#fuck it sounds like burnout again I thought I finally was able to get over that

[yikesforever]

if I keep complaining into the abyss will I ever feel better?

[graglesnov]

When I'm not at work, nothing sounds good to do to relax.

No energy for games.

Don't feel like reading.

Social media is boring and I either keep seeing the same posts or get to where I was when scrolling earlier.

I don't feel like being in discord with friends while I'm doing nothing.

I don't have anything to talk about with anyone or anything currently pressing that needs to be discussed.

Not really close enough with anyone anymore within a short drive to just do random shit with.

I feel like I'm burning out with non-work related stuff, basically everyday life, and I don't know how to fix it.

I was feeling better mentally earlier but now I can feel that going away.

Time to be sad and complain about my passive lifestyle that causes people to forget about interacting with me because I assume that if people wanted to interact, they would.

I know it's not that great of a mindset to have.

But if people really wanted to interact, wouldn't they let me know or check up on me every once in a while?

That part isn't meant about people I interact with on a daily or weekly basis, or for my mutuals on here because I know y'all got a bunch of stuff on your own metaphorical plates.

Like shit, I can't even properly communicate outside of being already acquainted or work situations anymore.

I also am a fucking hermit that rarely leaves their room (a point that I've hammered in most vent posts to where it's annoying).

Shit, these "see more" vent posts are probably annoying anyway, especially right now with me posting multiple in a short few days.

I need a proper distraction from everything.

I need to be head empty, no thoughts.

My self hatred thoughts are starting to become too loud again.

I ain't really got much to look forward to in life in general.

I just accept things, no matter how shitty they can be.

I never speak up for myself.

I let people walk all over me.

Not much has changed with this behavior since high school.

I'm going to be 30 next year and I don't know fuck all about how to do adult life

Yeah I'm planning on moving into an apartment with a friend, but again I don't know shit about anything.

I can already feel that I'm going to fuck up somewhere in this planning.

I just know it.

If I can't trust myself to take care of myself, how am I going to trust myself to be responsible for any of the stuff that comes with finally leaving home.

Shit, the reason I ended my last relationship was because I can't take care of myself and I don't make enough to even think of being able to, so how am I going to be able to be a decent partner?

And with the apartment plans, this is a ride or die friendship, and all the other plans for her fell through, and I want to help as best as I can. But I'm now remembering the above paragraph. How the fuck are things going to work out?

I'm fucking useless, I can't adapt to good changes, I constantly blow off opportunities that are presented to me.

I genuinely wonder how people can enjoy my presence.

As hammered in of a point as it is in these vent rant shit fuck posts, I literally bring nothing to the table for friendships/relationships/etc that is useful.

I'm always the one people are having to help, and I want to repay everyone for however they've assisted me in life, but I'll never be able to.

Honestly there is no point to this post besides me just constantly putting myself down.

My brain is telling me I'm just a waste of people's time, resources, and efforts.

I definitely know I'm the family disappointment, I'm the biggest fuck up on the family trees and I'm not going to be responsible for bringing more life into this fucked world we live on.

I don't know where I'm going anymore with this post.

It just went from talking about how I'm getting non-work burnout and now it's just "fuck I'm not worth any effort".

Should I rethink posting this for my mental health and for friends who care about me? Probably. Am I going to? No, I need to get this all out of my head.

Edit: I forgot to mention how I've been trying to avoid emotions towards people. I don't need to be having feelings for anyone right now since I can't handle taking care of myself. I've somehow caught feelings for someone. I hate it. Even more dumb is I'm trying to fight those feelings by getting to know a cute coworker. I can't stop being an idiot.

Edit 2: Now that I've over thought it some more, a relationship with me for anyone wouldn't even be a healthy one. Reasons as to why? Read the above paragraphs. You can even talk to my exes. The relationships weren't all bad, I'm just kinda emotionally checked out and am not that great with being there.

I don't like having feelings anymore. I was getting used to being fine without associating any sort of feelings toward specific people. Sure I complained about being lonely, but I just crave being touched in any way. I haven't had a good hug in a while.

Edit 3: Damn, I knew I wasn't doing alright, but NSFW content ain't doing anything for me right now. That's how you know I'm hardcore out of it.

[satoruvt]

for now; forever

pairing → kwon soonyoung x reader

word count → 9015

genre → mostly fluff, angst ↳ tags: ooh boy. firewatch au, banter, like a little bit (a lot) of pining, strangers to friends to… something, FLIRTING, reader’s kinda fucked up but its ok, hoshi’s weird and endearing (as always), a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, minghao best boy, soonyoung is very sweet it makes me want to cry

synopsis → after an unfortunate burnout that lands you in every critic’s negative and all-seeing eye, you decide to take a break from the one thing you know. you’re not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for out in the middle of the woods - if you’re looking for anything at all - but at the very least, soonyoung will make the hunt a little less lonely.

warnings → there’s eventually a forest fire (starts on day 64 and is mentioned throughout the rest of the fic) that leads to an evacuation but it’s not super detailed, mentions and descriptions of creative burnout/breakdown

a/n → IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! i made a fancy banner nd everything <3 i know 9k isn’t a lot to some people but this is probably the longest one shot i’ve ever written LMAOO so i hope it’s paced ok and everything <33 PLEASE let me know what yall thought about this i am insanely proud of it. ok thats it hehe. hope you enjoy!!! see u on the other side!!!!

btw here’s a fun playlist of songs i listened to while writing mixed with some songs i think reflect the fic super well <33

DAY ONE.

So. You’re… out here, now.

Save for the bugs you have to swat at every fifteen seconds, the outdoors doesn’t seem that bad. The weather isn’t too hot (yet, your mind reminds you) and there’s something about the color of the sky that makes your heart constrict in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but given your luck recently, you’re hoping it’s not a warning for the coming months - God knows you need a break. The weight of the journal in your bag feels heavier than any of the camping gear you brought with you.

You debate texting Minghao that you’ve made it to the park safely, but when you check your phone after deciding yes, you see the words no service instead of the familiar lines of a signal. It’s not that big of a deal - you’d told him when you left that you probably wouldn’t have service at all - but a little part of you feels the tender shake of anxiety at the thought of not being able to contact your best friend. 

He was the most worried out of everyone when you told him you were leaving for the summer. You can’t really blame him - it was abrupt, you saw the flyer at the grocery store and took it - but after what happened… doing something felt, feels, better than sitting around and waiting for nothing to happen. Waiting for a healing you aren’t sure will ever come, at least not completely.

“Is this really…” Minghao had started upon first entering your apartment after getting your text. Clothes were thrown all over your bedroom floor in an attempt to pack. “Do you need to do this?”

The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t going to try to stop you, that he just wanted to make sure this was what you needed. You had only nodded, sitting down on the edge of your bed to fold clothes and pack them into your suitcase.

“I just don’t want you to run away from it all,” Minghao said softly, sitting next to you. “You’ll need to face it eventually.”

“Is escaping really such a bad thing?” You asked, looking at Minghao. He gave you the look he did when you said something stupid, and if you weren’t still so wired from everything, you might have laughed. Instead, you sighed, placing a pair of pants into your suitcase. “I just need some time.”

Before you can face it, before you can come back, before you can write again… you still don’t know. Minghao had placed a kind hand on your shoulder to tell you there was no rush.

It’d taken no more than two days for you to get everything ready - including buying some apparently necessary survival equipment from Target. In a matter of a few hours you had gathered everything up, texted some other friends and your family that you might not be available the next few months and then… you left. 

(Your manager was pretty pissed off that you left so suddenly, but she was also pissed off at you when you told her you needed a break for at least a few weeks, so you’re not really offended.)

You take one last longing look at your car before locking it, pocketing the keys, and starting on your hike.

The hike takes almost the whole day. 

You think you almost cry when you finally see the watch tower you’re supposed to be staying in, your legs barely able to hold the rest of your body up. The hike wasn’t hard, really - long, though, and for someone who usually spends a work day sitting at a desk, you’re surprised you’re still alive. You find the little lock that holds the keys to the tower at the bottom of the stairs, fastened onto the railing. It takes a few seconds for you to enter the code you’d been given earlier, relishing in the soft breeze the cools the sweat on your face and neck. The sun is just barely starting to set beyond the mountains, a beautiful sight that you can’t properly focus on because all you want to do is pass out. You’re pretty sure you almost do on your way up the stairs.

The cabin at the top of the tower is pretty scarcely furnished, save for a few basic necessities (a gas stove rests on one wall, a small desk opposite to it by the door, a mini-fridge, and a bed in the corner plus what looks like a map table in the center of the room). It’s a little weird, a feeling caught between the nostalgia of moving into a new place and something you can’t quite name, but you figure you have a few months to make it all a little more comfortable.

For now, though, you feel like you’re on the last leg of your energy. Your mind is saying eat, sleep, eat, sleep on repeat and you have to agree with it, so you change the sheets on the bed, take down the boards over the windows while you wait for the macaroni from the Kraft box to cook. You end up eating a few forkfuls of poorly-made mac and cheese before crashing.

When you wake up, it’s to gentle static and a semi-clear, unfamiliar voice. It takes you a minute to remember where you are and what you’re doing, too disoriented to even think about the voice, but then - oh. Forest. Watch tower. Escape. Okay.

“Yo, Cottonwood! Am I coming through okay? Pick up your radio!”

Right. The voice. Radio?

“Come on, I saw you get in yesterday, I know you’re there. Unless,” a gasp, “you died! Oh my God, this is like a horror movie… and I’m next!”

You manage to wake up enough to locate your radio (a walkie-talkie resting on a charger on the desk) and, after a few seconds of gentle struggle, work it. “Not dead,” you say, then clear your throat because your voice does not sound good right after waking up. “I mean… almost. But not dead.”

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before the person on the other end hoots, apparently excited. “Arisen from the dead! Brought back to life by none other than the legendary Hoshi!”

A brief thought crosses your mind about having to listen to this guy all summer, but you quickly shoo it away. You won’t have to deal with it for the whole three months, right? “Who… who is Hoshi?”

“Me!” The voice answers, sounding a little too smug. “But it’s really just an alias. You can call me Soonyoung. I’m at Twin Peaks tower, west of yours!”

You spin around your cabin, looking through the windows cluelessly - how long have you been asleep, it’s practically afternoon - until you see a very small silhouette of another tower in the distance. You nod, then realize Soonyoung can’t see you. “Oh. Cool.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” Soonyoung asks, but his tone is light, breezy. You blink, reciting your name to him in a daze. “Pretty! So, what brings you out here?”

You weren’t expecting that question. “What?”

Soonyoung giggles into the radio. “Everyone comes out here for some reason. Like… Jihoon says it’s ‘cause it helps him write music. And Joshua loves the outdoors, so… what’s your reason?”

“You…” you start, not exactly wanting to tell a stranger the reason you ran away from everything you know. “Do you normally ask this many questions?”

“Yeah!”

You feel yourself sigh, already tired again.

“I… just wanted to get away for a while,” you end up saying. A half-truth. “I live in the city.”

“No way,” Soonyoung gasps excitedly. “Me too! I wonder if both of us have ever been walking and, like, passed each other without knowing…”

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought of escaping.

DAY TWO.

The next morning, you dedicate time to getting a little more settled into your home for the next few months. You didn’t bring a lot of decor - you didn’t think you needed any - but even seeing your blanket on the bed and a few books you need to catch up on reading stacked on the desk makes the place feel a little bit more like you. You eventually reach the journal you packed (that Minghao made you pack) and stare at it like it might do something. Like it might tell you to write again, or like it might tell you to leave everything behind. You don’t really know what you want from it.

A sing-songed version of your name comes from your radio and you blink away from the journal, set it down on the desk. “Good morning!” Soonyoung says from the other end, and you feel yourself take a deep breath as you pick up your radio and press down the button so he can hear you.

“Morning, Soonyoung,” you respond, calm compared to his excitement. 

“So… what are your plans for today?”

“Um,” you pause, brows furrowed, looking towards the direction of his tower even though you know he can’t see you. “Looking out for fires?”

“That’s boring,” is Soonyoung’s immediate response, and you laugh a little.

“Kinda my job for a while.”

And listen, you’ve known Soonyoung for less than a full 24 hours, but even before your brain really comprehends what he’s saying you know you’re not going to like it. “Wait, that reminds me,” he says, tone of his voice a little less overexcited puppy. “What did you do before this? Or, like, what’s your career? I mean, you don’t have to answer, I just thought it could be a way for us to get to know each other…”

His voice fades away for the split second you remember a little too much all at once, but somehow your voice still sounds put together when you speak. “Nothing special,” you say. There’s a pause when you don’t elaborate any further, but instead of asking about it, Soonyoung changes the subject.

“Okay!” he says, back to a more playful tone. “Anyways, I asked about your plans ‘cause I kind of need you to do something for me.”

“Already asking favors?” you tease. “We just met, Soonyoung.”

You hear him laugh, loud and hearty, and it’s contagious even through a radio line so you feel your own smile pull at your lips. “One of the other lookouts found some teenagers with fireworks,” he informs you. “I need you to meet him and get the fireworks from him.”

Your feet are already in your shoes, one halfway tied. “You can’t do this?”

Soonyoung’s voice is strangely thoughtful, but you catch a hint of mischief at the end of his sentence. “I would, but Jihoonie said he’d eat me if I tried to see him again and I think he’s serious this time.”

He tells you where the other lookout - Jihoon - should be and gives you a quick lesson on how to properly use your map to get there. You’re not really excited for another hike this early on (you’re still sore from even getting up here) but by the time you meet the halfway mark you’re convinced it’s not that bad. It’s neither long nor challenging, and… well, Soonyoung’s insistent on keeping you company the whole time. 

When you see what looks like a guy at the edge of a now-abandoned camp, you tell Soonyoung you’ll radio him when you’re on your way back to your tower. “Hey,” you call out as you get closer. The man looks up at you, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “Jihoon?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Under his cap you notice that his hair is a gentle silver, almost purple. He’s dressed casually, like you, and you suppose it’s a given since there’s no exact dress code for this job.  “You’re the newbie?”

You didn’t know people knew about you. “I.. I guess,” you say, then tell him your name.

“Cool,” Jihoon says, voice flat like he’s distracted. He picks up the bag next to his feet and hands it to you. “Take these. Thanks.”

He starts to walk away, down a trail opposite the direction you came, but you think of earlier, when Soonyoung asked about your job (or when he didn’t). You call after Jihoon, hesitate, but then opt to make this quick since he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Have you and Soonyoung… known each other for long?”

Jihoon turns around. He shrugs, then nods. “We met in college, a few years ago.”

“What kind of person is he?”

You watch in vague amusement as Jihoon’s nose scrunches up, but the small smile on his face refuses to hide and it makes you giggle. “Really annyoing,” he tells you, then pauses for a second like he’s looking for the right words, “kind of overwhelming sometimes. But he’s good. He’s someone you want around.”

Someone you want around, your brain repeats to you. You nod with a friendly smile as you haphazardly stuff the fireworks in your hiking bag. “Okay. Thank you.”

Jihoon offers an acknowledging nod of his own before continuing on his way back to his tower. You’re about five minutes into your hike back to yours when your radio sounds from your pocket with a now-familiar voice.

“Are you on your way back?” Soonyoung asks. “You forgot to tell me!”

“Sorry, yeah, I am now. I was talkin’ to Jihoon for a second.”

“Really? That’s weird. He rarely talks to anyone, especially strangers. What’d you talk about?”

You can’t help the small smile that lands on your face as you speak. “Stuff to blackmail you with.”

You think you hear Soonyoung’s groan all the way from his tower, and your smile only grows when it turns into a laugh.

DAY FIVE.

The clouds look dark today.

They haven’t covered the sun completely yet, but they’re closing in fast. You hope that it rains, already sick and tired of the disgusting heat, but also. Something else.

Rainy days always used to be the best to write, your brain supplies to you. You brave a glance at the still-unopened journal on the desk, thinking that maybe…

Your radio turning on drags you away from the crack in metaphorical door, coming at the perfect time as if to tell you that you’re not ready yet. You listen to it, grab the radio, murmur a greeting to Soonyoung.

“It’s getting pretty dark out, huh?” He says. He must be looking at the sky, too.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Hopefully the storm isn’t too bad.”

The line goes quiet, but you know that Soonyoung’s still there even if he isn’t saying anything. The knowledge comforts you, just a little.

“Well... got any rainy day stories?”

DAY SEVENTEEN.

“So, Soonyoung,” you call into your radio as you step outside. You’ve taken advantage of the small balcony around the entire cabin, setting up a few chairs you found in the storage unit at the bottom of the tower (just in case someone stops by, you tell yourself) and a small table you weren’t using inside. The nights are hot but still relaxing, and you find yourself sitting outside often, catching up on reading or taking in the stars. 

“I can’t believe you radioed me first,” Soonyoung responds, and you hear the smugness in his voice. “I’m so happy!”

Soonyoung somehow almost always manages to be with you in the nights, too, even if not physically. Being away from the urban civilization you’re used to has been a little difficult to adjust to, but you feel significantly less alone whenever you hear him calling you. You tell him to be quiet even though both of you are laughing. The distant crickets make your chest warm.

“What do you do? You didn’t tell me before,” You ask him after a second. There’s a small wave of anxiety that rushes over you at the idea that he might call you out about when he asked you the same thing. That was two weeks ago, though, you think, and Soonyoung wouldn’t. You’re sure he’s been able to tell that it’s a touchy subject. You’re not as discreet as you think you are, even if (and you’ve learned this the past few weeks) Soonyoung’s a bit more on the oblivious side sometimes.

“I dance!” 

Somehow, despite having not even seen what he looks like, it’s fitting. “Like… teach, or choreograph, or…”

“A little of everything,” Soonyoung tells you, and then starts elaborating. His voice echoes through your radio and you look up at the stars as you listen to him, trying to map out constellations from memory. He sounds so excited to simply talk about it, you can’t imagine what he must look like when he’s actually on stage. You hope you get to see it one day.

“You’ll have to teach me something sometime,” you say once he’s finished, voicing your thoughts. With a giggle that sounds like the stars above you, he tells you he’d love to.

A moment of quiet passes, spent focusing on the tiny specks of fireflies you see in the field around your tower and feeling the summer breeze as it passes. The words slip out of your mouth with much less resistance than you thought they would.

“I used to write,” you murmur into your radio. It takes you a moment to register the heavy beat of your heart, like you just got back from a run.

“Used to?” Soonyoung asks, curious but soft.

“For now,” you answer. The ache you’ve become familiar with throbs in your chest. “Hopefully not forever.”

