions.

“Please refrain from using profanities in the presence of these people.” Magnus continues in a voice much calmer than he feels. “This is my last warning. Put the knife down or I will be forced to thrash you.”

“Fuck you!” is all Jordan manages to sputter out, before Magnus grabs his stick and with some swift hits he works him to the ground. Ragnor immediately rushes in to step on his wrist and takes the knife from him, while Magnus keeps him on the ground. 

A collective sigh of relief sounds through the seating area. Maia falls into Andrew’s arms and cries as he strokes her back.

---

Jordan, who turned out to be Maia’s ex-boyfriend turned stalker, is swiftly dealt with by the authorities. A replacement is called for Maia, who was immediately taken home by Alexander. He must have stayed with her, because Magnus doesn’t see him return to the center.

Surprisingly enough, Maryse ended up calling him and Ragnor to her office to personally thank them. She shared a bit about how after their break-up Jordan had stopped by The Max before, but never armed and under the influence. 

Maryse asks them if they are available upcoming Saturday evening, and if they would like to help her out with a private matter. Magnus immediately says yes for obvious reasons, which greatly upsets Ragnor.

And that’s how they find themselves standing outside in the cold in front of a nice place in the Upper East Side, as waiting staff for a small party Maryse was hosting. She asks Ragnor to stay by the door to welcome people in and take their coats, as she touches Magnus’ shoulder and asks him if he would like a tour of the place.

Desperate to impress, he follows her around and listens attentively. The best part of this tour are the pictures of young Alexander with what must be his three siblings. 

Maryse looks at Magnus. “You know, I grew up with a single mother and a few siblings in a house not much bigger than this floor. And look where I am today,” While she makes it sound like an accomplishment she is proud of, she looks sad. She runs her finger along the picture of a little boy, sitting on the floor, reading a comic book. “I just wish the circumstances would have been a little different.” 

“You have a beautiful home and family, ma’am,” Magnus smiles.

“Please, call me Maryse,” She breathes out and stands tall again, and smiles back at him. “And thank you. Maybe one day, with hard work, you can have a place like this of your own.”

Magnus thinks of Edom, of their palace, their family mansion up in the mountains, their private beach resort, their many properties around the world but says, “That would be something.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Maryse’s smile is kind and genuine. He figures she means well. “Come, I’ll show you the bar.” 

Maryse explains his duties for the evening, which seem to boil down to keeping everyone’s glasses full. Ragnor walks around with a tray full of champagne glasses while trying to sneak himself a glass when he thinks no one is watching. 

Magnus fidgets with his black bowtie that’s part of the outfit and is glad he went with the topknot rather than the mohawk. He looks around the room and sees people he recognizes from the Rainbow Rally. 

He sees Valentine dancing with a woman who looks exactly like an older version of Clary. Clary and Jace are talking to that guy with glasses who played piano for little Madzie, who in turn has his arm around a beautiful girl with dark hair in a ponytail and a red dress. He recognizes her from the pictures and deduces that she must be Alec’s sister. Mentally he takes a note that he should try and talk to her tonight, as he has never seen her around The Max.

Andrew doesn’t seem to have much interest in anything other than trying to distract Magnus, hanging on a barstool. And Magnus likes the guy, but after several glasses of champagne literally everything that rolls out of his mouth is flirty and suggestive.

Luke walks up to him, looking very sharp. He has had them over for dinner several times now and they get along great. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, I thought you had a night shift at the police station?” he says.

“No, not tonight. Can I have some champagne?” He leans on the other side of the bar and nods at Andrew. Magnus hands him a glass.

“So, you’re friends with the family?” Magnus asks.

Luke looks a bit flustered. “Eh, yeah. Yeah. Maryse and I are... Old friends.”

Magnus sees Maryse across the room sneaking glances at him and Luke and he snorts. 

“Sure you are. I think your old friend wants your attention,” he winks, as he hands Luke another glass of champagne. Magnus watches him walk over to her, hand her the glass, and they clink. They’re giving each other meaningful looks and soft smiles, and it’s the sweetest thing.

He gets rudely interrupted by Raj, who appears in front of him and nods a greeting and gestures something that Magnus interprets as I would like a glass of champagne, please. He hadn’t seen them come in. He lets his eyes dance across the room as he fills a glass and spots Alexander with his siblings and their partners.

He has his head thrown back in laughter while his brother is bent over clutching his stomach and Magnus feels the butterflies come to life again. He realizes he has never seen Alec look so young and carefree.

Raj audibly clears his throat, and says “As I was saying..” and Magnus has to force himself to pay attention. “I can appreciate how you handled that guy with the knife the other day. I would have helped you out myself except, well, I had a cup of coffee in my hands. You know?”

Of course he gets what Raj is saying and he wishes he could wipe that smug expression off his face. Instead, he forces a tight lipped smile and nods.

“I bet you learned all that by fighting lions and tigers in the jungle and shit,” Raj says, sipping champagne.

There are in fact no lions or tigers in Edom, but Magnus doesn’t want to put any effort into correcting him. He’ll just have to go with whatever this conversation is gonna throw at him. “Yes, where I’m from, we have to be quite aggressive sometimes.”

Raj puts his elbow on the bar and points at him. “I’m all for that,” he says. “Especially in a relationship. You know,” he turns his gaze to Alec, who is still talking animatedly to his siblings. “They may not admit it, but these quiet types, they all want their man to… Take charge. Tell ‘em what to do.” His expression is predatory as he throws back the rest of his champagne and walks away, taking a new drink with him. 

It makes Magnus feel very uncomfortable, but before he can do anything, Valentine and his wife Jocelyn walk up to him for a drink and start a conversation. They’re a nice couple who are impressed with his disarming of Jordan and ask all about how he’s liking New York so far.

Suddenly they’re joined by Maryse, who grabs on to Jocelyn and smiles brightly at Magnus. “Make sure everyone’s got their glass kept full, I have a very special announcement to make,” she says and speeds off again. 

Jocelyn shrugs at Magnus. “Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do!” she says as she holds out her empty flute for a refill.

Magnus spots Ragnor going around the room with a tray, and suddenly everyone is looking at Maryse. She stands up the few steps that lead into the dining area, so she can overlook the room. She has the biggest smile on her face, clutching a full glass of champagne. Everyone -even her children- look puzzled. 

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” she lets her voice carry through the room easily and the chatter dies down. “Raj, please join me,” she says. He walks the three steps and stands next to her. Someone has turned the music down and it’s impossible to make out what song is playing.

“My dear friends and family. It’s wonderful to see you all this evening and I hope you all feel welcome in my home. But I have just heard some news that makes me the happiest woman in the world. And I cannot wait to share this with you!” she continues. “As you all know, Raj and Alec have been going together for quite some time. So I’m pleased to announce that just a few moments ago, Raj has popped the big question-” 

A chorus of oh! buzzes through the room. Magnus eyes are focused on Alec, whose demeanor has changed completely from mere minutes ago. He looks tense. 

“-and Alec has happily accepted!” Maryse holds out her glass in his direction. “So, as it turns out, this has become an engagement party!” 

Clary and Alexander’s sister cover their mouths with their hands immediately and their eyes have gone comically wide, while his brother has paled like someone punched him in the gut. And Alec looks absolutely fuming.

“To our grooms!” Maryse and Raj hold up their glasses and most of the guests say it back to them. 

Valentine Morgenstern, who is apparently terrible at reading body language, steps up to Alexander and pats him on the back. “Congratulations, man! I am so happy that you guys are finally tying the knot.” 

“Enough.” 

Alec doesn’t even look at Valentine and with his long legs he charges up the small steps in one go. He grabs Raj by the upper arm and grits something through his teeth and drags him out of the room through the dining area. 

The exchange has flipped the mood of the guests and everyone looks very uncomfortable. Someone decided to combat the awkward situation by turning up the music again.

He has got to find Alec. Magnus slips away from the bar, to the hallway and stops outside the door that leads into the kitchen. He stands still before turning the corner and he hears Alec’s voice, and decides to listen before making his presence known.

“Next time you and my mother get together to plan my life, I wish you’d let me in on it!” Alec barks out.

“But baby-” 

“Don’t touch me! You know what? There will never be a next time.” 

“But it’s our engagement party!” Raj says sweetly.

“No, it isn’t. We’re done. Get the fuck out of my life.” 

He hears the back door slam shut, and soft footsteps walking back to the dining area. 

After a few seconds Magnus peeks around the corner, glides through the kitchen and into the garden. He sees Alec sitting on a swing set, his long legs stretched out in front of him, surrounded by snow.

As he realizes he’s still holding on to a bottle of champagne, he walks up to him and offers it.

“No thanks, I’m really not in the mood to celebrate,” Alec says with a small voice.

“Who says you can only drink champagne to celebrate? It’s still alcohol,” Magnus suggests carefully.

Alec snorts and takes the bottle from him, and Magnus considers walking back inside to give him some space. “Wait,” Alec says, “Sit down. Keep me company. If you’d like.” 

Magnus smiles and walks to the other swing. He’s used to sitting with immaculate posture, which is hard on this thing that’s not a chair. Alec laughs at him.

“If we’re gonna be friends, you need to loosen up a bit,” he says.

“Oh, I can be loose,” Magnus slumps against the swing in the most exaggerated way. It gets him one of those lopsided smiles from Alexander, although it looks sadder than his usual. Despite that he says, “Much better.” 

He just wants to hold this man in his arms and tell him everything is going to be OK. “Are you alright?” is what Magnus asks instead.

Alec immediately sits up straighter and goes from sad to angry again. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. But I’m not going to let myself get pressured into marriage by Raj, or my mother, or anybody.”

Magnus thinks of his father and Camille. “I understand completely. Where I’m from, arranged marriages are very common. But I don’t think anyone should get married out of obligation.”

“You’re right! And how would I even consider marrying a guy like Raj. There’s a reason we never moved in together, you know.” He runs his hands that look red from the cold through his hair. “He just made me so furious back there. Guess this was just the push I needed to end things. I never should have let it get this far.” 

Magnus doesn’t know what to say. He’d love to hear everything he has to say about the topic, but now is not the time. So they sit, in a comfortable silence.

After a minute Alec softly asks, “Do you think I overreacted?”

Magnus considers his answer. “I think that someone’s first reaction is usually the correct one.”

A pair of watery hazel eyes stare at him. “You know, you’re very easy to talk to,” Alec whispers between them. “I feel like I could tell you anything.”

Magnus leans towards Alec and they stare at each other. It’s so cold, but he doesn’t care. He wants to drown in the swirling sea of browns, greens and blues that are this beautiful man’s eyes.

They are both startled when the kitchen door opens and Andrew leans out. “Oh, there you are. Hey Magnus, we need some more champagne over here,” he purrs.

“I’ll be right there.” Magnus rubs his hands over his arms. “I almost forgot I wasn’t here to party,” he smiles down at Alec apologetically and walks to the door, leaving Alec behind.

“Magnus?” he says just loud enough to hear. Magnus turns around. 

“Thank you for listening to me. I appreciate it.” 

“Any time, Alexander. Any time.” 

Just as he turns around, Alec calls for his attention again. Magnus wonders what’s left to say.

“Be careful. I think Underhill likes you,” he says with a faint smirk. Magnus raises both eyebrows and shrugs.

It’s not Andrew I'm interested in, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. 

---

A few weeks later and he can’t get Ragnor out of bed anymore. His phone is in his hands as per usual, so he must have fallen asleep calling or texting Cat again. He probably didn’t get much sleep at all.

“Ragnor, get up! We’ll be late for our shift,” he calls out. “I’ve been doing so well with Alexander and the rest of The Max, you can’t ruin this for me.”

Ragnor sits up straight on his pull-out sofa bed. “I am sick of this. I am sick of living like a peasant and I am sick of having like a twelve hour time difference from home. I miss my life back home and I miss having my favorite things!” 

Magnus isn’t impressed. “Are you done now? You’re sick of this and miss home? Fine, go do something fun for yourself, find something that reminds you of Edom. But you are going to volunteer your shift today!”

With a constant stream of complaints, Ragnor makes his way out of bed, takes a shower, and grabs an apple. “I’m so glad we only have one month left to go in this dump.” 

It feels like a slap in Magnus' face. Ragnor immediately seems to realize he shouldn’t have said that.

“I thought you understood. Forget it,” Magnus mumbles and barges out of the house.

---

His hurt over Ragnor’s comment and panic over having just one month left in New York fade as soon as Alexander walks up to him and asks him if he’d like to have coffee.

“I’d love that,” he says, as his heart does a little jump.

So they pick up a cup at Andrew’s, who looks a tiny bit jealous. It’s February now, and it’s a lovely cold but sunny day. They sit outside on a bench sipping their drinks.

Alec often talks about his relationship with Raj and how it has affected him. His very public engagement/break-up had an aftermath that kept hurting him over and over. Maryse had been very upset and insisted on several mediating sessions trying to get them back together. That angered Alec’s fiercely protective siblings and had led to a lot of shouting matches after closing time.

It turns out that Andrew hadn’t embellished any of his stories about Raj. Alec had indeed felt trapped and unhappy for years, not allowed to make any of his own decisions and feeling like his opinions didn’t matter.

“I think I stayed with him because people expected me to. You’ve seen my mom’s attempts at mending the relationship,” he starts and sighs. “You know what, I am so sorry. You must be tired of hearing about all my problems with Raj.”

Magnus touches his hand lightly. “No, not at all. It’s important to talk about these things. It sounds like you haven’t been talking at all for years.”

“Still, I feel like I owe you something to make up for it. How would you feel about dinner?” he asks, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean… I can invite Becky and Lydia too. And- Underhill, if you’d like?”

Magnus’ heart is beating out of his chest. “...Or we could have dinner together,” he says.

Alexander doesn't look at him. “You wouldn’t mind, just the two of us?”

“No. In fact, I’d love that.” Magnus smiles. To lighten the mood, he adds, “We can’t have dinner at my house, though. It’s very small and my roommate is Ragnor.” 

Alec laughs. “We can’t have dinner at my house either. My brother and sister have never heard of this concept called privacy,” he says with emphasis on the last word. “It’s OK though,” He hesitates. “We can go to a restaurant. It’ll be my treat, don’t worry. I’d love to take you out.” 

Magnus grins. “So, is that what it is? A date?” 

“If- If you’d like?” Alec looks at him with insecure eyes.

“Yeah. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight.”

And so they sit together with matching smiles, until they get called back in to work.

---

“Oh my God, Ragnor, you are not going to believe it! I’m going on a date ton-” he’s dumbfounded as he looks through the living room. He finds Ragnor sitting in a pile of shopping bags.

“What the hell happened here?” he demands.

“You told me I should do something nice for myself. Because I’m homesick.” Ragnor looks at him from the pull-out sofa like a dog that has been caught while destroying a pillow in the middle of the living room.

“But what is all this?!” he points at the bags of what may be every single luxury brand sold in New York.

“I bought myself some nice things. And then I saw some things that I thought would look great on you. And Cat,” Ragnor admits. “Actually, a lot of this is for her.”

Magnus is astonished. “So is there any cash left at all?” 

Ragnor grimaces. “Yeah, there’s like, about 2000 dollars left? But it’s OK. I have a plan.”

Magnus eyes widen. That’s definitely not OK, but he has about a month left before he has to face the music. “I could strangle you right now. And just so we’re clear, I am not fine with any of this.” He frowns. “But there’s nothing we can do now. And I don’t want to. I have a date to get ready for and I don’t want anything to mess my chances with Alexander.”

“Oh, I bought you this amazing waistcoat, it’s in a black bag somewhere-” Ragnor pipes up.

“No! I’m supposed to be a poor man!” Magnus huffs and storms into the bedroom. He looks at his wardrobe and selects his favorite shirt and his tightest pair of jeans. He puts effort into his hair and make up. 

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. He can’t let Alexander see his living room in its current state. One last look in the mirror and he knows it’ll have to do. He grabs the remaining 2000 dollars and stuffs it in a paper bag The Max café uses to put pastries to-go in.

“Clean this mess up, put the bags in the bedroom or something,” he points at Ragnor. “And don’t wait up for me!” he yells at Ragnor before closing the door behind him and rushing down the narrow stairs.

He opens the front door. As soon as Alec sees him, he smiles wide and his eyes shine. 

“Let’s go,” he says.

And Magnus feels the butterflies in his stomach multiplying once more.

Chapter 5: First dates, shared plates and motorcades

Magnus had never met anyone who made him open up so effortlessly, and he knew Alexander might feel the same. They stroll through the city as Alec walks them to the place he had in mind. “We’re almost there,” he says. 

Magnus sees a homeless couple with a dog, huddled together on the side of the road. He takes the pastry bag with 2000 dollars out of his winter coat and gives it to the woman. She smiles faintly. 

“What did you give them?” Alec asks curiously.

Magnus flourishes his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, just some change we had lying around.” And leaves it at that.

They stop in front of the place Alec had in mind. He looks a bit uncomfortable and starts rambling. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but, I really like this place and they have just about everything and the atmosphere is great, and I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager, I hope you don’t mind-” 

Magnus looks at the sign saying Taki’s Diner and doesn’t get why Alec looks so conflicted.

“It’s- I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get out of this for as little money as possible, or that you’re not worth a nicer restaurant, or-”

Magnus holds his finger in front of Alec’s lips. He feels his warm breath stutter and tries to not let that distract him. “Alexander, it’s fine. If you love this place, I’ll love it too.”

That seems to calm his nerves, because he walks forward and holds the door open for him. Most tables are filled and 50s music sounds from the jukebox. To Magnus, it looks just like a scene from a movie he’d never thought he would get to experience in real life. They pick a booth in the corner for themselves, and Magnus lets Alec order for him. 

It turns out to be a bit of everything: fries, pizza, nachos. There’s bottomless sodas and Magnus knows he’s going to miss everything about this back in Edom.

Alec apologizes again for talking about Raj so often. He tells him it’s OK, but that Alec is obviously not. 

Alec plays with a french fry. “So, I’ve never told you -or anyone- the full story. And before you say I don’t have to… I know. But I want to. Just let me talk.” 

Magnus closes his mouth again, because he was about to assure him he didn’t have to. He grabs his diet cherry cola and swirls it around the massive cup. “Whatever you want to tell me, I will listen,” he smiles. Alec flushes.

“So, this is a difficult story for me to tell. And it still hurts like hell,” he clears his throat. 

“So, during my last year of high school I accidentally came out to my family over Christmas break. We always went to this fancy resort to ski and that year I met a guy my age. Before him I did know I was gay, I told Becky at 13 that I thought I liked guys. But since I never had a real crush before I still told myself that I maybe wasn’t. That I just hadn’t met the right girl yet.”

“But I met this guy from Colorado and I was blown away. He was out and proud and immediately took interest in me, and it was amazing. Izzy noticed right away that we were more than friends, and she lied to our parents for me when we wanted to sneak off to make out. It was great until a few days later when my dad walked in on us. And looking back, it was pretty innocent - all clothes were on and we never went any further than kissing. I was 17 and so inexperienced, having a guy interested in me like that was more than enough.”

“So my dad finds us. He kicks the guy out and I’m grounded for the rest of the trip so I could think about what I did and what I wanted to do with my life. My mom brought me food and sat with me sometimes. I wasn’t allowed to see my siblings.” Alec swallows thickly.

“Anyway, during the trip home you could cut the tension with a knife. And the proverbial bomb just exploded as soon as we came home and closed the front door. My baby brother Max was 6 at the time, Izzy and Jace were like 14 or 15. Basically it was everyone versus my dad. Max started crying and I took him to his room and we cried together. Poor kid had no idea what was going on, they had told him I got sick during our skiing trip.” he runs his hand over his face.

“Apparently my mom and Izzy had figured out I was gay years before and they were just waiting for me to feel comfortable enough to tell them. But my dad… He hadn’t realized and refused to accept it. He kicked me out after Max fell asleep. I disappeared for a few days and it was the worst thing I had ever gone through at the time. When I showed up at Becky’s after those few days on the streets, I found out my mom chose me and my parents were getting a divorce. And soon my dad moved to Los Angeles.”

He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. His other hand is on the table and not wanting to interrupt but still showing his support, Magnus squeezes it. Alec flashes him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but doesn’t pull back his hand.

“So my dad moves to LA. He gets visitation during the holidays. Not for me obviously, he made it clear he didn’t want me as his son anymore. Jace and Izzy were old enough to refuse to go see him. Max didn’t have a choice because he was still so young. I think he felt guilty about going to see him, like he was betraying us, even though we told him we understood.”

“Despite my parents’ divorce, my last half year of high school was actually pretty great. I decided to not give a fuck and be out. Becky and I have been friends since kindergarten and came out to each other at 13 and just stayed in the closet together. So my coming out gave her the courage to do so too. Her mom Elaine, she was so accepting of her, and me. We were the only out kids in our year, but we had each other. We went to prom together. It was amazing,” he smiles faintly.

“So, fast forward. My dad had spent years planning my career for me, and I had already gotten into Harvard on a scholarship. Since I didn’t know what I wanted, I went to business school anyway and graduated early with honors. I got myself a good job at an accountancy firm, owned by Raj's family. Raj was one of my seniors. I knew he liked me, but I wasn’t interested. Life was pretty good at the time. Jace and Izzy got into NYU, and Max was gonna turn 13 that summer. He told me he didn’t want to spend the entire summer with dad in LA, he wanted to hang out with us because he was big enough now and-” 

His voice breaks. He takes a few deep breaths and forces the tears back. Magnus keeps stroking his hand on the table in what he hopes are soothing circles.

“We told him that dad had already made plans for this summer, and that next year we would arrange for him to spend a part of the summer with us. He was OK with that. So he went. And two weeks before his 13th birthday… He and my dad got in a car crash and-” 

A lone tear runs across his cheek now and he has a tight grip on Magnus’ hand now. With his other hand he rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes out and looks back up, getting himself under control again.

“Sorry about that. They were both gone on impact. I don’t remember a lot from the weeks after that. I know I spent a lot of it in bed. I don’t remember the funeral. All I remember is that the day I tried to go back to work I was so fed up with everything, I quit on the spot. After that, Raj started pursuing me, I guess. And I don’t even remember saying yes to him? It just kind of happened. It’s pathetic, I know,” he chuckles.

His laugh is laced with self-deprecation and he avoids looking Magnus in the eye. 

“I have felt this... guilt for years. If I wouldn’t have been gay, my parents wouldn’t have gotten a divorce and my brother would still be alive,” his voice sounds raspy.

“Hey, you know that’s not true,” Magnus says softly. “You went through something traumatic. That changes people. It’s OK.” He caresses Alec’s knuckles. “Besides, you’ve been doing really well in taking back charge of your own life again.” 

“I guess I have been.” Alec gives him a watery smile. 

There’s a soothing silence for a bit where they stare at their joined hands.

“You know, it feels better than I thought, telling someone. Telling you. It feels… Freeing.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” Trying to lighten the mood a bit, Magnus raises his glass. “To freedom.” 

He looks up to Magnus through his long lashes and smiles. Magnus’ heart sings. Before either of them can say anything, they’re startled by loud knocking on the window. It’s the homeless couple from before, and they’re waving and yelling thank yous, before walking off again.

Apparently the interruption was exactly what Alexander needed. He laughs with an astonished expression. “You have the most amazing effect on people!” 

Magnus shrugs, uncharacteristically shy. “No, I really don’t,” he says.

“You do! I mean, look at what just happened. And that guy at the basketball game? People love you.” Alexander stares at him, with those intense hazel eyes of his. Magnus feels his layers of armor being stripped away.

“I bet where you’re from, people just... Throw themselves at your feet,” he says, not breaking eye contact.

Magnus feels his heart beating in his throat and knows he shouldn’t answer, but his curiosity wins out. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you have this inner glow. Like you’re above everything mundane. It’s almost…” he pauses to think. “Regal?” 

Magnus barks out an awkward laugh and doesn’t respond. If Alec only knew.

“So what did you do back in Edom?” Alec asks.

“Asides from research,” Magnus thinks for a bit and settles with something close to the truth. “I was in the family business.”

Alexander cocks his head a little. “And what’s what?” he asks, genuinely interested.

Magnus raises his eyebrows and takes a big gulp of his drink to buy himself some time. Well, apparently 'close enough to the truth' is going out the window again. He decides to go with the most common profession in Edom. “Eh, goat herding.”

Alexander chuckles and looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yes! Does this surprise you?” Magnus asks. He realizes he’s testing Alexander a little, to see if anything would change if his family business wasn’t exactly glamorous.

“I don’t mean to offend in any way but it’s just...” Alec pauses. “You seem so educated, so proper, so... Distinguished? I guess I didn’t expect that from someone who looks after goats all day.” 

Magnus can’t look directly at him while the white lies flow out of his mouth. “Well, the goats really do take care of themselves most of the time, which leaves a man with a lot of time to read.” 

Alexander seems to believe him, and in the back of his mind he feels Ragnor giving him a face that says I told you so. But the soft look Alec gives him makes him shake the feeling.

Should he tell this wonderful man that he’s been a prince all this time?

Taki’s has cleared out for the most part by now, and the lighting is softer. Someone has been going through Elvis’ greatest hits on the jukebox for the last 15 minutes. Before Magnus can blurt out his secrets, a server walks by and brings their bill in a leather booklet. 

Magnus moves his hand towards it, but before he can, Alexander moves his hand over it and slides it towards himself. “Please, let me. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I don’t want to take advantage of you, Alexander,” Magnus says, meaning it in more ways than Alec could know. 

“You’re not,” Alexander says, with a determined expression. “I knew you weren’t well off when I asked you out on a date. I don’t care about money. I care about you.”

And in that moment Magnus knows for sure that this beautiful, honest man is everything he was looking for. As if on cue Can’t Help Falling in Love With You starts playing. Magnus takes a deep breath as he slides out of the booth, stands up and extends his hand. “Care to dance?”

Alexander looks wildly unsure, but places his hand in his anyway. Magnus walks him over to the small, empty dance floor in front of the jukebox. 

Magnus turns to face him and runs his hands up his chest, to end up resting over his shoulders. Alec’s breath hitches, and he tentatively places his hands on Magnus’ hips. Together they softly sway to the music, cheeks resting against each other.

“I’ve never danced with another man before,” Alexander’s breathy whisper tickles his ear.

Magnus pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Alec’s eyes flick from his eyes to his lips, back to his eyes. “I think so.” 

Magnus feels himself drowning in those hazel eyes, and before he knows it, their lips touch. Once, twice. He rests their foreheads together and feels Alec’s arms moving around his waist to pull him closer, and he lets him all too willingly.

He closes his eyes and feels his heart explode and knees buckle as their lips meet again. Just as he thinks his brain is catching up to what’s happening, he feels Alec’s teeth passionately grazing his lower lip. And who is Magnus to deny him anything? As their kiss deepens he gets lost, and never wants to find his way back.

---

Magnus is ready to go, waiting around Alec’s office while he’s typing up one last email. He’s standing in front of a wall that holds, among his diplomas and children’s drawings, a lot of photos of people and places. Most of the pictures are older, and they make him smile. 