It’s not the whole story - not even close - but you figure you might be able to tell him with time. The thought stresses you out even when you have nothing to stress about, and you think Soonyoung is psychic because he says, next, “the stars are really pretty tonight.”

You’re not looking at the sky when you answer. Your head is tilted in the direction of his tower. 

“They really are,” you say.

DAY THIRTY-THREE.

You’ve fallen into a bit of a routine with Soonyoung. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t talk to him - the one day you radioed and he didn’t pick up you genuinely thought something happened to him, seconds away from calling a park ranger. Right before you actually did it, though, he picked up his radio and said he had been taking a nap.

(His voice was a little groggy from sleep, sounded like he was pouting whether he meant to or not and you’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t make your heart skip a few beats - but if anyone asked, you’d definitely lie about it.)

One of you calls the other around the same time every morning and you don’t put down your radio until the sun is well behind the mountains. You’ve grown used to his presence, in a way, even if you can’t really feel him with you (though sometimes you swear you can). It’s comforting to have him out there with you, and it’s been so long since you’ve talked to someone the way you do with Soonyoung… you find yourself looking forward to every morning, waiting for when you hear him over your radio.

Today is no different.

Well, in an unrelated way, it is - you have to hike to a supply box to get your surplus of food for the next month and a half you have left. But even as you’re doing inventory of what you have left in your cabin on a piece of paper, you’re waiting for Soonyoung’s usual good morning. It comes as always, makes you smile when you hear it.

“Good morning!” 

You leave your scratch paper on your desk and reach for your radio. “Morning,” you say after you’ve pressed the button down. 

“So…” Soonyoung trails off. “Supply drop day.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sitting on your bed.

“Both of us are getting crates of food today…”

What is he getting at? “Uh-huh…?”

“Both of us… getting supplies… from the same place.”

A confused laugh leaves your lips. “Soonyoung, what is your point?”

Even for as often as you talk to him, you’re still always surprised when he starts yelling. “Let’s meet up!” he exclaims, obviously excited, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh my God, can we do that?” 

“Yeah!” Soonyoung sounds like he’s grinning, smile palpable in his voice. “If we pull some strings with the other lookouts and get hiking at the right time, it’s totally possible.”

Holy shit. Your heart is beating wildly, butterflies swarming around it at the thought of meeting Soonyoung in person. “Okay,” you tell him, noting that you sound a little breathless. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

It takes a few minutes to work everything out - the supply boxes should be dropped off by midday, so you can leave your tower around then and get to the drop location in a little over an hour. Soonyoung has to leave earlier than you since he’s farther away, but if everything goes well the two of you should get to the drop location close to the same time, margin of error small. You radio Jihoon to cover for you while you’re out, and he agrees, although he sounds a bit miffed.

When you finally leave for your hike, you’re not expecting how quiet it is. Soonyoung’s usually there to cover it up with his voice - you don’t hike often (you’ve not had to, given your job for the summer is to watch for fires) but whenever you have he’s been there to keep you company. You plug in your earphones about halfway through your trip just to drown out the quiet, something more to listen to than just trees and the sound of your own footsteps.

Eventually you make it to the supply box, and, well. There’s a guy. Standing in front of a long, green box - you think you see lookout tower names engraved ever few inches: Thorofare, Cottonwood, Twin Peaks. Packing some ready-to-eat meals into his backpack.

Holy shit, Soonyoung? your brain automatically asks, and it sends your heart spiraling up and down. You’re not sure what you thought he looked like, but it wasn’t this. Tall, lean - wait, you don’t even know if this is actually him yet.

Before you can think too much about it, you call out, voice tentative. “Are you… Soonyoung?”

The man turns around, shakes his head with a kind smile. “No,” he says. “I’m Joshua.”

You think about throwing yourself into the river by your tower when you get back for absolutely no reason. Somehow you manage a polite smile and a gentle sorry.

“No, don’t apologize, you’re fine!” Joshua chirps, adjusting the cap on his head. “You’re looking for him?”

You pause. Those aren’t the exact words you would use, but they’re not technically wrong, so you nod. After all, you don’t know what he looks like (you probably should have asked him before both of you left, but you weren’t expecting another person to be here).

“Please don’t tell me he got lost again,” Joshua says, suddenly looking tired, and you look back at him wide-eyed because... again? Has this happened before?

“No,” you tell him. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. Since we both have to pick up supplies he thought it’d be cool if we met up in person.”

Joshua sighs, seemingly relieved, then continues packing what’s left of his supplies into his backpack as he hums. “That’s weird.”

“What is?”

He shrugs. “Soonyoung likes the outdoors, yeah, but the supply box is a pretty far hike from his tower. I think the last few summers he’s had them delivered.”

Oh, you think, and maybe say out loud, because then Joshua’s looking back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. 

“He must really like you to come all the way out here,” he tells you, and you laugh like it might get rid of all the thoughts popping up in your mind that you keep telling yourself to stop thinking about.

“And yet,” you say wistfully, looking towards the horizon. “I still come second to Jihoon.”

This time Joshua laughs, a friendly sound, and the two of you fall into a playful conversation. He’s somewhat a superior of yours, though not by a far gap - as the lookout who’s been on the job the longest, he oversees the rest of you (which is you, Soonyoung, Jihoon, and a few others you have yet to come across). You get along with him easily and it’s weird to think that if you hadn’t gone through what you did a few months ago you wouldn’t be here talking to him, establishing what could be a new friendship. You wonder if that’s a new step towards healing, finding a way to be grateful even if it was horrible.

You talk to Joshua for a while until he says he should get back to his tower. You nod, tell him goodbye (and thanks for his company) and he starts to walk away -

“Shua!”

A burst of platinum blonde hair rushes past you from the opposite direction you came from, heading for Joshua. The new guy drops a bag at his feet and almost softly crashes into Joshua, who has this look on his face you can’t really decipher.

“Hey, Soonyoung,” he says, and you blink.

Soonyoung, like… your Soonyoung? The Soonyoung you’ve been talking to for weeks?

You watch as the two hug, Soonyoung excited to see Joshua and completely ignoring you (though you’re not sure he’s doing it intentionally). All you can do is stand there. This is him, your brain keeps telling you. This is the guy.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Soonyoung exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “How are you? How have things been?”

Joshua shrugs, a small smile on his face as he puts a gentle hand on Soonyoung’s head and starts… petting. “I’ve been good, same old deal. I know that you’ve been doing good too, though, as far as I’ve seen from your reports.”

Soonyoung beams at the praise and you take note of it in the back of your mind (you also note the way Joshua’s treating him like a toddler and how it’s working). He opens his mouth to say something else but looks around and meets your eyes - for a second there’s nothing at all, but then you think you see an exclamation mark actually pop above his head.

The yell of your name is so loud it makes you jump. “Oh my God,” Soonyoung whines, falling to his knees dramatically. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”

“This is the first time you’ve seen me,” you say. You can’t seem to hold back your smile.

Joshua excuses himself (again) and finally moves on his way, says he’s in Thorofare lookout if anything happens. The sun is mellow on your skin as you look at Soonyoung, take him in - light hair, warm eyes, tan skin. His smile matches your own. A breeze shifts by, slow and sweet.

“Hi,” you say.

Soonyoung grins.

“Hey.”

-

So the bag you saw Soonyoung drop on the ground before was, in fact, for a picnic.

He didn’t bring a lot of food (the whole point of the hike was to get supply boxes anyways) aside from a few candy bars he’d saved for today. He did bring a blanket, however, and the two of you set everything up on the edge of a rock not too far away from the drop location, under some trees. It looks over a small ravine, a stream cutting through at the bottom. 

The time goes by like it was never there in the first place, spent talking and laughing. Soonyoung is just as animated in person as you thought he’d be, telling stories wildly as the two of you snack away a portion of your supplies. You know the two of you don’t have much time together, given how late it already was when Soonyoung arrived and both of your hikes back to your respective towers, but it’s still… refreshing, almost, to be with him like this, to finally get a piece of him you didn’t before. To hear him without the crackle of the radio and to see him.

To see him.

Something stirs in your chest when you look at him lying back on the blanket, arms supporting his head with his eyes closed. The sun lights up his skin in a golden glow, like honey, and the dark roots growing into his blonde hair are somehow endearing. The breath leaves your lungs when you finally label him as pretty. You hope you can blame the heat in your cheeks on the sun.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Soonyoung sighs, still not opening his eyes. You almost reach out to brush the hair away from his face, but a breeze comes by and does it for you. You hope it’s not a sign.

“It would be nice, huh,” you murmur in response. You finally break your gaze from Soonyoung and lean back on your hands, soaking up the feeling of the blue sky.

It’s now that you remember what Joshua had said earlier about Soonyoung usually getting his supplies delivered, and you turn back to him. “Hey, before you got to the supply box, Joshua and I were talking.” Soonyoung hums in acknowledgement. “Is the hike from your tower to here really that bad?”

His voice strains as he stretches, opening his eyes to look at you. “I mean, yeah, it’s a bitch of a hike to take sometimes. But it’s not really hard except for a few spots, just long.”

You furrow your brows. When you agreed to meet him, you didn’t think it’d be this much trouble for him. “And you came all this way so we could… what, sit here and eat? Like we do most of the time anyways? Just separately?”

Soonyoung pouts at you and you feel personally attacked. “Food tastes good when you’re with other people.”

You give him a soft, semi-playful glare, and Soonyoung offers a small giggle. You turn back towards the view in front of you.

“Did you not want me to come down?” He asks, and he doesn’t sound… sad, really, more observant. Like he wants to know where you’re at.

“No,” you answer almost immediately (Jesus, your brain says). “I just… it’s a long trip. It doesn’t really seem like it’s worth the effort.”

Like I’m worth the effort, you think to yourself. 

You hear Soonyoung shuffle behind you and turn around to look at him again, finding him sitting up straight. “It is to me,” he tells you, and there’s something in his eyes that holds you in your spot. The tips of his fingers brush against yours on the blanket. You’d look down if you didn’t think you’d miss something. “I wanted to.”

In a second, it clicks.

-

It’s not much longer until Soonyoung needs to start heading back. The two of you get your things together, and you help him pack up the picnic supplies he brought. When everything’s said and done and the two of you are back by the supply box, there’s a second of uncharacteristic quiet that falls over you.

“Let me know when you get back,” you say after a moment. Soonyoung grins.

“You’re worried about me!” he swoons, and you hit him on the shoulder playfully, but don’t deny it. It can be dangerous out there, and even if Soonyoung has been out here longer than you, anything can happen. 

“Just radio me, okay?”

Soonyoung smiles, something a little softer from before. He nods. “I will. You be safe too.”

You nod in return, taking a few steps back towards the trail that leads back to your tower. “Talk to you later, Hoshi.”

The last you see of him before you turn around is the grin on his face.

DAY THIRTY-FOUR.

It feels like forever since you’ve been here.

A window is open and welcomes a distant ambiance of the forest around you, trees and birds and animals. The journal you brought with you is open to the first page, but remains untouched - nothing on the pages. At least, not yet.

(The not yet you always tell yourself seems closer, this time, not so far away. Within reach, or at least within reason.)

Soonyoung had called in that the hike from yesterday had worn him out and he needed a nap. You had laughed fondly at how tired he sounded, told him to sleep well and that you’d be waiting for him. And you feel the words, right at your fingertips, the way the rest and wait to be written. Their presence is both terrifying and reassuring. 

You don’t think they’ll be able to bleed out correctly, not the way they used to since it’s been so long. But they’re there, in your mind, in your heart. 

You pick up the pen you got out, feel the weight of it as you click it a few times. You tap it on the desk once, twice, and then.

You take a deep breath and start to write.

DAY SIXTY-FOUR.

“Are you lookin’ at the fire?”

Your eyes leave the page of your book at Soonyoung’s voice crackling from the radio, looking around your cabin windows to see that, oh, there is a fire. You’d kind of forgotten that it’s… literally your job. At least there are multiple lookouts.

You fold the corner of the page you’re on as a makeshift bookmark before closing the book and setting it down on your bed as you stand to get your radio. You grab a can of soda from the mini-fridge you’ve started to utilize (as best you can, given it does a mediocre job at keeping things cool) before walking out onto the deck, sitting in one of the chairs you set up. “Now I am,” you tell Soonyoung as you adjust the chair so it faces the direction of the fire. You think you’re the closest lookout to it - which makes the fact that you didn’t notice it even worse - but not in any danger. The smoke paints the evening sky red-orange, washing over the purples and blues the sun used earlier as it set. “You’ve called it in?”

“Yeah, told Josh, who told the higher-ups,” Soonyoung responds, voice strangely… solemn? He sighs his next words. “They’ll probably send a crew in for suppression by morning.”

“Is there a reason you sound sad about putting a potentially dangerous forest fire out?” You tease, cracking open your soda and taking a sip. The carbonation feels good in your mouth, pops on your tongue.

“I’m not!” Soonyoung denies after some sputtering, and you laugh. “Just… ugh, looking at it - I’ve worked here every summer for the past, like, five years, and I’ve only ever seen two fires. Three, counting this one.” His voice gains a certain softness, like he’s lost in thought. “I don’t want the place to burn down or anything, but… don’t you think it’s kind of beautiful?”

It’s a little morally ambiguous, but as you look at the distant, licking flames you have to agree. In the dark, it’s vibrant, more than just ashy smoke and the smell of burning - it glows red, flushes out silhouettes of the trees in between it and you.

“I guess it is,” you hum into your radio as you stare at it.

“So. What should we name it?”

“The fire?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says, dramatic as always. “She needs a name! I’ve always given them names, but I’ll let you do the honor this time.”

There’s something sweet in the way he offers you the chance to name it, and you try not to dwell on it too much. “Ah,” you start, thinking for a moment. “Barbara. The Barbara Fire.”

Soonyoung howls out a laugh and it’s infectious; you feel the tugging of your lips into a grin. “That is the worst thing that has ever come out of your mouth,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “We are not naming it the Barbara Fire.”

You huff out a fake whine. “Come on, it’s just Barb! She’s beautiful.”

“But deadly,” Soonyoung adds in a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a crime documentary. It makes you giggle, the two of you throwing around silly, stupid names.

“Okay, okay,” you say after a few minutes. “Then… hmm, the Hoshi Fire.”

There’s a long, long pause, and you hold down the button to your radio again. “Uh oh, is he broken?”

Soonyoung’s voice comes through, joking, but you sense a pinch of sincerity. “You want to name a raging forest fire after me… I feel like I shouldn’t be happy but I kind of am.”

You remember to push the button as you laugh, looking directly at the fire and shouting, “I hereby dub thee… the Hoshi Fire!” as loud as you can.

After the laughter dies down, for a second, there’s quiet - not awkward or for the sake of a bit, just quiet. Soonyoung’s not telling a story, you’re not giving witty comebacks. It’s just the two of you and the fire, alone in the forest.

It breaks eventually. Soft, gentle. “I’m glad you’re out here, you know,” Soonyoung says.

His words make you stiffen and relax all at once, and almost on instinct you look in the direction of his tower. You can’t really see the silhouette - the sun too far gone, taking the last of its light with it - but you know it’s there, can pinpoint exactly where it should be. You hope Soonyoung’s looking over at you, too.

And even if the reason you’re here in the first place is still a tender bruise to be pressed, you find yourself recovering a little more every day. “I am, too,” you respond. “I… I wish you were over here.”

It’s a roundabout way to say I miss you, but a part of you thinks neither of you are ready for something that explicit. You reach a hand out in the direction of Soonyoung’s tower, grasping at it like it might bring him to you. It’s not as if you can’t meet up with him again, but… between the distance and the fact that there’s an actual fire to keep your eye on, it certainly wouldn’t be easy. This is the closest you can get for now.

“I wish I was too,” Soonyoung says. You close your eyes to picture him, pretty smile and fond eyes. “We could hang out, like last time.”

“Without the radios,” you add. 

“We could, um… you know.”

His words make you giggle, and you feel a little lucky that you’re not holding down the button. Your heart is pounding in your chest, nervous but stable, secure, as you reply. A welcomed beat, even if startling.

“No, I don’t,” you tell him. Your soda sits forgotten, half-empty, on the floor of the deck by your feet. You don’t bother paying attention to the fire. “What could we do?”

Soonyoung groans and this time you laugh pushing the button so he can hear you, warm and affectionate. “Don’t tease me! You know what I’m talking about.”

You do. “What could we do, Soonyoung?”

There’s a pause, but you know he’s still there.

“Well,” he says eventually. “Let me tell you.”

DAY SEVENTY-SIX.

The fire’s gotten big.

You feel like you shouldn’t be surprised by it - it’s a wildfire, they’re not exactly easy to contain, but seeing it up close like this is vastly different from being in a city and barely even noticing the smoke. It is larger than life out here, consuming more and more of the forest each day. The last few days you’ve spent inside due to the low visibility (though it’s not as if you take a hike every day anyways). It makes you wonder if it’s safe to stay out here.

“...Hey,”  Soonyoung radios in. “I have a question for you.”

Rationally, you know whatever it is, it can’t be that serious. But your heart picks up pace anyways, beats a little harder as you pick up your radio to respond. “Look, it was Jihoon’s idea to use the fireworks, I promise neither of us knew it would start the fire.”

Soonyoung sputters out a laugh and you match him, feeling yourself calm down. “I’ll… I’ll ask Jihoon about that later, but - I really do have something to ask you.”

You lay down in your bed, unmade and messy. “Is it… bad?”

“I don’t think so,” Soonyoung responds. “Maybe?”

“Okay…” you say, timid. “Shoot.”

“When you first got here, I asked why you took the job,” he says, and you nod to yourself, remembering the first call you got from him. “You just… never really responded. I get it if it’s, like, a touchy subject, I don’t want to pressure you at all…”

“No,” you interrupt before you realize what you’re saying. You take a deep breath, Soonyoung waits. “No, it’s probably… it might be good to talk about it. I’ll tell you.”

He murmurs an okay, tells you to take your time and you do. It’s not like you’re scared to tell him - you’ve come to trust him, you know he won’t judge you for anything that happened or think any differently of you. You’re not even sure that’s why it’s hard for you to talk about - rather than any sort of outside force that might affect you, it’s more… more of a part of you that you felt you lost. It’s more coming to terms - even after these months - and going through the motions. It’s scary to talk about disconnection, especially from the one thing you loved (love?) more than anything.

“I… write,” is how you start, looking at the ceiling of your cabin as you speak. “Or wrote, maybe? I’m an author. I have a few books published. Writing is something I’ve loved since I was so young, it’s… a part of me, really. It’s special to me.

“When I finally got a manager and a publishing company and all that official stuff, I was so excited. It was like I was finally living my dream. I wrote my first book and got it published and it did really well, so my management asked me to do another, and I did. Then they asked for one after that, and I didn’t… it felt too soon, in a way. Rushed. But I guess I did it because I had to, because I figured this just came with being a writer and not everything is what you want it to be - and I didn’t want to risk losing what I had wanted almost my entire life.”

You take a moment to steady yourself, note the tremble of your fingers and take a few deep breaths. Soonyoung waits for you, patient and kind. “It went like that for a while, and I lost touch with writing. I stopped loving the only thing I knew how to love. I was so detached from it. A few months before I took this job my manager set up a press conference for me, and I… kind of… had a breakdown. At the conference. So I’m out here to run away for a second. Be away from it all.”

The quiet that follows doesn’t make you nervous, really, but you’re still waiting for a reply of any sort. Even if it’s the common oh or it’ll be okay that you got from distant friends and relatives who didn’t know what was really going on. But Soonyoung was patient with you, so you can be patient with him.

“Have you written since?” He asks after a minute, and your eyes flash over to the journal on your desk. One page has the familiar strokes and loops of your handwriting, written after you met Soonyoung in person.

“Only once,” you respond, truthful.

“When you start to write again… will you show me?”

And for some reason the question is so tender, filled to the brim with something you want to name. It makes tears spring to your eyes as you look out over the rising fire, trying not to let your voice shake too much as you reply.

(Maybe it’s because he said when and not if, maybe it’s because he didn’t tell you it’ll be okay, maybe it’s because it’s him and not someone else telling you the same thing.)

“Yeah,” you say, letting go of the button to sniff. “Yeah, I will. If you let me see one of your dances.”

You hear Soonyoung’s smile through the radio as he tells you it’s a deal.

DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT.

For the first time since you started working, someone who isn’t Soonyoung calls you through the radio (not counting the time you radioed Jihoon to make sure he was still alive, because you only saw him once and hadn’t heard from him since then). You hear the familiar click that tells you someone’s on the station, and you’re fully expecting Soonyoung’s voice to light up your cabin the way it always does. Instead, Joshua’s voice rings through.

“You there?” He asks after a comfortable call of your name, and you pick up your radio.

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s been a while,” you respond, and Joshua hums. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve… been,” he tells you, which earns a small laugh. “Anyways, I called in to let you know that they’re having trouble controlling the fire -”

You take a look at the giant flume of smoke north of your tower, nodding to yourself. “I can see that.”

Joshua tells you to be quiet. You hear the friendly smile in his voice.

“There’ll be an evacuation team here within the next two days,” he says. “Maybe less, shouldn’t be more. They’re gonna get all the lookouts evacuated.”

Oh. Evacuation? That means… the city. Your apartment, back to your family and friends. You’d forgotten an entire world exists outside of the bubble you created for yourself.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still looking at the fire. “I assume you’ve told the other lookouts?”

“I’ve got a few more to call, but other than that, yeah, everyone’s covered. I told Soonyoung and Jihoon first,” Joshua tells you, and you blink at the fact that you didn’t even have to ask. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Yeah. Stay safe, Josh.”

You sit for a while after that, trying to cope with the feeling in your chest. You… you feel better about everything, about writing, for sure, but. But. It’s cut short, even if only by a little over a week. You haven’t even started packing anything up - so much of you is strewn around the cabin, in the field around your tower, in the trees of the forest you hiked through. You don’t think you’re ready to say goodbye to the place you’ve made your home and the people (person, your heart whispers) with it. 

The sun starts to set and the fire grows. You sit on your bed and look at the things you’ve made your own, a sunken, unfinished emotion spreading through you. Eventually it is Soonyoung’s voice that comes from your radio, low and humorous.

“The Hoshi Fire can’t be stopped…” he murmurs, and you laugh despite the loss you feel. 

“Please,” you groan into your radio after you’ve grabbed it. “We’re getting evacuated!”

Soonyoung giggles, something mischievous that makes your heart warm with slow appreciation. “I can’t believe it’s ending so soon,” you say, standing up to walk around aimlessly.

“Yeah, the summer went by super fast, huh?” Soonyoung replies. “I’m kind of excited, though. I’ve missed a proper dance studio.”

That’s… oh. 

A current of mild surprise rolls through you and you think you physically feel your jaw drop, just a little. That - that hurt. More than you want it to, more than you think it should - but it’s... fine. You’ve only known Soonyoung for a few months, it’s not like…

You realize you haven’t responded and open your mouth on purpose this time. “I wish we could share the sentiment, Hoshi,” you joke, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff. 

If Soonyoung notices anything, he doesn’t say it. Only laughs, sweet and genuine. “I’m sure you’ll find something to yearn for just as I yearn for dance,” he says dramatically. You laugh, forced, because yeah, you will. Maybe you already have.

DAY EIGHTY.

Evacuation day.

Last day in your tower. Last day in the forest. Last day of the job you took to escape, to heal. It’s spent packing up the things you brought with you, throwing away everything else. Joshua said helicopters would be touching down at two points - Twin Peaks lookout and Mule Point lookout. Twin Peaks is Soonyoung’s tower, and if you planned it out right, you could probably get there and leave with him.

You tell yourself that the reason you can’t is because Mule Point is closer. Safer. They’re evacuating you for a reason.

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil, you think, grabbing your radio from its charging port. “Hi.”

“So,” Soonyoung says. For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems awkward. “Evacuation day.”

“Yessir…”

“What evacuation point are you hiking to?”

You pause, hesitate like you’re about to say something you shouldn’t. “Mule Point,” you manage to get out. “It’s closer,” you say after, your brain telling you to justify it, explain.

“What did the Hoshi Fire ever do to you?” Soonyoung huffs out through a laugh, and it sounds so unaffected that you feel that ache from before again. After a second, he adds, “so… this’ll be the last we talk. At least for a while.”

That realization hits you like a brick and the sting behind your eyes seems normal - regardless of whatever was built between you and Soonyoung or what lead you out here in the first place, it’s so sad that it’s ending. “Yeah,” you say quietly. Everything is packed, you just need to get hiking. “I, um. Is it cheesy to say thank you?”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung chuckles. “But it’ll also make me feel really good, so…”

You feel yourself calm down and let out your own small giggle. Maybe it was always meant to end this way, a little too soon, a little too sad. “Really… thanks, Soonyoung. I think it would’ve been worse for me if I got the silence I came out here for. I’m glad I had you to talk to.”

“Thank you, too,” Soonyoung says back. “I hope… you write again. I’ll talk to you later.”

The mention of it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, and you feel the smallest of smiles on your lips. “Yeah. Later.”

The radio clicks off and that’s the last you hear from Soonyoung.

EPILOGUE.

It’s hard to come back.

From nature, from Soonyoung - everything, really. To go from trees and fires and talking every night back to car horns, busy sidewalks and your own apartment. It’s weird to wake up and not see the immediate shine of the sun through your windows. But you come back, slowly get used to the life you had before.

And you start writing.

Given - you get back in August only start writing again in October, but you write. Little by little, page after page. Maybe not every day, like you used to, but the words are back and they are eager to get out, leave their mark as your work. You stand up to your management (with Minghao’s support) and take control of your own writing schedule. The pressure from before leaves. Writing becomes special more than ever, returns as the one thing you never get truly tired of.

Minghao asks about the job, your summer. You tell him it was easy and peaceful, and that you’re thankful for the time. You mention the other lookouts. You mention Soonyoung. Only in passing, though. 

(Minghao definitely suspects something, but even if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him much.)

Sometimes you allow yourself to think of him - when you got back, you looked for a Soonyoung in the multiple dance studios in the city, but since you didn’t have a last name or any proper title, nothing came up. After that, you gave up, but he still shows up in your thoughts from time to time, bright blonde hair (the roots growing in) and glowing smile. It’s cold out, now, so you hope he isn’t getting sick and that he’s staying warm.

You’re reminded of just how cold it is when you have to brace the outside world to get your mail. There’s not even any wind, just an undeniable cold, and it makes your nose burn and eyes water as you walk the short trek to your mailbox. You find your slot and push your key in, unlocking it and gathering your mail. Most of it is junk, but you could have sworn something you ordered was supposed to come today -

“Excuse me?”

You turn your head to the voice and find a man walking towards you, his head turned down towards a small piece of paper. His voice sounds familiar, but you figure it must just be a neighbor you haven’t spoken to in a while. You turn your body to him, waiting for him to look up from the note so you can place a name on him. “Do you know where I can find an author…”

He looks up.

It’s Soonyoung.

He looks a little different - his hair is shorter, dyed black instead of the platinum you remember from last July. But it’s definitely him. The longer you stare at each other the wider his smile gets, and you stand, speechless. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. Your heart starts to race, warms you up beneath your jacket.

“Found you,” Soonyoung grins. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You did.”

[blush-and-books]

13, 15, and 19 queen

The way that the ones I write for you are always longer :)

13, 15 and 19: Forehead kisses, big warm hugs, and peppering kisses all over someone’s face.

High school AU because I like. Was written while listening to TSwifts new album. Look out for my Juke x Willow analysis tomorrow. 

It’s a stressful morning. A big morning. A meaningful morning. 

Julie’s calculus final. 

Her semester grade may or may not have been riding on this single exam, and her ability to play in the band may or may not have been riding on her semester grade.

The deal she had struck with her father and Victoria was that she would get above a C+ in the class, nothing equivalent or less. While Julie was smart, her gifted kid burnout really smoldered in calculus, and her C+ laughed at her every time she checked her grades. She had a B a couple of weeks ago, but a C- on a quiz and a B- on the last test before the final set her up to fail.

If she can ace this test -- which all the guys had been helping her study for all week -- then her grade could go up, because the final is worth double a regular test grade. And all she needs is a little B- or B to keep doing what she loves to do. 

Even though he shows up three minutes before final bell every day, Luke makes the effort to show up with five minutes to spare this morning so that he can bring Julie the coffee he bought her. 

(He actually had a good reason to almost be late this morning.)

He finds her wringing her hands together next to his locker, which is luckily in the same hall as her math class. She’s so caught in her world of stress that it takes him standing right in front of her for her to see him. 

“Jules?”

The sound of his voice startles her. 

“Luke! Sorry, I was just-”

“Reviewing in your head? I expect nothing less from you.” His right hand extends out to her, holding the gift of a large coffee cup, still warm. “Lavender black tea latte with vanilla syrup. For the girl who is going to kill her test today.”

She looks at the cup like it’s about to ruin her day, but takes it anyways.

“A bit of a premature celebration, isn’t it? I feel jinxed now.”

Luke’s face falls. But, being the tough guy he is, he makes a considerable attempt to shield his disappointment. 

“I’m not jinxing you. It’s a good luck coffee. You’ll get another one when you-” She glares daggers at him, not wanting him to superstitiously ruin her grade. “Sorry! When you… Forget everything and bomb the test.”

When her face wrinkles up with concern, Luke is internally punching himself in the face. He’s been Julie’s best friend for three years and somehow still fucks up every time he wants to comfort her. 

(Probably because he has a massive crush on her and is worried that when he supports her, he’ll expose himself and make things awkward and-)

He throws his arms around her instead. One around her waist and the other tugging her shoulders close to him; and he kisses her forehead once, twice, three times. 

(Exposed crush be damned.)

“I’m sorry I’m so shitty at this,” he whispers. He feels her right hand, the one without the coffee in it, curl into his shirt. Her sigh blows lightly against his ear.

“You’re okay. I’m just freaking out.”

“You are,” he begins, right in her ear, “so smart, so talented, and the biggest badass this school has ever seen. In one minute, you’re going to make this test your bitch. Does that sound good?”

She pulls away, which normally he would complain about, but this time he won’t. Her smile keeps him as warm as her arms do. 

“Probably the best pep talk you’ve ever given me, Patterson. You’re getting better.”

His brain short-circuits while contemplating if that was any attempt at flirting, but then the school bell rings, and she’s yelling a thank-you at him from down the hall as she makes her way to calculus. 

His heart swells as he watches her bounce into the classroom, and hopes that if anyone in the universe is listening to his thoughts, that they also have the power to help her pass the test.

--

That weekend, Julie is too focused on reloading the online gradebook on her laptop than writing with Luke. He knows she’s anxious to see the results, but he was more hoping that songwriting with him could distract her from her anxieties. 

“Anything yet?” 

(He can’t nag her about it, because that’s just rude. All he can do is support her.)

He watches in anticipation as she hits reload, again, but a familiar red dot lingers next to the listing of her calc class: The red dot meaning that something has been added to the gradebook. 

“It’s there!” She essentially screams, temporarily leaping up from the piano bench before sitting back down, and automatically setting her fingernails up in her mouth to bite them. “Oh my God, what if I failed? What if I still have a C+, or a C-, or a D, oh my God-”

“Jules, you passed.”

“But what if I didn’t?”

“I know you. You passed.”

Julie doesn’t say anything -- only stares at the computer in contempt. Luke, boldly, slides the computer over to himself and angles it away from her. 

“I’m going to check, okay?”

She doesn’t say no. He opens the link where all of her graded assignments in her calculus class are, and there it is:

98/100

“Oh my God,” he mutters, clearly in awe. 

Well, maybe not so clearly, because panic flashes in Julie’s eyes. 

“Oh my God?! Is that bad?”

“Jules… You got a 98. Out of 100. You got an A. An A+. Your grade is a B.”

The way that her jaw drops and her hands dart up to pull the computer back in her direction is priceless. Luke is only grinning at her, because he knew she could do it -- if anyone could, it’s her. 

“I did it,” she whispers to herself. “Holy shit, I did it!”

There she goes again, bouncing off of the piano bench, and jumping around on the cold floor of her garage in fuzzy socks and making Luke wonder how much love and sunshine and energy can go in one little body. He doesn’t hesitate to join her, standing up himself. 

“Yes you did! I knew you could do it, Julie. I never doubted-”

He’s cut off by the impact of her body throwing itself against him in a tight, energized hug. Pride swells in his heart. 

He lets himself lift his arms around her waist, indulging in the feeling of holding her so close. She’s this beautiful, magnetic force of nature that he had surrendered to long ago. 

“You’re amazing, Jules.”

The feeling of her lips against his cheek sends him practically spiraling. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she grins at him. “You studied with me day and night even though you aren’t in calculus and didn’t know a thing, but you quizzed me and worked with me and-”

He kisses her. Like, on the lips. 

(Yeah. He’s surprised too.)

It was just watching her glow, like the star she is, and she gets so animated when she talks and even though she single-handedly saved the future of their band she’s praising him for holding flashcards in front of her face and he loves her. She’s too much and at the same time she wasn’t enough; so he kissed her. 

And she doesn’t pull away. 

It’s… Charged. That’s his way to describe it. There’s so much excitement in their embrace that the kiss is strong and determined and God it’s been a long time coming. 

When they pull away, she isn’t yelling at him for violating her or coming onto her, so he keeps himself close by letting his lips brush along her jaw, and then her cheek; followed by her nose, eyelids, forehead, and really anywhere. It was like there was all of this love was pouring out of him but it was only meant to be put on her.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers into her skin, thrilled by the goosebumps he sees as a result. 

“I love you,” she sighs, and he desperately wants to know if she means that in the best friend way she’s always used it or if she’s finally joining him on the flip side, where he’s been waiting for her. But he doesn’t want to pry. 

So he settles with repeating her words back to her, and she’s able to feel his lips form every word against her neck, and he lets her pull him back in for another kiss. 

They can figure out anything else later.

[thewhizzyhead]

you very much Should Keep going (if you’d like) I’m reading your tags like 👀👀👀 I wanna know More!!!

dude believe me i only just thought up 90% 9f this while doing my math homework last night so yea this is very barebones and this is very very new have very little to offer but um imma try to explain a bit more fjdjdc SO ANYWAYS GRADE 11

Warning: this is very long and I am very sorry aaAAAA also i only just thought of this last night and a while ago while attending class so um yea it's chaotic.

the songs i've mentioned so far in the tag ramble aren't um consecutive so yeah there are a lot of blank spaces in between fjsjsj and yea I haven't figured out the other leads and their arcs yet (probably 5-6 leads). for now um the planned songs feature 3 of the leads:

Kate - basically answers the question of What If Eva Sanchez Was The Protagonist and What If Eva Sanchez Saw The Hell That Is Don't Even (in this show, this song is called "Anakpota?" or "The Fuck?"); she's a transferee and is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the new school environment; her reasons for transferring run a bit deeper than just "humanities is a lot more interesting than stem or business shits"; i guess her main character themes are burnout, the want for childlike wonder again and overcoming the fear that comes with chasing what you really want and no i am definitely not self projecting what are you guys talking about smh rhhdhs /hj (altho i admit that this is loosely based on my own experience with deciding to transfer schools) and yea she's a very closeted lesbian that slowly starts to comes out to others and to herself more throughout the course of the show. and also she gets a girlfriend YAY

Noel - rn i don't have that much planned out for him cause u know barebones plot but so far um i guess he's the chill dude, overall good guy, rantaro amami from danganronpa v3 vibes, and he's initially framed as the "love interest" for Kate esp in the song "Ikaw Ba Ay..." or "Are You..." (i wanted that to be a play on the typical Filipino Teen Hetero Romance CAUSE THAT SHIT IS IN EVERYWHERE JFJSJD I AM GONNA MAKE A WHOLEASS RANT ON THAT SOON AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME) but surprise motherfucker BOTH OF THEM ARE GAY AND BOTH BOND OVER IT AND BECOME BEST FRIENDS YAY WOOOO i kinda want him to be like the typical "Filipino Teen Heartthrob" star student with the twist being that he's gay and not make that a throwaway joke cause um yea that's a throwaway joke here that someone who is real catch for the heteros but is actually gay is "sayang" or "worthless" here.

Ella - ngl she is probably gonna end up as the main lead here fjdjd i'd say she has riley+chess vibes aka The School's Hotshot Achiever and Student Leader That Is Very Intimidating But Is Actually Really Freaking Kind and i guess with a dash of Kate Dalton-ish snark. Like i said the plot is barebones rn so i dunno anything but i do imagine them being the one that drives the plot forward due to her outspokenness. I also imagine her to be the one (along with Noel) that makes Kate a lil bit more comfortable with her sexuality and yup you guessed it Ella is gay too (bi to be specific oh and she uses she/they pronouns) and altho still a bit closeted, they're a bit more comfy with it. also they become Kate's gf yay!

those are the leads that i have kinda planned out so far but yea i still gotta expound kna lot of atuff and make up more leads for this but then again i just started conceptualizing this last night so ANYWAYS HERE ARE THE OTHERS SONGS THAT I LITERALLY JUST THOUGHT UP LAST NIGHT (aside from the ones already mentioned)

+ "Nakakapanibago" or "Well This Is New" - Ella and Kate work together on a school project aaand gay panic ensues. both of them take turns in addressing the audience and panicking over each other in um er an "Oh My God She's Very Fucking Cute What The Fuck" way. it kinda has What Is This Feeling from Wicked vibes if you remove the aggression and antagonization jdjsd and i kinda emphasize on how overwhelmed they are cause for Kate, everything - from the school to the subjects to the people - is new and her attraction to Ella is like a cherry bomb on top of a chaos cake while for Ella, who has studied in the school since kindergarten which is why nothing about the school fazes her anymore, Kate is a literal breath of fresh air and the spontaneity scares them and excites them at the same time. The number is comedic (and is chance for me to add a shit ton of wordplay cause yAY WORDPLAY) but i guess also hints at their fears which will definitely come into play later.