He recognizes a picture with his siblings he saw at Maryse’s house, where Max was still with them. Alec and Andrew at a concert. Young Alec with his siblings and Becky, Simon and Clary at a theme park. Alec with Madzie, who is holding up an ice cream cone that’s way too big for such a little girl. 17-year-old Alec and Becky with matching corsages at what must have been their senior prom.

One picture in particular makes him coo. Alec looks up, probably wondering what is going on, and smiles when he sees what Magnus is looking at. It’s a picture of him with Becky and Lydia on their wedding day. The brides are both wearing dresses and Magnus isn’t surprised to see that Alec looks stunning in a tux. They look like they can’t contain their smiles because of how happy they are.

“You mentioned you’ve been best friends with Becky since you were kids, but how did you meet Lydia?” Magnus asks. 

Alexander laughs and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. “Lydia is my best friend from college. We met during our first class and we just hit it off. She lived with her grandparents in Florida before Harvard, so I asked her if she wanted to spend some time in New York during summer. She did, and of course my mom had to throw a party for me surviving freshman year, and Becky and her family were invited…” he pauses with a smile on his face. “So I introduced them and I swear I literally saw sparks flying. Two years later Lydia proposed and the summer after that, they got married.”

“That’s beautiful,” Magnus says softly. 

“I know,” Alec flashes him one of his lopsided smiles. “I’m so happy for them. It’s the kind of fairy tale romance most people can only dream of,” he adds quietly, looking at Magnus.

They smile shyly at each other and look away. Magnus wonders if Alec feels what he feels as he stares at his shoes, feeling like a teenager.

The sound of high heels walking down the hall comes closer, and Maryse walks into Alec’s office holding a large bouquet. 

“Alec, can I talk to you for a bit?” she says. 

Her tone of voice makes it clear it wasn’t so much a question as it was a request for Magnus to leave the room. So he puts back the wedding picture, smiles at Alec and says, “I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. Nice to see you again, Maryse,” he smiles, despite not getting much of an acknowledgement. 

As he walks down the hallway, he hears Alec asking her what she wants. And he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t say he feels bad about it either, so waits at a distance where he can  just overhear their conversation.

“Just look at these!” he hears Maryse say. “And they smell great too. Raj must be spending a fortune on all of those flowers.” 

“And you are free to put them in your office along with the other ones, I still don’t care,” Alec says calmly.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To a museum,” Alec’s deep voice travels easily, even though his tone is softer now. “With Magnus.”

Maryse must be making a face, because next thing he hears him say is a mildly irritated “What?”

“You’ve said it yourself, Alec, he’s a goat herder!” 

“So what if he is? If I’m OK with that, you should be too. He’s a good, honest man, who obviously knows the value of hard work.” 

He hears Maryse’s heels click on the tiles. “Why don’t you just make up with Raj? He dresses real nice, and his family is doing well for themselves,” her tone, despite the message, is kind.

“Mom, not this again.” 

“I just don’t want you to struggle the way I had to, growing up,” she says, quiet and vulnerable. 

“I’ll be fine, mom. Don’t worry about me.” Magnus hears him give her a kiss, followed by footsteps.

Magnus drapes himself across the wall casually, fidgeting with the chipping polish on the nails of his left hand. 

“Hey,” Alec says softly as he stops in front of him. He puts his hand on his upper arm and kisses his cheek. Magnus' stomach swoops like he’s on a rollercoaster. “Let’s go.” 

Magnus follows him out of The Max. After Alec’s story, he noticed something he hadn’t thought about before. And since he’s not going to bring up that he overheard the conversation with his mom, he might as well ask. He fixes his scarf as the cold air hits him and says, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but the center, is it named after your brother?” 

“Yes, it is. Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but there are these Batman comics, framed up on the wall in the lobby?” Alec asks.

“As a matter of fact, I have noticed those before,” Magnus says. Every time he walks past them, he feels as if they’re judging him for telling people his last name is Bane.

“They were Max’s, he loved comic books in general. When he was a kid he had his own superhero identity - The Max,” Alec recounts, with a broad smile on his face. “We all went along with it, he was so cute. Anyway, after the divorce my mom needed a new project in her life, so she took over a community center. And after he passed away, she did rename it. I think it was Izzy’s idea.”

Magnus smiles. “Whoever it was, it was a great idea.”

They take the subway to the museum. As they walk the last bit, the back of his hand brushes Alec’s and he wants nothing more than to hold his hand. Instead he asks, “So what museum have you picked out for us?” 

Alexander’s cheeks turn a little pink and he looks at the trees they’re passing. “I picked this one place that currently has a large exhibit on island nations in the Asia-Pacific.”

Magnus cocks his head, because he feels like that’s not all he wanted to say.

“I mean, it’s where you’re from, and I want to learn more about it,” he says, wringing his hands together like he’s nervous.

Magnus melts a little, it makes him feel brave enough to grab his hand. Alec blushes and grins down at him like he’s been given something amazing.

The exhibit is impressive. They walk through Polynesia and Micronesia, and Magnus loves it. He’s never been to any of these islands, but he has met some of their presidents and monarchs during official state visits to Edom. He tells Alec stories as if he wasn’t part of the formalities, or as if he’s learned about them by reading.

They stroll past Indonesia when he feels Alec tugging on his hand. “Look, Edom! 

Magnus smiles and looks at the ceremonial garb up on mannequins. There’s also vases, and decorative plates, and several ornate staffs used for their traditional martial arts style he knows so well. It’s weird to see these things that are so normal to him put up in a display.

“Tell me everything, what’s it like?” he asks, and Magnus is charmed by the genuine interest in his voice.

“Oh, you would love it there. It’s the most beautiful place on earth. The people are so friendly,” he looks at Alec. “And you? They would treat you like a king,” he adds cheekily.

Alec scrunches his nose and gives him a soft chuckle. They walk another few steps, before Magnus sees three familiar faces on the wall staring back at him. He suddenly feels nauseous and he feels sweat breaking out of every pore. It’s an official portrait of the royal family of Edom. His father is standing in the lavishly decorated room that exists for the sole purpose of taking these kinds of pictures in. His mother is on his right arm, and Magnus is standing on his left.

He’s sure that this particular photo is almost ten years old, but he has barely changed. And even if he’s wearing an extravagant tunic and his hair looks different, it’s unmistakably him.

Magnus drags Alec around the corner and kisses him passionately. 

Alec breaks it off after a few seconds. “Magnus, people are gonna see us-”

“Let them see,” Magnus says and kisses him again. “What do you say we get out of here?”

Alec looks confused, “Now?”

“Yes,” Magnus stresses, “Now.” 

---

Alec seemed surprised by the sudden change of plans, but went with it anyway. They ended up at a small burger place he loved, and Magnus insisted on trying Alec’s favorite. He had to admit, it was pretty good. A few beers later and pleasantly buzzed Alec insisted on walking Magnus home.

“Well, here we are.” Alec says, looking at their intertwined hands.

Magnus considers his options for a bit. He doesn’t want to take things to the next level yet, but he also isn’t ready for this date to be over. “Do you want to come up?” he asks hesitantly.

Alec’s eyes widen, his expression hesitant.

“No, no!” Magnus says, “Not like that. Just a drink. Remember, I live with Ragnor.” 

“Yeah, OK.” Alec releases a relieved breath. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Magnus smiles at him and walks up to the front door and opens it, and walks ahead of Alec up the narrow staircase.

“I’ll have to apologize for the mess, it’s not a very big place. And Ragnor has been extra grumpy lately because he’s homesick and-” he stops, noticing a note stuck to his front door.

It’s from Ragnor. Saying his parents are here. And they have taken him to their royal suite at the Waldorf Astoria. 

Magnus pulls the note from the door, crumples it up and sticks it in his pocket. He swallows thickly. What is he gonna do?

“Magnus? What’s wrong?” Alec asks, standing right behind him.

“Nothing, it’s just…” he turns around to face him. “There has been an incident? With the- the plumbing? We’re- we’re not allowed to go inside.” 

“Oh, well, we can go to my place,” Alec says. “I don’t live far, if you don’t mind my siblings.”

“That’s perfect, I’d love to.” Magnus smiles faintly, his heart beating fast in panic. He gives Alec a peck on his lips, and they walk down. 

He needs to get Alec home, and without coming across as blunt, say good night. And then he needs to get to the Waldorf Astoria as soon as possible before his father causes damage beyond repair. A thousand thoughts run through his mind and he doesn’t know what to say, which seems to worry Alec.

“Are you OK Magnus? I can help you out with fixing the apartment if that's what has gotten you this quiet.”

“I’m fine, it’ll be fine,” he tries to assure him. “So, your siblings will be home? What’s it like living with them?” 

And Alec talks. Magnus forces himself to pay some attention, but he can’t. Why are his parents here? How did they find Cat’s apartment? He still has time, they can’t tear him away from his normal life yet. More panic washes over him and he blinks fast to stop the tears. He gets ripped from his thoughts when Alec speaks.

“We’re here,” he smiles. Magnus smiles back and walks through the door. Magnus lets Alec take his coat and they walk into the living room.

“Mom?!” Alec sounds very surprised.

“Alec!” she waltzes over to him and rubs his arms. “And Magnus! So good to see you, my boy,” she says, as she embraces him. 

Magnus is glad Alec doesn’t think he’s rude for thinking this is weird, because their eyes meet over her shoulder with the same bewildered expression. 

“What are you doing here, mom?” Alexander asks.

“What? Do I need an excuse to visit my wonderful son and his new beau?” she smiles broadly. “I have to make a quick phone call though. Now don’t you go anywhere. Make us a cup of tea, so we can catch up!” 

She steps out and closes the door behind her. Alec still looks confused but walks towards the kitchen anyway. Magnus follows him.

“What was that all about?” he asks. 

Alec fills the kettle up under the tap. “I have absolutely no idea.” 

“Especially since this afternoon she tried to talk you into making up with your ex instead of going out with-” Magnus jolts, realizing he shouldn’t have overheard that conversation. 

A pained rather than offended expression crosses Alec’s face. “You heard that?” he asks.

“I apologize, I know I shouldn’t have.” Magnus apologizes. He checks his watch, he really should get to Ragnor as soon as possible.

Alec puts the kettle on and leans against the kitchen counter. “No, it’s OK. My mother was out of line, she is the one that should apologize.”

They hear a door open and close in the living room, and Alec turns to walk back in, so Magnus follows him. It’s Maryse, who greets them with open arms again, gesturing them towards the L-shaped couch. 

“I’m so sorry, but I really have to get going, Maryse,” Magnus says.

Maryse dismisses his comment with a flourish. “Nonsense, you can stay for a cup of tea, right?”

So they sit next to each other, awkwardly, like two teens instead of the late twenty-somethings they are. Maryse sits with them, looking ecstatic. “How was the museum, boys?”

“It was very nice, mom,” Alec says, a bit awkward.

“And did you go out for dinner?” she continues.

“Yes, we went for a burger?” Magnus isn’t sure why Alec makes it sound like a question, but he’s certainly not comfortable answering anything right now.

“Alec! You should treat your man better!” Maryse says exasperatedly. “Why don’t you make reservations at the River Café?” 

“I-” Alec opens and closes his mouth like a confused fish. 

Something beeps in the kitchen and Maryse jumps up. “Don’t you go anywhere, I’ll be right back, with tea!” 

Alec lets out a breath and turns to Magnus. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he whispers loudly, eyes wide.

Magnus decides he has to take the opportunity. “Me neither, darling. But I must leave.” 

“Is something wrong? Is it because of my mother? Because I’m so sorry about that,” Alec asks.

“I promise I will tell you when the time is right, but right now, I have to go, I’m sorry. Please excuse my leaving to your mother.” He gives Alec a chaste kiss on the lips and lingers a little, running his fingers along his strong jawline, wondering if it’s the last time he’ll be able to do that.

With a weak smile he rushes out the door before Maryse comes back.

---

Magnus sprints towards the main road as soon as he’s on the street. While the weather had been nice during the day, a steady drizzle now comes down from the sky. He hails a cab to the Waldorf Astoria. As they drive up to the hotel he notices that the flag of Edom is flying alongside the American one and his heart rate picks up even more - his father really is here. He pays the driver and doesn’t wait for change.

He barges through the hotel and wonders how he hasn’t been stopped yet looking the way he does when he sees himself in the elevator mirror. Ill fitting clothes, sweaty and his hair is a mess because of the rain. If his father sees him like this he’ll never let him out of his sight again for the rest of his life, he thinks.

He knocks on the door and holds his breath. When it opens, he’s face to face with Ragnor. Ragnor looks relieved and wraps him in a hug. “Oh thank god you’re here. Don’t worry, your parents are out.” 

“How did this happen?” Magnus hisses. He walks into the suite and closes the door.

Ragnor looks at him sheepishly. “After I went on that shopping spree and spent all our cash, I may have sent a request for 1 million dollar…?” 

"You did what?!" Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose. “I could strangle you right now but that won’t get us any further.” He paces for a bit. 

“Magnus, no offense but you’re a mess, your father will strangle you if he sees you like this. Go fix yourself up before they get back. I’ll find you some appropriate attire.” Ragnor points towards the bathroom.

After a quick shower he jumps into a much more traditional combo of an embroidered purple tunic and slacks. He grabs his eyeliner and applies it in a subtle fashion. Ragnor helps him attach crown-like jewelry to his top knot. 

Magnus stops to think. “Wait, you said my parents were out. Where did they go?” he asks.

Ragnor pulls back his hands immediately. “They, eh…”

“What?” 

“Well, they, they-” Ragnor sputters.

“Spit it out!” Magnus bites, now worried about what he’ll say.

“They went to Alexander’s place, the one that he shares with his siblings,” Ragnor admits.

“What?! Why would they do that?” Magnus yells.

“Because Maryse called them, saying they could find you there.” Ragnor looks guilty, but Magnus is back in panic mode.

“We have to go!” he says, running out of the bathroom. “We have to go right now.” 

Ragnor knows better than to go against him, because he’s right on his heels and they grab their coats and they’re back on their way to Alexander’s place in Brooklyn.

---

It doesn’t take them as long as Magnus feared it would. They storm out of the taxi running towards the right apartment. In the distance he sees a man walking that reminds him of Alec but with slouched shoulders, but other than that guy, the streets are surprisingly empty.

They find their way up and on their way through the hallway, they’re greeted with the sounds of a fairly heated argument.

“Asmodeus! Apologize to Ms Trueblood!” an exasperated voice that sounds like his mother is audible through the door. Magnus stops while his hand is already on the doorknob, and looks at Ragnor with a question in his eyes. Ragnor looks equally unsure of what’s going on.

“I will do no such thing!” his father’s voice booms. “This woman is beneath me and so is her son.” 

“Well, I don’t give a damn who you are!” Maryse says loudly, in the harshest tone Magnus has ever heard her use, “But if you say one more word about my son I will personally kick your royal ass out of this apartment! There isn’t enough money in the world to buy my son off!”

“Nonsense” Asmodeus scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous statement he’s ever heard. Ragnor nods that this would be a good time to enter the room.

They step into the living room and are greeted with looks of surprise, their argument forgotten. Queen Raniya lets out a sigh of relief and rushes to Magnus at once.

She cups his face and looks at him. “Are you alright, my boy?” 

“Yes, mother, I’m fine,” he chokes out while she kisses his forehead, after which she smothers him in a hug. He has missed his mother more than he realized, and relaxes in her arms.

After she releases him, Magnus looks around the crowded living room. Isabelle is holding onto Maryse’s arms, as if she’s trying to physically restrain her mother from launching herself at his father. She’s looking at Magnus with an expression that’s both hurt and awed, while Maryse tries to look composed but seems ready to combust.

She’s facing his father, who looks every bit the untouchable King of Edom he is. Magnus can read the disdain on his face, he doesn’t like standing in this peasant’s house one bit. He is surrounded by servants who look very uncomfortable, and Raphael is half a step in front of him and looks ready to break up a fist fight.

Raniya still holds on to his hands, and he feels Ragnor’s hand on his shoulder as he realizes that one person in particular is missing.

“Where is Alexander?” he asks.

“Your daddy here just drove him off!” Maryse spits out, eyes shooting daggers at Asmodeus.

Magnus fears the answer to what he’s about to ask next. He takes his hands from his mother and walks over to face his father.

“What did you say to him?”

“That is none of your business. We shall return to Edom at once,” Asmodeus says coldly.

“I will not leave without Alexander. I need to talk to him,” Magnus says, stubborn, determined to not let his father win their staring contest. He will refuse to break this time.

After a moment, his mother softly breaks the silence. “So you do care for him?”

A smile creeps on to Magnus’ face, just thinking of the man that stole his heart without even trying. He breaks eye contact with his father to look at his mother. “Yes. Mama… I think I love him.” 

Queen Raniya walks up to him and places her hands on his shoulders. “Then go after him,” she says with a soft smile.

Magnus returns her smile, thankful for his mother’s blessing.

“Magnus! I forbid it!” Asmodeus barks, while gripping his son’s upper arm.

Raniya slaps his hand away. “Oh, shut it, Asmodeus, our boy is in love,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

Magnus doesn’t know where his mother’s sudden support comes from and has never heard her go against his father, but he has no time to think about that right now. He is grateful for the distraction she provided and sprints out of the house. He realizes that the slumped figure he saw walking away coming up to the house must have been Alexander, so he runs in that direction. He can’t be far.

He spots Alexander as he’s about to walk down the stairs leading into a subway station. He calls out his name, but if he hears him, he’s choosing to ignore him. 

So he runs after him down the stairs, into the station, through the gates and down another flight of stairs that lead to the platforms. He keeps calling his name, and Alec keeps walking.

Magnus spots him making a sharp turn to the right and slipping into a waiting subway train as he’s a few steps away from the platform. The doors are about to close but he’ll be damned if he loses Alexander like this. So he forces the train doors open and squeezes into the train. 

The doors close behind him and he’s met with annoyed glares from fellow passengers.

He spots Alexander walking down the train, so he goes after him, mumbling excuses to people he passes. 

When he sees Alexander still, because he can’t walk any further, he stops at a distance.

“Alexander, please,” he begs.

Finally Alec turns around to face him, straightens his shoulders to make himself look as tall as he can be and steps towards him. Magnus is afraid he might punch him in the face - and if he does, he wouldn’t blame him. He probably deserves it.

Alexander doesn’t punch him, but his beautiful eyes are on fire as he pushes something towards Magnus. “When exactly were you planning on telling me?” he sounds as upset as hurt.

Magnus scrambles to look at what he shoved at him and his heart is pounding. It’s a crumpled up 100 Edom rupiah bill and he doesn’t know what to say.

Alexander found out he’s a prince because his face is on a banknote.

“I never meant to hurt you,” is the weak excuse he manages to articulate.

“Well, at least I solved the mystery of who sent me that Rolex!” Alec snaps. “You know, I never wanted any of that.” His fists are trembling by his side. “And I don’t want you.”

Magnus feels the eyes of their fellow passengers burning on his back. He wishes there was a better place to discuss this, but he’s going to have to roll with the punches. He needs to make Alexander understand why he did what he did.

“Alexander,” he begs. 

Alec raises his voice, “Look, just leave me alone!”

Magnus refuses to give up. “Alexander, please!” he swallows thickly. “I love you.” 

“Then what about the woman you’re going to marry?” he bites.

Fuck. Magnus lets out a pained laugh. “She’s someone my father arranged for me to marry, I don’t love her! Why do you think I came to America?”

“Your father told me,” Alec says darkly, “To sow your royal oats. To have some casual fun while you still can.”

“Oh no, Alexander,” Magnus says, “I came to America to lead a normal life for the first time. And then I found you. I- I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“So why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me you were a -” Alec seems to have trouble forcing out the word. “A prince.” 

“Because I wanted you to love me for who I am,” Magnus feels tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m still the same person I’ve been all this time,” Magnus says desperately, “Should it matter that I’m a prince?”

A look of guilt flashes across Alec’s face as he looks down to his shoes. “It shouldn’t, but I -”

“Then tell me you didn’t care for me when you thought I was a goat herder,” Magnus interrupts, “And I promise I’ll never bother you again.” 

Alexander sighs deep as he rolls his eyes, but stays silent. Magnus is afraid to speak.

“It just wouldn’t work out,” he starts after a moment, “We’re too different. I am a burned out accountant who works at a Brooklyn community center and you’re royalty, for God’s sake!”

Magnus doesn’t want to hear any of those kinds of arguments. “Do you want me to renounce my throne? Because I will. If you’ll give me another chance, I swear to the Gods, I will.” 

Alec stands with his arms crossed, looking torn.

Magnus feels like he has nothing left to lose, so he spreads out his arms, and starts loudly, “From this moment on, I will no longer be the pri-” before Alec interrupts him.

“Magnus, no. I can’t let you do that. That’s not fair to you or your country.” 

“I do not care about my crown, I care about you,” he takes a step towards Alec and goes for broke. He knows they’ve only just met, but he wants to be with this man, forever. 

“Marry me, Alexander?” 

Alexander’s eyes widen and he gasps softly. He doesn’t answer.

“Go on pretty boy, take a chance!” a random passenger yells, followed by cheers of encouragement from others. 

Magnus feels sick.

The train rolls into the next station.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Alexander says hoarsely. “Goodbye, Magnus.” 

He barges out of the wagon and leaves Magnus behind. He wants to go after him again, but he can’t. His legs won’t move and he can’t breathe.

And Alexander disappears from his view as the doors close and the train comes into motion again.

---

His mother won’t speak to his father anymore, after the latter was unwilling to compromise on anything. Now they’re leaving. Magnus and Ragnor share one of the cars of the motorcade that takes the royal family back to the airport. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” Ragnor says softly.

Magnus can only choke out another silent sob in response.

Chapter 6: The End

The royal temple is decorated with the traditional wedding colors of Edom. Blue drapes and banners and fresh flowers brighten up the place, and Magnus feels miserable. He’s wearing a blue batik shirt with a high collar and heavy gold embrodings. His pants are solid navy and his feet are bare - this is a temple, after all.

His topknot is pulled together so tight that it hurts his scalp, but it has to, because his hair can’t look out of place in any of his wedding photos.

He feels empty. Crushed. He thought he felt empty during the courtship ritual, but that was nothing. The same important people are probably seated in the temple. It must look like a joyous occasion for them.

Asmodeus and Raniya are seated in thrones on the side of the dais. His parents started speaking to each other again two days after they came back from New York. Now they are holding hands on their shared armrest while they look pleased and proud of him.

It only makes him feel more heartbroken.

The sound of soft gamelan music that slowly swells indicates that the wedding ceremony is about to begin. He looks at the priestess, who gestures that he should turn around now.

And so he does. He faces the crowd and sees the bridal dancers with their big feathery fans covering Camille. The first two dancers hold sticks, and they sternly tap the end on the floor to signal the others. They take calm, confident steps to the rhythm of the music as they begin to move their fans. 

The first two move away, to dance ahead of the bridal party. 

Magnus closes his eyes.

When he opens them, two more dancers have moved away from the bride. 

He breathes. He can do this.

The party stops in front of the dais Magnus stands on. 

Who is he kidding, he can’t do this! He wishes he could run away. He doesn’t, because he knows he won’t get far and will only make a fool out of himself and bring international shame to his family.

The dancers shake their fans, so that the bells attached to them chime, a sign that they have reached the end of the aisle. A gong sounds, and one by one the dancers remove their fan to reveal his bride.

Magnus can’t deal with the idea of being eye to eye with Camille, seeing her smug expression, knowing she got her way. But he knows he can’t look away. He squares his shoulders and prepares himself as layer by layer gets peeled away to reveal…

“Alexander?” he whispers.

He turns around and looks at his parents wide eyed to get some kind of confirmation. His father has a private smile on his face and his mother nods with gleaming eyes. Maryse and Luke have joined them without Magnus realizing, and they stand next to his parents’ throne with big smiles on their faces.

So he looks back to Alec, who stands at the foot of the dais, in the same traditional dress as Magnus - except his heavy golden embroidery is set on cream colored batik instead of blue. He shrugs with a shy smile that’s a bit goofy and crooked and genuine and just so him.

So Magnus does the only logical thing he could do in this situation.

He rushes down the dais, grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss that is in no way appropriate for a traditional temple ceremony. Alec doesn’t seem to care either, because he kisses him back just as fiercely.

Someone clears their throat loudly over the buzzing of the guests. Magnus pulls back and then they’re just smiling at each other. He feels like his heart might explode 

 “Your Highness,” Raphael says, “Better save that part for after the ceremony.” 

Magnus nods at him with a grin he can’t wipe off his face anymore. He lets out a short breath and pulls himself together. He hops back on the dais to resume his position and holds out his hand for his groom to take.

Alec slides his hand into his, and stands next to him. They step forward and kneel.

The high priestess starts chanting the ancient words, to which the other priests and priestesses chant their reply. And Magnus feels like he’s on top of the world.

---

After the ceremony they’re guided out of the temple back into the bright sun, to an open carriage drawn by four white horses. The people of Edom City are waving flags and cheering for them as they’re being taken back to the palace.

They never stop holding each other’s hand, as they wave to the crowds with their other hand.

Alexander looks a bit overwhelmed, as he leans into Magnus. 

“Would you really have given all of this up, just for me?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

“Of course!” Magnus responds, “We could still give it all up now, if you’d prefer.”

Alexander looks at him pensively. His hazel eyes sparkle as much as the golden thread in his shirt and Magnus falls in love all over again. A smile breaks his thoughtful expression.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m good. Besides, you already promised me they’d treat me like a king here,” he adds, grinning mischievously. 

“As they should,” Magnus says, lifting up their joined hands to kiss Alexander’s knuckles.

They’re quiet for a bit.

“What did we just do?” Alexander breathes out as they ride through the palace gates.

“I think we just got married,” Magnus says, still wondering if this is a dream he’ll eventually have to wake up from. “And you’re the prince consort of Edom now.”

Alexander slowly shakes his head with an incredulous expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted on the subway,” Alec says, still clutching Magnus’ hand.

“I’m sorry for lying by omission about being a prince,” Magnus apologizes in return.

The carriage comes to a smooth halt. They have a few moments before they’re expected to make a grand entrance at their own party, and they plan to take this moment together.

Shouldn’t they have talked this through before getting married? Alec swallows thickly as he rests his forehead against Magnus’ and holds on to his hands even tighter. As if he heard Magnus’ thoughts, he speaks. “For some reason I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life,” he whispers.

“Me neither,” Magnus says as he caresses his cheek with his thumb. He leans forward, and kisses his husband softly.

“Come on you guys, you’ll have time for all of that later!” Lydia calls out from the doorway, where she’s standing with Becky and Andrew. “Besides, half of New York is in here getting impatient. They want to congratulate the happy couple!”

Magnus barks out a laugh and looks at their faces.

“What?” Alec grins, “Did you seriously think Jace and Izzy and the rest would miss my wedding?”

“Well then, let’s go,” he replies. “We have to start the rest of our lives together with the biggest party Edom has ever seen.” 

Alec’s smile is brighter than the sun, and Magnus just knows he has found his happily ever after.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Rumor Has It...