+ "Mabuting Laban" or "Good Fight" - a group number led by Ella, this is the first song in the musical that isn't mostly comedic. like um the musical so far (before this song) is mostly somewhat of a parody-just-for-laughs-don't-take-this-seriously piece but with this, the show finally hints to something a lot more serious and insightful. so basically ella tells kate (this scene comes right after the Nakakapanibago sequence) that they have noticed that the latter is um very very shocked at the blatant show of LGBTQ+ stuff. Kate mentions that altho many students have since then spoke up for LGBTQ+ acceptance, things were a lot more conservative back in her former school (once again wooo definitely not self projection /hj) so like seeing all this is very new to her. Ella then mentions that things weren't always like that - a lot of fighting had to be done in order to get to that point. and because most of the students already were branded with a rebellious reputation (for a lot of delinquent behavior), they really didn't give a fuck anymore if they were being controversial or not. What mattered was that they would make the school environment a lot more welcoming for themselves and for others. That sentiment is also shared by other leads singing along as they go out of their way to ensure a much better environment for everyone (in terms of lgbtq+ rights, undoing the stigmatization of mental health matters, student activism yadda yadda)

(oh and also this kinda serves as something that bridges the prejudices between the two schools since Ella's school is famous for a lot of student delinquency while Kate's former school is famous for being known as the "Best School In The Region With The Best Students" (which is why Ella understands why the students in Kate's school are a bit more hesitant to speak up because Kate's former schoolmates got way too much to lose) and the rivalry those schools have with each other cause students from ella's school think those from kate's school are pompous little shits while those from kate's school think that ella's schoolmates are delinquents and yes this is commentary on the dynamic my former school'scstudents and my current school's students share) (i should probably give this its own song)

+ "Ayoko" or " I Don't Want It" - (this does not come right after Mabuting Laban fjsjd i honestly dunno where to put this) this comes right after a conversation regarding her reputation in her former school and yea this is Kate poking fun at the "I Want" song musical trope. Like um she addresses the audience saying something along the lines of "oooohh wow complicated backstory exposition! you are probably expecting a song rn ala "How Far I'll Go" from Moana but guess what bitches fuck you all cause i'm gonna sing a song about the things I don't want just to fucking annoy you." it starts off as incredibly satirical and um Kate Dalton-vibes all throughout the scene with lots of pettiness which will then gradually transition to her singing about how she threw all the opportunities presented to her by the former school just because she really didn't want to do them and was tired of saying "yes" just to be enough for them. She then starts singing about her taking control of her own narrative by finally leaving the school. She still laments about those lost opportunities and admits that she still kinda wants to pursue those, but if she has to sacrifice rest for greatness, then she doesn't want it. The song ends with a verse akin to most I Want songs as she finally admits what she really wants the most: rest and wonder.

also here's a verse i made up just a while ago

Diyos ko, sabihin mo, ano pa ang kailangan kong gawin/upang mabawi ang mga ninakaw sa akin/upang maibalik ang pag-asang nawala/upang sa wakas ako'y makakapagpahinga/sapagkat hindi na ako nagnanais ng kadakilaan/ang hinihingi ko lamang ay ang aking kabataan

translation (i'll try my best to make it rhyme): My God, tell me, what else do i have to do/so I can take back all that they have taken from me/so that I can bring back the hope I've long so been deprived of/so that for once in my life, I'll be able to breathe/ cause I no longer want all the greatness that you say I could've had/ I only want to wonder, I only want my childhood back

+ "Halos Lagi Nalang"or "Almost Always The Same" - if this sounds familiar yes i rambled about this before gjdjdjd I started conceptualizing this song even before i even started conceptualizing the musical. So yea this is in Act 2 the song starts with mentioning the exhaustion that comes with being an LGBTQ+ teen in the philippines cause yup same old conservative religious bullshit same old same old shit and despite many a lot of people advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, nothing ever changes around here because well conservative religious bullshit. so yea this is kind of an extension of "Good Fight" but make it more about the burnout felt by a lot of teens that want something better than whatever we have right now. Then it will also apply to the other causes that the leads fight for (activism,destigmatization of mental health stuffs, etc). I'd say it's a combination of Before the Breakdown + Move On musically speaking (yea PMA has influenced me by a LOT). eventually this becomes one of the star numbers fo the show cause yea all the leads will do a shit ton of singing and harmonizing (but for here i'd say Noel and Kate have a tiny bit more of the spotlight since for now they are the ones with the very LGBTQ+ based plotlines). I really REEAAALLY want this song to work aaaa i've been playing around with the melody a lot recently and if i can't write the whole musical, then i'll be content with at the very least writing this song

+ "Try Lang Natin" or "Let's Try It Out" - this is a very barebones sequence atm but basically it's a scene where both Kate and Ella come to terms with their fears related to uncertainty and go "fuck it we don't know jackshit about the future anyway so why not ondulge a bit and ejoy what we have today" and decide to start going out with each other YAYYYYY and also this is like one of the few scenes here were Ella is much more visibly nervous compared to everyone else in the scene so yay for helping each other come to terms with their own vulnerabilities WOOOOO (also paige i remember you saying once that kate and eva could've had a Forever reprise duet right? And correct me if i'm wrong but i think u said it could be about eva assuring kate that she won't go anywhere? WELP I'M STEALING THAT JFJSJJDF /lh /hj AND YUP KATE AND ELLA ARE BASICALLY UM KINDA KATEVA IF YOU SQUINT SO THANK YOU PAIGE FOR THAT IDEAAAA)

AND THAT'S IT SO FAR WOO THIS TOOK ME 5 HOURS TO TYPE IT ALL OUT FJDJSJFF i'm kinda impressed with this ngl considering that i literally started making this up last night and i hope that i can make something out of it woo

And if you guys somehow reached the end of the post and have read every single thing, I'm sending you a lot of hugs and a lot of milkshakes

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 011

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with my writing. I'm branching back out slowly into my fics and hoping to keep posting them. The aftermath of Evie's attack and some needed love from friends. Billy taps into a darker part of his life to protect her and realizes what she's beginning to mean to him. TW: Abuse, mentions of past student/teacher relationship, Billy's anger. TAGLIST OPEN ! Chat with me if you have time. :)

Chapter 11: My Heart Burns There, Too

   Billy’s knuckles turned pink from the incessant pounding.

   A huff.

   Maybe Evie was standing him up.

   Something pricked his stomach. Told him to keep trying.

   “Evie!” He called. “I know you’re home…”

   Nothing. Behind him, a car had pulled up.

   “Billy?” Heather parked and got out. Fucking pretty boy in her passenger seat. He and Steve still weren’t chummy even after the revenge plot. 

   “What are you doing here, princess?”

   “Was gonna see if Evie wanted to hit the movies with us." Arms crossing, her hip cocked. Priss. "Something to do.”

   “You’re too late, I laid claim to Fenny tonight. She’s going out with me.” Billy knocked again. “Once I get her ass out here… Evie!”

   “Is she?” Heather eyed him closer and approached. “Is she even home?”

   “Think so.” Billy crept around the side of the house to her window. Knocked. Nothing.

   “Way to be a total creep.” Steve remarked, hands shoving into his pockets. Half amused at Billy’s persistence. 

   “I see a lump on her bed through the blinds. Curtain is cracked.” Billy huffed. “Hey, Evie!”

   “Something happened.” Heather’s eyes changed as Billy turned to see her. The expression made his pulse speed. “Evie did this after her dad left. Evie!” She knocked too. “Your friends are here!”

   “Okay, I’m breaking in.” Billy went around front. Felt about the windows with the other two behind him.

   “Whoa, wait a second, aren’t you-?”

   “Harrington, the neighbors here really don’t give a shit. They won’t call the cops for anything.” Billy looked elsewhere as he said that. “Believe me.”

   Steve watched him jiggle a window. 

   “Is it unlocked?” Heather came back up the steps. 

   “Yeah.” Billy yanked it up. Climbed in and shut it, went to open the front door. Steve groaned and followed them inside.

   “Evie.” Billy entered the bedroom. Blue jumped up to come climb his leg. “Even the damn cat is ready for our...date...thing.” He couldn’t think of a better word. One hand plucking the ball of fluff from his hip to push it at a confused Steve.

   Evie still didn't move to get up. Just breathed.

   “What’s going on?" Billy got tender. "Hey.” 

   He came to her first. Evie bundled and hidden upon her bed in the dim light while the sky grew darker. Heather trailed after with Steve in the doorway.

   “Go away.” A muffled croak followed. Heather sighed and sat down. Put her chin on Evie’s shoulder. Felt her friend go stiff.

   “Hey...we’d really like to see you. What happened, Evie? Please talk to me.” She sounded truly afraid. Hands peeled the comforter away. Evie hid herself into the pillow. Arms up to pull her hood further. Curls splayed in tufts of loose frizz

   “Evie, come on,” Billy climbed near her legs, “we’ll go outside if you just want to talk to Heather.”

   “I just wanted him to stop.” Evie’s fingers curled, voice cracking and glazed with tears. “I wanted it to stop. I didn’t mean to be so loud, I was just trying to make it stop.”

   “Wanted what to…?” Heather trailed off when Evie shot up. Hands braced and facing away still. Shaking. “You’re scaring me. Evie.” A gentle hand brought the hood back. Evie smoothed her curls and sniffled harder. Slowly, turned her head while a finger clicked her bedside lamp on. 

   Matching gasps followed.

   “Oh, my god! Who did this to you?” Heather sprang into action but Evie’s head fell to her chest. Arms cradled her. Soothing. “Hey, I got you. We’re here.” Sweet Heather teared up, not knowing what to do as Evie scrambled to cling to her and weep. Waves crashing distantly.

   “I tried to stop it. I did.” Evie crumbled there. Steve, the most confused, ran out and returned with a makeshift ice pack from the freezer. Wrapping it in a rag after dropping Blue on her desk.

   “She needs ice, here.” Steve joined Heather. Smoothed Evie’s hair, but she flinched. “Sorry.” He touched the ice to her right eye. Winced. Helped Heather calm her down because she was gasping at that point, near a panic attack.

   Billy went dead silent. Staring at Evie’s face with a hard, distant expression. Thought he might implode. Teeth crushed and one muscle in his jaw gave a twitch.

   Breathe.

   “Evie.” He pushed out smoother and licked his lips. “Did he do this to you?”

   “Who?” Heather turned. Billy ignored her.

   “Evie. Look at me." The tame order had her eyes shifting, laced in shame. "There you are. Good. Stay right here. You don’t have to speak. Just nod for me. Yes or no?”

   Billy was on his feet the second Evie gave him what he asked for. A single nod. She latched at Heather and cried harder as he went.

   “Where are you going?” Heather craned, but Billy stalked out with his keys in hand. Hard steps. Steve went after him on instinct.

   Evie just wept, out poured all the pent up emotion she bottled.

   “Honey, who did this?” Heather tried again.

   The door slammed.

   “F-Fredrick.” She burst out. 

   “Fr… Our teacher?”

   “I-I’ve been sleeping with him. I was so stupid, Heath. So damn stupid. I thought he loved me. For a while. I tried to stop it. I tried to stop him. He wouldn’t let me just go. I wanted it to stop. I’m sorry.”

   Pieces fell together. Why Evie closed off to her best friend.

   “Don’t be sorry, I got you. Lie down.” Heather just got into the bed with her, shoes kicking off. Let Evie sob into her chest while trying to ice her eye. “I’m here. You're not stupid, I got you.”

   Outside, Billy was getting into his car.

   “Man, what are you doing?” Steve shoved into the passenger side. “Who did that?”

   “Bowers.” Billy started the engine. Seeing all red and contained still. Eyes front. A mission. “Get the fuck out.”

   “Bowers? Our teacher, you mean they…” Steve connected some dots. “Oh, fuck.”

   “Get out of my car.”

   “No, I’m going with you.”

   Billy jerked the vehicle to speed off. Steve buckled himself in.

   “I think I know what street this guy is on, look for the orange Plymouth.” Billy barely stopped at a red light and continued on. Dead set. About to tear this damn town to shreds. Steve watched him grip the wheel. Knuckles paling.

   “What are you going to do?”

   “I’m gonna make him stop.” Billy skidded and saw it. “There you are, fucker.” He rolled up to the house. Steve scrambled to get out and follow him, looking around the empty neighborhood. 

   “Hey, man, you’re not going to…”

   “Just gonna make him stop.” Billy said again. Not really listening. He saw Evie in his mind again. Thought of his mother. Fists clenched before he smashed the doorbell.

   Fredrick cracked it open.

   “Mr. Har-” Two hands shoved forward into the house. Billy was noticeably shorter than Bowers, but the way he grabbed his already torn shirt and shoved him into the floor distracted from that.

   A punch sweltered. Burst knuckles red. Billy was hellbent. Ready to combust into flames. Steve turned and shut the door behind them.

   “Ack! What’s this about?” Fredrick slapped a hand to his nose. "Get out!"

   “You beat the shit out of her.” Billy stood over him. Dangerous.

   “I have no idea-”

   “I already know about you. She didn’t tell me either. Figured it out on my own, man, you’re not slick. You think those other burnouts you’re teaching won’t notice, too?” Billy crept up with determined steps. “Are you fucking any other kids?”

   “I-”

   “Yes or no!” Billy roared in his face. Steve stepped up behind him with huge eyes. Only able to watch. Fredrick about shit himself.

   “No...no.” He swallowed. “Are you…?”

   “Not gonna tell anyone. You and I, we’re going to forget this ever happened.” Billy undid his belt. Not even here anymore. “You’re going to learn a lesson, teach. Respect. Responsibility."

   "If you leave now-"

   "You take any pictures or videos of her? Tell me or I’ll tear this place apart finding them.”

   “N-No...never. She wouldn’t let me.”

   “You sick piece of shit.” It was Steve who voiced that before Billy could, although he looked nauseous.

   The belt slid out of its loops. Fredrick glowered at him. Clearly fearful. Not getting up.

   “You’re going to forget, Evangeline Fenny. Hear me? You’re going to pack up tonight and get the fuck out of town. Transfer. Don’t crawl back to your fucking wife. You’re going to hole yourself up and live your life and you’re not going to fuck anymore kids. Nod.”

   Slowly, Bowers obeyed.

   Billy looped the belt. Slashed it through the air. An ugly twack into Bower’s eye cracked. Steve wondered about stopping him, but didn’t. Barely flinched when he watched it happen. Billy snarled and hit the older man until he turned over to avoid it. Blood bursting from his nose still. Cowering like a bitch.

   “You’re not gonna see her!” Billy raged and descended down. Brutal slaps like the ones Neil dealt him and his mother. “You’re not gonna think about her! You’re not gonna touch her! Ever again! Fucking disappear!” 

   Billy kicked Bower’s in the ribs. Left him there gasping.

   “Okay, okay! Just don’t...ngh…please.” He whimpered. Billy, still baring his teeth, paused. Hit him a final time with the metal end. Vibrated so hard. Saw Neil there cowering when he blinked. Saw Neil also in the reflection of a fallen mirror that cracked.

   “Pack up tonight. Don’t make me do this again. No, goodbye. No, nothing. Just fuck off and never come back or I’ll fucking kill you. Hear me? I’ll kill you for what you did to her! She's dead and she's not coming back because of you!”

   His voice cracked. So hot, he might breathe smoke. Eyes watering.

   Steve was in front of Billy now, pushing him back into the door. Soothing.

   “Hey, man. We gotta go. He got the message. Let’s go…” Steve caught Billy's face and realized the boy was crying.

   “Don’t let me catch you in this town again.” Billy spat all the way out, skidding and intent on Bowers' beaten frame. Steve started yanking him back to the car.

   "Hey, Billy, I-"

   "Please." Billy sniffled to get a hold of himself. "Please, don't." Steve looked at him and did the only kindness Billy would allow. He peered aside to let the boy wipe his eyes.

   They nearly hit the mailbox screeching out. Back to Evie’s where they found Heather in the kitchen brewing some jasmine tea.

   “She told me everything.” Heather looked like she’d been crying too. Eyes fell to Billy’s knuckles as he did his belt again. “Can you go sit with her a bit? First aid kit is on the bed. She won’t let me…”

   Billy passed and Steve went into the kitchen. Evie sat at her desk now. Battered. Hoodie on the floor. Eyes unblinking and dry. Expressionless. A needle felting project in hand. Deftly stabbing a mass of grey wool into a shape. Billy stole a chair and got close, sat in it backwards and opened the kit on her desk.

   “You gonna let me take you to the hospital?”

   “No.”

   One exhale out his nose showed he didn’t approve. Doctors prodding was the last thing Evie needed. Especially with her eating habits.

   "You feel dizzy?"

   "No."

   “Let’s get you cleaned up, then. Don’t mean to brag, but I know my way around a first aid fit.”

   Evie kept stabbing. Coolly. Eyes flicked to his knuckles. Burnt red from the few punches he tossed between swipes of the belt. 

   She missed her project and pricked her thumb. Cringed to hiss before Billy snatched her hand. Pressed a cotton ball to let the bead of blood dry.

   Brown eyes lifted to his face. Almost dewy and angelic. No rage left while he brought her finger up to kiss the pad a few times. Lashes batting and fanned thick. So beautiful. Billy panned to focus on her now looking at him.

   He went through the kit and reached for her chin. Tilted Evie so he could clean up the dried blood on her brow and lip. She just watched Billy squint and study her in turn.

   “He’s not going to be a problem anymore.” Came a distant sigh. Something he never got to say to his mother. “You’re safe now.” Billy ruffled her curls. Felt gingerly for more damage. A small knot on the back of her skull. 

   “Can I have another ice pack?” Evie asked at last. She lifted her shirt to flash some nasty bruising on her ribs. Unashamed of her stomach that wasn’t flat. Billy got up to retrieve some at the same time Heather brought the tea in. 

   “Can we stay over tonight with you?” She sat down. “Steve and I can make a food run. Pick up lots of ice cream and just watch some TV together.” Fingers tucked a couple dark curls aside.

   “I’d like that.” Evie beamed a little. “I’m sorry.”

   “Why?” 

   “I didn’t tell you about him.”

   “You were scared. I get it. I’m not mad. You don’t have to hide things. Don't worry about it right now.” Heather swept down to embrace her friend. Evie peered at Steve and smiled. 

   “Bring it in, Steve.” She gestured so he gave them both a bear hug. “Thanks, guys.”

   “You gonna be okay for a bit with Billy?” Heather pulled out so Evie just nodded. Shoulders dropping as they left. Billy moved around them and came to offer the ice pack. She hissed, pressing it down with her project in the other hand.

   "I made Bourbon's face from felt a couple years ago. Figured I'd make one for Blue, too." She set it aside and avoided his stare for a moment. "They look worse than they are."

   "Liar." He said. "I'd know."

   Evie licked her lips. Frowned at the table.

   “Hey.” Billy spoke and Evie only sighed, eyes lifting to his fatigued expression.

   “Hi.”

   “Name’s Billy. Just moved here from Cali.” He continued, eyes rolling when she looked confused. “What I should have said when we met.”

   “Ah. Name’s Evangeline. Evie for short. Welcome to Indiana.” She sat back.

   “Evangeline.” He sounded out, smirking. “Is that a poem?”

   “Oh, yeah, a totally depressing one.” Evie chuckled there, wincing noticeably. Billy crossed his arms on her desk. Leaned forward.

   “Shame. That's a nice New Orleans twang you have.”

   She tried hard not to smile at that. One cheek sucked in.

   "Don't know what you mean."

   They studied each other again. Cheap colored lights around her room gave it a too pretty glow.

   “So, do you want to go out?” She asked out of the blue. Billy gaped a little. Processed what she said. Even got up to look around. “What?”

   “Just making sure you’re talking to me.” Billy peered outside. Sat down again to point at his chest. “You hit your head a little too hard or something?”

   “I bought a new shirt for you."

   "That sounds serious, Evie." He earned a push for that. Licked his lips to smile brighter.

   "And I just figured we could hang out later. While I don’t...look like this.” Evie tucked some hair aside.

   “You’re still…” Billy trailed off. Pretty. She blushed under all the discoloring. Tone shifting.

   “Did you hurt him bad?”

   “He can still walk.” A beat. “He’s gonna leave you alone. I made him stop. Hear me?” Billy had to keep saying it. He saved her. He stopped the monster. Evie welled at him. Actually touched his hand to squeeze it.

   “Can...Can you guys...maybe not leave me alone this week?” Evie plucked up some wool to twist it around. It wasn’t just Fredrick. She didn’t feel safe with her thoughts and all these sharp objects either.

   “Have I left you alone since New Years, Evie?” Billy cracked a grin that illuminated her expression. 

   “True.” She rubbed her head. In obvious pain.

   Billy got up again to go. Shifted through a medicine cabinet. Pills, liquid meds, vitamins, and more first aid necessities.

   A plastic container caught his eye. Full of push pins with red plastic toppers. Like cherry candies. Something that should’ve been in an office desk, not a teen’s bathroom. Strange.

   Billy pushed it aside. Filled a glass with water and plucked up some pills.

   “Hey, you should take something. Your head will thank you. Drink all the water.” He clicked the glass down. Eyes passed Evie to see the closer bookcase. Full of trinkets. Sparkling rocks and gemstones. Broken pieces of ceramic dancers from odd collectables. Pointing things. Keys. Neatly organized and lined up. 

   “Heather’s getting food, but I might...put my head down.” She drank and swallowed two pills. Scooped up Blue while she pawed at her ankle. Billy edged to leave. “Hey, you...” He came to full attention, turning. “You don’t have to leave…”

   Billy was in front of her lightning quick. Evie didn’t flinch when their eyes locked together. 

   “Yeah?”

   “I want you to stay.” Came the admission. Unafraid of him and his steel knuckles beginning to rust. Evie just stared without cringing. 

   Not even as his fingers trailed up her jawline. Gingerly over a bruise there. His thumb drew a gentle circle next to it. Such a contrast to Billy. So natural too.

   Evie let him observe her wounds. Finger pad tracing that swollen mouth to tip her chin. Lips touched her brow. A moon crescent trail of soft kisses. He pecked her jaw next. Then, found her lips for a vaguely rustic kiss.

   She tilted to open a little. Deepened in without regret. Fingers combed her messy curls back before he leaned out. Bright eyes glinting.

   “Our worst kiss yet.” Evie mused, Blue clutched to her torso.

   “Oh, yeah. Terrible.” He hitched, entertained. Evie searched him and let Blue crawl over her bed.

   “Gonna change into something comfier.” She waited until Billy gave her a moment. Evie pulled on a sports bra and color block print shirt with long sleeves that went almost to her knees. Fluffy blue socks were a must. She drank more water and poked her head out. “Coming?”

   Billy didn’t need to be told twice.

   “I’ll stay up. Wait for the others to get home.” He yawned as Evie got into bed. Fiddling with her sleeves.

   “Can you lie down with me for a bit? Just until I fall asleep. No pressure.” She perked when he unbuttoned his shirt. Kicked jeans aside and stood there in a white tank and briefs. Stunning without really trying. The metallic chain around his neck caught the moonlight before she shut the lamp off.

   “Scoot.” Billy slid in next to her. Blue wandered and got comfortable on a pillow above them. Evie had no qualms nestling into him. Tucking into his side where she felt safe between him and the wall. 

   Billy’s body warmed her instantly. The cologne and wash spirited her into a dream. Evie settled her head on his chest and shifted one loose arm over his hard frame. Flush with curves that fit into him perfectly.

   He tried to reason she was just scared and drained. Fingertips danced up her spine as Billy stared at the ceiling. Evie touched his wrist and got a better look at his knuckles. Kissed them better. Felt Billy’s chest sink and still.

   “Thank you...” Evie closed her eyes.

   No reply followed. Same as the night before, she let herself tumble and fall. Less shame this hour. Billy sniffled and exhaled. Tried to stay awake while Evie’s breath evened out.

   Heather found them upon returning. Pushed the door back to see Billy’s head tilted aside. Snoring. Evie burrowed into his torso with one arm draped over him. Steve smiled a little, eyes rolling.

   “Unbelievable.”

   “Let’s get this stuff in the fridge and set up camp in the living room.” Heather hushed him, closing the door to let them rest. 

   The hours rolled until Billy roused to some rustling at six in the morning.

   Bleary eyes cracked to an auroral outline. Evie perched on the floor at the end of the bed with the desk lamp pulled over. Couple notebooks spread out as she marked down some words and mimed them on her guitar. Mouthing to herself, barely making sound. Blue teetered across the papers to wriggle into her lap. Frizzy curls half piled atop her crown.

   Blue eyes trailed over the back of her bare neck. Thought about pushing his lips there and chided himself. Billy shifted and her head snapped. Quick hands set the guitar aside, back in its stand.

   “Sorry. I found a chorus at five and had to write it down before I…” She scribbled her lyrics and smacked a notebook shut. Billy rubbed his stomach and yawned. Heard her say something that stuck with him. “Sometimes I think I write songs like I don’t have any time left.”

   “Don’t stop on my account.” He paused as Evie rose. The lamp in her grip like an old candle. Bathing her face. Violet kisses around her poor reddened eye. Evie thought of a flickering candle stick too and how wax would look dripping down against his illuminated, marble skin.

   Noticing him staring, Evie clicked the light off and set it aside.

   For a moment, she stood there in the dark fiddling with her sleeves. Fingers pulled a scrunchie out and tossed it on the desk. Billy reclined to stare at the ceiling. 

   “It’s your bed.” He quipped so she crossed and crawled up between him and the wall again. Evie got very still and faced away.

   “One hour. The most lyrics I’ve sat down and punched out in...feels like months. It was always hard to get words out when I was dwelling on Fredrick. So much for fucking an English teacher. He liked it as a hobby and nothing more…”

   “He’s an asshole.”

   “He wasn’t always. Not to me. Maybe that’s twisted. He did help me...he did. Even if that was him trying to feed his own ego.”

   “Shouldn’t do this. Trip down memory lane will only sting.” Billy exhaled. “You might even like it.”

   Evie decided to hurt.

   “Sometimes I’d wrap my arms around him in the shower and sing little songs in his ear. He loved that shit.” Evie turned over to see Billy already looking in her direction. Barely there ounces of blue light glimmered from outside. “He gave me such lovely kisses. We used to joke a lot, back when it was fun. Dancing and wrestling around.”

   “You’re better off."

   “I know that, I wished I believed it though. In full. I don't love him. I know that. But, it's still hard not to feel something. I don't think he had a very good childhood and missed out on it."

   "Taking yours is no excuse." Billy got hard about that.

   "It’s not fair. To still…feel any kind of way about a person who hurts you. You can’t just turn it off and that’s…” Evie sniffed and sucked her cheeks in. “I don’t know how to live with that.”

   “You just do.” Billy rubbed his eyes with one hand. Drowsy and alert with her next to him. Both of them entombed in sweet amber.

   “He used to bring me gifts. Little things like what I collected. The antique looking brooches he found were my favorite. These little inklings that reminded me I was thought of. Desired. He bought me lacy things too. I still have Fredrick in a little box hidden in my top drawer. My gift wrapped naughty secret I used to love.” Evie scoffed at herself. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

   “Clearly have words.” Billy sounded out in the dark. Seeming too wise for his youthful beauty. Gold curls slipping over silky pillows. Lashes batting as he turned to see the shine of her eyes. Evie settled in and gripped her own pillow, sighing out.

   “It was so innocent when it started. It really was. I don’t think he picked me, not until much later. Not until I was already his. He didn’t act on these...urges. Maybe I pushed him.” Her lip quivered.

   "You didn't."

   “We had these lingering after school talks that started to last the hour. One day there was an awful storm and I only had my bike. We both were soaked and he just smiled. He felt bad for keeping me. I remember the crack of thunder because it sent me into his arms. He only hugged me and I needed it so bad because sometimes you just need to be held.”

   Billy just listened well.

   “I don’t know why it does that to me. Scares me like I think I might die, I’m willing to brave bigger monsters to get away from it. Fredrick offered me a ride and we got into the car sopping wet. Dripping all down my lips and chin. He turned on the engine and...had this funny look, you know, like he knew I wasn’t supposed to be there with the rain dripping from my hair and cheeks.”

   “You weren’t.”

   “And he looked so beautiful. Never seen his hair a mess. I smiled. And he smiled. We laughed at it because we both felt it. And then he kissed me... Afterward, I asked him to fuck me and he said, no. Just drove me home.”

   Blue eyes studied Evie too close.

   “I started crying softly like a little baby. Asking what I did wrong...asking why he had to go and kiss me in the first place. God, it was so embarrassing. I was mortified.” Evie huffed to herself. “We didn’t look at each other for a week after that. I skipped his class because I was so upset and he found me in the library after school..."

   She paused to exhale.

   "...He couldn’t say anything like suddenly he was the nervous one. Just dropped a note down and practically raced for the hills. Named a motel, date, and time. And I showed up... He seemed surprised I did.”

   “And he…?”

   “No, we drove a ways away to some bar that didn’t card. Had a beer in this messy roadhouse. Got tipsy and I laughed at something silly and touched his knee. Fredrick said I made him hard and then when I didn’t believe it, he took my hand and pressed it… Fuck, I never wanted anyone that bad, you know? It was like no one thought about sex as much as I did.”

   “That’s just being a teen, Angel.” Billy's lip twitched and she nodded.

   “Yeah. We fell asleep holding each other. Didn’t have sex until the next week at his place. We had fun together and he used to read me to sleep every night we spent. Fredrick nurtured me and he fucked me so good. Being with him, I wanted the sun to stay up all day for the first time...and when it went down, I wasn’t afraid.”

   Her final sentiments shook his core apart.

   “And there was no other man to compete with him.” Evie said. “I was never going to win.”

   “I wanted to kill him, you know?” Billy trembled, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt around. “Looked at him and saw my dad there and I thought… I felt powerful after. I would go back and finish the job right now if I could, Evie, I felt so fucking great while he cried. I wonder if that’s how my dad feels when he…”

   “You’re not Neil.”

   “No, but I might be worse. Didn't stop my dad, I just became him to cope. To understand it and I still...fuck, I still don't.”

   “I don’t think you’re worse.” 

   “You don’t know that, Evie.” Billy tried to be mean when he said it. Left her undaunted.

   “I do know you. Well enough now.” Evie let herself touch him. Billy shuddered when her fingers shifted over his tense fist.

   “I didn’t push you around cause I liked you. Guys don’t really do that. I hated you, Evie." He welled at her, eyes locking. "Just cause you saw things. Cause you’re strange. Cause you have a mother.”

   “I hated you, too.” She offered that lovely as can be. Billy sniffled and flashed a smile in the dark with watery eyes. Laid there staring into space as she studied him.

   "You wanna sing me something?" He'd asked in a strange tone. This inkling of reluctance.

   "Now?"

   "Yeah, something soft so we don't wake the house," Billy explained with the same hesitant armor over his flesh, "like a lullaby."

   "What do you want to hear?"

   "What's that song you're always humming in school?"

   "Oh, the Irma Thomas one." Evie swallowed to breathe and tucked into him, arms pulled to her chest. "You get a single verse."

   "That's enough," Billy turned to see her blush, "for now, Evangeline."

   "It's weird with you so close."

   "I'll shut my eyes." He let his lashes flutter. "You can just sing me to sleep." A beat of Evie shifting into him. Searching. She came up on her elbows and Billy stretched his arm out for her.

   "I know..." She took a moment to find her voice again. Smoothed it back out to silk. "I know to ever let you go. Oh, it's more than I could ever stand..."

   Billy's breath hitched when she lowered back into him. Head on his shoulder. Rich and gentle near his ear. Singing too sweetly, he vibrated.

   "Oh, but anyone," Evie touched his face to tuck some locks of hair aside, "who knows what love is..."

   She never finished. Billy kept his eyes shut. Stayed there reclined looking like Eros himself. Angelic and too beautiful to be apart of this world. Nestled on a pair of ethereal, feather wings. She imagined being Psyche and lying with him. Those glowy wings curling around them both for shelter.

   Evie pushed up further and caught Billy by surprise kissing him. Just a tender peck upon the cheek. Another at the corner of his lips. Blue eyes opened too late. The bliss of her moved away when his hand came up then dropped. Deciding not to push it.

   "How'd I do?"

   Billy could have said a number of things.

   About how her voice fills the edges around him and he's not afraid to succumb for the first time. About how she makes him feel things he hasn't in a long while. About how she's a swell of magnificent fire in this winter. About how being with Evie reminds him how much people can mean to each other. Even if it makes him upset, remembering; because it's so raw. He's willing to touch it again because of her glimmer.

   About how he wants to be a better version of himself and help Evie see herself as he does. About how she's burning and molten and neon and painted and free when she sings. And beautiful. And he wants more bad kisses. More of her. About how she's so much and she's absolutely enough and she deserves to feel that. To be still and burn with soft embers for once while the moon and stars twinkle kindly for her. About how there's a fire hiding behind her heart emitting a lovely glow that only he can see.

   About how his heart burns there, too.

   But, Billy turned to see Evie's glittering eyes and replied delicately.

   "Fine." He said, chest shuddering because it wasn't enough to capture her spark. Evie only beamed. Like maybe she felt the warmth of his flames even still.

   No more words could be spoken. Evie settled back into him and tried to resume her slumber. They felt Blue pawing to climb up and make her usual perch on the pillows. Billy stayed stiff as a board to allow her to fall. Felt the warmth on his face where her lips grazed. 

   That red hot kiss rocked him back under the water.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks again! Sorry, if the tags don’t work!! My ask and messenger are both always open :)) 🍓

TAGLIST:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana   @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber​

[godzawa]

≥ Burnout

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x Bakugou Katsuki

Rating: T (language)

Length:  1723

Summary: Kirishima has a bad habit of putting his work before himself. (aka Bakugou gives the best fucking massages, thank you very much)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277441

When Kirishima walks through the door of his apartment, his body sags. He slips off his shoes, just barely careful enough to line them up properly so Bakugou doesn’t yell at him for being untidy, and then drags himself over to the couch, every step feeling like a weight dragging him down. 

As he nears the long black couch, his body topples over into it, face first into the cushion and his feet just barely hanging off. Back when they got their own place, he and Bakugou had tried painstakingly to find a couch long enough for their tall, broad bodies to be able to lay on them completely, and this one had been the closest they could find. 

It’s silent for a long few minutes, no noise but the soft sound of Kirishima trying to breathe with his face pressed against a soft cushion and the whirl of the ceiling fan above him. 

Eventually he barely picks out the soft patter of foot steps, someone leaving one of the two bedrooms and walking out into the living area.

He knows that Bakugou has seen him when he hears a deep sigh, something between annoyance and exasperation.

“You over did it again, didn’t you shitty hair?” His boyfriend states more than asks. Even though he can’t see him, Kirishima can just imagine Bakugou looking down on him, hands on his hips. 

Unable to really manage words, Kirishima just nods against the cushion. That small movement alone makes the muscles in his neck and shoulders scream in pain, making him regret moving altogether. 

It’s silent for a few more seconds, Kirishima back to being a limp corpse and Bakugou just watching him with his (beautiful) sharp red eyes. 

Eventually Bakugou moves, his footsteps leaving Kirishima and going off somewhere, back towards the hallways he guesses from the sounds of it. 

Kirishima thinks for a moment that Bakugou might have gone back to their bedroom. It’s sort of a touchy subject between them, how far Kirishima pushes himself. Ever since they left UA last year and started as sidekicks in different agencies, Kirishima has been stretching himself thin to try and stand out. He’s been there, every call or need of an extra hand, he volunteers because he loves what he does and he wants to be there to help save as many people as he can.

It wasn’t too much of an issue at first, but then it started to go too far. Nights without sleep, days of barely being home for more than a few hours.

It took Bakugou nearly leaving him to wake Kirishima up and really make him start focusing on taking care of himself. 

“You need to put yourself first sometimes, idiot. Even I know that.”

Seeing Bakugou cry out of frustration and pain is something Kirishima would rather die than see again.

He got better, he started taking time off when he needed it and only volunteering when he knew it wouldn’t be too much. He was doing so much better.

The past two days had been him slip up, the small relapse. He overdid it again. Fatgum was away and they were shortstaffed, so Kirishima stayed on call at the agency building. The plan had been to just stay there and relax as back up if it was needed, but then a call came in for a serious situation and he had to head out. The entire ordeal took ten hours of brutal work.