Title: Rumor Has It…

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: fluff

Rating: All ages

Summary: With Betrayal a success in both London and New York, rumors of  Tony award nominations spread. Tom Hiddleston, while flattered, refuses to let himself be led by it. But when the day the nominations are set to be announced arrives, Tom finds himself drawn into the tantalizing idea of ‘what if’ and with his girlfriend of a year by his side, waits with bated breath to see if rumor turns into fact.

Authors Notes/Warnings: I received the ask below towards the end of last month and at first thought of tackling this with Tom and Rosie but the more I thought about the idea the more I realized it fit so perfectly with Tom and my newest OFC, Cath (whom you will be officially meeting in ‘Get Better’ a sequel to my three part story ‘Brave Face’ which will start posting on August 1st). So this story takes place after the events of Get Better and while I feel odd about technically showing my hand with this, I love the story this ask brought about and I hope you enjoy it to.  Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Tom had woken far earlier than he’d meant to that morning and from a sleep that hadn’t been as restful as he’d hoped. Filming had gone much later than intended the night before and he’d finally stumbled into bed at quarter past one in the morning. A glance at the clock on the bedside table had told him it was just pushing eight. He groaned and rolled back over onto his stomach, willing sleep to claim him once more. But a half an hour of tossing and turning proved that notion fruitless.

He’d pushed himself out of bed and padded down the stairs, Bobby close on his heels. The spaniel weaved excitedly around his legs as Tom wandered into the kitchen. “Okay, okay,” he yawned, heading towards the back garden door. “Go do your business and I’ll have your breakfast ready when you’re done.” Bobby sprinted out into the back garden, yipping at the birds and squirrels. Tom poured kibble into the porcelain dog bowl and set about making himself a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later Bobby scrambled back in the opened door and attacked his meal with gusto. Tom simply shook his head and sipped his steaming mug of coffee.

Coffee finished Tom found himself climbing the stairs once more and heading back into the bedroom. He should start getting himself ready for the day, he had a few hours left to kill before Cath would arrive for their weekly lunch date. It was nice, he’d found, having a simple routine in place. It gave him something to look forward to, a reminder of how they’d started. And any other day he’d be whistling as he picked up his clothing, looking forward to a few hours with the woman who’d come to mean the world to him. But there was a quiet layer of unease floating over him. Must be the lack of sleep, he reasoned with himself as he paced before the closet door. Though if he were being honest, he’d been feeling off the past week. He stopped as a realization hit him. The nominations come out today.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. He needed to get out of the house and try to clear his mind. He took a deep breath, nodding to himself before tossing on his running gear, grabbing Bobby’s lead, and taking them both on a much needed run. Bobby had been gloriously excited at the prospect, jumping around Tom’s feet as they made their way out the front door, nearly causing his master to trip several times before he was able to right himself, a string of curses echoing off the walls of the main hall. Wouldn’t that be hysterical, death by excited dog? Tom shook his head and pulled the door closed behind them both.

Headphones in, Tom lead them both down the relatively empty sidewalks of his neighborhood. It was late enough that the morning rush had all but cleared, which Tom had been grateful for. In his current state he was quite likely to run into a hapless commuter that found their way into his path.

He was being utterly ridiculous and he’d known it; letting his nerves get the better of him because of this, the chance that he might have just the slightest chance of actually getting a nomination. There was nothing set in stone, simply rumor and word of mouth but god if it were true? He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. He was frankly afraid to think it for fear of jinxing the matter, as stupid and silly as the notion was.

When he’d taken the role of Robert in Betrayal nearly a year past, he had looked forward to the challenge of the role; to playing a man of dubious morals caught in a situation that effected so many lives not just his own. He’d been thrilled with the idea of a limited run, of being able to be back on stage and giving it his all night after night. Of being able to sleep in his own bed. The show’s initial success had been an unexpected, but deeply longed for, delight. They had always hoped the show would do well, but life in the West End was tricky and audiences could be fickle at the best of times. Many a great show had utterly failed to take off and there had been every chance that Betrayal could have been one of them.

Getting to work with Zawe and Charlie had been a dream. They were just as engaged and dedicated as he was; he’d known Charlie for years and had always wanted the chance to work with him. Zawe had been great fun to work with during both the Pinter celebration and the Tolstoy vs Dickens battle. They were both magnificent in the craft and they’d been wonderful to play off of. Despite the show’s heavy nature, and his own personal experiences with the subject matter, Tom could honestly say the initial three month run had been some of the most fun he’d had in years.

And then the call had come, asking if he would be interesting in reviving his role alongside Charlie and Zawe, this time in New York and on Broadway. It was surreal, almost like a dream, and he had hardly believed it at first. His agent had needed to explain it, twice, before he’d actually been able to comprehend just what was being offered let alone agree. Cath had been the first person he called, knowing without a doubt that she would understand both his joy and his fear. And she had been ecstatic, beaming with pride for both him and for the production that she’d played a small role herself in bringing to life.

He’d ramble on to her about his excitement and his worry. He talked about how absolutely elated he was to get the chance to work on Broadway, how he couldn’t believe they had done so well as to warrant such a thing, his fear that the show might not translate as well with American audiences, and his very real worry that four plus months apart would do them more harm than good especially when what they had was so new. And Cath, to her credit, had let him do so, offering him her quiet support and encouragement. He was talented, they all were; this was a wonderful opportunity regardless of how it panned out in the end and, most of all, this was a part of his job, she understood that and she trusted him. Her faith in him had warmed his heart in ways he couldn’t quite put to words.

And the show had done well. Far better than he had dared to dream it would. Audiences and critics alike seemed taken with the production. He’d been positively giddy opening night; the show had gone off without a hitch, they had all been completely on point, and, best of all, Cath had surprised him by flying in. She hadn’t told him she was coming, and with her work picking up back home in London, he’d not expected her to be able to get away especially not this early on. But there she had been in the front row, beaming with pride and Tom had barely been able to contain his excitement when he’d caught sight of her.

He’d pulled her into his arms when he’d finally been able to find her backstage, kissing her soundly, not caring who saw them. While they had kept their relationship relatively quiet, Tom had no intention of hiding her or what she meant to him. They’d gone out to celebrate; joining his cast mates for drinks before making excuses and heading off to take in a late dinner. She only had that night; her flight back to Heathrow had been scheduled for the next afternoon, her latest production couldn’t spare her for more than a day and a night. So it was with reluctance, late the next morning, that he’d seen her to the cab that would whisk her to the airport and from there back to London.

Tom had been exhausted by the end of the run; physically drained and more than ready to head home, but so very grateful for the chance he’d been given. He’d have a few weeks grace once there before pre-production was set to begin on the Loki series and he’d been very much looking forward to spending time with friends and family. To insulating himself in the people who mattered and forgetting the outside world for as long as he was able.

When the buzz started about potential awards surrounding the New York run of Betrayal, Tom had paid them little mind. Such talk was typical and usually didn’t add up to anything in the long run. Especially as early on as the initial talk had been. But the talk kept happening and slowly Tom found himself thinking about the possibility with more frequency and more definition. It would be frankly amazing to get such recognition, a dream, but he had learned better than to take it as granted; he’d seen and experienced far too much in his career so far to ever do such a thing.

Cath had been his voice of reason through it all and had done her utmost best to keep him focused on the present, though he knew she was just as anxious as he was to see if it would actually happen. Much of his time had been spent on set, working with the various directors and writers to make the most of his next foray as the God of Mischief. Filming in and around London had been a godsend, though there had always been the distinct possibility of location shooting if needed for later episodes.

Being close to home was wonderful and he knew he was spoiled by it. He’d made the effort to spend time with the friends he normally wouldn’t be able to see for months if not years at a time. He’d also spent as much time as he could with Cath; they’d taken to walks around the park with Bobby followed by dinner whenever they could. And Tuesday afternoons meeting for lunch, a habit they’d carried over from start of their relationship; when they’d cautiously extended the branch of friendship while dancing around the fact there was so much more between them. Things with Cath had taken to moving at a much slower rate than he’d done in previous relationships, cautious and steady, and for that he was exceedingly grateful. Tom was taking his time with Cath, wanting to make things work, needing to do it right this time. He’d gone through too much to risk repeating any of his past mistakes. Not when this time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d found the right person.

Tom was a sweating but slightly calmer mess by the time he and Bobby had made it back home at quarter past eleven. He’d let Bobby loose once he’d closed the front door then taken the stairs two at a time, shedding his running clothes as he went. He rushed a shower, knowing Cath was due to arrive shortly. Dressed in dark jeans and a clean black t-shirt, he padded back downstairs and worked to throw together the lunch he’d planned. He’d been ambitious the day before, spending half of his free morning roasting a chicken and preparing various vegetables, all then combined into what he’d hoped were passable pot pies. All he’d left to do was pop them into the oven and hope for the best.

As the baked, Tom busied himself tossing together a quick salad and dodging Bobby’s questing nose; the spaniel lived for Tom dropping bits of food and was always on guard for potential yummy surprises. By the time the buzzer on the front gate had gone off, announcing Cath’s arrival, Tom had the table in the dining room set and Bobby shut firmly in the back garden, mainly to save Cath from his frenzied excitement at her arrival. Tom’s nerves had come back in full swing as he buzzed her in and made his way to the front door.

Cath greeted him with a quick kiss before pulling back and studying his face. “Whatever happens, you’ve done remarkably well and I am proud of you.” She reached up and brushed an errant curl behind his ear.

A broad grin broke across his features at both her words and her touch. “How is it you always know what to say?” Tom queried with a soft laugh, as he ushered her inside.

She shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack by the door, and rested her bag in its usual place on the hallway table. “Years of practice,” she joked. “And listening to the drivel my brother has said. Apparently his choice of profession has rubbed off on me in ways.”

Tom smiled at her before pulling her tightly against him and kissing the top of her head. He loved the way she fit so perfectly against him; her head coming to the middle his chest. He couldn’t adequately count the numbers of times he’d held her like this and just how much such a simple thing had come to mean.

“So where is that delightful dog of yours?” Cath murmured into his chest before pulling back and glancing around the hall. Usually by this point Bobby would be barking at their heels demanding his own special greeting from the woman in Tom’s arms.

Tom laughed in earnest at her actions and her words. “I see how it is now. You only like me for my dog.” Cath shrugged, smiling up at him, and they both broke into another round of laughter. “Bobby’s out back,” he told her once they’d calmed. “He’s been particularly underfoot the past few days. Driving me around the bend.”

“Poor baby.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll just go pop out and say hello shall I?” She pulled out of Tom’s embrace and pattered down the hallway towards the back garden door.

He shook his head and followed quickly behind muttering, “It’s always the bloody dog.”

Once Bobby had his ears firmly scratched and had given Cath his requisite excited kisses, the two of them made their way back inside with Bobby at their heels. Tom had made a valiant attempt to send the spaniel back but Cath had quickly stepped in, pleading his case, and Tom acquiesced with only a small amount of reluctance. Bobby trotted alongside his champion, looking back at Tom with what he could only described as a triumphant grin.

Bobby had taken his place, standing guard between Tom and Cath as they settled in the dining room, ever watchful for any dropped morsel. Tom pretended not to notice Cath slipping Bobby a piece of chicken and she offered him the same curtesy when he’d done the same ten minutes later much to the spaniel’s delight. They chatted amicably as they ate about their comings and goings during the past week; Cath had recently started working a new production in the West End and therefore had endless stories to share, most of which had Tom in hysterics. He, in turn, talked about his filming and about the next few projects he’d been tossing around. A few in and around London and a few farther abroad.

Tom had just stood, preparing to pop into the kitchen to grab the pudding he’d readied the night before when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He froze, causing Cath to stare up at him in momentary confusion. “Tom?”

He shook himself out of his head and pulled the phone from his pocket. His eyes widened as he took in the text from his agent that lit up his screen. ‘Congrats, Tom! Knew you would get it.’ Followed by a screen capture. ‘2020 Tony Nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Play: Tom Hiddleston for Betrayal’.

“Oh…Oh my god.”

Tom dropped back into his seat with soft thud, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry; could barely think.

Concern flashed in Cath’s green eyes and she stood quickly, coming to stand beside him. “Tom? Tom what is it?”

Wordlessly he held out his mobile towards Cath, his hand shaking. She took it was a steady hand and read it silently to herself. He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth popped open in a silent ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh my god.” She dropped the phone onto the table, mouth splitting into a massive grin, as she turned to face him. “Oh. My. God! Tom, this is fantastic!”

“I just…I…How…” he spluttered, failing completely at trying to find words to express himself. “This is real right?” He raised his eyes towards hers, a pleading look in them. “This isn’t some god awful prank?” He felt stupid even voicing such a thought but couldn’t seem to help himself.

Cath shook her head, beaming at him. “No, it’s not. Tom you got the nomination. This is…I am so incredibly proud of you.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her small frame. After a few moments he wrapped his own arms around her, returning her embrace.

“I can’t believe it. I mean, I’d hoped…because you always hope, right? I just never…” Tom trailed off, laughing softly. Beside them on the table, his mobile had begun to vibrate away. He pulled back enough to steal a quick glance at it; far too many texts to count flashed across the brightly lit screen.

“Quite the popular fellow there, Thomas,” Cath quipped, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

Tom chuckled and pulled her firmly into his lap, pulling an unexpected whoop of surprise from her lips. “Occupational hazard, my dear.”

Cath laughed and swatted him lightly on the chest. He rubbed the spot and murmured a soft oath in protest which earned him a quirked eyebrow. “Watch it.”

He leaned in and kissed her firmly. “Never.”

“Typical,” Cath breathed with a sigh, “man earns himself a Tony nomination and it goes straight to his head.”

Tom dropped his head back and let out a long, loud laugh.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 1

Meanwhile, Across Town by George deValier

Chapter saved by ocean-babyblues ♥

INTRODUCTION

.

Once, not all that long ago, the streets of Hetalopolis were ruled by greed and tyranny. Rival gangs roamed both alleyways and corporate boardrooms. Citizens huddled afraid in their homes, the night belonged to the darkness, and evil held the city in its iron fist. 

Then rose up the superheroes. Humans born with inhuman powers, who chose to fight the dark with the powers of virtue and right. For a time war raged above and within our fair city, the supervillains and the superheroes locked in an age old struggle of right and wrong, good and evil, light and darkness. 

Until finally there rose five. Five heroes from the north who vanquished the ruling villains of the east and drove the remainder into hiding. And the streets became safe once more. The villains faded into obscurity and the heroes found themselves unneeded, discarded, forgotten. Some moved on, took jobs, lived quiet, little lives. Others, unable to reside in normality, clung to their past dreams, their past glory. And for a while, all was well on the streets of Hetalopolis. 

But for some, peace is uneasy, and of those born with power some will always use it for darkness and gain. Evil now lurks in the shadows once more. But where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it, and where there is despair, hope is never far...

"Are you nearly done?"

"...huh?"

"Well, it's just, I mean, I asked you if you'd heard any news lately and you've been droning on for about ten minutes now, it's getting a bit tiresome."

"Some people can't appreciate a good bit of dramatic history."

"Some people don't have three years to stand around chatting in alleyways."

"Fair enough. You want to know what news I've heard? Read your local newspaper. The articles by Arthur Kirkland. He's the only one who seems to have a clue."

"I travel all the way here to the scummiest side of town to speak with you and you tell me to read the newspaper? What happened to the informer, the AlleyCat, the guy who always knows what's going on?"

"You asked. I answered. Go pick up your local newspaper. And remember my words."

"What words, aru?"

The AlleyCat shrugged, threw another handful of crumbs to the dozens of cats that always congregated around his feet. "'... where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it.'"

CHAPTER ONE

.

"Just what do you expect me to do with this?" shouted Ludwig Beilschmidt, chief editor of the Hetalopolis Times, throwing the small pile of paper down on his desk. Arthur winced and prepared himself for an outburst. "This is pathetic. Your last story was just as pitiful, but do you really think I will stand for this twice? What is this even…" The editor in chief picked up the papers again and stared at them incredulously. "'The Perfume Villain Strikes Again.'. That's your headline? No one has even heard of this 'Perfume Villain!' How can he 'strike again' when we didn't even know about the first strike?"

"Sir, he's actually robbed a few bank vaults by now, and I really think…"

"No, you don't think, Kirkland, that is your problem. You used to be brilliant. Your articles about The Nordic Five versus the Sunflower Posse were some of the best I have ever seen. They won you the damn Journalist of the Year award. But no one cares about superheroes anymore. Ever since the demise of the Posse, they're old news. Frankly, your work is slipping. And this," the editor threw the papers back down on the desk again, "Is trash. So get out there, bring me a great story, or I am going to have to think quite seriously about letting you go. Now get out of here and do your job."

Arthur picked up the papers and stormed out of the office, almost feeling smoke coming from his ears. He was fuming. He was furious. He was... he was a god damn writer and he couldn't even think of another synonym that started with 'f'. No wonder he no longer wrote the front page articles. Foul! There's a word. He was in one hell of a foul mood. Arthur stomped past rows of identical desks and identical tapping at keyboards and ceiling length windows that looked down on the sprawling city below. He fell into his chair and threw the papers onto his desk even more violently than Ludwig had done. And Ludwig was a champion at throwing paper angrily onto desks. He could compete in the bloody angrily throwing paper on desks world championship. Arthur was just thinking that at least things probably couldn't get any worse when Francis Bonnefoy, fellow journalist, fashion editor, and fabulously irritating thorn in Arthur's side, spun around from his desk in front, smiled revoltingly, and practically sprawled across Arthur's desk. "Well?" Arthur snarled at him. Things could always get worse.

"Same old bleeding bloody buggery bullshit." Arthur realised he seemed to be a fan of alliteration when pissed off. Francis flinched and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Language, dear, sometimes you conjure up the most horrific mental images."

"What the hell does he expect me to do?" asked Arthur angrily, loudly ignoring Francis. "I can't create stories out of thin air! I'm a journalist, not Stephen bloody King! How can I be constantly expected to produce five star, gold material when the most interesting thing that has happened this week is that Miss Katyusha from channel five news busted her top open live on air Wednesday night?"

"And the gossip department is already all over that one," nodded Francis sympathetically.

"Do you know what I mean though?" Arthur was nearly shouting now. "No one else gets this sort of pressure put on them. Look at Feliciano." Arthur gestured to where the Italian food critic was currently sitting ON his desk, making paper planes and throwing them at the sports department. "What has he published, two articles in the last month? And he's not getting called into Ludwig's office every day."

"Well, he is, but for an entirely different reason I think."

Arthur groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. "This is so unfair! What am I supposed to do?"

"Come up with a brilliant story," said Francis brightly. Arthur resisted the urge to stab him in the eye with a pen.

"There are no stories, I've already told you." Arthur spoke through gritted teeth. "The town is running better than it has in years. The supervillains have pretty much disappeared and the only heroes left have nothing to do but get kittens down from trees and help little old ladies cross the street. So, pray tell, where am I supposed to find this brilliant story?"

But Arthur knew where the stories were. He was convinced that the only reason no one cared about superheroes anymore was because most of the popular ones had retired. If only there was someone new, someone fresh and interesting that people could get excited about. And if this new superhero had an adversary, well, there was Arthur's golden ticket to journalism popularity. The glittering awards shows, the lavish dinners with heads of state, the prestige that came with having the rich and famous under the power of his pen. It could all be his again. Arthur already had the villain of his story... true, a rather smalltime, unknown, pathetic villain, but what was good journalism without a little embellishment... so now he just needed the hero. But where the hell was he supposed to find...

"Here's your coffee, Mr K!" Arthur looked up to see Alfred Jones, resident copy boy and coffee maker, stumble towards him like an out of control steam train. Arthur pushed his chair back just in time to avoid the cup that smashed and spilled over his entire desk.

"Bloody blasted hell boy, watch what you're damn well doing! And I asked for tea!"

"Sorry about that, Mr K," said Alfred apologetically, leaning over the desk in an eager, dementedly happy attempt to clean up the mess.

"No," said Arthur, trying to salvage what he could of the soaking papers, "Just leave it."

"I am sorry, honest, I'll get you another one just as soon as I've cleaned this..." Alfred pulled a handful of crumpled tissues from his pocket and used them to wipe down the desk. "Oh man, I even spilled some in your lap, lucky it wasn't actually that hot, here let me..."

Arthur shot out of his chair like a rocket. "Hands, watch the hands!"

"Sorry sorry!" Alfred backed away, hands in the air. Arthur sighed in exasperation. How did they even hire people these days...

"Look, listen, Allan..."

"Alfred," corrected Alfred, sounding a little hurt.

"Yes yes of course. Just... look, just go away, will you? I'm incredibly busy right now."

Alfred's face fell and he nodded. "All right, Mr K, I really am sorry though." He walked away slowly and Arthur grumbled as he turned his attention back to saving what he could from his coffee soaked desk. Francis stared at him through narrowed eyes.

"You are too harsh on him."

"Well he's a walking train wreck with impeccably bad timing. Why did you even suggest Ludwig hire him?"

"Well, look at him. He's so... energetic. And cute. Just look. I mean really, look now, while he's walking away, he's got a really cute butt."

Arthur refused to admit that Francis was right on that last point. He forced himself not to look. "He's a bloody nuisance is what he is."

"He has a crush on you, you know." Francis waggled his eyebrows. Arthur felt himself turn red.

"Don't be ridiculous. And stop bothering me, I'm busy! Don't you have your own work to do? Just look at the time. Oh bugger off!" Francis just laughed as he turned back to his own desk.

Arthur stayed late at the office, trying to work on the dregs of this nonexistent story he had. A small time villain whose power appeared to be a nerve paralysing fume he used to render guards and law officers unconscious. Nothing special, but he had so far managed to make off with a few million dollars worth of diamonds and jewellery. But no deaths, no battles. Nothing much to draw the publics attention. Now if only there was a hero to set out, fight, and defeat the guy... now that would be interesting. That would make a story.

By the time Arthur finally left the office the building was empty, and the dark alley he exited onto was silent and unlit. He'd always hated that the staff exit led to this horribly narrow and smelly and sinister alleyway. It was bad enough in the middle of the day. But at this time of night… Barely paying attention to his surroundings, but walking a little faster than usual, Arthur only made it halfway to the main street before the lane was blocked by two huge men before him. Arthur froze and took a wary step backward.

"Little late to be leaving work alone, isn't it?" asked one of the men unpleasantly, stepping forward as Arthur stepped back.

"Well... uh... you know how it is, deadlines and such..." Arthur turned to look behind him but another man, even bigger than the first two, stepped out of the shadows to block the way. Arthur swallowed the rising fear in his throat.

"Now we don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it has to be," said the third man, cracking his knuckles and making Arthur shudder. The other men laughed as they advanced. "Oh wait... yes we do."

Arthur stood frozen for a moment before adrenaline pumped through his veins and he attempted a brash, futile escape. He was swiftly grabbed by the shoulder and slammed against the wall. One of the men pulled his laptop case from his arm and the other tore his briefcase from his grip before rifling through his jacket. "Wait, no..." Arthur couldn't believe this... it was like it wasn't real. His pulse thrummed hazily in his head. Wasn't this just his bloody luck... right when the damned city was getting safe, he gets mugged in the street. He tried for another escape but received a stunning blow to his cheek for the trouble. The men were laughing. Their hands were like iron. Arthur couldn't escape. He started to panic.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a red, white and blue tornado descended before Arthur's eyes. A few surprised shouts, a grunt, a flurry of fists and limbs and garish colour and before Arthur knew it the three men were lying unconscious on the ground. He blinked dazedly in surprise and looked up at his unexpected saviour. He wiped his eyes and shook his head, but the strange vision before him remained the same. The man was dressed in an awful blue Lycra unitard, enormous boots that looked like they had been spray painted red, and what looked suspiciously like an old bed sheet tied around his shoulders. He put his hands on his hips and stood before Arthur in an impossibly ridiculous stance.

"Are you all right, fair dams… uh… citizen?"

Arthur squinted. Sure it was dark, and he was a little shaken, but he was fairly sure that the guy standing right before him was… "Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes darted and he laughed nervously. "Who is this Alfred you speak of?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, I know it's you."

"I know nothing of this Alfred. For I, fair citizen, am…" Alfred took a deep breath, thrust out his chest, and tossed his bed sheet behind his shoulder. "America-man!"

Silence. Arthur swore he could hear crickets chirping. "No you're not, you're Alfred Jones, the copy boy who spills my tea every day."

Again Alfred looked around nervously. "I swear, fair citizen, I..."

"Alfred, you can't just take off your glasses and wrap a sheet around you and expect it to be a credible disguise."

"Oh." Alfred deflated somewhat. Arthur tilted his head as he studied him. He didn't know whether to laugh. Alfred almost looked like a little boy playing dress up. A rather tall, oversized, very muscular actually through that Lycra...

"Not thinking that! I mean, uh, so you're a superhero then?"

"Yep!" At Arthur's skeptical expression, Alfred's brave smile fell a little. "Okay, so I've only just started, and I don't have a copyright yet, or a proper uniform, really, or a, uh..."

"Clue?" supplied Arthur.

"I suppose, but hey." Alfred brightened and thrust out his chest again. "Did you SEE the ass kicking I gave those guys?"

Arthur looked down at the unconscious would-be muggers. There were a few superhero wannabes around... those who had a lot of enthusiasm but no actual powers... but Alfred had certainly done a number on the three men. Plus he had a certain something, indefinable, an attitude that made it seem like he really could take on the world. Maybe there was something there after all. Maybe Arthur could work this to his advantage. "All right. Alfred?"

"Yeah? Oh, damn it..."

"Listen here."

"Okay."

"You want to be a superhero?" Alfred nodded eagerly. "So, now I'm just guessing here, you can't fly."

"No."

"You can't turn invisible."

"No."

"You don't have super speed?"

"Uh… no."

"Forgive me for asking, but what exactly is your superpower then?"

"Well, I can do this. Follow me." Arthur picked up his laptop and suitcase and followed Alfred out of the alley, taking care to kick his unconscious attackers in the head as he went. Then he watched as Alfred walked over to a car parked on the side of the road, grabbed it by the bumper, and in one fluid movement lifted it over his head. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Super strength. Well that's something. Very well, Alfred Jones..."

"America-man."

Arthur paused only briefly. "As I was saying, very well. I believe there may be some hope for you after all. But first thing is first. We are going to have to do something about that outfit of yours. Now you, follow me." Arthur turned and headed down the street. Alfred hurried to follow. "Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Put the car down."

"Oh. Right."

Alfred wanted to be a superhero. Arthur needed a story. He smiled to himself. He may have just found the answer he was looking for.

.

Meanwhile, across town…

.

The third security guard fell to the ground, motionless. The masked villain smiled as he passed. No one could withstand the assault of his nerve paralysing perfume. Years of exposure had left him immune, but when others smelled it they dropped like little old ladies who got in his way in the after Christmas sales. With none left to obstruct him, he strutted calmly and purposefully to the locked room at the end of the hall. He held up the key, recently obtained from a helplessly unresisting bank manager, and placed it into the lock. The doorknob turned with a satisfying click and the masked man stepped into the undefended room.

The perfume villain walked over to a small safe on the back table, pressed in a simple five number code, and smiled when the little black door swung open. He pulled out a blue velvet box and held it up to the light, inspecting his nails as he did. He frowned. He'd already chipped one. And he'd only just had a manicure. He placed the box in his exquisitely tailored jacket and turned on his red varnished heel. The steadily approaching sound of sirens did not bother him. He would be gone well before they arrived. He giggled to himself and gave a tiny wave to a security camera as he passed.

"Totally killer. Seriously, that was, like, way too easy. Classic."

To be continued…

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU OCEAN-BABYBLUES FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 10

Read Along on AO3 Here

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This time: Un'hee is displeased. Ezra stumbles upon a truth. Thrawn forces himself to think logically.

Next Time: Thrawn tells Ezra a story. Un’hee takes matters into her own hands.

-/

“Well?” Vah’nya asked, waiting for Ezra after his training session. At her side was Un’hee, who seemed to bounce with energy despite the ridiculously early hour.

The Jedi pulled a face. “Later,” He grunted.

Un’hee patted his arm sympathetically. “Eli beat you up pretty bad, huh?”

Shrugging, Ezra rubbed at the spot Un’hee had touched. He probably would bruise, but it wasn’t anything Eli did. He looked at Vah’nya who frowned, peering into the training room Ezra had just left. “I think I know what you mean,” He told Vah’nya.

“I-”

“Good morning, Senior Navigator Vah’nya,” Thrawn said evenly. He nodded to her, and then cast his gaze down briefly to the much smaller Chiss beside her. “Navigator Un’hee.” He turned on his heel.

“Wait, you won’t be joining us?” Un’hee asked, voice twisting just short of a whine. It certainly had been the way things had gone for the last three weeks. Ezra pointedly looked away. Thrawn paused, looking back with only the faintest sliver of his gaze. Usually Thrawn never failed to meet a person’s eyes.

“I have other matters to attend to,” The Commander said. “My apologies.”

He didn’t sound remotely sorry, Un’hee thought. In fact, he sounded almost... scattered. The junior Navigator frowned at his back as he left. Then, when he turned the corner, she turned back to Vah’nya and Ezra. To the human, she asked, “What happened?”

“Un’hee-” Ezra broke off.

Captain Ivant exited the training room. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she spun, beaming up at him. “Good morning,” He greeted her, voice soft. “Why don’t you three go on to breakfast?”

“Yes, Captain.” Vah’nya agreed easily, casting a pointed gaze to Un’hee. “Come along.”

“Go on without me,” The younger Chiss crossed her arms. In her most demure tone, she inquired, “Captain, may I have a moment?”

“Un’hee!” Vah’nya snapped.

The Captain exhaled. “Sorry, Un’hee. I have a meeting to go to.”

“Fine,” She said bluntly, then demanded, “Just tell me what you did to him.”

“Navigator Un’hee,” Vah’nya placed a firm hand on her shoulders. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ivant said firmly. His gaze landed on Ezra. “Someone needs to learn how to focus and not be distracted by what happens around them.”

Ezra flushed. “Sorry, Captain.”

“It’s a good lesson. Force, Sight, however you want to call it aside. In a real battle, that would’ve been the end of you.” He nodded curtly to the youngest among them. “Go with Vah’nya, Un’hee.”

Un’hee glowered up at him, her discontent palpable.

“Don’t give me that look, Navigator.”

She crossed her arms and scowled at that, nostrils flaring.

Vah'nya took a deep breath, preparing to reprimand her sister in arms again, but Ivant waved her off, taking a knee so that he was eye to eye with the smaller girl. "I will check in with you after mid-shift."

"I don't like it," The Navigator said. Ivant opened his arms and she wrapped her lanky ones around his neck, seeking comfort for emotions that were not fully her own. With her face buried against his shoulder, she murmured, "I can feel-"

"I know." Ivant squeezed once, whispering into her ear, "I don't like it either."

Ivant inevitably left them after securing Un'hee's promise to mind Vah'nya's instruction in the matter. Only when they were left alone did the trio of Force sensitives make their way to the mess hall.

-/

"So what happened?" It wasn't Un'hee asking, to Ezra's surprise. Vah'nya arched an eyebrow, her glowing eyes narrowed in equal parts suspicion and anticipation.

They sat in the far corner, not their usual table in the midst of the other Navigators and crewsman. Typically when Thrawn was with them, they sat off to one side of the long row of tables near the starboard exit, so that he was not surrounded by the rest of the Navigator children. Not that Thrawn was particularly sociable, the man was more or less a hermit. How he and Ezra seemed to get on so well was strange. The occasional conversations Thrawn had with the rest of the crew were to do with art, recent news, and occasionally battle strategies. Thrawn preferred cultivating his wallflower persona, immersing himself in the goings on around him unobtrusively. Even though Ezra talked to most of the crew and Navigators, Thrawn almost always had the same - and more - information.

Ezra leaned forward and Un’hee scooched closer on the bench, gripping the edges of the table for support. Her toes only touched the floor if she pointed them, so she swung them back and forth, brow furrowing in anticipated concentration. In front of her, her tray went untouched.

“I can’t explain it,” The Jedi said. “I was sparring with Ivant, and it was fine. I actually managed to land a hit - those extra sessions Thrawn’s been giving me are paying off, even if my body aches all the time - and then I felt this,” Ezra trailed off, looking to Vah’nya. “In the Force,” He clarified in Basic before switching back to his passable Cheunh, “It was like,” Ezra paused, thinking. “Agony. Like someone had stabbed me in the chest. It was like a blow.”

“It was Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Un’hee whispered.

“I think so,” Ezra agreed, solemnly. He didn’t have any other idea, because at the time he’d been shocked still by the weight of the emotion, so used to the endless white noise that was most Chiss in the Force. It was soothing and placid, like a glass sea. Thrawn was usually muffled. Though, when it came to Captain Ivant...

“Why?” Un’hee asked, watching Vah’nya pick at the edge of her sleeve.

“What happened before that?” Vah’nya asked him.

Considering it in his mind’s eye, Ezra closed both of his luminous blue ones, focusing inward. “I’d landed a solid hit, and Captain Ivant grappled me. I managed to catch hold of his under-tunic and get it part way over his head.”

“I see,” Vah’nya murmured. “Where was Mitth’raw’nuruodo in relationship to you?”

“He was in the doorway, watching.” Ezra blinked twice, refocusing his gaze on his half-finished tray. “Captain Ivant was between us when I got up, and that’s when I felt it.”

Un’hee bit her lip and pooled her hands in her lap. “Oh,” She said softly. “He saw them,” She said. “I’ve been waiting for that.”

“Scars,” Ezra said without needing more information. “Like yours?” He eyed Vah’nya. “I couldn’t see them, I was facing his front.”

“No,” Vah’nya frowned. “Far worse. Un’hee told you how Eli was made a Captain,” She reminded the human. “I am not sure humans are meant to survive such damage. It is ugly. That is why he has always sparred with you in near-full dress.”

“He was fine with your scars,” Ezra pointed out. “Why-” The Jedi caught his breath. “I’m such an idiot,” He said. Vah’nya raised one eyebrow in an elegant arch, as if asking if he’d like to proceed. “They were friends. Thrawn sent him here. He feels responsible.”

“Amongst other things,” Vah’nya said cryptically.

“What other things?” Ezra narrowed his eyes when Vah’nya chose not to respond. “What happened that was so bad? They were friends,” He repeated.

“Bad things,” Vah’nya said, and Un’hee shivered. “Things I am forbidden to talk about.”

“What happened with the Grysk that captured you,” Ezra said slowly. “It,” He swallowed. “It wasn’t Thrawn’s fault, was it? We weren’t anywhere near there. I don’t-”

Vah’nya looked away. Ezra fell silent.

Un’hee pushed her uneaten tray toward the center of the table and whispered, “I never want something so horrible to happen again. That is why we must become stronger.”

-/

Thrawn paced. He was used to spending more time in his thoughts than out of them, after all, he was both a warrior and a tactician. Still, this evaded him. Rationally, logically, this should not have impacted him to the point where the tuning fork that was Ezra Bridger was able to sense his sharp emotional distress. Frankly, Thrawn did not believe he should have had such a fierce response to begin with. He needed to see this tactically. He could not afford his emotions to skew the data. With that in mind, he stopped himself from pacing, closed himself in his small room and sat at the small desk. He steepled his fingers in front of his chin, elbows braced upon the top of the workspace and willed himself to think.

Scars were scars. All warriors had them, be they large or small. They were stories. Lessons. Warnings to potential enemies and maps to possible weaknesses to be exploited.

And he had known Vanto had them. Un’hee had told him what happened, how he and Vah’nya had been captives of the Grysk. He had seen Vah’nya’s scars. She had told him that Vanto saved her from the worst of it.

But yet, when faced with them - some, not all, it was apparent there were more hidden from view - Thrawn’s rational mind had seized. It was as though logic could not reconcile the young, bright-eyed Ensign Vanto he’d known since their time at Royal Imperial with this man, the stony faced Captain Ivant who showed only glimpses of his former self. The torture he must have endured to have such wicked lines carved into his skin, deep, jagged lines that looked plotted out to target vital organs, was unthinkable. All of them seemed insignificant compared to the ugly, marbled scarring on his left side. Thrawn had only been able to see part of it, for the evidence of his injury wrapped around to the Captain’s front, creeping up like a deadly flower, likely toward the heart. That looked like an injury caused by a greater weapon or an explosive of some kind. The overall wound was littered with smaller, deeper marks indicative of shrapnel.

It was a vicious thing. Cold, heartless and calculating, indicative of Grysk tactics. But it was not the only sort of torture the Grysk employed. In fact, it was a less common tactic. The Grysk had a tendency to mentally wound their captives. In cases like Un’hee, who had spent years in their captivity, it could lead to mental health issues, like the occasional panic attacks she suffered. Lesser Navigators, Chiss, and a myriad of other sentient species had lost their sanity altogether, or been manipulated into assisting their captors as if it were of their own free will.

Vah’nya’s wounds indicated that the Grysk had wanted information of some kind from her and that she had not bowed to them. Had they turned to Vanto? Had he been used against her? Or had his honor and duty demanded that he place himself as her shield? That is what his people would have demanded. Thrawn did not doubt for a moment that Vanto would die willingly for a Navigator of the Chiss Ascendancy.

The Grysk were intelligent enough to torture him and use that physical damage to weigh upon Vah’nya’s mental state. Whatever she had been hiding must have been of the utmost importance for Vanto to be tortured in such a way when it became clear that pain would not break the Navigator herself. Humans were not a superior race to the Chiss in terms of pain tolerance. It would be easier to break her impressionable heart by exploiting a beloved comrade.

But why? What was so important? What had the Grysk wanted? The obvious goal, of course was to demolish the Chiss, to take over their worlds and enslave them in body and mind, then dispose of them when they’d been stripped for all their worth.

It was Un’hee’s words that he recalled with a sudden, striking clarity. Vah’nya had not been meant to go on the mission that led to their capture. That was the missing piece. There was a reason in this detail, he need only find it.

The outer door to the suite slid open with a muffled, metallic hiss. Bridger’s footfalls were near silent but audible across the tiled floor. He paused eight strides in, and faced Thrawn’s door, waiting. He did not knock.

“I know you heard me come in,” The Jedi said. His voice held something tense and coiled.

“I did,” Thrawn said loudly enough to be heard through the closed door. He rose and toggled the release to open the door to his quarters, returning to his desk chair as Ezra followed him into the space.

“You need to talk to I- Vanto. Eli. Whatever you call him.”

“Bridger-”

“No. Hear me out.” Ezra perched himself at the foot of Thrawn’s pristinely made bunk, never once breaking eye contact. “I was speaking to Vah’nya and Un’hee. About what you saw.”

The narrowed gaze from Thrawn was harrowing. Even still, Ezra did not lose his nerve. “And what did the three of you deduce from such a thing?”

“I don’t know what they took from it other than that you felt bad,” Ezra admitted. “But I got something out of them.”

At that, Thrawn stiffened, curiosity piqued. “And what did you get from them?”

“Two things, technically.” Ezra placed his palms flat on his thighs, just above his knees. “One: This Navigator program didn’t exist until after Ivant and Vah’nya escaped from the Grysk.”

“That is common knowledge. This project is a development program designed to better prepare Navigators for their assignments, and strengthen their skills. The development of a new program is paramount at certain intervals to assure success.”

“Okay, fine.” Ezra shoved Thrawn’s unwillingness to consider that something was awry about this to the side. He’d meditate on it later. “Second, I found out part of why they were on the mission that got them captured.” At this, Ezra looked a bit hesitant.

Thrawn inclined his head, a benign gesture that welcomed him to continue.

“It had something to do with you.”

[winterisakiller]

Rumor Has It...

Title: Rumor Has It...

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: fluff

Rating: All ages

Summary: With Betrayal a success in both London and New York, rumors of  Tony award nominations spread. Tom Hiddleston, while flattered, refuses to let himself be led by it. But when the day the nominations are set to be announced arrives, Tom finds himself drawn into the tantalizing idea of ‘what if’ and with his girlfriend of a year by his side, waits with bated breath to see if rumor turns into fact. 

Authors Notes/Warnings: I received the above ask towards the end of last month and at first thought of tackling this with Tom and Rosie but the more I thought about the idea the more I realized it fit so perfectly with Tom and my newest OFC, Cath (whom you will be officially meeting in ‘Get Better’ a sequel to my three part story ‘Brave Face’ which will start posting on August 1st). So this story takes place after the events of Get Better and while I feel odd about technically showing my hand with this, I love the story this ask brought about and I hope you enjoy it to.  Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Tag list: @theheartofpenelope @tinchentitri @blacksuitofdoom @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @messy-insomniac-bookgirl 

Tom had woken far earlier than he’d meant to that morning and from a sleep that hadn’t been as restful as he’d hoped. Filming had gone much later than intended the night before and he’d finally stumbled into bed at quarter past one in the morning. A glance at the clock on the bedside table had told him it was just pushing eight. He groaned and rolled back over onto his stomach, willing sleep to claim him once more. But a half an hour of tossing and turning proved that notion fruitless.

 He’d pushed himself out of bed and padded down the stairs, Bobby close on his heels. The spaniel weaved excitedly around his legs as Tom wandered into the kitchen. “Okay, okay,” he yawned, heading towards the back garden door. “Go do your business and I’ll have your breakfast ready when you’re done.” Bobby sprinted out into the back garden, yipping at the birds and squirrels. Tom poured kibble into the porcelain dog bowl and set about making himself a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later Bobby scrambled back in the opened door and attacked his meal with gusto. Tom simply shook his head and sipped his steaming mug of coffee.

 Coffee finished Tom found himself climbing the stairs once more and heading back into the bedroom. He should start getting himself ready for the day, he had a few hours left to kill before Cath would arrive for their weekly lunch date. It was nice, he’d found, having a simple routine in place. It gave him something to look forward to, a reminder of how they’d started. And any other day he’d be whistling as he picked up his clothing, looking forward to a few hours with the woman who’d come to mean the world to him. But there was a quiet layer of unease floating over him. Must be the lack of sleep, he reasoned with himself as he paced before the closet door. Though if he were being honest, he’d been feeling off the past week. He stopped as a realization hit him. The nominations come out today.

 “This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. He needed to get out of the house and try to clear his mind. He took a deep breath, nodding to himself before tossing on his running gear, grabbing Bobby’s lead, and taking them both on a much needed run. Bobby had been gloriously excited at the prospect, jumping around Tom’s feet as they made their way out the front door, nearly causing his master to trip several times before he was able to right himself, a string of curses echoing off the walls of the main hall. Wouldn’t that be hysterical, death by excited dog? Tom shook his head and pulled the door closed behind them both.

 Headphones in, Tom lead them both down the relatively empty sidewalks of his neighborhood. It was late enough that the morning rush had all but cleared, which Tom had been grateful for. In his current state he was quite likely to run into a hapless commuter that found their way into his path.

He was being utterly ridiculous and he’d known it; letting his nerves get the better of him because of this, the chance that he might have just the slightest chance of actually getting a nomination. There was nothing set in stone, simply rumor and word of mouth but god if it were true? He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. He was frankly afraid to think it for fear of jinxing the matter, as stupid and silly as the notion was.

 When he’d taken the role of Robert in Betrayal nearly a year past, he had looked forward to the challenge of the role; to playing a man of dubious morals caught in a situation that effected so many lives not just his own. He’d been thrilled with the idea of a limited run, of being able to be back on stage and giving it his all night after night. Of being able to sleep in his own bed. The show’s initial success had been an unexpected, but deeply longed for, delight. They had always hoped the show would do well, but life in the West End was tricky and audiences could be fickle at the best of times. Many a great show had utterly failed to take off and there had been every chance that Betrayal could have been one of them.

 Getting to work with Zawe and Charlie had been a dream. They were just as engaged and dedicated as he was; he’d known Charlie for years and had always wanted the chance to work with him. Zawe had been great fun to work with during both the Pinter celebration and the Tolstoy vs Dickens battle. They were both magnificent in the craft and they’d been wonderful to play off of. Despite the show’s heavy nature, and his own personal experiences with the subject matter, Tom could honestly say the initial three month run had been some of the most fun he’d had in years.

 And then the call had come, asking if he would be interesting in reviving his role alongside Charlie and Zawe, this time in New York and on Broadway. It was surreal, almost like a dream, and he had hardly believed it at first. His agent had needed to explain it, twice, before he’d actually been able to comprehend just what was being offered let alone agree. Cath had been the first person he called, knowing without a doubt that she would understand both his joy and his fear. And she had been ecstatic, beaming with pride for both him and for the production that she’d played a small role herself in bringing to life.

 He’d ramble on to her about his excitement and his worry. He talked about how absolutely elated he was to get the chance to work on Broadway, how he couldn’t believe they had done so well as to warrant such a thing, his fear that the show might not translate as well with American audiences, and his very real worry that four plus months apart would do them more harm than good especially when what they had was so new. And Cath, to her credit, had let him do so, offering him her quiet support and encouragement. He was talented, they all were; this was a wonderful opportunity regardless of how it panned out in the end and, most of all, this was a part of his job, she understood that and she trusted him. Her faith in him had warmed his heart in ways he couldn’t quite put to words.

 And the show had done well. Far better than he had dared to dream it would. Audiences and critics alike seemed taken with the production. He’d been positively giddy opening night; the show had gone off without a hitch, they had all been completely on point, and, best of all, Cath had surprised him by flying in. She hadn’t told him she was coming, and with her work picking up back home in London, he’d not expected her to be able to get away especially not this early on. But there she had been in the front row, beaming with pride and Tom had barely been able to contain his excitement when he’d caught sight of her.

 He’d pulled her into his arms when he’d finally been able to find her backstage, kissing her soundly, not caring who saw them. While they had kept their relationship relatively quiet, Tom had no intention of hiding her or what she meant to him. They’d gone out to celebrate; joining his cast mates for drinks before making excuses and heading off to take in a late dinner. She only had that night; her flight back to Heathrow had been scheduled for the next afternoon, her latest production couldn’t spare her for more than a day and a night. So it was with reluctance, late the next morning, that he’d seen her to the cab that would whisk her to the airport and from there back to London.

 Tom had been exhausted by the end of the run; physically drained and more than ready to head home, but so very grateful for the chance he’d been given. He’d have a few weeks grace once there before pre-production was set to begin on the Loki series and he’d been very much looking forward to spending time with friends and family. To insulating himself in the people who mattered and forgetting the outside world for as long as he was able.

 When the buzz started about potential awards surrounding the New York run of Betrayal, Tom had paid them little mind. Such talk was typical and usually didn’t add up to anything in the long run. Especially as early on as the initial talk had been. But the talk kept happening and slowly Tom found himself thinking about the possibility with more frequency and more definition. It would be frankly amazing to get such recognition, a dream, but he had learned better than to take it as granted; he’d seen and experienced far too much in his career so far to ever do such a thing.

 Cath had been his voice of reason through it all and had done her utmost best to keep him focused on the present, though he knew she was just as anxious as he was to see if it would actually happen. Much of his time had been spent on set, working with the various directors and writers to make the most of his next foray as the God of Mischief. Filming in and around London had been a godsend, though there had always been the distinct possibility of location shooting if needed for later episodes.

 Being close to home was wonderful and he knew he was spoiled by it. He’d made the effort to spend time with the friends he normally wouldn’t be able to see for months if not years at a time. He’d also spent as much time as he could with Cath; they’d taken to walks around the park with Bobby followed by dinner whenever they could. And Tuesday afternoons meeting for lunch, a habit they’d carried over from start of their relationship; when they’d cautiously extended the branch of friendship while dancing around the fact there was so much more between them. Things with Cath had taken to moving at a much slower rate than he’d done in previous relationships, cautious and steady, and for that he was exceedingly grateful. Tom was taking his time with Cath, wanting to make things work, needing to do it right this time. He’d gone through too much to risk repeating any of his past mistakes. Not when this time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d found the right person.

 Tom was a sweating but slightly calmer mess by the time he and Bobby had made it back home at quarter past eleven. He’d let Bobby loose once he’d closed the front door then taken the stairs two at a time, shedding his running clothes as he went. He rushed a shower, knowing Cath was due to arrive shortly. Dressed in dark jeans and a clean black t-shirt, he padded back downstairs and worked to throw together the lunch he’d planned. He’d been ambitious the day before, spending half of his free morning roasting a chicken and preparing various vegetables, all then combined into what he’d hoped were passable pot pies. All he’d left to do was pop them into the oven and hope for the best.

 As the baked, Tom busied himself tossing together a quick salad and dodging Bobby’s questing nose; the spaniel lived for Tom dropping bits of food and was always on guard for potential yummy surprises. By the time the buzzer on the front gate had gone off, announcing Cath’s arrival, Tom had the table in the dining room set and Bobby shut firmly in the back garden, mainly to save Cath from his frenzied excitement at her arrival. Tom’s nerves had come back in full swing as he buzzed her in and made his way to the front door.

 Cath greeted him with a quick kiss before pulling back and studying his face. “Whatever happens, you’ve done remarkably well and I am proud of you.” She reached up and brushed an errant curl behind his ear.

 A broad grin broke across his features at both her words and her touch. “How is it you always know what to say?” Tom queried with a soft laugh, as he ushered her inside.

 She shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack by the door, and rested her bag in its usual place on the hallway table. “Years of practice,” she joked. “And listening to the drivel my brother has said. Apparently his choice of profession has rubbed off on me in ways.”

 Tom smiled at her before pulling her tightly against him and kissing the top of her head. He loved the way she fit so perfectly against him; her head coming to the middle his chest. He couldn’t adequately count the numbers of times he’d held her like this and just how much such a simple thing had come to mean.

 “So where is that delightful dog of yours?” Cath murmured into his chest before pulling back and glancing around the hall. Usually by this point Bobby would be barking at their heels demanding his own special greeting from the woman in Tom’s arms.

 Tom laughed in earnest at her actions and her words. “I see how it is now. You only like me for my dog.” Cath shrugged, smiling up at him, and they both broke into another round of laughter. “Bobby’s out back,” he told her once they’d calmed. “He’s been particularly underfoot the past few days. Driving me around the bend.”

 “Poor baby.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll just go pop out and say hello shall I?” She pulled out of Tom’s embrace and pattered down the hallway towards the back garden door.

 He shook his head and followed quickly behind muttering, “It’s always the bloody dog.”

 Once Bobby had his ears firmly scratched and had given Cath his requisite excited kisses, the two of them made their way back inside with Bobby at their heels. Tom had made a valiant attempt to send the spaniel back but Cath had quickly stepped in, pleading his case, and Tom acquiesced with only a small amount of reluctance. Bobby trotted alongside his champion, looking back at Tom with what he could only described as a triumphant grin.

 Bobby had taken his place, standing guard between Tom and Cath as they settled in the dining room, ever watchful for any dropped morsel. Tom pretended not to notice Cath slipping Bobby a piece of chicken and she offered him the same curtesy when he’d done the same ten minutes later much to the spaniel’s delight. They chatted amicably as they ate about their comings and goings during the past week; Cath had recently started working a new production in the West End and therefore had endless stories to share, most of which had Tom in hysterics. He, in turn, talked about his filming and about the next few projects he’d been tossing around. A few in and around London and a few farther abroad.

 Tom had just stood, preparing to pop into the kitchen to grab the pudding he’d readied the night before when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He froze, causing Cath to stare up at him in momentary confusion. “Tom?”

 He shook himself out of his head and pulled the phone from his pocket. His eyes widened as he took in the text from his agent that lit up his screen. ‘Congrats, Tom! Knew you would get it.’ Followed by a screen capture. ‘2020 Tony Nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Play: Tom Hiddleston for Betrayal’.

 “Oh…Oh my god.”

 Tom dropped back into his seat with soft thud, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry; could barely think.

 Concern flashed in Cath’s green eyes and she stood quickly, coming to stand beside him. “Tom? Tom what is it?”

 Wordlessly he held out his mobile towards Cath, his hand shaking. She took it was a steady hand and read it silently to herself. He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth popped open in a silent ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh my god.” She dropped the phone onto the table, mouth splitting into a massive grin, as she turned to face him. “Oh. My. God! Tom, this is fantastic!”

 “I just…I…How…” he spluttered, failing completely at trying to find words to express himself. “This is real right?” He raised his eyes towards hers, a pleading look in them. “This isn’t some god awful prank?” He felt stupid even voicing such a thought but couldn’t seem to help himself.

 Cath shook her head, beaming at him. “No, it’s not. Tom you got the nomination. This is…I am so incredibly proud of you.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her small frame. After a few moments he wrapped his own arms around her, returning her embrace.

 “I can’t believe it. I mean, I’d hoped…because you always hope, right? I just never…” Tom trailed off, laughing softly. Beside them on the table, his mobile had begun to vibrate away. He pulled back enough to steal a quick glance at it; far too many texts to count flashed across the brightly lit screen.

 “Quite the popular fellow there, Thomas,” Cath quipped, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

 Tom chuckled and pulled her firmly into his lap, pulling an unexpected whoop of surprise from her lips. “Occupational hazard, my dear.”

 Cath laughed and swatted him lightly on the chest. He rubbed the spot and murmured a soft oath in protest which earned him a quirked eyebrow. “Watch it.”

 He leaned in and kissed her firmly. “Never.”

 “Typical,” Cath breathed with a sigh, “man earns himself a Tony nomination and it goes straight to his head.”

 Tom dropped his head back and let out a long, loud laugh.

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 23)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 7.3k story words: 183.6k (so far) chapter: 23/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: @auroraphilealis is an amazing cheerleader and there are definitely a few bits of this chapter that i would have pushed a bit less if it weren’t for her comments of “PLEASE. PLEASEEEEE. KATTTTTTT.” lol. and also she’s a great friend and i’m glad y’all knew who to turn to when my blog randomly disappeared 

It was half past six when Dan finally made it to Louise’s doorstep, two bags tucked precariously under his arms, his hands shoved in his pockets to protect them from the unexpectedly freezing March air. He was half an hour late and, all things considered, it could have been a lot worse.