It wouldn’t surprise him if this slip up pissed off his boyfriend. Hell, he could lose him over something like this. 

Kirishima’s thoughts turned on him, slowly draining down into darkness. The fear of Bakugou being upset with him clenched his chest, but he was too tired to even deal with that. He guessed that if Bakugou was upset he’d have to beg for forgiveness later because his body was too broken to even think of getting up.

He sat there and kept spiralling in his own head, body unmovable and anxiety clawing up his insides. He was so wrapped up in his own worries that he didn’t even notice the soft sounds of Bakugou returning to the living room. He also didn’t notice said boyfriend approaching him until he felt a leg slide against his side right side, between him and the couch. 

A butt sat tenderly on his own and he realized that Bakugou was gently straddling his back.

“Babe?” He grumbled into the cushion, trying to turn his head in confusion.

“Just shut up and down move dumb ass.” The blonde barked back, stilling Kirishima.

His heart sped up a little as he tried to figure out what was going on, but he wasn’t left guessing for long.

He felt his tank top tug up, hands moving his arms out of the holes and causing Kirishima to wince a little as it was pulled off his head and tossed away. Soon warm fingers were pressing lightly into his skin, lotion gliding them easily over his scarred up skin. 

Bakugou slowly started working the lotion into his skin, his touch feather light and putting just enough pressure for Kirishima to let out a long groan of satisfaction. The lotion felt so nice, both cold and hot, seeping into his skin and into the tender muscles. His boyfriend’s hands were nice too, callused but so careful in their movements.

Kirishima was effectively melting into the couch, his back finally relaxing after a long day of over using his body and his quirk.

“Idiot.” Bakugou muttered angrily, with a bite of emotion. 

“M’sorry-” Kirishima tried to mutter out, but was quickly silenced by Bakugou with a (light) smack to the back of his head.

“Just shut up and let me rub this shit in alright.”

The blonde was very meticulous about his work. He made sure Kirishima’s back was thoroughly covered before moving on to other parts of his body, the neck and arms. After he got off of Kirishima and pulled off his red shorts, leaving the large man with only his boxer briefs on. He covered his hips, thighs, calves, even his feet were treated with a massage good enough to have Kirishima moaning in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the tension leaving his muscles.

All this while, he felt like his thoughts were sliding through honey while he laid there. Getting treatment like this from Bakugou was something to treasure, the little moments where he felt so utterly encompassed by his love for the fiery man.

It always bothered him how people viewed his lover, like he was some sort of unfeeling asshole all of the time. Kirishima knew the truth, even from the first few weeks of their friendship. Bakugou has a heart bigger than anyone else he knew.

“I need you to roll over so I can get the other side.” The sharp orders invaded his thoughts.

Kirishima took a moment to take a deep breath, then carefully twisted his body, a few grunts of pain escaping his mouth as he did so. Bakugou watched to the side, waiting for Kirishima to settle onto his back before he straddled the red haired man again.

This time when Bakugou started pressing the cooling medicated lotion into his skin, Kirishima watched him. He didn’t watch the hands, but Bakugou’s face scrunched up between concentration and a scowl. He didn’t even try to say anything as he watched, the silence heavy between them. Eventually Kirishima couldn’t even keep his eyes open anymore as he slipped into ease, Bakugou’s fingers bringing his mind into sludge and his vision blurring.

“I’m not mad at you” 

His eyes tried their best to open. “What?”

“I was at first,” Bakugou explained, his face the picture of unease, “I wanted to fucking explode your dumb ass, but I knew this was bound to happen eventually. It takes effort to kick a bad habit. You’re a pain in my ass though you know that?” He grumbled.

“I know.” he muttered softly.

Bakugou’s hand’s stilled. He finally, finally moved his crimson eyes away from Kirishima’s body and looked into his eyes. “But your my pain in the ass got it? I wouldn’t put up with your dumb ass if I didn’t think it was worth it Eijirou, so stop looking at me like a kicked puppy before I actually explode your damn face.”

The barest hint of a smile quirked up Kirishima’s lips. 

“That’s better.” He grumbled before going back to focus on his task at hand.

Silence returned and Bakugou finished up his task, completely covering arms and legs in the lotion. When he finished he capped the bottle and placed it on the coffee table.

Kirishima reached a hand out for Bakugou’s shirt, lightly tugging at it. When those red eyes returned to him he asked, “lay with me for a while?”

Although he would never tell this to anyone (for fear of his life if a certain hot blonde ever found out), Bakugou’s pout was about the cutest damn thing ever. He had that pout pointed towards Kirishima at that moment, clearly caving into his boyfriend in a rare show of weakness.

“You want my heavy ass to lay on you?” 

Kirishima nodded, his smile widening. Bakugou tsked and sighed.

“Idiot.”

He slid down on top of Kirishima though, his body covering his lover’s and his head slotting onto Kirishima’s shoulder as a pillow. 

They laid like that, silent and holding each other for an amount of time neither of them could discern. It felt so nice, just to hold Bakugou and enjoy his presence, even if the blonde’s massive body made his already aching body ache more. 

“Next time I’ll kick your ass first before the bomb ass massage.” Bakugou mumbled into his shoulder sleepily.

Kirishima grinned, moving his head slightly to press the barest kiss into Bakugou’s cheek. “I’m going to work hard to make sure there isn’t a next time.”

“Good.”

When they woke up on the couch the next morning, Bakugou proceeded to complain about his body being fucked up from sleeping on the couch, all while Kirishima watched him cooking in the kitchen, a stupid fond look coloring his expression while his boyfriend bitched and whined. He wouldn’t have any other way.

[lesbianjunimo]

(Hi hello I have not written anything on tumblr for *checks watch* ...a year?? ANYWAY I saw @my-arlington-academia‘s headcanons about some of the boys reacting to Scholar falling asleep on their shoulder (which were adorable!! check them out here) and got inspired!! I’m doing these for Al, Tadashi, and Raquel bc I’m biased and they are my favorites (plus Tyler but she already wrote for him aadjhgasdg) 

ANYWAY these aren’t all EXACTLY the same premise but they’re similar enough so hope you enjoy!! 

Alistair:

Scholar and Al had met up in the gym to do their workouts together! However, Al’s routine was longer than Scholar’s, so they sat on the bleachers to wait for him. A long day of classes finished off with exercise is pretty tiring, though, so soon enough...

“Alright, I’m all set! Sorry for the wait.” Al expected a reply, but heard none. And looking over...he saw why.

Oh my god.

Scholar had fallen asleep on the bleachers. Waiting for him.

He was torn between feeling guilty and oh so flattered, particularly because they felt comfortable enough to take a nap with him around.

He approached them with the intention of giving them a gentle shake to wake them up, but good lord they were so cute. They had lain down on their side and used their gym towel as a pillow, and one of their arms was hanging off the bleacher and- aHHH HIS HEART COULD NOT TAKE THIS

He was already blushing just looking at them and trying to muster up the courage to wake them up, when Scholar stretched. Their exercise top rode up a bit with their movement, showing off a little midriff, and Al almost yelped as he looked away.

“Oh, hi Al!” Scholar sat up slowly, rubbing their eyes. “Sorry for passing out on you there. It’s been a long day.” “No problem,” Al replied, watching them stand and stretch again, this time adjusting their shirt back to its proper placement.

“You sure? I don’t want you to think you’re boring or something. Trust me, if I weren’t this exhausted I would’ve been absolutely captivated by your athletic prowess, as usual.” Al laughed a little at Scholar’s teasing.

“I was more worried about if you were okay or not than if I bored you to sleep. You sure you’re alright?” He unknowingly gave Scholar the puppy eyes that always sent their heart into a frenzy.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just way more tired than I thought I was.” “Want to walk to the dorms together? Then you can take a nap in your bed. I think that’ll feel better than the bleachers.” Scholar smiled at his offer, accepting it. The whole way to the dorms Alistair couldn’t get the image of their sleeping face out of his mind. (And for the rest of the week but don’t let him know I told you that-)

Tadashi:

Okay, we all know Tadashi. This would obviously happen when he and Scholar were studying together.

The pair had been sitting on the cafe balcony (is it a balcony?? lmao) for a good four hours at that point. The first two had included Al and Raquel, but those two left while Tadashi and Scholar chose to keep working.

Tadashi had noticed Scholar yawning more often than usual and asked a few times if they wanted to wrap up, but they insisted they were so close to finishing their project that they just wanted to get it out of the way. He knew that feeling all too well, so he just nodded and focused on his work.

He looked up about half an hour later, though, and Scholar was out cold. They had fallen asleep on their open textbook, their cheek smushed against the page. It was...adorable. 

He had half a heart to wake them up, but they were too cute! Plus, he had a hunch they must’ve been overworking themselves to have reached this point. If anyone could recognize the signs of burnout, it was Tadashi Nakano. 

So, instead, he smirked to himself and watched them for a few minutes. (A few turned into, like, fifteen, but hey I ain’t holding it against him.) It was only once he realized that neither of them were very productive like this that he decided it’d probably be best to get them up.

“Scholar,” he said, only raising his voice slightly so as to not startle them awake. “Hmm?” They grumbled out, clearly not all that happy to be disturbed. Tadashi chuckled.

“You fell asleep. You might wanna get up before you drool on your textbook and ruin the pages. It’ll be hard to return it at the end of the year if it has spit in it.” This made Scholar snort and lift their head up. 

“How long was I out?” They asked as they stretched their arms towards the sky. “At least half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes.” 

“And you just...let me sleep??” They looked at him, seemingly flabbergasted that he would let them get away with that. Tadashi shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.” 

Scholar offered him a sincere, still slightly sleepy smile and Tadashi felt his heart skip a beat. “Thank you, I really did. As much as I want to finish this, I think I’m gonna head to bed for the night. You coming?” Scholar nodded when Tadashi said he still had work he wanted to get done, and gave him a little wave as they packed up and left.

Tadashi got not work done for the next half an hour after that because he kept replaying that sleepy smile over and over in his head.

Raquel:

“You’re up early! Finally understand the appeal of the sunrise?” Raquel teased as Scholar trudged over to where she was sitting in the cafeteria.

“No. I just didn’t sleep. I stayed up playing Craftmine (have they referenced minecraft in-game before??? ssakjdhgjdgh) with Tegan all night and we only looked at the clock an hour ago.” Raquel laughed.

“Scholar! Tegan may be able to survive like that, but from the looks of it, you can’t.” “A correct assessment.” They plopped down next to her as more people filtered into the room; mostly athletics department kids getting an early breakfast. 

They rested their head on her shoulder as they sat down, making Raquel smile. “Not getting anything to eat?” She asked, draping an arm over Scholar’s shoulders. 

“M’too tired to get up again,” they mumbled, unconsciously moving closer. A light dusting of pink appeared on Raquel’s cheeks, her smile only widening. 

“Am I that comfortable?” She teased. Scholar only nodded. “Yeah, actually. You’re always comfortable.” 

ASJGDDS OKAY SLEEPY SCHOLAR JUST- JUST SEND HER HEART SKYROCKETING INTO THE STRATOSPHERE LIKE THAT I GUESS THAT’S FINE-

“Tell you what, how about you doze for a few minutes while I eat? I’ll wake you up and walk you to the dorms when I’m done. Sound good?” Scholar’s response was simply to nuzzle Raquel’s shoulder and make a full blush appear on her face. Alright, she’ll take that as a yes!

Alistair actually came by while Scholar was asleep and Raquel raised a finger to her lips as he approached.They both grinned to each other about how fucking adorable this situation was as they whispered to each other. 

Raquel totally asked Al to take a picture of Scholar asleep on her before she woke them up.

[mariahschoices]

Unloveable

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader/OC

Word Count: 2726 

Theme: Angst (for now)

Part 2 of this story:

https://mariahschoices.tumblr.com/post/190002611367/beloved

Cold. Desperate. Alone. Numb. The quiet click-clack sounds of the clock on the wall slowed as you activated your quick, stretching the time between clicks from seconds, to minutes, to hours. It couldn’t be real. If you could slow down time, you wouldn’t have to accept your new reality. You wouldn’t have to accept what had happened. You tipped back the bottle in your hand, draining the last of its contents as you sat on the cold hardwood floor of your kitchen, blacking out from the truth. He was gone. 

Ten years ago. UA High School.

Bakugo half listened as he stared out the window of the classroom. Aizawa was droning on about some bullshit he’d already studied months ago. Bakugo took it upon himself to learn as much as he could so that he stayed ahead of his classmates. He was determined to become the number one hero. The explosive quirk that he possessed allowed him to essentially fly, blow shit up, and put any villain that got in his way in their place. It wasn’t enough to possess a powerful quirk, however. He also trained for countless hours each day, making sure that he was in peak physical condition, regardless of his quirk. There were quirk erasing drugs being developed after all, and he had to be prepared for any kind of fight. He also studied more than anyone realized, making sure that his grades stayed at the top of his class, even though to his peers, it seemed like he couldn’t care less about the “wisdom” his teachers sought to bless him with.

Bakugo’s thoughts drifted to the events of yesterday’s training session. He had been paired with a female student from class 1B. He didn’t even know your name, but he knew of you due to the remarkable quirk that you possessed. You had the ability to slow down or speed up time for yourself, as well as anyone you happened to be touching at the time. Your amazing abilities allowed you to slow down your perception of reality and the events occurring around you, allowing you to easily anticipate and dodge physical attacks and predict the movements of villains, or in this case, Bakugo. It was really quite enchanting to watch you fight. To the onlookers in the class, your movements were nearly imperceptible, as you were able to stay one step ahead of your opponent. You even got a few hits in on Bakugo before he came to his senses and blew you away, landing flat on your ass at the edge of the training grounds. 

Bakugo’s cheeks flushed pink as he thought about the way you’d walked away from the match with grace, even with an injury, still proud of your progress and your ability to land more than one hit on the highly ranked student from class 1A. 

Bakugo’s blush transformed and evolved into red as anger and embarrassment overtook his feelings. How could he allow some extra to get a hit in on him, much less more than one? 

The bell rang, signaling that it was time for lunch. Bakugo found his usual seat beside of Kirishima, who paused his conversation only momentarily to acknowledge Bakugo before continuing on about how “manly” yesterday’s match had been. 

Bakugo’s eyes roamed the lunchroom, deciding to look for you against his own accord. He didn’t want to become distracted from his goals over a few hits some random extra from 1B had gotten in on him. His eyes found yours from across the room, pulling your attention from your meal like a magnetic force. Bakugo left his seat, deciding to give you a piece of his mind. 

“Hi, Bak-” he stopped you before you could even finish greeting him, noting as his face took on a sneer, his eyes squinted in your direction as he looked at you with what could only be described as disgust.

“Listen, you’re nothing but a shitty extra. You will never touch me again. Your quirk is shitty and you should just give up trying to be a hero. I wish you would just speed up time so we could leave this school and I could beat your ass and never have to see your ugly face again! I will become the number one hero!” 

He didn’t know why he was so compelled to blow up on you, physically and metaphorically. He’d never fought someone like you before, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel. He’d always somewhat admired your quirk, but he couldn’t allow anyone to get in his way of becoming the top hero on the food chain.

Tears started to well in your eyes at his cruel display. You knew Bakugo was pretty notorious around UA for being an ass, but you figured he would at least respect you due to your powerful quirk. You swore you thought that you’d even seen a glimmer of admiration in his eye yesterday, before he’d come to his senses and blown you up of course. You couldn’t refrain from unleashing the word vomit that climbed up your throat like bile in response to Bakugo’s outburst.

“Fuck you, Bakugo. I will be a hero. it doesn’t matter how strong you are, because no one will ever love an asshole like you, no matter how many people you save. You’re an emotionless, unloveable dick!”

Bakugo’s hands crackled in anger. He wanted to blast your fucking face off. Barely containing his fury, he adjusted the blast to direct just in front of you, blowing up the lunch table and sending the remainder of your food flying in all directions. He quickly left the lunch room, which was still filled with students that had been stunned into silence. He quickly darted out of the room, turning the corner before anyone could see the glistening of tears that threatened to spill out from his eyes. He would show everyone how great of a hero he could be.

Ten years and six months forward. Present day.

Bakugo unlocked his apartment door with heavy-lidded eyes, acting as a barely functioning zombie, only able to perform routine tasks that didn’t require much thought or effort. Another exhausting day of hero work. He shoved his shoes off by the door, shuffling to his bedroom to take off the rest of his hero costume. The day had started with another irritating interview. He’d had to share the stage with fucking Deku, as the pair currently designated the top of the hero list. No one could deny that Bakugo was stronger, smarter, and obviously better looking than Deku, but he simply couldn’t beat the nerd in the eyes of public opinion. Though he had softened somewhat over the years, Bakugo still wasn’t a kiss ass, politically correct, family friendly hero. He was there to do a job and that job was to kick villain ass. All the interviewer could be bothered with was questions about his personal life, not about how many people he had saved or how important his work was. 

After the interview, he'd had to resume his normal patrols and hero work, saving over 30 civilians in a shopping center attack. But, of course Deku had been nearby due the recently conducted interview, having shown up at the last minute to smile for the cameras and answer questions for the journalists, essentially getting credit for the win by doting on his adoring public. 

Bakugo just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep through the next day. He was finally getting a day off from work for the first time in nearly a month. He’d been invited out for drinks by Kirishima, the only person he’d kept in touch with from UA, and the closest person to what he could call a friend. 

He took a quick shower and got redressed, telling himself that he’d just have one drink and then be able to go home and go to sleep. Shitty Hair had a wife and kids now after all, and he couldn’t be out too late without catching a shit fit from his woman. Bakugo had to take Kirishima up on his offers to hang out whenever they were offered, due to them both having busy schedules in addition to his duty to make time for family life.

Bakugo didn’t have his own family. Kirishima was the closest and only thing he had in the way of friendships, and he was extremely single. Sure, he was a man with needs and he’d had his fair share of one night stands with Ground Zero groupies who’d wanted to have angry sex for one night only that they could tell all of their friends about. But Bakugo had never really had a relationship, unless you counted the three-week-long distraction he’d had with his last assistant, before she was reassigned to another hero. 

Bakugo scrolled through his socials, waiting on Kirishima to get back from the bar with their drinks. A notification popped up, alerting him that a DM had been sent, probably from another wannabe hero fucker. Opening up his inbox, the round profile picture accompanying the new message caught his attention. 

His thoughts went back to that day in the lunch room. The words that were spoken there had haunted him for years, becoming louder and louder in his mind’s eye as the burnout and exhaustion from hero work started to take over his daily life. The name accompanying the side of the photo confirmed his suspicions. It was you, sending him a message when he hadn’t seen you in over ten years. He couldn’t help his curiosity as he clicked to read what you had to say.

“Hi, Bakugo. Or should I say Ground Zero now? Anyway, you may not remember me, but I was hoping I could meet up with you. I have something I’d like to discuss with you, and I think it would be best if we talked in person.”

You had just finished reading the message whenever Kirishima returned to the booth with your drinks. Upon seeing your slightly dazed expression, his eyes connected with the image of the classmate you two had shared many years ago. 

“What’s up, man? Why is she messaging you?” 

Kirishima was the only person who really knew how your words had effected him all of those years ago, slowly eating away at him as he worked his way up in the hero world, while his personal life simultaneously suffered. Maybe there had been some validity to your statements all of those years ago. After all, Bakugo was going home to an empty apartment, while the majority of your peers were living fulfilling lives and had families of their own. 

“I don’t know, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo spat out, his first response in most social interactions being frustration. “She wants to meet up with me in person to talk about something.”

“Well, you’re off tomorrow. Message her back. it’s not like you have anything better to do,” Kirishima admonished, encouraging you to seek some social interaction outside of himself and your work. 

Curiosity outweighing his better judgement, Bakugo began to type out a response to the girl whose words he’d never been able to quite get out of his head.

“Hey, there’s a coffee shop near my apartment....”

__________________________________________

The next day, you sat across Bakugo at the cafe, clinging to your coffee cup like  a lifeline. He’d insisted on paying for your drinks, even though you had been the one to invite him out. The action had surprised you, and you continued to mull over this thought as a distraction whenever he interrupted your internal monologue. 

“Well, I’m here. What was so important that you wanted to meet up? You know I’m busy being the top hero around here. Don’t you know that my time is important?” Bakugo couldn’t let you know that he’d actually had the day off, and that you’d probably saved him from another day of dreaded self-reflection. 

You decided to let it slide that Deku was actually the top hero, focusing on what was important, and the reason that you had decided to message Bakugo in the first place.

“I, so, you know we went to school together...” you started awkwardly, not really knowing how to approach the topic at hand with someone so brash as Bakugo.

“Tch, no shit. Tell me something that I don’t already know,” he interrupted. 

Deciding to try and be as direct as possible, you started again. 

“Bakugo, I contacted you because I need to apologize, as part of my program. It is one of the twelve steps to make amends with anyone we feel we have harmed.”

Your words instantly quieted Bakugo; meanwhile, his inner thoughts were taking a wild ride. Program? Apology? Surely you couldn’t be talking about that day. He had been such an ass in school, to you and to nearly everyone else, and he couldn’t really blame you for what you’d said that day. After all, you had been right. He didn’t have anyone is his life that really loved him.

“About six months ago, my husband passed away,” you swallowed, struggling to continue, “he passed away during the League of Villains attack at the college. He sacrificed himself to get that room of students evacuated In time...”

Bakugo was familiar with the incident. He had been called in as backup, but it was too late to save your husband. He was a decent enough guy as far as Bakugo knew. A minor league hero that he was familiar with. Truthfully, at the time, he had admired him for his sacrifice, almost wishing that it had been him instead. After all, he knew that the hero had a wife at home who would be left a widow, even though he hadn’t known it was you, and.... 

He stopped his train of thought before his expression could give anything away. After all, how could he sit there feeling sorry for himself whenever he was sitting across from the very woman who had been left behind.

“Anyway, when he passed away. I went into a very deep depression that was nearly impossible for me to get out of. I used my quirk to slow down the passing of time. I couldn’t face the thought of his funeral, so I just drank and drank until I couldn’t feel anymore...”

Bakugo watched as the first tear spilled over your red-rimmed eyes, giving away that this wasn’t your first bout of tears today. He resisted the urge to reach out and wipe the tear from your cheek. 

“Anyway, I stretched time to the point where a matter of days felt more like months for me, and I finally realized I needed help whenever Uraraka came over and took me to the hospital. They had to pump my stomach and I entered a rehab facility... now as part of the program I need to make amends with you Bakugo. It may not have even affected you at all, I know you’re a really strong person and nothing gets to you, but that day in the lunch room, when I told you that you were unloveable...” you paused, choking on air as the tears that spilled out threatened to overwhelm you, “I am truly sorry. I know what it feels like to have love gone from your life, and I truly wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Bakugo didn’t know what to say or do. How could you sit here and apologize after what you had been through? He didn’t deserve your tears, and he felt an undercurrent of emotions that he hadn’t felt in a very long time towards anyone. Sympathy and regret.

“You don’t need to apologize, but thank you.” 

Bakugo’s words dried up your tears almost instantly, and you couldn’t help the look of surprise that crossed your features.

“You were right, actually. About what you said.”

Clearly he wasn’t remembering the day in question the same way that you were. Bakugo was a top hero. Obviously he was loved. He had thousands of fans. He had gotten everything he’d ever wanted and worked towards. 

“I’m sorry, Bakugo. Let me explain. When I said you were...”

“An unloveable dick?” he interrupted.

“An unloveable dick - yes, wait... so you do remember?” you yelped out with surprise. 

“I do. And you were right.”

[satoruvt]

for now; forever -- teaser

pairing → kwon soonyoung x reader

word count → 1316 (full fic is ~9k!!)

genre → mostly fluff? a solid amount of angst ↳ tags: ooh boy. firewatch au, banter, like a little bit (a lot) of pining, strangers to friends to... something, FLIRTING, reader’s kinda fucked up but its ok, hoshi’s weird and endearing (as always), a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, minghao best boy, soonyoung is very sweet it makes me want to cry

synopsis → after an unfortunate burnout that lands you in every critic’s negative and all-seeing eye, you decide to take a break from the one thing you know. you’re not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for out in the middle of the woods - if you’re looking for anything at all - but at the very least, soonyoung will make the hunt a little less lonely. 

warnings → there’s eventually a forest fire that leads to an evacuation but it’s not super detailed, mentions and descriptions of creative burnout/breakdown

a/n → AHHHH!!!! so excited to finally tell yall abt this ive been working on it for about a month now <33 the teaser is just like an honestly solid section of the fic itself, so. idk yeah!!!! i’m very excited i loved working on this i still have some editing to go but the full thing will be out soon <333 hope you enjoy!! let me know what u thought!!!!

DAY ONE.

So. You’re… out here, now.

Save for the bugs you have to swat at every fifteen seconds, the outdoors don’t seem that bad. The weather isn’t too hot (yet, your mind reminds you) and there’s something about the color of the sky that makes your heart constrict in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but given your luck recently, you’re hoping it’s not a warning for the coming months - God knows you need a break. The weight of the journal in your bag feels heavier than any of the camping gear you brought with you.

You debate texting Minghao that you’ve made it to the park safely, but when you check your phone after deciding yes, you see the words no service instead of the familiar lines of a signal. It’s not that big of a deal - you’d told him when you left that you probably wouldn’t have service at all - but a little part of you feels the tender shake of anxiety at the thought of not being able to contact your best friend. 

He was the most worried out of everyone when you told him you were leaving for the summer. You can’t really blame him - it was abrupt, you saw the flyer at the grocery store and took it - but after what happened… doing something felt, feels, better than sitting around and waiting for nothing to happen. Waiting for a healing you aren’t sure will ever come, at least not completely.

“Is this really…” Minghao had started upon first entering your apartment after getting your text. Clothes were thrown all over your bedroom floor in an attempt to pack. “Do you need to do this?”

The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t going to try to stop you, that he just wanted to make sure this was what you needed, what was best for you. You had only nodded, sitting down on the edge of your bed to fold clothes and pack them into your suitcase.

“I just don’t want you to run away from it all,” Minghao said softly, sitting next to you. “You’ll need to face it eventually.”

“Is escaping really such a bad thing?” You asked, looking at Minghao. He gave you the look he did when you said something stupid, and if you weren’t still so wired from everything, you might have laughed. Instead, you sighed, placing a pair of pants into your suitcase. “I just need some time.”

Before you can face it, before you can come back, before you can write again… you still don’t know. Minghao had placed a kind hand on your shoulder to tell you there was no rush.

It’d taken no more than two days for you to get everything ready - including buying some apparently necessary survival equipment from Target. In a matter of a few hours you had gathered everything up, texted some other friends and your family that you might not be available the next few months and then… you left. 

(Your manager was pretty pissed off that you left so suddenly, but she was also pissed off at you when you told her you needed a break for at least a few weeks, so you’re not really offended.)

You take one last longing look at your car before locking it, pocketing the keys, and starting on your hike.

The hike takes almost the whole day. 

You think you almost cry when you finally see the watch tower you’re supposed to be staying in, your legs barely able to hold the rest of your body up. The hike wasn’t hard, really - long, though, and for someone who usually spends a work day sitting at a desk, you’re surprised you’re still alive. You find the little lock that holds the keys to the tower at the bottom of the stairs, fastened onto the railing. It takes a few seconds for you to enter the code you’d been given earlier, relishing in the soft breeze the cools the sweat on your face and neck. The sun is just barely starting to set beyond the mountains, a beautiful sight that you can’t properly focus on because all you want to do is pass out. You’re pretty sure you almost do on your way up the stairs.

The cabin at the top of the tower is pretty scarcely furnished, save for a few basic necessities (a gas stove rests on one wall, a small desk opposite to it by the door, a mini-fridge, and a bed in the corner plus what looks like a map table in the center of the room). It’s a little weird, a feeling caught between the nostalgia of moving into a new place and something you can’t quite name, but you figure you have a few months to make it all a little more comfortable.

For now, though, you feel like you’re on the last leg of your energy. Your mind is saying eat, sleep, eat, sleep on repeat and you have to agree with it, so you change the sheets on the bed, take down the boards over the windows while you wait for the macaroni from the Kraft box to cook. You end up eating a few forkfuls of poorly-made mac and cheese before crashing.

When you wake up, it’s to gentle static and a semi-clear, unfamiliar voice. It takes you a minute to remember where you are and what you’re doing, too disoriented to even think about the voice, but then - oh. Forest. Watch tower. Escape. Okay.

“Yo, Cottonwood! Am I coming through okay? Pick up your radio!”

Right. The voice. Radio?

“Come on, I saw you get in yesterday, I know you’re there. Unless,” a gasp, “you died! Oh my God, this is like a horror movie… and I’m next!”

You manage to wake up enough to locate your radio (a walkie-talkie resting on a charger on the desk) and, after a few seconds of gentle struggle, work it. “Not dead,” you say, then clear your throat because your voice does not sound good right after waking up. “I mean… almost. But not dead.”

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before the person on the other end hoots, apparently excited. “Arisen from the dead! Brought back to life by none other than the legendary Hoshi!”

A brief thought crosses your mind about having to listen to this guy all summer, but you quickly shoo it away. You won’t have to deal with it for the whole three months, right? “Who… who is Hoshi?”

“Me!” The voice answers, sounding a little too smug. “But it’s really just an alias. You can call me Soonyoung. I’m at Twin Peaks tower, west of yours!”

You spin around your cabin, looking through the windows cluelessly - how long have you been asleep, it’s practically afternoon - until you see a very small silhouette of another tower in the distance. You nod, then realize Soonyoung can’t see you. “Oh. Cool.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” Soonyoung asks, but his tone is light, breezy. You blink, reciting your name to him in a daze. “Pretty! So, what brings you out here?”

You weren’t expecting that question. “What?”

Soonyoung giggles into the radio. “Everyone comes out here for some reason. Like… Jihoon says it’s ‘cause it helps him write music. And Joshua loves the outdoors, so… what’s your reason?”

“You…” you start, not exactly wanting to tell a stranger the reason you ran away from everything you know. “Do you normally ask this many questions?”

“Yeah!”

You feel yourself sigh, already tired again.

“I… just wanted to get away for a while,” you end up saying. A half-truth. “I live in the city.”

“No way,” Soonyoung gasps excitedly. “Me too! I wonder if both of us have ever been walking and, like, passed each other without knowing…”

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought of escaping.

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Two

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Just a couple quick notes on this world to avoid possible confusion. Bakugou is an imaginary friend, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist. There’s a whole bunch of imaginary friends who all work together and are assigned to kids by Administrators. They appear to kids based on whatever they need, so while some kids do end up with imaginary friends who look like kids, Bakugou appears to Eri as an adult. 

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

Bakugou Katsuki huffs an annoyed sound as he shifts against the embrace of the large bean bag chair beneath him. Crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, he tilts his chin upwards at the Administrator. The man before him is gaunt, almost swimming in a bright yellow suit that would have matched the messy mop of hair on top of his head if it wasn’t streaked through with grey.

Leaning forward on his desk, braced by his forearms, the Administrator holds his glare as he waits for him to say whatever is on his mind. Because he knows there is something on Katsuki’s mind.

There’s always something on Katsuki’s mind.

“And why do you want me with some timid brat again?” He asks, eyes flicking down to the desk as if he can see the profile open on it. Instead, his eyes land on the nameplate that stands between them like some sort of shield.

Yagi Toshinori, it reads in gleaming gold.

The man was a hero of sorts in their workplace.

Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile, he had proudly proclaimed, cementing his status in the friend hall of fame, and also landing himself a promotion to the top seat as the Administrator.

As far as anyone in their line of work knew, he was the only imaginary friend to ever move up.

And sitting across from him, Katsuki can understand why. Even now he has a smile pasted across his aging mug, as if his very decisions weren’t being questioned, but rather praised.

Katsuki finds himself wondering if the great Yagi Toshinori is really just as good a mediator as the office legends say, or if he’s just fucking senile.

“You need a change of pace, young Bakugou,” he boasts loudly, his smile somehow growing wider as he links his fingers and leans even further forward against his desk. “When was the last time you had a friend give you a challenge?”

That’s one hell of a loaded question, Katsuki thinks, sinking further into the blue pleather hug of the bean bag and ignoring the way it squeaks ever so slightly with his movement.

Never, was the answer.

Being a friend was all he had ever known, starting from whatever point of existence they all came from to now. He had never been challenged because there was nothing else to it. He was an imaginary friend. Yagi told him where to go, he befriended who was told to befriend, raised some hell, then moved on.

It wasn’t really science, and it wasn’t like there was a brat that could challenge him, anyway.

That much he grumbles under his breath, not looking at the Administrator and his unimpressed look as he sighs.

“It will be good for you,” Yagi says, voice full of authority and signaling the end of the conversation.

Taking the dismissal for what it is, he pushes himself out of the beanbag, doing his best to act as cool as possible about it. The act seems to fall flat as he hears a low laugh from the man, causing him to bristle at the sound.

“Maybe you’ll even learn something,” he adds, voice full of wonder and what sounds a lot like some kind of inside joke where Katsuki just might be the punchline.

“What the hell is a kid supposed to teach me,” Katsuki growls, waving his hand in a dismissive goodbye as he makes his way to the exit.

“Even imaginary friends need to grow up, young Bakugou,” the Administrator calls as Katsuki reaches the heavyset door. His words give him pause as his hand rests on the red mahogany surface of the polished oak.

There’s a moment that stands stark and still between them before Katsuki breaks it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he growls, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold and into the hall. “Whatever the fuck that means, old man.”

***

Midoriya Eri, age 4, adopted.

Almost a victim of human trafficking thanks to yakuza fucks.

Painfully quiet.

Possibly a daddy’s girl.

Katsuki runs through his own revision the girl’s profile in his head for the umpteenth as he sits at the dining room table waiting for her to get up. Even paraphrased, it still didn’t make any sense to him.

No matter how many times he had parsed the pages in the folder, he still hadn’t been able to quite figure out why the Administrator had thought that he would be the right fit over someone like Pinky.

Or Shitty Hair.

Hell, even that damn Peppermint Head.

But Katsuki? The imaginary friend widely known around the office for being the sole reason why playing Heroes and Villains was expressly banned due to a minor explosion that may or may not have even been his fault?

Shaking his head, Katsuki slouches low into the seat, watching Eri’s dad possibly contemplate drowning himself in the scalding cup of coffee before him.

Poor bastard, he thinks as he watches the green haired man sigh heavily.

Midoriya Izuku, his mind supplies.

Age 26, single.

Rescued Eri from said yakuza fucks. Adopted her before she could enter the foster system.

Painfully tired.

Possibly addicted to caffeine.

He seemed like an upstanding citizen if he had ever seen one. If the profile was correct, Midoriya had been well on his way to the higher ranks of the police force in Tokyo before taking the young girl in.

A possible mental break, and some certified burnout later, and the guy was back in this small shit hole town with some serious baggage. Both of the emotional and eye varieties.

Katsuki would be a liar if he said he didn’t kind of admire him. He may not have known anything else aside from his job as a friend, but he sure as shit can guess that he also wouldn’t take the sudden turnaround in lifestyle very well.

At least it seemed as if he was doing a decent enough job with Eri.

She clearly cared about him. His influence had shone through, shiny and annoying, when he’d finally met her a few days earlier and it had almost caused him to strike out before he could even befriend her.

I don’t talk to strangers, Eri had said, not even bothering to look up from the sand castle she was crafting.

Then, when Katsuki had made a sound of indignant surprise, she’d gone on to say her Daddy Izuku was a cop and could kick his butt.

I’d like to see him try, Katsuki had grumbled, unprepared for the glare that shot straight through him when Eri had finally looked up from her hard work.

As it turned out, the kid had some spunk after all, and she had been prepared to show him just how much damn spunk in the name of defending her adopted dad.

Katsuki didn’t know Midoriya, but he knows that the cop is damn lucky Katsuki has some cool magic tricks up his sleeve that eventually buttered her up.

So you’re really my imaginary friend? She had asked after seeing every trick he knew, the sparkle of wonder in her eyes dampened by a hint of lingering suspicion.

On my life, kid, he’d answered as he’d held up three fingers with his left hand and crossed his heart with his right. Scout’s honor.

For how long? She’d countered, curious now.

For as long as you need, Katsuki had answered with a shrug. It wasn’t much of an answer but was as good as he could give. There wasn’t a time limit on how long imaginary friends stuck around. They would be there until they weren’t needed anymore, but that was too much of a concept to give a kid.

It had seemed to be all that the girl needed, though, before she’d pointed at the sand next to her and ordered him to help her finish the tower she was working on.

Midoriya’s world weary sigh pulled Katsuki’s focus to him once more.

He looks fucking tired, Katsuki thought before he heard the soft shuffle of feet.

Eri had the same tired look as her dad, down to the bird nests that they called hair, as she pulled out her chair and carefully climbed into it. The main difference, though, was that Eri’s sleepy demeanor would ease after some of those chocolate donuts Midoriya had on the table and probably an hour of actually being awake.