Just as Phil had suggested, they’d spent the majority of the day in bed. And by mid afternoon, not only did they need another washing, but the guest bedroom duvet was so thoroughly defiled that Dan was pretty sure he was better off just ordering a new one. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to let his family — or Darcy — sleep under it again without blushing and feeling horrendously guilty.

And fuck, getting out of bed, untangling himself from Phil and forcing himself to be a proper adult tonight had been nearly impossible. They’d had to shower again, and Dan felt like he deserved a bloody award for not blowing Phil again. He just looked fucking gorgeous wet and soapy and — fuck.

Dan cut off his own train of thought before he could get carried away. If his standing dinner date with Louise and Darcy wasn’t such a high priority in his life, if he wasn’t so determined to never be the person that got a partner and bailed on their friends… well. He would have taken a bath with Phil, instead.

Refocusing, Dan awkwardly kicked at the bottom of the door in lieu of knocking. It was too cold to draw his hands out of his pockets and, plus, he was convinced he’d drop something if he tried.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds after Dan had knocked for the door to fly open, and it was accompanied by a reprimand of Daniel James Howell, where have you been?

Louise’s eyes were narrowed and she was smirking slightly as she stared at Dan. As her eyes scanned slowly up and down Dan’s body, he couldn’t help ducking his chin a little further into his bulky knit scarf. The bags under Dan’s arms shifted precariously, threatening to topple to the ground.

Before he could drop everything — including their dinner — Louise caught the bags. She peered inside, first looking at the massive bag of food, then the smaller gift bag from the toy store.

“Is this for Darcy?” Louise asked suspiciously as she stood firmly in the doorway, looking like she wasn’t planning to let him in unless he explained himself.

Dan scrunched his shoulders even farther up and nodded, sidestepping around her and weaseling his way into her home. He shot Louise a triumphant smile, to which she merely rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to spoil her rotten, you know,” she said, shaking her head fondly and closing the door with her bum.

“Too late.” Dan shrugged, unzipping his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “Besides, the gift is as much for you as it is for her.” Dan glanced up through his eyelashes, waiting for the reaction he knew was coming.

Brows furrowed, Louise examined the boutique toy store bag more closely. “How exactly?”

“Well,” Dan started cryptically, barely biting back a wide smirk. “I’m anticipating you wanting a way to keep her busy for awhile after dinner, and I figured a new toy would do nicely.”

Louise’s head cocked, her forehead wrinkling up in confusion. “Wha…?”

Dan unwrapped his scarf with a cheeky grin and a pointed stare. For a second, Louise didn’t respond — not until her eyes drifted from Dan’s face to his neck, anyway.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, voice high and squeaky. “What happened?”

Dan instinctively trailed his fingers over his neck, the light pressure aggravating the deep purple bruises on the tender skin ever so slightly.

“I’ll give you one guess.” Dan answered with a cheeky wink, his tongue pushing at his bottom him.

“Was it Phil?” Louise gasped, sounding hopeful. “Please tell me it was Phil.”

“You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find out!” Dan teased. He grabbed the bag of food from Louise and made to turn around.

“I swear to god, I will book your next interview for seven in the morning if you don’t tell me this second,” Louise threatened before he could take so much as two steps away.

Dan laughed loudly, his dimples surely showing. “Of course it was Phil, you buffoon.” Without waiting to see Louise’s reaction, Dan headed down the hallway to the kitchen. “Details after dinner. I’m starved, barely eaten all day.”

Groaning, Louise hurried to follow behind him.

“You’re such a saucy tease,” she complained when she caught up to him.

“You love me anyway,” Dan teased back with a smirk.

In the kitchen, Dan sat the bag of food down on the counter. “I got everything ready since you were late,” Louise scolded playfully.

Sure enough, there was already a stack of plates and silverware on the counter, so Dan set about unpacking the food and lining the containers up in neat row. He left the frankly ridiculous amount of dips in the bag — they’d be easier to transport to the table that way.

“Darcy!” Dan called in a high, singsong voice. He was surprised that she wasn’t already around; she usually followed Louise to the door.

The pitter-patter of socked feet running down the hallway was Dan’s only warning before Darcy was suddenly sliding into him and hugging onto his thighs.

“You’re late, Uncle Dan!” she scolded cutely.

Jesus, like mother like daughter.

“Sorry, Darce,” Dan apologized. “Look, I brought you a present, though!”

“Ooooooh!” Darcy quickly withdrew from Dan and raised up on her tiptoes to try to get the bag off the counter.

“Ah ah ha!” Dan pushed the present back, out of the reach of her tiny hands. “You can have it after dinner,” he promised.

Louise narrowed her eyes, but Dan could see her lips itching to quirk up into a smile. “You’re enjoying making us both suffer, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” Dan flashed her a smug smile. “I had to wait months for this to happen, you can wait to hear about it until we’ve eaten.”

Louise grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like you suck beneath her breath, but nonetheless turned her attention to fixing up their plates for dinner. Using the plastic spoons that had come with the take out, Louise scooped bits from each container onto their plates.

For his part, Dan took the dips to the table, taking them out of the bag and organizing them into a line in the middle for ease of access..

Doing her best to be helpful, Darcy trailed after Dan, knelt on a chair, and started prying the lids off the sauces as Dan put them down. Twice, she nearly spilled the entire container of dip, either by bumping one or wrestling with the lid too fiercely, but each time Dan was able to right the container before it could spill all over Louise’s pink tablecloth. And despite Dan’s attempts to keep the dips in neat order, Darcy was dropping them back onto the table randomly once she’d gotten the lids off. There was no point in fixing them, though; they’d probably just get out of line again.

Dan and Darcy had only just finished up, with Dan settling Darcy properly into her seat, when Louise walked over.

“I’ve got our food, but can you grab Darcy’s?” Two plates piled high with food, and the water pitcher were already precariously balanced in her hands.

“No problem.” Turning around, Dan headed back into the kitchen to grab the last plate and the silverware, before returning to Darcy and Louise’s sides.

“Mummy do I have to wait until after dinner for Uncle Dan’s present?” Darcy pouted, her fork and spoon still steadfastly on the table.

Louise flashed Dan a quick glare. “Unfortunately, sweetie. Uncle Dan is being a meanie tonight, but maybe if you eat quickly you can have it sooner.”

Louise settled in her chair and immediately picked up her spoon, digging into the Indian food in front of her. Darcy followed suit, saying absolutely nothing but taking far too big of a bite for her small mouth to handle. Evidently they were both eager to get through the eating portion of the evening. Normally, their dinners were chatty and long, but neither of them seemed inclined to make conversation tonight.

Sure, Dan got why they were so anxious to finish their food, and okay, it was kind of his fault. But their weekly dinners were his time to catch up with Louise with absolutely no work talk, and when he was bound to hear all of Darcy’s six year old gossip. When he’d loomed presents and a hot story over their heads, he hadn’t exactly expected them to stop talking entirely.

“So,” Dan started when it became evident that neither Louise nor Darcy were going to talk. “Adaline said to tell you both hello and that she was sad she didn’t get a chance to see you.”

“That’s nice of her, she’ll have to stay longer next time.” Louise took another bite, speaking through her food. “How’d she like Germany?”

“She loved it. I’d never had the chance to travel with just her, like, without our parents, so we got to hang out in a different way. I feel like I got to see a different side of her.”

Louise glanced up between bites. “That’s fantastic. What did you two do?”

“I let her decide, for the most part. On Sunday, we got completely—” Dan’s eyes flickered to Darcy, who was staring curiously at Dan. “Um, we went to a biergarden.”

“Ooooh,” Louise cooed around a mouthful of rice. “How was that?”

“Great! We both had one of those pretzels, you know the ones that —”

“Uncle Dan?” Darcy cut in. “What happened to your throat?”

Oh fuck.

Dan felt his heart come to a crashing halt, and his hand flew up to cover his neck, even though it was clearly too late. The damage was done.

“Uh, nothing Darcy. It’s fine.” Dan tried to keep his voice neutral, but he sounded shaky even to his own ears.

“Nuh uhhh,” Darcy whined in protest. “You’ve got brwuises. How did you get hurt there?” Darcy stood up on her chair, dramatically poking Dan’s neck.

“I, uh...” Desperately, Dan looked to Louise for help, but she was smirking at Dan, her expression filled with mirth.

“Yeah, Dan. Tell us, how did you get hurt, hmm?” Louise teased. In any other situation, Louise would be scolding Darcy, would be ordering her to put her bum back on the chair, but no. Not tonight. Tonight, Louise was taking no mercy on Dan.

Dan shot Louise a look that he hoped said fuck you.

“I, um, burned myself with my straightener.”

“But your hair is curly,” Darcy pointed out, looking confused.

“And you haven’t straightened your hair in years,” Louise supplied unhelpfully.

Dan felt himself sinking further and further into his seat, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. Why the hell had he used that as his excuse?

“Well, I, um, thought it would be fun to do for, uh, old time’s sake.” The grave was just getting deeper and deeper, and the words were coming out of Dan’s mouth before he fully had time to process what he was saying. “I stopped when I burnt myself though. Figured it was best to not risk it.” Dan awkwardly chuckled, hoping Darcy would drop it.

She didn’t.

“But why did you burn both sides of your neck?” Darcy pushed.

Fucking hell, this child…

There was no getting out of this gracefully, Dan was certain of that. Better to just abort.

“Why don’t you eat so you can have your present sooner, yeah?” Dan took a pointed, massive bite of his food and refused to look up at either of them.

He heard a grumbled fine, and the soft rustling of Darcy settling down. When he glanced back up, Darcy was seated again and was studiously chewing her food. A quick look at Louise proved that she was just as fixated on her meal as her daughter.

With a sigh, Dan gave in. Apparently tonight just wasn’t going to be a talkative dinner.

They ate in silence, both Darcy and Louise cleared their plates much faster than Dan.

“I’m finished!” Darcy said the moment she’d finished her food, and primly sat her napkin on the table before looking at Dan expectantly.

“Okay, okay,” he relented. It’s not like they were getting anything out of sitting around the table tonight, anyway. Dan dropped his fork onto his half-full plate and tipped his chair backward. He just managed to swipe the present off the counter and right his chair, gravity very nearly pulling him all the way to the floor. “Here you go,” Dan said with a smile when his chair was righted again.

“Yayyy!” Darcy crawled up on her chair and sat on her knees in excitement, making small grabby hands at Dan.

Dan chuckled and passed her the bag.

Darcy didn’t waste any time; the second the bag was in front of her, she was pulling the tissue paper out and diving in, pulling out the box inside.

“Makeup!” Darcy cried excitedly as she inspected the products displayed in the box. Smiling fondly, Dan watched as her tiny fingers ran across the plastic holding the makeup in, her face awestruck. “Can I do your makeup, Uncle Dan? Please please please please please?”

Dan’s gaze flickered to Louise. He could tell she was impatient to talk about Phil — and, undoubtedly, what the marks on his neck meant — but Darcy was too cute, too eager, to deny.

“Of course,” Dan agreed. He pushed his unfinished plate of food away; he could eat the rest later. “Let’s go do it in the loo.”

A small huff from Louise caught Dan’s attention, and he looked up to find her opening and closing her mouth aimlessly. She looked like she was torn between wanting to interrupt them, and letting Dan have time with Darcy.

“Wait!” Louise interrupted. “You can only do his makeup if you promise to play by yourself for a while afterwards so Mummy can talk to Uncle Dan,” she finally said, giving in.

“Okay!” Darcy grabbed Dan’s hand immediately, her small fingers barely wrapping around his palm. With all the force that her six-year-old body was capable of, Darcy dragged Dan into the bathroom and pushed him down on the edge of the tub.

She thrust the box of makeup into his hands. “Can you open it, please?”

“No problem.” Dan set about opening the children’s makeup kit, taking the various eyeshadows, blushes, and lipsticks from the plastic and placing them on the ground next to them. “What color are you going to give me for my eyes?”

“Hmmm…” Darcy studied the powders before picking up a hot pink product that Dan was fairly certain was actually blush. “This one!”

“That looks great, I love it.” Dan smiled, quietly proud of Darcy for not picking out the bright blue shadow because it was a boy’s color.

“Close your eyes,” Darcy ordered as she rubbed one of the brushes — a brush far too big for eyeshadow — in the powder.

Dan obediently closed his eyes, just seconds before the brush made contact with his eyelid. Darcy’s hands were clumsy and her fine motor skills were still kind of shit. If the feeling was anything to go by, Dan’s entire eyelids — and probably his eyebrows — were going to be bright pink.

The soft sweeping of the brush stopped. “Okay, open.”

Dan’s eyes fluttered open, and he could feel some of the loose powder falling off his eyes and land on his cheeks. Oh well, there was probably going to be plenty more color on his face by the time Darcy was done; a bit of hot pink dust wasn’t going to matter.

“Are you going to put something on my cheeks?” Dan asked, looking at the other blush options.

“Yes!” Much to Dan’s amusement, she didn’t go for of the blushes, though. Instead, she picked up an eyeshadow.

A bright purple eyeshadow.

That was going to look great on his cheeks.

Whatever, she was doing what she wanted to do, and besides, rules were stupid and arbitrary. If she wanted to use purple powder that was technically meant for eyes on his cheeks, what did it matter?

Darcy squished the same brush into the purple powder, absolutely covering the brush in the stuff, and brought it up to Dan’s cheeks. Just like his eyes, she completely failed to contain the product to the appropriate region. The brush swept all over Dan’s cheeks, all the way from his cheek bones down to his mouth. Lovely.

“Lipstick!” Darcy exclaimed, dropping the brush onto the ledge and fumbling with the different lipstick options. She settled on a bright, pumpkin orange option. “Go like this,” she commanded before scrunching her lips up into a kissy pout.

Dan mimicked her, loosening his lips a little like Louise has made him do when she’s put lipstick on him in the past. Hand shaking slightly, Darcy brought the lipstick up to Dan’s mouth and smeared it on, definitely getting a lot of it around Dan’s mouth, in addition to on it.

“You’re done!” Darcy dropped the lipstick and grabbed Dan’s hand, pulling him over to the mirror so he could see her work. “Do you like it, Uncle Dan?”

Frankly, it was a complete mess. Dan could tell while she was putting it on that it was probably all over his face, but, if anything, he’d underestimated just how much of a mess it was. His eyebrows were completely caked in the hot pink powder, and his cheeks had messy, massive purple circles. And his mouth, jesus, his mouth was absolutely covered in the orange lipstick. It didn’t help that the makeup kit was designed for kids — meaning that the colors were all much brighter than adult makeup.

“I love it, Darce,” Dan gushed loudly. And, really, despite how ridiculous he looked, Dan really did love it. In the past, he’d really only messed around with concealer and mascara, but having so much makeup on his face kind of made Dan want to explore it properly. To see what blush and eyeshadow and lipstick would all look like if they were applied neatly.

And spending time with Darcy had been good too; it’d been too long since they’d had quality time together and they’d both had fun doing it.

“Come on, come on, let’s go show Mummy!” Darcy ran out of the bathroom, running ahead of Dan to the lounge. Dan chuckled, remembering when he’d once had that much energy. Like one time. Back when he was eight.

“Mummy, Mummy! Look at Dan! He looks like a princess!” Darcy was shouting. As Dan turned the corner, he found that she was tugging on Louise’s arm. Louise twisted around on the sofa to turn her attention to Dan, who was hovering impishly in the doorway. Louise’s eyes grew wide, and she was smiling with her lips clamped together; Dan knew her well enough to know that she was just barely biting back laughter — years of friendship filled with awkward and embarrassing moments had taught him to recognize that face.

“He looks beautiful!” Laughter was bubbling up, threatening to completely disrupt Louise’s sentence. Luckily, Darcy didn’t seem to notice her mum’s amusement.

“I wanna do mine now!” Darcy cheered, already running back towards the door. “When I’m done, can I do yours, Mummy?”

“Um, Mummy has to…” Louise started, trailing off. Dan could see the reluctance on Louise’s face — she undoubtedly didn’t want to have to halt her conversation with Dan so that Darcy could spend half an hour making her look like Dan.

Louise glanced at the clock and shifted tactics. “After you’re done with yours, I think it will be reading time before bed. You can do mine tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!” Darcy agreed as she scampered off back to the loo, brushing passed Dan on her way out of the lounge.

When Darcy was out of earshot, Louise turned to Dan, repressed laughter finally bubbling out. “Let me get you a makeup wipe. There’s no way I can take you seriously looking like that.”

Dan glanced behind him towards where Darcy had run off to, a frown pulling at his lips. “Darcy will be sad if she comes back in here and I’ve taken it off,” he said, concerned that he might hurt Darcy’s feelings. “I’ll take it off when she’s gone to bed.” Dan crossed the room, solidifying his resolve to leave the outrageous makeup on for a while.

Louise sighed and shook her head, but she scooched over on the sofa to make room for Dan anyway. “You’re too good of an uncle sometimes. It’s bloody annoying.”

“You love it and you know it.” Dan plopped down on the couch, immediately curling up. He eyed the coffee table and was surprised to see nothing on it. “I was hoping you’d pour us some wine. Hot gossip demands wine, you know.”

Louise’s gaze followed Dan’s, and her eyes light up with recognition. “Oops, I knew I was forgetting something. Hang on, I’ll be just a tick.” Louise stood up and made her way to the kitchen.

While Dan was waiting for Louise to come back, he took a quick selfie to send to Phil. Well, he took more like eight selfies, each one featuring a slightly different pout and angle. Quickly scanning the options, Dan picked the best one and attached it to a message to Phil.

Dan [7:49PM]: would you still take me on a nice date if you showed up and i looked like this

Phil’s response came faster than Dan had been anticipating — before Louise got back with the wine even. Three messages came in rapid succession, new ones appearing before Dan could even get chance to start typing.

Phil [7:51PM]: Oh my god you look hilarious

Phil [7:51PM]: What happened? Darcy?

Phil [7:52PM]: And of course I’d still take you on a date, but I don’t know if Hutong would appreciate it.

Dan’s jaw dropped at the mention of Hutong. When Phil had said he would take Dan somewhere nice, Dan hadn’t exactly anticipated having a date at the bloody Shard. From what he’d seen of pictures online, Dan knew the restaurant was beautiful, and had a stunning view. He’d seen reviews, too — he knew the food was supposed to be phenomenal, but pricey as all hell.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. He hadn’t expected Phil to go all fucking out for their first date. Jesus on a fucking tricycle. Dan took a few steadying breaths and typed what he hoped counted as a calm response.

Dan [7:54PM]: hutong? fancy fancy. i guess i’ll skip the bright purple cheeks then

Louise came back with two overfilled glasses of red wine, as well as the rest of the bottle, before Dan could explain why he looked like this to Phil. Passing Dan one of the glasses, Louise sat on the opposite end of the couch and faced Dan.

“Okay, spill,” she demanded.

Lips pulling into a wide smile, Dan found himself lost for what to say. There weren’t enough words in the english language to describe how fucking happy he was, how amazing last night — and this morning — had been. Absentmindedly, Dan spun the stemless wine glass between his palms while he searched for words, careful not to actually spill on Louise’s white sofa. “I don’t even know where to start,” he eventually admitted.

Louise smiled sympathetically, seeming to realize that Dan wasn’t just trying to make her wait longer. Taking mercy on him, Louise prompted Dan with something specific to talk about. “You said you were going to go to B ‘n G last night. Start there.”

“Alright,” Dan took a sip of his wine, stalling for time so he could figure out what to say. He felt his phone vibrate against his leg, but he knew Louise would probably throw it out the window if he dared to look at it right now. “Uhm, so last night. I went to B ‘n G right after I dropped Adaline off at the train station. And — fuck. I got there and he was working, right? And there were a bunch of fucking uni students there, too.” Dan rolled his eyes and took a drink. “There was so much bloody sexual tension. Like, we both knew that this thing between us was really going to happen, but... we were in public and there were people around. It’s not like we could exactly jump each other right then, so…”

“So what happened? You obviously did something afterwards,” Louise prompted with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Well, yeah.” Dan took another sip of wine in preparation for the next part of the story. “There’s kind of an important bit of drama before that though.”

Louise’s eyebrows shot up and a look of concern clouded her face. “What?”

“Guess who showed up at the coffee shop?” Dan couldn’t stop his tone from coming out harsher, darker.

“Oh dear, who?” Louise stared at Dan imploringly. “I’m guessing it wasn’t good.”

“Not at all,” Dan agreed with a resigned shake of his head. He took a drink — a much needed drink — before answering. “Isabella.”

Louise’s jaw dropped and she was speechless for nearly a full minute. “Why?”

Dan shook his head, lost at how to communicate just how much of a shitshow it had been.

Wine. Wine might help.

Holding up a finger to make Louise wait, Dan swallowed the rest of his wine in three large gulps. His actions must have spoken volumes, because Louise drained her wine as well and promptly poured them each another glass.

Dan accepted it graciously, staring into it for comfort.

“She wanted to get back together,” Dan explained hallowly. “And apparently shout a bunch of really shitty stuff at me and Phil — well, mainly Phil.”

Louise looked just as outraged as Dan had felt when Isabella made her demands. In the eighteen years that Dan had known her, he’d never seen that expression on Louise’s face. Every ounce of niceness, of warmth, was gone and was replaced with sheer disgust. “She what?”

“I don’t really want to get into, tbh.” Taking another long drink of his wine, Dan shrugged and rolled his eyes. “It was shit. It was so obvious that she just missed the media attention, and there was more of her same bi-erasure crap, and she accused Phil of turning me gay, whatever that means. Plus, she tried to accuse me of cheating on her with Phil, which was some first class bullshit.”

Louise’s eyes were growing wider and wider as Dan relayed the story. It was clear that she was desperate to interrupt him, but Dan kept going, raising a hand to silently tell her to just hold on a second.

Because fuck knows he was nowhere near done with this story.

“Oh it gets worse,” Dan continued. “She tried to kiss me — well, I guess technically she did kiss me, but I pushed her away.”

Louise gasped loudly, but didn’t interject. Dan laughed humorlessly, his eyes rolling in distaste. “I thought Phil was going to have a heart attack. Isabella lost her fucking shit, though, and swore to the high heavens that I’d regret it. Like fuck will I regret not getting back together with her.”

“Oh my god,” Louise gasped. “Do you think she’ll do something to get revenge somehow?”

Dan cocked his head. He hadn’t really considered that.

“I assumed she just meant that I’d miss her. Which I won’t. Obviously.”

“I’m not sure that’s what she meant, Dan,” Louise warned warily.

“Really?” Dan’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think she’s so crazy that she’d try to get revenge.”

Louise shot him a skeptical look. “We’ve already discovered that she’s absolutely batshit, I wouldn’t underestimate her if I were you.”

Dan shrugged and took a long drink of wine. “Whatever. I’m so fucking done with her, and I’m so happy that I can’t imagine anything she could do to really hurt me.”

“I don’t know about —” Louise started, but Dan was sick of the topic already.

“Look, can we drop it please?” Dan’s voice was terse and it didn’t particularly come out like a question. The two minutes that he’d dedicated to talking about Isabella already felt like too much, and he could feel a raging headache coming on if he had to stomach the conversation for another half second.

Besides, that’s not what tonight, what this conversation, was supposed to be focused on.

“Fine, fine,” Louise acquiesced, but it was evident she didn’t want to move on from the topic yet. “Just be careful okay?”

Rolling his eyes, Dan drained the rest of his wine and refilled his glass again, topping Louise’s off as well.

“Finish the story, then. You said you were happy?” Louise smirked knowingly and glanced down at Dan’s neck again.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” Dan giggled, a reverent smile taking over his face. The memories of last night came washing back and, for a moment, he got lost in them. The way it had felt when Phil had touched him, the sight of his mouth trailing over Dan’s skin...

“Because…” Louise prompted.

Shifting to sit more upright, Dan continued, “After all that shit with Isabella, Phil offered to take me out for a drink, to calm down or whatever, so I told him to meet me at my flat when he was done closing up.”

“Awe,” Louise cooed. “What a gentleman.”

“I got back home, though, and I realized that I really, really didn’t want to go back in public with him. Like, the whole fucking evening we had to toe line of what was okay for being in public and I didn’t want that anymore.”

Louise winked, a smirk on her face. She’d known Dan plenty long — she knew how Dan could be once he had that on the mind.

“So I made us a pitcher of drinks, you know, to derail the whole going out plan.”

“Daniel James Howell!” Louise scolded, the smile falling from her face. “Did you do this drunk?”

“No, we barely had more than one drink each,” Dan defended. Him and Louise had gone over his intentions with Phil — and his determination to be in a clear mind when anything happened — and he was almost a little offended that she’d thought he would just throw that away.

Almost. Not entirely though, given his track record of hookups.

“Anyway, at first we just talked. I told him everything — and I mean everything — about Isabella and why we broke up. And he listened and said he wanted to be different and just, cared — wait.” Dan cut himself off. “He actually said something really important during all of that. And I’m going to use it as my album title."

Louise blinked rapidly, clearly thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. “What did he say?”

“He was talking about Isabella and he made a comment about how she is better off loving herself, and it just hit me. Love yourself.”

Louise smiled widely, her face softening. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. She’d heard Dan ramble about the album more than anyone, and if she thought it was fitting, too, then that meant it was definitely the right title. She wiggled around in her seat, and nudged Dan’s wine glass pointedly. “Tell me more about that later, though. Get back to Phil.”

“Well, I kind of told him that I did break up with Isabella because I had feelings for him — at least partially.” Dan’s cheeks flushed as he got closer to the part of the story he knew Louise was waiting for. “And I don’t know, one thing led to another and we kissed,” Dan said, trying to brush over the juicier bits.

“Dan,” Louise said, quirking a brow in amusement. Her tone was almost condescending as she needlessly reminded him, “You don’t get hickeys just from kissing.”

“Fine, fine,” Dan relented. “We did more than kiss, happy?”

“No!” Louise exclaimed indignantly. “Tell me more! I want details.”

Dan felt his cheeks grow even warmer. The last twenty four hours with Phil had been so fucking hot, and he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting back and replaying the details. Every single time they’d touched had felt electric, and Dan couldn’t shake the image of Phil kissing his way down his chest, down his stomach, up his thighs, and…

“No sex but, uh, plenty else,” Dan confessed awkwardly.

Dumbfounded, Louise’s jaw dropped and she nearly dribbled out the sip of wine she’d just taken. “No sex?! Why?”

“Last night we were too eager to get farther than, um, sloppy handjobs.” Dan blushed deeply, his gaze dropping to his wine glass momentarily. “I mean, we’d basically had months of foreplay and just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Dan awkwardly cleared his throat, and looked back up at Louise. “And then this morning we were in the shower, so sex, um, wasn’t really an option.” From his neck to his ears, Dan was certain that his entire face was on fire by this point. “And this afternoon we just got carried away again and didn’t, um, last long enough for that.”

Louise didn’t bother to stifle her giggles, but she did set her wine down on the table so she could laughly freely without spilling it. Dan knew whatever she had to say was probably only going to further his humiliation.

“Are you fourteen again?” she sputtered through her laughter.

Dan buried his face in his hands but didn’t try to defend himself — he had come unbelievably fast every time they’d done anything so far. Hell, he’d basically come just from blowing Phil. There was no point in denying how young they’d acted.

“Shuddup, it was new and exciting.” Dan dropped his hands and took a drink from his wine glass. “Beside, I um, kinda want sex to be…” Dan trailed off bashfully, turning his attention down to the hole in his jeans and fiddling with the loose strings.

“To be what?” Louise asked, head tilted and lips pursed. Much to Dan’s disappointment, she looked genuinely baffled. He’d kind of hoped that she would just get what he meant without him having to actually say anything.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Dan mumbled without looking up from his trousers.

“I’ll do my best,” Louise promised. Her foot reached out and nudged Dan’s leg, drawing Dan’s attention back up to her face.

“I just kind of want that to be special,” Dan admitted sheepishly. “Like, Phil’s special, so it feels like maybe the sex should be, too. It’s never been, like, a thing with anyone before.”

“Mmm,” Louise hummed as she took a sip of her wine. “Sex hasn’t meant anything to you before, but it will with Phil?”

“Yeah,” Dan looked back down at his exposed knee and traced his fingers along the rip of his jeans. “Suddenly it feels like it’s… I dunno. More than just sex, I guess.”

Louise poked her foot into his thigh again, and he looked up. “Dan, I think that’s great. That’s a real sign of growth, and honestly, I never expected to hear you talk about sex that way. You’ve always talked about how sex makes you happy, so you seek it out. I guess I just assumed that… it wouldn’t ever be an important step in a relationship for you. But I’m really happy for you. I’m proud of this whole new outlook you seem to have on relationships.”

“It’s not really relationships,” Dan corrected. “It’s Phil.”

“So, Phil is different from everyone else. More meaningful?” Louise smiled softly.

“Yeah, he is,” Dan agreed, his eyes trained on his knee again. At least that way he had a chance of hiding his bright red cheeks from Louise.

In search of a distraction, or a change in subject, Dan cast a look around the room. His phone was still face down on the sofa between them and — shit, right. He’d been in the middle of a conversation with Phil, and his phone had vibrated a while back. Eager to shift the conversation from his embarrassing confession, Dan dug his phone out from where it had slid under his bum and unlocked it.

Just as he’d expected, there was an unread message from Phil.

It took Dan a few seconds to process what Phil had said, but when the meaning of Phil’s message finally registered, Dan’s jaw dropped.

Phil [8:04PM]: I’m not going to lie, though. The thought of you in proper lipstick is kind of hot.

“What?” Louise demanded, clearly noticing Dan’s shocked expression.

“I, um, I…” Dan couldn’t manage to string together a coherent thought. Images were flooding his mind — images he didn’t particularly want to be thinking about in front of Louise. “It’s maybe a little kinky,” he choked out.

“Oh my god, tell me right now, Daniel Howell.”

“I sent him a picture of this.” Dan waved his hand around his face, hyper aware of how silly he must have looked to Louise during this whole conversation. “And we joked about it and whatever. But then he sent, uh, another message.”

Louise’s face contorted into a look of disbelief and confusion. “Dan, I love you to bits, but there is nothing sexy about how you look right now. Half of your face is purple.”

“Not this, specifically.” Dan pointed at his face with a pointed glare. “Just, like, the concept.”

“Ooooh,” Louise hummed scandalously. “Is he into that?”

Dan didn’t drop his glare but he could feel the blush on his cheeks deepen even more. “Just the, uh, lipstick.”

“You can take any of mine you want,” she offered eagerly.

Dan shifted his gaze to his lap nervously. “Not tonight. I feel like we should have sex first.” Dan glanced up shyly. “But maybe we can go shopping at some point?”

Before Louise could answer, Darcy ran back in the room and jumped onto the sofa between them.

“Mummy, mummy! Look at my makeup!”

Dan bit back a laugh, smiling at Darcy’s makeup. Just like when she’d done his face, she’d paid no regards to rules about where makeup was supposed to go, and what product was meant for which parts. From the looks of it, she’d tried to make the lipstick into a crude attempt at eyeliner, and had bright red rings around her eyes. Like Dan, her cheeks were sporting eyeshadow instead of blush — although hers were a bright blue color.

“It looks lovely, sweetie!” Louise cooed.

“Uncle Dan and I match now!” Excited, Darcy bounced on her knees. Dan felt a smidgen bad about giving her a present that had apparently riled her up so close to bedtime.

“You do,” Louise agreed. “You both look beautiful.”

“Will you take our picture, Mummy?” Darcy crawled into Dan’s lap without waiting for an answer, and flashed Louise a pair of big puppy-dog eyes — a look she’d learned from Dan.

“I’d love to.” Louise swiped Dan’s phone off of the sofa and aimed the camera at them. “Say cheese!”

Cheeks pressed close together, they both smiled widely at Louise.

“Cheeeeeeese!” Darcy squealed.

Giggling, Dan pulled Darcy in a little closer. “Cheese!”

Louise took several photos, and Dan turned to press a sloppy kiss on Darcy’s cheek in the last one. When he pulled back, there was a mess of orange lipstick overtop of the blue powder on her cheeks.

Louise passed Dan back his phone and he swiped through the pictures. They were all adorable, and if it weren’t for the hickeys that were prominently showing on his neck, Dan would have considered tweeting one of them.

“Alright, lovely. It’s time for your bedtime.”

“I want Uncle Dan to tuck me in!”

“Let’s go brush your teeth and wash your face and then he can put you to bed.”

“But I like my makeup,” Darcy pouted, crossing her arms in front her chest and stomping.

“You don’t want to get your sheets all mucked up, though.” Louise scooped Darcy up and stood. “If you’re good, maybe Uncle Dan will even read you a book.”

“Really!?” Darcy looked excitedly to Dan.

“Any book you want,” Dan promised.

“Okay! Let’s go, Mummy!”

Louise giggled and carried Darcy to the loo. “We’ll be back in a minute to get you, Daniel!”

Taking advantage of the moment alone, Dan opened his conversation with phone and typed a quick response.

Dan [8:19PM]: noted.

Phil must not be busy tonight, because his response came quickly.

Phil [8:20PM]: Maybe just not bright orange

Dan [8:21PM]: not sexually attracted to pumpkins? im hurt phil

Phil [8:22PM]: No but I am ridiculously sexually attracted to you.

Even from across London, Phil was making Dan blush. Dan stared at Phil’s message, savoring the fact that not only was Phil ridiculously attracted to him, but also the fact that that was something they were allowed to say, now. Dan sort of wanted that message framed and hung on his wall so he could see it every day.

Dan [8:24PM]: i can tell. you made a right mess of me today

Dan [8:25PM]: what color would you be interested in

Dan [8:25PM]: theoretically.

Biting his lip — and probably getting orange all over his teeth in the process — Dan stared anxiously at his phone while waited for a response.

Phil [8:26PM]: Theoretically? Dark red.

Phil [8:26PM]: And theoretically, I imagine it’d go well with stockings.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The image of himself in dark red lipstick and black stockings, with Phil kissing up his leg… fuck.

Dan could not get a boner right now.

Dan [8:27PM]: abort

Dan realized that his message probably made it sound like he wasn’t into what Phil was suggesting, rather than that he was too into it. He quickly typed out a second message.

Dan [8:27PM]: i have to read darcy a story in like .2 seconds and i can’t do that if you get me worked up again

Phil [8:28PM]: Oops

Phil [8:28PM]: When do I get to see you again?

Dan tabbed over to his calendar, and grimaced at the fact that the next four days were blocked off from morning ‘til evening, all just with the description STUDIO.

And sure, he had a whole fuckton more direction and inspiration than he had twenty four hours ago. And sure, he already had a chorus of lyrics rattling about his head.

But fuck he didn’t want to be a responsible adult. He just wanted to see Phil.

Dan [8:30PM]: i have to work during the day all week, but i can do dinner any night

Phil [8:31PM]: Tomorrow night then. I’ll make a reservation and pick you up. 7 okay?

Dan [8:32PM]: perfect. come over a little earlier? i wanna be with you alone before we have to go out in public

Phil [8:32PM]: I’ll be there at 6 xx

Dan [8:33PM]: fine. but make the reservation for 8 then xx

[coffeekaspbrak]

Pictures of you- chapter one

For proper spacing visit my ao3 chapter 2 is already up there!

Eddie climbed the stairs to his apartment with dread weighing heavy on his body, that and the water that soaked his clothes. It had been a long day of driving and dealing with passengers, all while trying to navigate New York City through the rain. Getting his limo app service off the ground proved to be great for business, but not so great for his sanity. On the way to pick to one of his ever so gracious customers, he’d been rear ended by some asshole going 50 in an area with a speed limit of 30. He couldn’t slow down fast enough for a red light and ended up hitting Eddie’s limo. Eddie had jolted forward, his chest hitting the steering wheel. His breathing became short and rapid as his heart raced, the signs of an oncoming Asthma attack. He reached for his inhaler in the glove compartment and pulled on the trigger with a shaking hand. He was so stunned for a minute or so, he couldn’t get out of the car. Until the man who had hit him came out of his car; shouting and banging on Eddie’s window, saying he should’ve seen him coming.

As ridiculous as that accusation was, the man was reasonable enough to exchange his information with Eddie. The incident hadn’t caused any lethal damage, but the bumper of the limo was now wonky and dented. It wasn’t too terrible, but appearance is very important in his business. Presentation is important in every aspect of life, his mother had often told him. Eddie had it hauled away to the nearest auto shop and opted to walk home in the rain rather than give his money to one of those big cooperate car apps. He was too prideful for that, if nothing else.

He scaled the final step, a little bit winded, and pushed the key into the door of his apartment. It’s not too small. The realtor had described it as, “Cozy for a couple.” But the shades of paint and furniture they’d picked out for the space made Eddie feel like he was being suffocated. He took in his surroundings with a small sigh. Despite its comfy couches and cabinets filled with his clothes and belongings, Eddie always had to make some what of a mental effort to establish it as his home. Slipping off his shoes and shaking his jacket off, he heard the faint sound of weeping coming from the living room. Softly, he tip toed over and ducked his head into the room,

“Myra?” He asked with caution. “Oh Eddie!” She jumped to her feet, voice screeching in it’s high pitch, “thank god!”

She wrapped herself around Eddie in a death grip that would rival that of cobra’s. His hands sat at his side stiffly before his better judgment kicked in and he moved them to rub circles on her back. She untangled herself from him after a moment, “Where were you and why weren’t you answering your phone?” Her was voice demanding and whiny, Eddie cringed at the sound.

“You know I can’t have your notifications on while I drive, sweetie. It’s bad for business.”

This only caused Myra to pout more, “You’re supposed to pull over to text me every hour Eddie! We talked about this!”

“Yes,” he mumbles, “but-“

“No, Eddie!” he didn’t think her voice could get any louder, “I could’ve had heart attack! I thought you might’ve died! And there was an emergency!”

Eddie’s heart stopped how the fuck does she know already? Oh Christ almighty, she’s not going to let you go anywhere now. Good fuckin goin, Kasp- “Eddie!” Myra ran back over to him again, wrapping a large arm around him, “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you! Where’s your inhaler?”

Eddie hadn’t even noticed that his breathing had become heavy while his brain was spiraling. She reached a hand into his pocket and fished out his inhaler, holding it to his lips. Eddie took a puff, as his fiancé continued rambling on. “I should’ve known not to use that word with you, I know how delicate you are. But it really was, something really bad happened.”

“Is that why you were crying?” Eddie asked, knowing his fiancé has the tendency for the dramatics. He can never gauge how serious the problem is just from her reaction. She nodded, “Oh Eddie, it’s so horrible! I could cry even more!”

“No!” His shouted a little too quickly, “No, just tell me what happened, Marty.” “I got a call from the photographer.”

“And?” Eddie could see that she’s starting to tear up again, but she blurts out the words before they can fall. “They pulled out of the wedding! They said they had something else booked that day. I don’t know how that’s even possible! We scheduled this months ago!” She exclaimed, hugging Eddie tightly again and crying into his shoulder. He let her sob for a while before attempting to reason with her, “I know. It’s okay, hey, it’s alright. We can get a new one, they are plenty in the city.”

“That’s no excuse! They should’ve had it together! And where are we going to find a photographer that will work on such short notice? Oh it’s all falling apart, Eddie! This is a disaster!” She shouted, too close to Eddie’s ear. “No! Hey,” he met her eyes, red and puffy from crying, “We’ll find one, I promise. We can go and look tomorrow.”

“Eddie! I have a dress fitting tomorrow!”

“Alright, Myra calm down. I will go and look tomorrow, I can’t drive the limo anyway.”

Shit.

“What’s wrong with the limo?”

“Oh just needs an oil change and some other tune ups you know. I gotta give the riders the best treatment, right?” He felt bad for lying, but he would feel worse telling her the truth. She worries. And he worries about what will happen to him if she worries any more than she already does.

She nodded into his shoulder.

“Okay, why don’t you go to bed and I’ll meet you there?”

“I love you, Eddie-bear,” she mumbled gently.

Eddie doesn’t think about his response, he learned not to long ago.

“I love you too, Marty.”

Myra releases him and walks over to their bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Eddie sighs deeply once she is out of sight, running his hands over his eyes. He lets the oxygen reach his whole body before plopping down on the couch, defeatedly.

He just sits exhausted there for a while, before rising and walking to the bathroom to shower. He lets the warm water comfort him and lets it run maybe a bit too long as he stands underneath it.

He exits the shower and heads for the medicine cabinet. He finds the melatonin, (among a heap of other things) and pops a few into his mouth. The stress of planing a wedding had been taking its toll on his sleep. Ever since the night of the engagement, Eddie hadn’t gotten a full night of rest. Even in times of relative calm, restlessness plagued him as he tossed and turned in his bed. Tonight was no different.

He lets his eyes find his future wife taking up more than her side in bed, and crawls in warily beside her. He stared up at the ceiling a long while, thinking about everything and nothing.

He is woken up several times during the night, not to his surprise.

-

Eddie wakes up the next morning to find a note on the kitchen table, Off to the fitting! Only 62 more days! Love you! -Myra

That number sat heavy in his chest as he made himself coffee and opened his laptop to begin looking for a new photographer. The first page on google was companies with enough money to afford to put ads there. He figured they’d all be booked and when he calls, that suspicion is confirmed. One man even laughs into the phone obnoxiously when Eddie tells him the date of the wedding.

That’s how he spends majority of the morning, hunched over his laptop as concern pulls on the lines of his face. He nearly pulls all his hair out while on the phone with countless photography studios. All booked that day.

He’s on the fourth page of google, sporting a defeated expression when something finally takes. Richie Tozier Photography. There’s a number on the website header and Eddie calls without a second thought, not expecting much.

It rings twice before someone, groggy sounding, picks up. “Hello?” A scratchy voice asks. Eddie isn’t sure he’s got the right guy.

“Um Hi, I might have the wrong number is this Richie Tozier?”

“As you live and breathe,” the voice, Richie apparently, answered. Skeptical, he attempted to clarify, “The photographer?”

“Yeah huh,” He responded causally.

A bit too casually for Eddie’s liking. But he A bit too casually for Eddie’s liking. But he didn’t have a whole lot of options at this point. Fuck it, he thought, this might be all there is. The guy’s just gotta show up and take pictures right? With a sharp inhale Eddie asks, “Do you have any availability June 5th? I know it’s pretty soon.”

The other line hummed for a moment, “What’s the occasion?”

“My wedding.”

“Damn. Guess you’re not a planner then huh.”

“Excuse me I’ll have you kn-“ The voice chuckled, “I’m just messing with you, man. What’s your name?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” He hummed again, “Well, I might have somethin open just for you Eds.”

“That’s not my na-“ “Do you have a venue?”

Eddie scoffed, frankly sort of offended “Well, yeah of course,”

“Can you text me the address?”“Yes bu-“

The man on the phone clicked his tongue, “Mkay, cool. See if you can schedule something there so we can meet and I can check out the lighting and stuff.”

Eddie was a little dumbfounded at the gall this “Richie” seemed to have. “Um, okay,”

“Alright, see ya around then, Eddie spaghetti,” and before he could say anything about the nickname, he heard the phone click ending the call. Eddie sat in the wake of the phone call, a little disoriented to say the least. His laptop still had Richie’s website open and there was tab labeled “portfolio” on the top of the page. He clicked it reluctantly.

It was a layout of three pictures per row, and there were several rows. It was similar to an instagram feed, you could click on each picture to enlarge it and scroll. The first picture struck him: it was a girl with short red curls laying in a field, one hand across her chest and her eyes closed. She had a flower tucked on her ear, a white carnation, complementing a splattering of reddish freckles on her face. The golden light of the sunset behind her highlighted her long, reddish brown lashes. She looked beautiful. Eddie scrolled to see more.

A boy, muscular and tall, sitting inside a coffee shop, the picture being taken outside of it. It struck Eddie as a little weird if the photographer didn’t know this guy, but it was an amazing photo none the less. The background seemed faded as the man stared straight ahead out the window. The photo caught light of the man’s eyes; he was clearly pondering something as he peered longingly at something unseen to everyone but himself. He scrolled through several more of the photos, more featuring those two subjects. There were a few that looked to be graduation parties or other gatherings of the sort, but no weddings. That made him a little anxious, but clearly this Richie guy had some skill with the camera.

He was intrigued if nothing else.

Tag list: @white-duvet @beep-beep-eds @takealottodragmeawayfromreddie @kat-ships @jalenrose1122 @fandoms-caused-my-death @addimagination @richieshawaiianshirts @reddie-boi

(Let me know if you want to be tagged in the other chaps!)

[littleoldrachel]

Seventh chapter is (finally) up! Read it here on ao3, or here  on ff.net, or under the cut.  100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 7/100 - “I dreamed about you last night.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x 

Tw for anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight.

“I dreamed about you last night”

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it’s an effort to untangle his fists from where they’re clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that it wasn’t fucking real, get over it. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he’s been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For fuck’s sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just how much of this he’s supposed to take. How much more can he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly ridiculous. The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can’t remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he’s only thinking it because he’s exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It’s too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he’s suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus’ brain, and he’s spiralling; the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –

His lungs are tight again, only this time it’s like something’s sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he needs to do. The urge to hurt himself is a fierce, burning, boiling need beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there’s some kind of visible proof that the turmoil in his head is real and happening and valid – something that will make people not just listen, but hear him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as “distressed, but not a pressing concern” –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even attempt to stop them from falling.

(You need to call someone, his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms finally kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is past that, damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There’s an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he’s locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally – finally – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-up-I’m-awful-awful-awful rises so fast that it’s almost vomit-inducing. But then –

“Hello?” croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre relief-but-still-panic washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he’s woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning (selfish, selfish, selfish) –

“Prongs,” he manages, and hears James’ intake of breath.

Give me one second, Moony,” he whispers, and there’s movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he’s moved rooms. “I’m here, love, talk to me.”

“It’s – bad – “ Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to make it better.

“Breathe for me, love,” James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. “Did something happen?”

“Bad dream,” Remus’ voice cracks, and he hates himself, hates that he can’t handle a stupid nightmare, hates how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he’s nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he knows that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.

James doesn’t say ‘it’s okay, it wasn’t real, it’s over now, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’ doesn’t say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is scarier – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, “hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?” When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school’s science block up for sale. Remus doesn’t pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James’ expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, “how are we doing?”

Remus inhales, relishing in how easy it is now, and leans back against the headboard. “Better.”

“Good.”

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a thunk. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it’s not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

“What’s going on, love?” James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

“I… I haven’t been doing well,” he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn’t scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of ‘go on’ encouragement. “I can’t sleep. I can’t – everything hurts all the time. I – I – I –“ His chest is constricting once more, and this time he’s too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. “I don’t know what’s changed,” his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

“Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?” His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There’s a large part of him that is longing for James’ understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can’t do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock – two hours for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly does not understand what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, “no. No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It’s not a problem.”

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “No. Honestly, it’s fine.”

James makes a humming sound, “okay. Fine. But I’m coming over tomorrow after school, and we’re gonna talk.” He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he’s not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

“Thank you.”

Remus can’t speak – if he does, he thinks he’ll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

“I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow.” James hesitates. “Please take care. I’ll have my phone on all day.”

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, “I love you too. Thank you,” but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus’ chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow’s – or rather today’s – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It’s stale and stifling in here, but it’s far enough to the window that he can’t help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he’s slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown burning pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they’re gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm’s reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it’s the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It’s a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it’s severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there’s nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky’s bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because he hates this. He can’t keep doing this – he cannot.

Later that day, when he’s curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It’s only as he’s popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads ‘Pads <3 (5 messages)’.

Pads <3 (11:13): hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i’m here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

Pads <3 (12:15): do you want company?? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

Pads <3 (14:56): moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don’t remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

Pads <3 (14:57): you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don’t deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

Pads <3 (16:34): i’m sorry to do this bc you shouldn’t reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you’re ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i’m sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius’ messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

You (17:19): hey, sorry to worry you. I’m okay, I’ve been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

Pads <3 (17:21): moony! no no don’t apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do??

You (17:24): no it’s okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it’s fine [smiling face emoji]

Pads <3 (17:25): i mean. that’s not fine.

Pads <3 (17:26): prongs said he’s coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along?? it’s completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he’d called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James gets – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it’s because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that’s doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to try, he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it’s time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he knows Sirius will understand, it doesn’t stop the shame from mounting.

You (17:35): I’m really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I’m so sorry

Padfoot <3 (17:36): no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i’m here if there’s anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn’t shift, but Remus stares at the ‘i love you’ for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve anything good, the words don’t change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells vile, and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn’t much better, he knows, because he just doesn’t have the energy for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it’s not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn’t long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won’t care. James will understand. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how shit of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky’s litter tray, before there’s a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. “Moony!”

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James’ shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it’s overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus’ head, and says, “fuck, I’ve missed you.” Remus suddenly realises that he hasn’t showered in five days (disgusting, useless, lazy fuck), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

“It’s been literally a week,” Remus points out, though he adds quietly “I’ve missed you too.”

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he’ll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. “Exactly. A week without my moonshine.” He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You know I’ve been worse. Let’s clean up a bit though, yeah? It’ll help in the long run.”

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus’ cheek, “stop spiralling. This is not your fault. D’you want to talk as we tidy, or d’you want to wait?”

Remus’ chest tightens in anxious anticipation. “Tell me about your day?” he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of course he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can’t help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus’ bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus’ movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. “Sit down,” he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus’ side. (It’s different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it’s something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there’s a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an “it’s my treat.” Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

“It’s kosher, don’t worry,” James says, already munching on his first slice.

“It’s not – you didn’t have to do this, Prongs.” His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is more takeout, that he’s already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn’t fucking deserve any of this. It’s easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus’ heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

“How do you want to do this?” James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James’ eyes track the movement, and he says, “okay, maybe let’s start there?”

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge fuck you to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it’s an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

“Can I see your hands?” James says carefully. He waits for Remus’ assent, before gently turning Remus’ hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus’, and the tenderness with which he’s being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he is not worth such kindness. James’ expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus’ lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, “it’s been a while since you last did that.”

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “I – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even register it until it was too late.”

“What made you do it?”

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky’s position. “I was just – I was just so low and angry at myself. I just – I – I –“

“Breathe, Moony,” James says, tapping at Remus’ chest, and he nods distractedly.

“- I just wanted to hurt,” blurts Remus. “I wanted some kind of proof – that – that all this-“ he waves a hand around his head, “was real.”

“It is real,” James says immediately. “This shit is the realest thing you can feel.”

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. “I – I do – I know that. It just – I haven’t felt like this in a while. And it scared me.”

James is silent for a moment, and then says, “what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” Remus says finally, not meeting James’ unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be too much. “My fibro’s been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can’t get out of bed and everything is just so much and I’m gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time.”

“That was a lot of ‘fucking’s” says James lightly. “Keep going.”

Remus takes a shallow breath. “I’m just – unhappy –“ he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he’s in love with a man who is the actual definition of ‘deserves the world,’ but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and brilliant person. He has two jobs that aren’t completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it’s an income.

(He knows – he does know this – that this isn’t how depression works, that mental illness doesn’t just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

“I don’t understand why this is happening. Nothing’s changed. I’m not doing anything differently. It’s not supposed to be – I’m so tired.” His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has no reason to cry about this, he’s not even sad, he’s just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants out.

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James’ arms have tightened around him, and Remus’ cheeks are wet, and it’s too much, it’s all – too much, he can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’t –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it’s like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it all to stop. He’s vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he screams, wasting the last mouthful of precious air, because why won’t it stop. His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can’t breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything stop.

(Please G-d, let everything stop).

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he’s told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It’s hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like too much; even the feeling of James’ fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus could not feel guiltier if he tried. “Sorry,” he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it’s all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

“It’s okay,” James says immediately, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a pause, and then James sighs, and it’s an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus’ heart pang, because defeat is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. “Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?” James says softly, and even though Remus knows what’s coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. “Okay. Are you depressed?”

It’s easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn’t have to meet James’ concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has nothing to be depressed about, and nods again.

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Another nod.

Another pause.

“Do you want to die?”

And isn’t that the question? Because Remus knows what it’s like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen – to make that happen. He also knows what it’s like to want to not exist – because the two aren’t the same thing at all. There’s a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of ‘wellness’ isn’t perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he thinks he’s more the former of the two. Things aren’t all bad all the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he’s just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he’s not in the mood where all he does is leech the good from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he’s been to empty to even cry about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can’t get out of bed for wanting to just not exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and living, but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn’t pray often, he isn’t even sure if he believes in G-d, but he does know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn’t that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James does understand what it’s like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to them, trembling with nerves and wringing his hands. James is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it’s like to be too afraid to admit what’s happening to you.

He’s been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn’t have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he’s not able to.

“Can I hug you?” asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James’ lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. “It’s going to be okay,” James says just as gently. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ve got you.”

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won’t let him apply that same logic to himself, because the last thing he ever wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it’s only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

“You and I are going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning first thing. This can’t go on.”

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: “No – you have work, I have work-“

“This is a thousand times more important than work, Moony. I would choose you over any commitment every fucking time. When are you going to understand that?” He doesn’t give Remus time to answer, probably because he knows that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, “I can’t make you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-“

“I’ll go, I think – I want to go,” Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

“I – you – seriously?”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it’s the truth.

“You’re not going to be by yourself. I’ll be with you the whole way, if you’ll let me.”

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James’ chest as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, Moonbeam,” he whispers seriously.

(There’s nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven’t done the hard part yet, don’t be proud of me for finally admitting I need help, again) –

“The hardest part was telling someone,” James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. “And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this.”

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it’s something he’s told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it’s not something he can process. “What now?” he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. “I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep.”

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

“Do you want me to invite the others over?” James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn’t pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, “maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they’ll want to.”

“On it,” says James, already tapping out a message to them both. “Don’t be stupid, of course they’ll want to.” Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. “What am I ordering?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t,” Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he’s only just become aware of it.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Prongs-“

“Is this your fucking doctor again?”

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. “Don’t you think it’s better to listen to the ‘fucking doctor’ who actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Not if he’s trying to fat-shame you, then no.”

“He’s not – it’s not like that.”

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. “Well, I’m ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind.”

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing I love you without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter beams the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn’t curl his hands to hide the mess he’s made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, “I love you so much, Moony. You’re so fucking important to me.”

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius’ chest, his feet on James’ lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There’s a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you’re Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on Matilda. They’re barely a third of the way through before the day’s emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, “sleep. We’re here, I’ve got you,” and it’s like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn’t have to do it alone).

[s2he-gamewalkthrough]

Part 12: In the Clouds

The part of the game where Tensho has to complete some finicky and very specific game requirements to progress the story.

If you don’t know what this is about, please refer to this previous post.

[Any new comments by me will be designated by brackets.]

[Oof, this chapter’s one of the messier ones... I’ve cleaned it up a lot from the original LiveJournal post, but it still jumps around a lot in places. Apologies for that.]

Before I get on with the plot of the game, I found some upgrades!

Tensho:

Lv 2 --> 3:

Tenka:

Second listed item, Lv 1 --> 2

Youzen's:

First listed item, Lv 1 --> 2

First listed item, Lv 2 --> 3

Second item listed, Lv 1 --> 2

Second item listed, Lv 2 --> 3

[I uh. Really hope these combinations are still correct as I am unable to test them out in the old saved game I have. I highly recommend upgrading paopei/weapons whenever you can because it helps to make all future battles significantly easier.]

Oh, I forgot to mention before, but you should have gotten a few equipable items by now. Those are marked with stars (in the item description) in the inventory menu:

You can equip them to characters by selecting the third “word” in the menu screen:

Some equipment items affect certain stats, while some I guess negate status ailments. If you don't know Japanese, then finding out the effects pretty much comes down to trial and error. (I won't be listing the specific effects of all the equipable items--Sorry!)

Cavechan was nice enough to translate the character stat screen for us in part 1, so that should be a big help when you're messing around with equipment. (Thank you again to Cavechan!)

In the end, I had to equip Tenka with an item to boost his attack because it was pathetically weak.

Also, I've recently found out that you can't use HP-restoring potions on doushi/senin. I have no idea why this happens. This means that if you want to heal these characters while in a dungeon, you have to use a character that has a healing move. Man, that's going to be annoying in a pinch.

Anyway, time for more level grinding in the Houshindai!

I will only be unlocking two senins in the Houshindai today because the monsters on the lower floor are getting harder and harder to beat.

Another of the Juunisen, and In Hon's master. His name's Seki Seishi. (Also, he apparently talks A LOT.)

I also unlocked In Cho's master! (Kou Seishi)

Their bonus is:

They both sell things for something other than cash. One seems to sell potions while the other just sells combo upgrades. I suppose it’s decently useful?

While training in the Houshindai, I messed around with some of Youzen’s new moves.

After having beaten Chou Koumei (yet again), Youzen can now transform into him (4th move, second option.)

Sadly, you only have one attack Chou Koumei (a whip-like attack) and it frankly sucks because it does such a small amount of damage. I think this form is balanced out with all the supporting moves you have at your disposal, though I admittedly never utilized Chou Koumei’s form much.

And oooh, the 60 EP move (unlocked from the cutscene between Youzen and Gyokutei) allows Youzen to go into yokai form!

His ultimate attack (costing 40 EP) does A TON of damage.

(For reference, I was only doing about 1000 points of damage with Tensho and Tenka at this stage in the game.)

Anyway, time to head to the new location, finally. It looks to be someplace up in the clouds?

Hmm, that kid looks familiar...

Hey, it's kid-Tensho!

...Wait, what?

Yeah, this is actually all just an illusion. Those treasure chests scattered about are actually real, but you’ll have to find a way to get to them yourself because... Well, you’ll see why soon enough. 

After the short convo, kid-Tensho beckons you to follow him, and he’ll move a few steps along some kind of invisible path. You have to follow kid-Tensho’s steps EXACTLY. Otherwise you'll fall off the clouds (Hitou saves you from falling to your death) and have to re-do the path all over again. This “invisible path” is ridiculously long, which is why they included a guide in the form of kid-Tensho. You have to follow him about six times. You can save at any time in this area; so if you're the type that has trouble following an exact path, then you might want to save in the middle so you don’t have to keep restarting all the way at the beginning if you make a mistake.

Also, don't follow too closely behind kid-Tensho, otherwise you might accidentally walk ahead too far when he turns. This happened to me many, many times. [I’m not going to give a guide on how to grab any of the treasure chests in this area, because honestly; I haven’t been able to figure out how to grab most of the chests myself.]

After all of that trouble, Tensho finds himself in a quant little village in the clouds. (It's actually a small village on top of a very high mountain, if you've read the manga.)

I'm going to just say this now for lack of a better place to bring it up: when you exit, you'll immediately leave the place. (You won't have to go through the invisble path in reverse or anything.) But you'll have to do the walkway “puzzle” again every time you try to visit the village. Really quite annoying. The next time you arrive, you'll be given three options on how to do the puzzle--slow, medium, or fast. This refers to how quickly kid-Tensho walks along the path. If you have amazing memory and want to save time, then you can choose the medium or fast option. I always go with slow, because it's the turns that get me...

The cameos in this village include:

The Village Chief guy with a strong aura.

And surprisingly, an un-possessed Chuu Ou. I have no idea how he got here or even what he’s doing here, but I get the feeling Shinkyohyo had a hand in this somehow.

And of course, there’s Taijou Roukun (a.k.a. Roushi) sleeping amongst the sheep.

[Alright, this part... You’re supposed to talk to Taijou Roukun but he’s not an easy guy to get in contact with, as he’s almost always asleep. Even now I still don’t know the EXACT requirements on how you activate the next part of the game’s plot, but I have figured out a rough guideline... sorta.

Talk to EVERYONE in this location ONCE.

Yes, even the sheep. But ONLY once. If you talk to the same sheep twice by accident, the next cutscene won’t activate. This is an extremely specific set of requirements, I know.]

After having talked to everyone and every sheep ONCE, go up to Taikou Roukun and try talking to him. After the usual sleeping noises Roushi makes, Tensho will say something.

I "think" after doing EVERYTHING you possibly can do, Tensho figures it out and does the same thing Taikoubou did to talk to Roushi... Sleep.

No BGM plays in this mini-cutscene. That means important stuff. Too bad I can't read Japanese. You're given two different dialogue choices in a row. I don't think it really has much effect on the storyline, but I don’t have any real way of confirming that (due to my lack of Japanese language knowledge). 

[I have no idea what this says but it’s probably important.]

In case you're wondering, I just went with the first choices for both “choose your dialogue” moment in the convo with Roushi. In this game, the first choice tends to be the better one, it seems.

After that mini-cutscene...

Hey, you're--!

Nentou Doujin! (By the way, his BGM is AWESOME.) Talk to him, and you’ll get treated to a loooong conversation. After that, leave Taijou Roukun’s place. The dot over Mount Kongrong’s location should be flashing, and all your party members will be gone. Don’t worry--this is only a temporary thing.

To continue the plot of the game, you'll have to bring Soushou along to the village in the clouds. (His room is the back right one, on the first floor.) Then head back to talk to Nentou. I can’t remember if it was ever officially confirmed (or if I’ve already mentioned it in this guide), but Nentou is Soushou’s master.

After another long convo, Soushou stays behind, I guess to train under Nentou. You get the rest of your party members back here.

Like master, like disciple.

BONUS MATERIAL TIME (a.k.a. some extra stuff that I didn’t know where to put so it’s going in this post whoop whoop)

At this point in the game, some locations on the overworld have changed a bit. If you go back to the water cave area (the one with all the arrows), you'll find Sengyoku and Dokouson there now.

I have NO idea why they're even standing here. Maybe to guard the place? Maybe because Sengyoku thinks that it's a romantic spot?

Anyway, if you want to initiate a rather humorous scene; first have youzen transform into this:

Second, talk to Dokouson.

In case you're wondering who Youzen just transformed into, it's Hekiun, one of Ryuukitsu's disciples.

Dokouson starts drooling over her and his wifey gets mad.

There’s some pounding noises and the screen shakes.

You can also now find Mokutaku and Kintaku at the old battlefield area.

It took me a long time to figure this out, but Tenka’s “action button” allows him to bust through certain walls:

Apparently the one-off “Tenka as a construction worker” joke from the manga was so funny to the game creators that they included a special face portrait of Tenka in a hardhat.

Anyway, if you head back to Tensho’s hometown after finishing the Taijou Roukun cutscene, you’ll be given a lot of dialogue choices if you talk to the villagers. This doesn’t seem to do anything too important. 

But if you choose the second dialogue option on one of the old men, he begins frantically running around the whole town. It's... somewhat amusing in a morbid kind of way.

The old dude freaking runs at the speed of light. I had to block him like this to get a screenshot of him.

Going back to Genshitenson's place briefly...

A grave has been built for him. I think Hakutsuru built it?

Inside Geishitenson's hut, if you look at the right pot at the back of the room, Hitou will say something. THIS IS IMPORTANT. He doesn't do it when you look at the other pot (on the left) so you know something's up. We will return here later.

[That’s all for this post. I hope you guys enjoyed it, despite it being a bit of a mess.]

To be continued.

[dynamic-instability]

A couple days ago, I made a Facebook post about my illness, but I think it should be on this blog too

Most of the time, I think I forget that I'm not nearly as sick as I used to be. But sometimes things remind me, like today I read a line in an old journal entry from February 2013 (in the year I took off after high school): 

"I went to work and it was pretty good, I felt okay. Even though I was there for five hours, I only had to stop to lay down on the floor under my desk a couple of times."

I started writing this with the intent to make a funny post about the frankly ridiculous image of me laying on the floor of an office and just being like "yes of course this is a totally normal thing to do, I'm glad I only have had to do this twice today, what a good day I'm having" but that's... not really that funny, is it?

Maybe I'm just sentimental or something because it's the end of senior year, maybe it's because I turned 24 yesterday and it's made me all introspective, who knows. But seeing that in writing, it's really hitting me how insanely far I've come in the last five years. If you only knew me at [high school] or you've only known me at [current college], you probably don't know how bad things got when they were bad. Even those of you who were there to witness it, maybe knowing me now you don't remember what it was actually like. What *I* was like, in the worst of it. Most of the time, I don't really remember either.

I used to stay in bed for days at a time and need to lay down under desks during the few hours a week of an office job that was my only real regular activity that year. During my first semester at [first college I attended before transferring], I used to leave my morning classes a couple times a week to lay on the floor in the bathroom in the science building and cry because I was so exhausted and it hurt so much and I just needed two minutes to give into it before going back and trying to push through again. I was told by my voice teacher that I needed to stop taking lessons "until you can get healthy"** because I could no longer muster the energy necessary for good breath support. I stopped singing for almost two years.

It was not that long ago that I decided I would go back to [first college] full-time for just one more semester, to see if I could, and then when I crashed and burned like I had the first time, I would come home and finally be realistic and take classes part-time or online. I know that I hoped that wouldn't happen, but I also think a major part of me believed it would.

Now it's been two and a half years since my second (and final) hardship withdrawal from [first college]. I've been a full-time student for five semesters straight (one dropped block and two since-completed incompletes notwithstanding--don't get viral illnesses or concussions on the block plan). I have gone multiple blocks in a row without missing any class at all. Assuming I don't fail this block, my cumulative [current school] GPA is somewhere above a 3.9. This semester I've been working as a tutor, I've taken four upper-division molecular biology classes in a row, I was the lead in a very demanding musical, and I put together a senior recital. I have pulled four all-nighters in the last three months and had zero ER visits so far in 2018.

I want to be clear, though: I'm not healthy. The fatigue is still a problem a huge amount of the time, as are a lot of other symptoms. There have been so many times this semester and this year when I have felt truly awful, when I've been sure I can't do it. The progress I've made is substantial, but I'm still pretty far from healthy. I'm not cured. I'm not even really being treated. This is not a story of a triumph of modern medicine. I'm not even sure it's a triumph of my perseverance or work ethic or strength of any kind. There's been some of that, of me learning to manage my symptoms better, but I think in large part I just... got lucky. I'm doing so much better now, but maybe it's only for now. Chronic illness has torpedoed my plans in the past, and it very well might do it again.

REGARDLESS of the future, though, the fact remains that in 11 days, I will graduate from college, and there was a pretty recent time when I didn't know if even that would ever happen, much less happen this successfully. So that's definitely a triumph, of some kind, anyway.

To 18-year-old Kari, laying under a desk: hang in there, you sad tired weirdo, we're gonna be okay.

___________________

** Note: please don't ever say this to a person with chronic illness. You should probably look up the definition of "chronic" before you tell someone they should do something "when they're healthy" as if it's possible to assume there will ever be such a time.

....God, I can't believe I just wrote a Facebook post with footnotes. Who even am I?

Ugh, tl;dr chronic illness is fun, happy birthday to me, happy graduation

[inopinion]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on Gisa Barrow. Gilorn? How will she further grow and mature? Her relationship with Mare? Se seems to me too under-analyzed.

Gisa Barrow… my analysis….and this gets long.

She’s the youngest child, Mare is 18, she is 15. Bree, the oldest brother is about 23. When Bree was conscripted she was 10. But she was also already an apprentice. When she found her job, it was probably already clear that Mare, Shade, and Tramy would all be conscripted and not apprenticed. Considering only Mare and Shade adhered to their education enough to be literate, I don’t think we can call the Barrow family conventionally motivated.

Gisa…

At 10, she had a job, responsibilities, and we can assume a long commute which she did on her own every day. This probably made her feel important and distinguished in the family. By 15, it’s a hardship and a duty that she does for everyone else - as Mare observes when she follows her sister to Sommerton in Red Queen. Gisa lives that life alone. She can’t confide in her closest sibling - seeing as how Mare only comes to understand the burden during that walk. Her mother is tender towards her, but may not have any helpful suggestions or experiences. And her father is emotionally unavailable and homebound. Gisa probably takes on a lot of the emotional labor for her family. She’s not really allowed to have complaints - she’s not going to be conscripted. She’s gifted. She’s an example. She has no worries or problems…

Except that she does. She is a young girl growing up with her mistress to guide her and a family to support. She has to mind her own business, be courteous, and stay out of everyone’s way if she wants to make it to a level that she can open her own shop / move out of the apprentice role. There is a lot of pressure on Gisa to carry the family. She may end up being the only surviving child. Her parents will depend on her more as they age. All this must weigh on her and it’s probably why she’s not the most vocal of the siblings.

I imagine Gisa… watching Mare sleep in when she’s getting dressed in the morning and wishing she could roll over.

Coming home late because she had to finish a job and missed the barge and had to walk the 10 miles home. And her mother has dinner set aside on a plate, but it’s cold and after 10 miles, not enough to crush her hunger. Handing over her pay to her parents to buy rations, occasionally thinking about saving some up for herself, but then the price of milk goes up.

Falling asleep in minutes because her body is tired and her mind is mud. Her fingers are sore, and she’s calculating the proportions of the next day’s piece. And proportions are easier to think about with her eyes closed. And then they’re open for another day, another walk, another steady stitch in an endless pattern.

She sits and looks out the window, watching Mare and Kilorn elbowing each other, mud-faced and beaming after an evening on the river banks and a night out pick-pocketing. She watches him watch her sister like a love-drunk fool and Mare laughs at his jokes and snidely snipes back. She wishes she were in on their inside jokes, but she’d have to actually live along side them for that to happen.

Mare resents Gisa because their mother often uses her as an example. When Mare’s being a jerk or hard headed, Gisa can’t help but agree–she is the daughter that best meets their parent’s expectations. But she also looks at her older sister and sees things she wishes she had: independence, freedom, a liberal and loquacious mouth, an ease of self and a confidence that isn’t even shaken by their mother’s often-angry diatribes. Frankly, the rift between her and her sister is created by her parents and their situations. It becomes easier to not address her desires to be like her sister and instead to sit stead-fast on the elevation provided to her by society. It doesn’t mean she looks down on her, and frankly, Mare is the only other sibling contributing to the household and those extra rations ease the pressure off Gisa a little bit.

Kilorn is the only non-family male she ever really gets to see or know or interact with. He’s almost like her friend… almost. Except she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have time.And he smiles at her and looks at the practice pieces her mistress sends her home to sew. Kilorn relies on her for repairs to his trousers and they smell of him as she patches the knee. And she doesn’t know how talk to him because there’s no one for her to practice talking with, or even to develop a more obtainable crush.

Kilorn is 18, she is 15, but when he’s 23 and she is twenty, three years won’t seem so much. But with Mare at the war, he won’t come by, not to see her–that would be silly. And that hurts her deep between the shoulder blades. When Mare is gone, she’ll be more than alone, she’ll be completely disconnected.

That’s what Gisa is… an outsider hanging on by a loose connection. Her destiny is as consigned as her siblings conscription. And if she doesn’t just get up and go to work, and match colors and patterns to order, she has time to think about all the things she barely has and how exactly she’ll lose them. When that happens, it’s not enough to be the preferred daughter or the gifted one. When that happens, she has to get tough and pull herself together, because no one will understand the daughter crying at home when the others could be dying.

Until her hand is smashed. And then, she doesn’t even bring anything of worth to her family. She’s another burden, and she may even be a child that will go to die. Mare getting the job at the palace flips their positions. She struggles seeing her parents happy and relieved and proud of Mare when she no longer has anything to get the praise which has been so consistent. It’s a deeply depressing time.

Until her brothers are back… well, most of them… and they bring the promise of money, pensions, an easier life. Alarmingly, Gisa wasn’t included in the “lottery” which means she could still be sent to war, but that’s three years off and maybe she can sort out something until then.

And then, they exit Nortan society. And every pattern of her life has been unstitched and torn from the fabric. They are fleeing. They have nothing. They have no control. But, she also finally has some freedom, some independence. She can find a way to help the people that have transported them from the Stilts into relative safety and liberation. They are more or less kept fed, clothed, rationed, and safe. So she works her needle as best she can, and the other kids her age are around. It’s the first time, she’s been around people who aren’t driven to deadlines or on their way to work.

It’s foreign and she struggles to cope with the anxiety of breaking the ice, learning names, remembering details, asking the polite questions. She doesn’t know when it’s appropriate to sit in silence or when she’s expected to talk. She worries that they think she’s weird. But then, there’s Kilorn. Smiling, if not per-occupied, Kilorn. And she can tag along sometimes and learns how to be a quiet, but present around to him and others. And it breaks the haze of her childhood crush seeing him:–a fisherman displaced, and her–a girl broken, in contrast.

In Piedmont, she gets healed. It renews her feeling of purpose to have her skills once again in her fingertips. And there are children from the notch that spill out in herds. And behind them, there’s Cameron.

Cameron, who’s angry and confused and determined to save her brother. Cameron, who understands hard work and staying busy and doing as you’re told. Cameron, who’s never had so much free time in her life as she does at Tuck, free time that she spends getting to know Gisa. It’s clear at first, she does it to get to know more about Mare, but that’s a swiftly exhausted topic. And then it’s about anything other than what makes them anxious.

Cameron watches Gisa stitch together flags and pillows and garments by hand. And scrambles together enough parts and pulleys to make a sewing machine. It stitches lowly, but it saves her fingers and makes her blush. She’s never had a gift that made her feel rich before.

Gisa sees Cameron attempting her own braids, her arms getting tired, her crooked fingers aching and unable to hold her hair tight. Gisa sits behind her and carefully works, at first slow and starting over three times. But she gets the hang of it. Gisa puts rows one inch back from Cameron’s face and then braids them to the bottoms. It gives them hours of time to talk and reflect, especially that first time. Gisa becomes Cameron’s go-to for hair braiding, always up for a chance to show improvement and make Cameron smile.

Cameron, on the floor rotating between her knees, starts to bitch about Mare. Not when she is Maven’s pet, of course, but after she comes back, after she stays close to the silver prince. And Gisa take over. She can finally express herself openly and loudly with whatever language she wants and hears it validated and echoed. She feels it heal wounds that she didn’t know she had. They both laugh at the ridiculousness and she cries, for hours, inconsolable in a flood of every uneven experience between her and her sister. Cameron rubs her back and stays with her until she’s calm.

When Cameron is more than tired of waiting for action, her brother a dot on a map that might as well be an ocean away. Gisa, of course, understands having siblings in harm’s way. She understands losing one, having had that pain twice. She doesn’t correct or chastise the anger, the desperation, the almost smothering ache that chokes her friend. Most of all, she doesn’t ask Cameron to be patient, to put herself second, to listen to anyone.

And this is how they cope, together, each other’s first friend. Two girls on the cusp of being grown and making the foolish choice, as we all do, to charge forward as if they are. The separation when Cameron goes to fight is an unreal level of loss, anxiety, and hope. Gisa adds one more name to her lists of prayers and doesn’t apologize for placing her first.

[hijoonie]

Rye & Lies | 2

Part 1

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Rating: Explicit Genre: Smut, Angst & Slight fluff? Word count: 7,562

Summary: You’re all kinds of perfect and he wants to get close to you, whether it be physically or emotionally.

Preferably both. 

The coffee maker gurgles and puffs steam, brewing a fresh pot of dark roast that’s ready before Dongmin emerges from the bedroom. The bread in the toaster crisps and pops by the time he seats himself in his usual chair at the head of the table and when you have it buttered and set before him with his mug, he’s already engrossed in the morning news articles on his phone.

This is routine, or at least it is when he’s home in the mornings, and you robotically go through the steps for the half hour before he leaves for work.

There’s rarely any conversation, but when there is it’s mostly from your end, only ever garnering a grunt or curt response from your husband. He’s always too preoccupied to give you much of his attention and quite frankly you’ve grown used to it, so it no longer phases you.

Today, however, you are caught off guard when he clears his throat and stares over at you until you’re peeking up at him with confused yet curious eyes, mind racing with thoughts about what he could possibly have to say.

“My cousin is in town,” he takes a sip of his coffee “My father wants the family to gather for dinner to welcome him back, so make sure to clear your schedule next Friday.”

You think about it briefly, trying to recall which cousin he’s talking about and if you’d ever met him.

“Is this the cousin who wasn’t able to attend our wedding?” You ask.

Dongmin nods “Mhm,” He glances back down at his phone, takes one last bite of his food and pushes out of the chair “I have to go.” 

“Okay.”

Nothing more is said about the matter. What Dongmin says, goes. Especially so when it’s a relayed request from his father.

You know by now not to put up a stink about doing this and that; attending galas or awkward and unnecessary ‘family dinners’ that always end up with more than one person’s feathers ruffled. You can’t say you dislike it completely though because these gatherings are the only times when Dongmin shows you the slightest affection; placing kisses upon your lips, holding your hand and on the rare occasion, letting an ‘I love you’ slip.

It’s all bittersweet. For the briefest of moments, you can fool yourself into thinking his actions and endearing words hold some truth, yet the wiser side of you knows it’s all just for show.

When the two of you are not under watch by unsuspecting family and friends, all affection halts. It hurt at first when Dongmin would call you ‘sweetheart’ and kiss your forehead, only to flip a switch and act as though you’re nothing more than a nuisance while in the confines of your home, away from prying eyes.

Correction: Dongmin’s home.  

But after the one year mark of marriage rolled around, that wretched sting of heartbreak and rejection withered into a faint ache and a hollowness replaced it; vast and lonely.

Dongmin leaves the dishes behind and the food barely touched, fixes his hair in the hallway mirror and puts on his shoes once in the entryway. You mindlessly follow him, grabbing his briefcase and holding it out to your husband while he slips into his suit jacket.

“I’m working late tonight, so don’t bother waiting up.” You drop the handle into his outstretched hand as he pulls open the door.

You clench your teeth and give a stiff nod, irked by his lie but remaining silent.

As he’s about to shut the door behind himself, leaving you standing there dumbly, he pops his head back in and looks you over for a moment.

“Wear that purple dress you have. It matches nicely with your complexion.” 

And then he’s gone.  

You furrow your brows at nothing but rich mahogany, feeling annoyed by the faint flattery that has your heart jumping only the slightest from his compliment, when in fact you should be boiling over with anger about him meeting her for the fourth night in a row.

You inhale deeply, then exhale – repeat twice – trying to rid yourself of any and all feelings towards him. If you let the good ones linger, you’ll feel even more like a fool than you already do, and if you stew in the bad ones, you’ll upset yourself and end up ruining your day.

Either way, you lose, so it’s better to steel yourself and shut out all emotions, even if it makes you feel lifeless.

“Purple dress?” You mutter to yourself as you head to your shared bedroom, yanking open your closet where you rummage around for said item. You pull out a burgundy cocktail dress – the closest thing to purple that you own – and look it over before hanging it back in the closet with a sour taste in your mouth.

It’s the same dress you wore to your engagement party.

An olive coloured garment catches your eye before you turn to leave, the material half hanging over the edge of the shelf where you had tossed it a few nights prior. You don’t hesitate to pull it down and into your hands, looking it over and smiling shyly to yourself as your fingers run along the length of your broken strap.

Thoughts of your encounter with Hoseok replay in your mind vividly, so much so that it has you groaning. There is no trace of guilt in your heart for the things you had done with him and you firmly believe that it would forever be a fond, playful memory that you will keep hidden in the safest parts of your mind.

Fucking Hoseok has been one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

You seat yourself on the edge of your bed, large enough so that you and Dongmin can stretch out fully and still not touch one another, and bring the dress close to your face. Maybe you were crazy, but you swear you can still smell Hoseok’s cologne clinging to the material.

After the two of you had left the club that night, Hoseok had brought you to his home where he made you both a cup of tea and even offered you a sweater to wear.

As promised, you had expressed to him your ordeal at home - what Dongmin has been doing for longer than you’d care to admit, how your marriage came about in a more traditional way than modern days. You gave him just enough information to explain but not enough to air out all your dirty laundry. You kept Dongmin’s name a secret and even both your family names. You chose not to tell him what your husband did for a living, though you did reassure Hoseok that you had no children.

Thankfully Hosoek was not the prying type and took what information he was given about the matter, asking for nothing more. He had smiled at you so sad that it made your stomach hurt, but he didn’t call you ridiculous nor pitied you. 

He just simply said: ‘You deserve to be happy.’

Although you don’t know anything about him other than his name, Hoseok felt right – familiar and comforting in a way that has you praying to the heavens that when you’d wake up the next morning, it would be Hoseok at your side, rather than Dongmin.

You sigh deeply and get up from your spot, shoving the dress back onto the shelf. 

Out of sight and out of mind.

Naturally, you don’t expect to ever encounter Hoseok again. The likelihood of meeting someone you know in such a big city is rare, let alone someone you have only met once. Truth be told, you aren’t even sure if he will recognize you, or you him, if he ever passes you in the streets or sits near you in a restaurant.

But life, and its companion fate – if there really was such a thing – seem to always have other plans in mind.

So when you cross paths with Hoseok, only a few days after your night at the club, you find yourself in a state of surprise; eyes wide and mouth agape.  Or perhaps it was caused by the swarm of high speed oranges rolling right your way.

Either way, you can’t believe your eyes as you watch Hoseok jog after the fruit, trying desperately to scoop them into his arms, only to fumble with them and cause an even bigger mess only a few steps away from you.

A feeling of amusement washes over you as you watch him gather up the oranges, this time successfully, and place them back on their stand, profusely apologizing to the employee who scowls at him. You take a step forward with no real destination in mind, the toe of your shoe bumping into something sturdy and you peek down to see two big, round oranges at your feet. You smile fondly and pick them up, heading towards Hoseok who is still placing the fruit back into the pile one by one with cautious movements.

You clear your throat and speak softly when you come up behind the man.

“Excuse me,”

Hoseok puts the last two down and peeks over his shoulder at you, flinching slightly with surprise as recognition washes over him.

“It seems like you’re missing two, Hoseok” You laugh lightly and hold them outwards for him to grab.

“I- oh. Y/N? T-thanks,” Hoseok flushes as he takes them from you and puts them back in their rightful place before turning to face you completely “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping, like everyone else,” You quip, lifting your basket up just a tad so that his attention is drawn to the items inside “I assume you are too unless it’s a hobby of yours to wreak havoc in the supermarket by bullying the produce.”

Hoseok snorts, rubbing his neck “More like they’re bullying me. I only picked up one and the entire mountain came crashing down. This happens almost every time.” He shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. I swear the oranges have it out for me.”

You share a brief laugh but the silence is quick to follow, leaving the two of you standing in the middle of the produce section staring at one another awkwardly.

“Right. Well,” You start but are given no time to finish before Hoseok is jumping in.

“Do you want to grab some coffee with me?” Hoseok hesitates a bit “I-I mean if you’re not busy. There’s a place I know about a block from here. Makes the best lattes in the city, I swear.”

You take a moment to think it over, unsure of if it’s a good idea. What if it’s awkward? Sure, the chemistry was there that night at the club, but that was a matter of sex. Who’s to say that things would spark so well when it came to a more casual setting?

Regardless of the possibility of a forced conversation and an awkward atmosphere, you agree to it. You figure there’s no harm in it. If things really are awful you can easily make an excuse to leave and hope that you never meet him again, though you have your doubts that it will come to that.

Hoseok tells you he will wait for you out front while you finish up your shopping and so when he leaves, you make a point to hurry things up by whizzing in and out of the aisles, grabbing what’s necessary and not bothering with your usual dallying.

When you find him outside, he kindly offers to take your bags, carrying them to your car where he places them in the trunk. Thankfully it’s a nice enough day and the weather isn’t too hot, so you both agree to walk to the coffee shop instead of drive.

“Two medium-“

“Small, please”

“One medium and one small latte, please.” Hoseok smiles and you swear you see the barista swoon a bit, and you can’t blame her. He’s handsome, charming and so sweet that even you yourself can’t help but melt every time he looks at you. 

And you have to admit, he looks even better in daylight.

“So,” Hoseok slides your latte across the table towards you when you both sit down, lucky enough to nab a seat near the window “How have you been?”

You almost want to laugh at the way he asks as if you are longtime friends catching up over a cup of coffee with miles of history between you both.  

“I’ve been,” You pause, wondering whether or not it’s best to lie, or to be honest “Good. I’ve been good. You?” You hate the act of lying, but it seems like lately, you’ve picked up the bad habit.

“Oh, great! It’s nice to be back home after so long,” He smiles around the rim of his mug before taking a sip of his coffee. When you look at him in question, he senses an explanation is in order “I’ve been travelling for almost two years now.”

“Oh?” You cool your drink by blowing on it gently “Have you been travelling for work?”

“Not work, just for pleasure. I’ve always wanted to see the world, y’know? There are so many beautiful places and interesting people.”

“So you don’t have a job? How can you afford to travel?” You suddenly snap your mouth shut, realizing that you may have come off a bit rude “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up money.” It’s not that the topic was unheard of and hush hush, rather, it wasn’t exactly a polite topic of choice while getting to know someone for the first time.

Hoseok waves his hand in the air, dismissing your apology “Nah, you’re fine. I don’t mind. After I graduated from university I went to work for my father’s company. About… two and a half years? Yeah, about that. After two and half years of working for the business, I grew restless and knew it wasn’t what I wanted or where I should be. Not now at least,” He rests his chin in his hand “If I’m being honest, I’ll probably never want to be cooped up in an office wearing a stiff suit and conversing with miserable old men.”

“But anyways, I managed to save up a bit of money for travel. My father wasn’t too pleased with my decision, but with the support of my mother and a bit of persuasion on my end, I stepped out of my position with the company and began planning. I stayed close to home at first, visiting Japan and Thailand. With the generosity of my parents, I was able to go even further, reaching as far as Greenland!”

You find a great deal of relief in the fact that the conversation is flowing so effortlessly. Hoseok is quite an open person from the sounds of it, spilling his story with a sense of ease and comfort. That comfort is magnetic and soon you find yourself settling in a bit more; feeling less rigid and nervous than you had not long before. 

Something about him has you captivated as he speaks, leaning over the table just the slightest as if to submerge yourself in his presence all the more. He’s great at eye contact and at first, you shied away, but as he drawls on about himself you almost get lost in the deep brown of his eyes that are just as expressive as his face.

By the time Hoseok finishes his story, your coffee is cold but you don’t mind whatsoever because you’re too caught up in the man - intrigued by his life and wanting to know all of his stories. You led a much more boring life in comparison to Hoseok, so you wanted to live vicariously through him but before you can even ask for more, he’s leaning back in his chair and looking you over with a soft smile.

“What about you, Y/N. What stories do you have to tell?”

The question is innocent, expected really, but it still makes you uncomfortable. Hoseok knows a bit about your situation already and you aren’t about to go into detail about it, so what can you really say? That you’re a lonely, sad woman in love with a man who wronged you so much you can’t even count the times on your fingers and toes? That there isn’t one moment in your life where you got to choose what you truly wanted to do? Whether that be marriage, school or any other thing in and between.

“There’s… really nothing interesting to tell,” You mutter, shrugging your shoulders. To put it simply - you’re boring.

“I don’t believe that. You think up something to tell me, while I go get us some muffins.” Hoseok pushes out of his chair and scampers off to the counter to order before you have a chance to say anything.

So, you think and think. You don’t want to come off as sounding pathetic or disinteresting. You want Hoseok to like you, though you’re not sure why. Perhaps, as sad as it is, there’s a need for approval festering in your heart and since you can’t find it in your husband, Hoseok may be able to give it to you instead.

You don’t get far with your thoughts before Hoseok is back, handing you a muffin and settling into his seat while unwrapping his own “It’s blueberry,” he states, pointing to the baked good in your hand.

Funny. Blueberry is your favourite.

You pop a piece into your mouth and chew away, directing your gaze out the window as a means to avoid Hoseok’s. He’s waiting for you to say something and things are beginning to feel a bit weird, at least on your end, so you tell yourself to stop being so silly and finally start speaking.

“Uhm, well… I graduated university, then I-“

“What did you study?” He interrupts.

“International business.”

“Oh! That’s interesting.”

“I guess so…”

Hoseok frowns “You don’t like it?”

“Not really. My parents wanted me to study it. It was never an interest of mine.” Hoseok hums at your answer, nodding slowly while thinking. He says nothing more and just waits for you to continue. It seems as though you won’t be able to get away with skimming the details.

“Anyways, I majored in international business. Like you, my family owns a company so they wanted me to become a helpful asset to the business. I also don’t have any siblings, so it’ll all be passed down to me one day. From the moment I turned nineteen, I’ve been groomed to one day take over from my father. That is until I got married.”

“But none of that’s really important,” You wave your hand in front of your face as if airing out the negativity that lingers on that story. Maybe one day, if you and Hoseok were to ever become… something more than acquaintances, you’d tell him the details. But now was not the time. “I, uhm… that’s about it really. I’m basically just a housewife so there’s really nothing exciting to tell you.”

Hoseok swallows his bite of muffin and waits for you to eat some as well before bombarding you with more questions.  

“What about your interests? Hobbies?”

“Hmm... I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh,”

He laughs immediately at your words, but shuts up quickly when you narrow your eyes, raising his hands in defence and muttering ‘okay, okay’.

“I really like botany. It’s something I’ve always been interested in, even as a young kid.”

Hoesok doesn’t laugh and you’re happy with this. When Dongmin found out, he laughed and rebuked your interest, saying it sounded stupid and boring. But Hoseok? He just smiles brightly, looking thrilled by your confession.

“That’s so interesting! I don’t know much about plants, but I can only imagine how many things you can learn about and from them”

You heave a relieved sigh, feeling more weightless than before. It was sad how such kindness and normalcy is something so foreign to you.

The two of you talk on and on, alternating between Hoseok’s enthusiasm about travel and dance (his ultimate love) and your timid reveals about plants and the entirety of nature itself. The two of you are opposite in terms of your interests and your history, but somehow you fit together well.

But there is one topic of conversation that you both seem apprehensive to approach, even though it weighs heavily on your minds. It isn’t until a lull in the conversation that Hoseok finally speaks up about it.

“So, I wanted to ask you… about the other night?”

You stiffen in your chair, feeling embarrassment and shyness pool in your stomach. You know the conversation needs to happen, but you’re unsure as to what there’s really to be said.

“How are you… feeling about it? Are you alright? I just ask because you’re,” He glances around as if people are listening, though of course even if someone was, there’s nothing that could give away what you were talking about “Well, you’re married and all. I just hope what happened between us hasn’t been troubling you or anything.”

His concern is appreciated, truly. But you can’t help but wonder if maybe it was troubling him, instead of you.

“No, Hoseok. I’m fine, really. I was the one that initiated things. I knew what I was doing. If I’m being honest… I’m really glad what happened, happened,” You suddenly flush and look away, focusing on the baristas working at the front “God, I sound awful, don’t I?”

“No, no!” Hoseok tries to hide his pleased smile, but you can see it pulling at the corners of his mouth against his efforts. “Was it, uh, was it a one time only thing or –“

“Oh shoot!” You gasp when you spot the time on your watch. It was nearing six o’clock and Dongmin would be home soon, and you had promised dinner would be ready for him when he returned from the office.

You get to your feet and Hoseok does the same, albeit flustered and confused.

“I have to go. This was really nice Hoseok, really.” You dig around in your purse, pulling out a pen and leaning down to scribble your number onto a napkin “Here,” You hand it to him “Text me sometime and we can grab coffee again. I want to hear more about your travels and dance. Everything, really.” You smile at him and give a small wave, feeling a bit guilty for having to leave so abruptly.

“O-okay, see you, Y/N,” He looks almost sad when you turn to leave and a funny little twist in your stomach makes you clutch it uncomfortably.

A huge sigh of relief leaves your chest because what Hoseok was about to ask, you really had no answer for. Not right now.

A marriage tainted by adultery and lies from Dongmin is one thing, but from you as well? You aren’t sure if you’re willing to suffer the consequences you’d face if you’re to weave your own web of lies.  

You don’t hear from Hoseok after your coffee date and you wonder why. Had it been something you said? Or your avoidance of the conversation about your… relationship, whatever it may be. Or perhaps it was as simple as the fact that you were married and Hoseok was a good man, not wanting to come between something like that, even if he knew it wouldn’t matter. Either way, the rest of the week went by slowly and painfully because you couldn’t help yourself from wanting to hear from him. If only you had gotten his number instead of giving yours.

So by the time Friday rolls around, you feel almost relieved for the distraction. Almost. Because you still have to face Dongmin’s family, who are not the best company, and deal with your husband’s façade.

Once dressed and ready to go, both you and your Dongmin head off for dinner, seated in the uncomfortable silence of the car and suffering the presence of one another. More so on his end, rather than yours.

Dongmin’s family home put others to shame. It’s large enough to be considered a mansion, perched at the end of a long stretch of road, surrounded by other homes that are not nearly as impressive in structure and size. Your favourite part of the house is the backyard. Your husband’s family is one of few lucky enough to have some land with their home and at the rear of the house is immaculate gardens full of flowers and shrubs. When standing in the middle of it all, you can almost imagine you’re in the countryside, but the constant noise of traffic and city hustle and bustle always reminds you exactly where you are.

“May I take your coat, Miss Y/N?” a young man asks with a welcoming smile the moment you step into the home.

You don’t make an effort to get to know the staff in the house, not because you feel above them in status, but because the likelihood that they will be there the next time you visit is slim to none. Dongmin’s father frequently changes staff for one reason or other. You never bother to ask why.

Shrugging out of your coat, you let the man take it from you, thanking him politely (a stark difference in comparison to Dongmin’s aloof silence) and follow by Dongmin’s side, heading for the sitting room.

Just before you round the corner, he reaches out and wraps his arm around your waist. It’s a weak hold, one that can easily be shrugged off and although you’re tempted to do so, you don’t.

His family is all seated around the sitting room, conversing over hot drinks and fruit. There are seven people in total, not including yourself and Dongmin. His father, mother and two brothers sit comfortably on an overly large Chesterfield, while opposite them sits two people whom you recall are his aunt and uncle, though it’s a vague recollection because you have not seen them since the wedding.

It’s the seventh person that has you sucking in a sharp breath, heart stuttering and abruptly digging your heels into the hardwood, making Dongmin look over at you with narrow, questioning eyes.

“Ah, you’re here!” Dongmin’s mother jumps up from her seat and smiles brightly. She has always been the kindest in the family and the one that welcomed you the most. She always fawns over the two of you and often compliments how perfect of a match you and Dongmin are.

If only she knew the truth.

Dongmin nudges you with his palm and you hesitantly continue your journey until the two of you are seated on the loveseat after hugging his mother hello.

Your hands clam up and you swallow hard, mind racing with a thousand and one thoughts, the biggest shouting ‘This can’t be happening!’, while the others are telling you to calm down and keep your composure.

Because on your left, seated next to Dongmin’s aunt and uncle, is his cousin.

Seated on your left, is Hoseok.

Everyone is chatting, though you and Hoseok are excluded. The two of you both sit in an uncomfortable silence, equally shocked and equally lost in thought.

Every now and again Hoseok glances your way, trying to catch your eyes but you don’t dare let it happen. You fear that if you do, the secret you two hold will suddenly spill out into the air and everyone will become aware. Of course, this is not possible unless either of you is to actually say the words aloud, but the thought alone still makes you sweat.

Dongmin leans into you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so that he can whisper.

“What’s wrong with you?”

From the outside, it looks as though he’s cooing sweet nothings, but in fact, his words are sharp and cold to the point where you squirm away and mutter softly that it’s nothing. You’re fine.

Hoseok, on the other hand, finds it increasingly hard to bite his tongue. He’s confused and angry. Upset at himself for not putting two and two together when he first heard your name and the ordeal of an arranged marriage. He had never met you before recently, but he knew of you.

Being close with his cousin, Dongmin would often call him up while he was travelling to talk about life and work, complain about his marriage – about you – and Hoseok would always laugh and give him advice. Tell him that, although he had no personal experience, marriage was difficult and that he should be less hard on you.

‘It takes lots of work and communication.’ He’d say ‘Love her wholeheartedly and put in the effort. It will work out.’

He wants to smack Dongmin upside the head and call him out for all the wrong he’s done. He never once suspected his cousin was the kind of man you had revealed him to be. 

Hoseok has so much to say to you. So many questions, explaining and even more concerns.

He itches with the temptation to push his cousin’s hand off your shoulder where he squeezes a little too tight, and draw you into his own side.

“Y/N,” Dongmin’s father calls out your name and everyone falls silent. “I don’t believe you’ve met Dongmin’s cousin, Hoseok.”

“N-no, sir, I haven’t.” You force yourself to turn to Hoseok, a weak smile on your face as you reach out a trembling hand “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Hoseok.”

He grabs hold of your hand and only you notice the way he holds onto it for longer than normal.

“You as well, Y/N.” He speaks so softly and immediately the familiarity of his voice sends a wave of calm throughout your body.

“Shall we head in for dinner?” Dongmin’s mother asks, drawing both you and Hoseok out of whatever kind of moment you are sharing, both of your hands breaking apart and falling into your laps.

Everyone makes their way to the dining room, taking whichever seat around the table. Dongmin is across from you, at the end, and there’s an empty seat to your right. You expect Hoseok’s mother or father to sit there but to your surprise, Hoseok takes the seat himself.

Your heart jumps and you lick your suddenly dry lips. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that lingers on your dress and the one that intoxicated you while you rode him in the backseat of his car. The fleeting thought makes you clench your fist in your lap.

It’s all so surreal. A cruel trick life is playing on you. How could you not have known that Hoseok was Dongmin’s cousin?

As dinner is served, the table breaks out into chatter. The topic is mostly about Hoseok’s travels and you find yourself calming even more with each passing minute, just listening to him speak. Some of the stories you’ve already heard, but he has many other interesting ones to tell: funny stories about when a monkey once stole his sunglasses. Scary ones about bungee jumping off a cliff (though that one was only scary in Hoseok’s mind. Everyone else laughed at his re-enactment of the event.)

You are so engrossed in the conversation, sipping wine and giggling around a fork full of food that when gentle fingertips tickle against your bare knee, you nearly yelp in surprise.

Hoseok looks to you out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment before going back to his current story. He holds no expression that would give away the action of his fingers caressing your skin, inching higher and higher up your thigh. All hidden under a tacky satin tablecloth. 

You want to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. You never agreed that day on doing anything more than what has already happened, but at the same time, you don’t want him to stop either.

You can no longer focus on the conversation, instead, you turn all your energy and thoughts towards steadying your breathing and maintaining your poker face. Though you nearly choke on a bite of salmon when he dares to push further, dipping his hand between your thighs and grazing the material of your panties.

An unmistakable heat swells inside the pits of your stomach, a dampness between your legs becoming more and more apparent each time Hoseok ghosts his fingers across the sensitive skin of your thighs, over your core hidden only by thin lace. 

He taps you three times and at first, you don’t understand what he wants from you until he tries to coax your thighs apart and then it all clicks and you voluntarily let your legs fall apart just enough.

“So how was Burma?” Dongmin asks though it sounds distant in your ears.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! You all should go one day. Yoongi and I-“

You can’t focus on Hoseok’s words because the way he presses your clit, slowly circling the sensitive bud, has your head spinning and legs trembling. You stuff another bite of food in your mouth to muffle the moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Hoseok’s pace is slow yet ruthless. Teasing you to a point where you can’t help but let your legs fall apart even more. He takes full advantage of this, hooking his thumb around the edge of your panties and pulling it to the opposite side so that he can slide his index and ring finger along your now bare core, slipping between the folds.

You had never guessed he was so bold.

You catch him smirking just the slightest when his fingers press at your entrance, causing you to jolt and you play it off like it’s a hiccup, politely saying ‘Excuse me’ when Dongmin gives you a weird look.

You desperately want Hoseok to stop. The teasing is unbearable and to do something so sinful at a dinner table with his family, your husband is a whole other issue. But it feels good and naughty, the way he slides the tips of his fingers inside of you, toying with your heat deliciously and using the heel of his hand to rub against your clit. 

You have to bit down on your tongue to hide another moan, eyes fluttering and glazing over.

It takes every ounce of strength within you not to rock yourself on his fingers so you can take his fingers deeper inside you. 

Or better yet, bend over the table and beg him to fuck you, right there in front of everyone.

He’s good at maintaining the conversation and keeping everyone distracted. Even better with his hands that toy with you to the point that you’re trembling so badly and against your wishes, you drop a hand to your lap and grip on to his wrist – a silent plea for him to stop because you do not want to moan his name at the dinner table.

Without even looking your way, Hoseok obliges, slowly dragging his fingers out from between your legs in a way that has you inaudibly groaning, and discretely wiping them off on his napkin.

You reach into the pocket of your dress and pull out your phone. You need to excuse yourself for more than one reason and so you lean over the table towards Dongmin.

“My mother is calling; I’ll be right back.” You lie your husband.

He only gives you a jerk of the chin, half listening and not caring all that much. You excuse yourself from the table, bringing your phone up to your ear as if answering a call before leaving the room.

You find your way upstairs and into the bathroom. Once inside you drop your phone back into your pocket and lean against the counter, letting out a frustrated sigh. You’re worked up and sticky and you stand there debating with yourself whether you should finish yourself off or let the feeling pass.  

All of this is too confusing and too fucked up. Just the other day Hoseok was a stranger whom you chose to have a one night stand with, then he was barely anything more than an acquaintance who helped you with your groceries and treated you to coffee. And now? Now he was your husband’s cousin who pleased you under the dinner table at your in-law’s house.

Not even five minutes pass of being alone before the door opens and shuts quietly, making you whip around and stare over at Hoseok with wide eyes.

“Hoseok? What are you-“

He rushes over to your side and slides one hand into your hair, the other around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest. His lips cut you off, hot and hungry, eating up whatever words you have to say.

His tongue pushes past your lips and slides into your mouth, tasting the bitter white wine you were sipping on earlier. You whine openly, letting him press you into the edge of the counter while his tongue curls around your own.

There was so much to be said. So much to be explained, but in this moment neither of you want nor cared to lay it all out on the table. Not now.

“Jump up,” He says when he parts from you just the slightest so that he can nibble on your bottom lip.

You waste no time in doing as you’re told, hopping up onto the surface of the counter with Hoseok’s hands on the backs of your thighs helping you. The sink faucet presses into your lower back but you don’t have the time to care because he’s pushing your dress up while unbuckling his belt. There’s no time for complaints and no time to turn back because you’re both too desperate and you can’t be missing together for too long before suspicions grow.

The moment Hoseok frees himself from his jeans, he reaches between your legs and pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off, and holds the material out of the way so that he can press inside of you.

You’re still wet and slightly stretched from his fingers, but the thickness of his cock is still something you’re not used to, so through your groan, you beg him to pause and give you time.

A minute passes. “Now?” His tone is husky but the question still comes out sweet.

“Okay, now.”

He pulls himself back out until only the tip of his cock remains inside you before he snaps his hips and presses back in, bottoming out completely. You throw your head back, knocking it against the mirror with a moan.

Hoseok pulls you forwards so that your ass is on the edge of the counter and grasps your hips tightly. As much as you, and Hoseok, would like to pace yourselves and take as many moments to appreciate one another – to make this last because god knows you do – there’s just no possible way right now.

So instead, he fucks you fast and deep, switching between watching his cock disappear inside of you and staring at the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“H-Hoseok, ah! Fuck!” Your arms fly out to wrap around his shoulders tightly, pressing yourself closer and rocking your hips as best as you can to take him deeper. You lose all sense of decency and cry out, uncaring in this moment about your volume but Hoseok is there to remind you, slapping a hand over your mouth and quieting you.

You mewl from behind his palm when he snaps his hips harder, his cock stroking repeatedly against your g-spot. It’s mind blowing and messy. All kinds of wrong, yet oh so perfect. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your legs around his hips, focusing on reaching your high.

Hoseok grunts and groans against your neck, licking at the soft flesh but begrudgingly refraining from marking you. He never intended to do this. Not because he didn’t want to –he really wanted to – but because it was all kinds of fucked up in this particular situation, but when he saw you? Fuck. He couldn’t resist. You look so perfect in your dress with bright eyes and a beautiful smile. He just had to touch you. Has been craving it since the night in his car.

He can’t deny that ever since that night, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind. It grew even worse after spending time with you at the coffee shop and seeing you again today threw him over the edge completely. You’re all kinds of perfect and he wants to get close to you, whether it be physically or emotionally. Preferably both.

“Are you close, baby?” The pet name comes out of nowhere and the way it sends a shiver down your spine doesn’t go unnoticed by Hoseok.

You pant against his palm, nodding exaggeratingly and the expression on your face makes Hoseok let out a guttural moan. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he slams into you, working hard to keep his pace and you have to remind yourself to breathe.  

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you cum, moaning a garbled mix of his name and a curse, legs trembling from around his hips and growing weak. Your body jolts and jerks against his and you become caged in when he falls forward with a strangled moan, both hands slapping against the glass of the mirror behind you when he finally reaches his own climax.

His hips stutter in their pace, rolling and slowing as he tries to catch his breath. When he stops altogether, he lifts his head from where it hangs, looking up at you before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips and then to your forehead.

Hoseok helps you down from the counter after pulling out, grabbing tissues and wiping the cum that dribbles down your inner thighs.

“You- you ruined my panties,” You state, laughing a little breathlessly.

They’re stretched from where he had pulled them out of his way, sticky and damp and more than a little uncomfortable to be wearing.

“I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck after fixing his pants and doing up his buckle “I’ll buy you new ones.” He winks and you snort, swatting at his arm.

“Yeah, okay.”

It isn’t until you’re both standing there, chests still heaving slightly and now decently dressed, that the thought of what just happened and what has happened before, hits.

“I think we need to talk about things,” He finally speaks up, looking at you with a small, nervous smile “We never got the chance the other day.”

“I agree.” You reach for your phone that had fallen into the sink, bringing up the contacts “Put your number in. I know you have mine but just put yours in anyways. We can meet for coffee again, or something, and talk about things in a more… convenient situation.”

When he’s done putting in his number, Hoseok hesitates just the slightest before leaning in and pecking you on the lips “If it means anything, I don’t regret this,” he waves a hand between the two of you “Whatever this may be, or has been?” He doesn’t want to sound hopeful but there’s a strong desire for this to happen again. A strong desire for anything with you, even if it isn’t sex.

Hoseok knows it’s wrong of him to have these thoughts, to lust after his own cousin’s wife, but he doesn’t care. Hoseok is a go-getter and when he sees something he wants in his life; he just has to try and go for it.

Dongmin doesn’t deserve you and maybe he didn’t either, who knows. All he does know is that he wants to see you again, even if that future meeting is one where you agree to stop whatever this may be (but he sure hopes that’s not the case).

“You go first. I’ll follow in a few minutes,” You tell him and again, before he leaves, Hoseok kisses you once more.

He leaves you in the bathroom with a fluttery feeling in your chest that you dare say is excitement, caused by what has just happened and what might come.

By the time you make it downstairs, you’re startled to find everyone in the foyer saying their goodbyes. Had you really been that long upstairs?

“Are we leaving?” You ask Dongmin, pulling on your coat and thanking the young man from earlier.

“Yes? Dinner is over, Y/N,” He talks to you as though you’re brainless and perhaps maybe you are a little in this moment. You should know by now that Dongmin’s family is never one to stretch events out for longer than necessary.

You are sadder than you should be, knowing you will have to say goodbye to Hoseok. He’s good company and to know that you’ll have to go home to a lonely, cold space where no real conversation is shared, is really putting a damper on your mood.

You say goodbye to everyone, hugging the women and bowing to the men. You save Hoseok for last, sweetly telling him goodnight and sharing an all-too-telling look that no one else sees.

Counting down the days until you hear from Hoseok again, or hopefully see him, will be more than agonizing.