“Good morning,” Midoriya says, voice still sandpaper as he pushed the plastic container closer to the young girl, whose eyes light up slightly at the sight of chocolate.

“Morning, Daddy Izuku,” Eri replies quietly before greedily grabbing one of the donuts.

“Good morning, short stack,” Katsuki says, eyeing the small donut in her hand. Her gaze pulls from the pastry in her grasp and toward him before her lips turn up in a grin. With a small movement, she gives him a two-handed donut wave.

“Pass one of those over, why don’tcha,” he says, tilting his chin towards the plastic box at the same time Midoriya asks something about milk. Eri nods, and for a moment Katsuki isn’t sure if it’s to him or her dad until she dips a hand into the container and pulls another donut out.

As she places it in front of him on the table, Katsuki finds his attention back on Midoriya as he grabs a small pink mug from a cupboard. From where he sits, it looks a lot like it says ‘Daddy’s Sidekick’ in bright, curly script.

Mentally, Katsuki scratches out possibly a daddy’s girl and revises it to definitely a daddy’s girl as he watches Midoriya shuffle around the kitchen to fill the mug with some milk.

With his eyes locked on the man’s back, Katsuki grabs the chocolate donut and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth before smiling wide. It earns him a sleepy snicker from the girl that only makes his smile grow.

“Thanks, Squirt.”

***

“So you just rest it on your finger like so,” Katsuki says, holding the sides of the ball as Eri points a finger beneath it.

“Like this?” She asks, face contorted in very serious concentration. Katsuki knows it’s serious, because her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth.

“Just like that,” he says before nodding his head toward her other hand. “Now with that one, you’re going to put it on the ball, and when I say go, you’re going to give it a spin. Got it?”

Nodding slowly, as to not disturb the ball, Eri brings her other hand up and presses it lightly to it.

“Okay,” Katsuki breathes, flicking his gaze between the girl and the ball, trying his best not to laugh.

She just looks so damn serious over a silly ball trick. It isn’t even his best or most exciting one, but she had been adamant about learning this one.

I don’t think Grandma Inko will like if we set her house on fire, she’d said matter-of-factly when he’d offered to teach her a different one involving sparklers. At the time, he’d mentally cursed Midoriya for instilling the girl with too good of morals.

But now he thinks he can forgive him if only because the pipsqueak is at least giving him a good laugh.

Pausing in order to let the moment fill with tension, Katsuki counts to 20 in his mind, waiting until the exact second he’s certain Eri is going to pop with her excitement.

“Go!” He yells, quickly pulling back. Keeping his hands in the air, he watches as the ball stays on her finger for a quarter of a breath before it falls off the side of her finger with a dead thud on the grass.

DOA, he thinks sadly, painfully aware of the silence around them as Eri stares over at where the ball has stopped rolling. It’s one second, then it’s two, and then before he can get to three, he watches as she throws her head back with a loud laugh.

“Again!” She cries, pushing herself up to jog toward the ball. Picking it up, she brings it back over, sitting once more and adopting her super serious face before holding it up to him.

Taking it from her grasp, he kneels in front of her and holds the ball between his hands and waits for her to touch her finger to the bottom.

“So, kid,” he starts, watching as she squints harder at the ball as if she can find some answer to making it stay on her finger when she spins it, “what’s your dad’s deal?”

“What’s a deal?” Eri asks, cocking her head to the side as she pulls her hand back from the ball. With a tug at the bottom of her shirt, she uses the fabric to wipe at it before resetting it to the ball’s bottom and nodding as if it had made some huge difference.

“You know, why he looks,” Katsuki takes a hand away to gesture vaguely at his face,  “like that?”

Tearing her gaze from the ball and fixing it on him, Eri’s eyebrows go up in question.

“Pretty?” She asks in that stupidly earnest way that kids have. It’s the first time he finds himself at a loss for words over something one of his friends has said.

“The fu—” he starts before stopping himself, biting the curse in half between his teeth and breathing in deeply. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Katsuki drops his head back, screwing his eyes shut against the bright sun above and doing a quick count to five.

Pretty was not what he had meant, though if he was being truthful, Midoriya did have an appealing quality to him.

Maybe it was the stupid spatter of freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. Maybe it was the soft way he spoke with Eri in a way that was wholly different from what he was used to in his friends’ parents. Maybe it was those stupid curls that looked intentional, though Katsuki knew better after having seen the bedhead chaos from that morning.

But all of that was none of the brat’s damn business.

“No,” he growls when he resurfaces from his quick reset. Dropping his hand back to the ball and looking at Eri once more, he continues, “stressed as hell.”

“Oh,” she says, shoulders hunching around her ears as her frame and voice go small. Katsuki is sure she doesn’t fully understand what he means, by the way he can see the wheels turning in her mind, and he’s ready to rephrase again when she finally speaks up.

“I think he’s still sad we had to move. He really liked it in Tokyo.”

Katsuki supposes that makes sense. He truly can’t blame Midoriya for that. In comparison, Noto doesn’t hold a candle to Tokyo. Sure, he’d never been himself but he didn’t need to visit to know that the call of a fast life and the neon lights of a city would appeal to him much more than the quiet town if he was given the chance.

“Did you like Tokyo?” He asks, genuinely curious. There hadn’t been much in Eri’s profile about her parents and her time in Tokyo aside from everything after Midoriya had saved her.

With a half shrug, noncommittal and barely a movement at all, Eri doesn’t say anything else as she gives the ball a halfhearted slap. They both watch it as it rolls pitifully across the grass and towards the garden boxes along the fence.

Mentally, Katsuki adds possible emotional constipation to his mental list of Eri traits.

He gets that. He doesn’t like to talk about feelings either.

Standing to his full height, he offers a hand to the small girl to pull her to her feet.

“Do you like it here?” He decides to ask as they make the short walk across the yard to get the ball. The question causes her to perk up, her back straightening as she runs a bit ahead of him to pick up the purple plastic ball.

“Yeah, silly Kacchan,” she says brightly, not even looking back at him as she speaks, “because I get to be friends with you!”

It’s another stupidly earnest thing that makes him pause just behind her. Katsuki has had many friends that he has helped in his time. More than he could care to try and count, yet none of them had expressed that sort of sentimentality towards him. Had they liked him? Sure, at least, he thinks. He had been regarded as a partner in crime across the nation, helping punk kids work through their various anger issues and trouble phases.

Had any of them actively shown joy about his presence? That, was a big resounding no.

Yagi’s word flit around his mind as he flounders over the compliment, doing his best to decide between heartfelt thanks and on brand bite before settling on a subject change

“So what are these,” Katsuki asks flatly, pointing a finger at the garden box. Inside there are various plants growing in carefully placed lots and clearly marked.

“Plants!” Eri says merrily as she peers down into the box and looks over the various vegetables and fruits that have worked their way out of the soil. “My Grandma Inko is a really good planter.”

“Sounds like a boring thing to be good at,” he replies without any bite, breathing a small sigh of relief that Eri isn’t old enough to question his sudden interest in the garden over what she’s said.

“It’s not boring! They start as seeds and she makes them plants!” She exclaims. It’s the shortest lesson in plant growth he’s ever heard and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Way to sell your grandma’s skill short, kid, he thinks to himself.

“Well that sounds easy as hell. If that’s the case, then I bet anyone can be a good planter,” Katsuki says instead. Moving his stare from a particularly plump tomato, he looks to Eri to see her bright eyes already on him.

“You’re silly, not everyone can make plants,” she states, voice dropping suddenly as if she’s divulging national secrets. “Daddy Izuku says he once killed a plastic plant and those aren’t even real.”

Katsuki’s barking laugh seems to take them both by surprise as it escapes him, filling the garden around him.

This kid is a freaking riot, he thinks as he mentally adds plant murderer to his internal list of Midoriya traits. Amidst his laughter, Eri’s attention is caught by something behind them.

“Hey Daddy Izuku!” Eri says brightly as she turns over her shoulder and does an awkward walk-run to close the short distance between her and her dad. Following behind, he watches as Midoriya sinks down to her level and reaches out to gently to stroke her hair. At this angle, the sun ricochets off his green hair, pushing its coloring closer toward gemstone instead of moss. It gives it a golden touch that Katsuki would think of as ethereal if he thought about that kind of shit.

Midoriya’s voice pulls him from his thoughts as Katsuki hears him ask Eri who she’s talking to.

The girl’s eyes go slightly wide as she looks to him, the question clear in her gaze. This isn’t the first time, or even the hundredth time a parent has asked their kid about him. Usually it takes at least couple more days, but it seems the Midoriyas were going to continue to surprise him.

That was fine, it wouldn’t change anything anyway.

Shrugging in a silent go ahead, Katsuki watches Midoriya’s face as Eri proudly waves towards him and says, “this is Kacchan!”

He can see the moment that her dad realizes he’s dealing with an imaginary friend situation. That at least isn’t different from what he knows. It starts with confusion, then melts into that subtle moment of fear where Katsuki suspects parents consider the possibility of a haunting, and then finally settles into understanding usually accompanied by a tight smile.

As if almost on cue, he watches Midoriya’s lips curl slightly at their edges as he looks in his direction, still crouched as if speaking to another child.

That is also another common misconception he is both happy and annoyed to see stick.

“Hi, Kacchan, nice to meet you!” Midoriya says in a cheery voice that holds the same quality of plastic. Katsuki doesn’t bother with a reply for obvious reasons, instead opting to roll his eyes and scoff.

That’s when it happens.

A line of tension cuts across Midoriya’s shoulders as his eyes creep up and for the length of his own sharp intake of breath, Katsuki could swear the man sees him. Truly sees him. Time stalls as Midoriya seems to hold his gaze, looking up with his verdant stare. It isn’t until the man blinks that the spell breaks, and almost as soon as it had happened, the moment was gone.

Turning away with an easy smile, Midoriya tells Eri that it’s time to go home and leads her back to the house, leaving Katsuki in the middle of the yard with a steady stream of what the fuck running around his mind.

He could swear Midoriya had seen him, or at the very least, heard him. The burn of his stare still prickles his skin as if it’s still on him even though the man has his back to him. Rubbing gently at the space over his heart where the ache seems to be radiating, Katsuki lets out an uneasy breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

“What the fuck?” He asks to the empty yard before disappearing with a small pop.

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

[pandorafics]

A College Bartender Au

(( Well then 🙃 I'm still breaking my rules here. Psst @sk-1522. It' here. I want to thank @apologieslogan for dropping the initial idea for the fic so this is for them.

-Pandora

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Cw: I don't think so, not yet

Word count: 2,064

 “ Roman? Are you okay?” Patton finally questioned while he looked at his friend pouring over textbooks. Two empty coffee cups by the drama nerd's side. To the young baker… this was like seeing every world monument at once.  It was amazing. However, it was also frightening that it was possible.

    “No, I am dying. I have all this stuff to do, and barely any time. Mrs. Dominic is going to laugh at this exam grad, it's curtains for sure!”   Roman groaned dropping his head into the books in front of him with a sigh. Ro reached for his third coffee, he only raised his head when the cup was gripped tightly in his hand.

    “You never worried about Mrs. Dominic's class before and you typically pass. Which is impressive enough. She doesn't like anyone.”

    “Patton I have been bewitched by this handsome glasses clad fellow with a mind sharper than my sword.” Roman whined before taking a sip of his coffee, “ She actually likes him, Patton.  She is actually a human with him! I don't get it!  How! How does any one person get into a casual conversation with her? Debate with her. And then carry on as normal!”  He ranted in frustration his hands moving as he talked. However, his movements were more spastic since he was tired.

    The baker sighed his hand reached into his bag and pulled out two cookies setting them down on the napkin. The smaller man ignored the sounds of annoyance coming from others in the coffee shop. “ Logan?  He is just really smart. Mrs. Dominic has a lot of respect. For kids like him. I am sure he is not a snob just talk to him.”

    “No I will prove I am sm- oh there he is.” Roman silenced himself looking down at the multitude of books. As the nerd entered the shop placing his order.   Logan glanced around the boisterous shop before spotting an acquaintance of his, Patton (he hoped), gently patting the back of another student appearing to try and study.  

    Trying was the keyword in Logan's mind. The man was hunched over multiple books. His hair ruffled from shoving a hand through it repeatedly.  There we two empty disposable cups by his side and one griped in tight fingers while he stared at the same spot on the page from only inches away.  That settled it.

   “Greetings Patton, how are you today?”  Logan questioned as he walked over. He had time before his order was completed. Patton smiled at his friend waving.

    “Hi, Logan! I’m doing pretty good, what about you? “

    “Satisfactory, unlike your friend it seems, anything I can assist with?” Logan remarked in a seemingly neutral tone.  

    “I am fine!” Roman protested, in an offended tone. Logan hummed looking at the page he was trying to study, and then looked up to meet the brown eyes that were narrowed in a glare at him.

    “You're failing to study correct?” Logan said his blue eyes narrowed at the stubbornness of the other.

    “Logan, please. Just let him focus. This is important to him.”  Patton interjected looking between his two friends.

    “This is actually very important to me and I have it under control,” Roman added with a huff.

    “Then how about this. I'll ask a question answer it correctly without peaking at the page in front of you and I will let it go. If you answer incorrectly. I show you how to study properly.” Logan said calmly looking at the boys in front of him.  Roman looked at the nerd, who had the balls to talk to him like that.

    “Fine ask away to teach. I have been studying for hours I got this!”

    “ Alright.” Logan pulled a notebook from his bag and opened to a blank page. He wrote ‘Long-term Memory’ at the top.

    Patton sat to the side sipping hot chocolate with a small smirk, to avoid sighing at Roman’s mistake. Like it or not this was one of Roman's worst subjects. To Patton, Roman Just let his stubbornness dictate his actions.  

    Logan drew two branches one veering left and the other veering right. The branch on the right he left a two line gap then drawing a branch going down a line. Before stopping. On the left branch, he left a two line gap drew a branch going down another two-line gape and then two more branches veering right and left.  “This is the graph at the top of the page, fill in the subdivisions of long-term memory and what falls into those categories.”

    “ Logan Croft?” The barista called out, Logan stood up and looked at Roman.

    “One moment.” The nerd said before walking away Roman looked at the paper Logan had just drawn and grumbled. His pride kept him from cheating. However, Ro struggled to remember what he had read.  

    “You have got to be kidding me. I literally have been studying this page for an hour. I should know this.” He grumbled before naming the ones he kinda thought that he knew.  He was disappointed in himself, to say the least. However Roman kept trying. This nerd was not going to strip him of his pride.  

    Not when this nerd also charmed him.  He bowed his head trying to think. It was not working. Nothing was helping.  “ So, have you finished?”

    Roman huffed as the neutral tone spoke to him again. “ I huh- no I'm not.”   

    “Right… at any rate, I have twenty minutes to get to class and will probably not be able to wait until it comes to you. Here are my address and number. If you want the help simply text me when your coming. And please get some rest. It is important if you actually want to retain any of the information you have been haphazardly gorging on. Good day.”  Logan set a piece of paper on the table. A gloved hand holding his coffee as he walked away.

    The drama kid looked at his friend with wide eyes. “What the-”

    “ One more thing?” Logan called over his shoulder looking at the pair.  Roman swallowed nervously.

    “ Yes?”  

    “ Water helps the brain function more than coffee.”  The nerd said before leaving to his class. This time Roman waited until the ding of the bell before allowing himself to give a look of sheer bewilderment.  

    “ Did that really just happen?”

    “ Yes, I am so sorry Ro, he can be a bit-”

    “ I have a study date!  And it is something he has a passion for!” Roman sang out as if the spirits had just been lifted by guardian angels. Several ‘hushs’ were hissed out at the pair. It was early enough that nobody was ready for Roman Prince's version of extra.

    “ No no no. Roman this is bad. How do you intend to focus when you're sitting less than two feet in front of him. You couldn't even manage to keep it together in the same room as him!” Patton snapped hoping his hopeless friend would see reason.

    Another hush from the people behind them had Roman packing his bag. He wanted to sing and scream from the rooftop.  These people wanted to be boring and wake up for the day. Roman understood. As for what Patton said, Roman could only sigh. “ Patton I will take care of this don't worry.  I need to go, rest, bathe, and rejuvenate!” Roman standing as he adjusted his bag and moved to walk out the door.

    “Roman. His number. “ Patton sighed holding out the paper Logan had left behind.

   “ Oh, right, thanks,”  Roman stated rubbing the back of his neck. He walked back and accepted the napkin. The grin on his face so wide Patton thought the skin would tear.  

    Patton put on a smile, “No problem kiddo just try not to upset your roommate again.”  

    “Surly Temple will be fine. He is used to my antics that is if he is even there. The grouch usually leaves for work by now.”  Roman says calmly as Patton gathered up his own belongings. By the time Pat looked back up Ro had disappeared. Whatever happened, Logan better not break his friend's heart.

   Logan shook his head with a sigh as he went to class, that poor, huh, he hadn't even gotten a name.  That was… unlike him, usually, Lo would get to at least know someone before offering to help someone study. Yet, the young man seemed to be the exception. No matter. He will behave better next time. Granted coffee boy didn't think he was an asshole and never spoke to him again.  

   The twenty-year-old sighed softly when his phone buzzed twice, and then twice more, curious.  A flick of his thumb would show one text was His co-worker and friend Virgil, the other was an unknown number from presumably the coffee boy from fifteen minutes ago.  Virgil first, after all, it may be business related.

    ‘morning teach, hey we still practicing at noon? I really need to get away from the singing lunatic. He just burst in the damn door singing Queen and I can not handle it if I have work at four thirty. ‘

    Shame, Virgil was always having issues with the theater kid, and it was annoying  ‘ You have my apartment key, go rest there. Just try not to make a mess. And we will practice when I come home. Free pouring, hopefully, you won't plant me into the ground this time.  Your muddling needs work, desperately, so we will also make a pitcher of Sangria. Pop quiz: What does “with a twist” mean?’

    ‘ I'll take that as a good morning. with a twist is a ref to the garnish a piece of lemon to add flavor to the drink.’

   ‘ What is the form of lemon?’

   ‘ Lo, it is 7:43 in the morn. Lemon wedge I guess :/’

‘  “With a twist” is the addition of citrus peel used to enhance the flavor of a beverage based on the flavor profile. I will see you after class.’  

   ‘ Do you ever slow down? You just ran a 7-3am here it is 7:43 am and you're starting again? Ever hear of burnout?’

   ‘ If your free pour counts were as accurate as your astute observations of the clock. I'd be out of a tutoring job.’

    ‘ Uhh fuck you lo’

    ‘ I am not a fan of aggravated copulation rituals, therefore I am going to have to reject your… less than the kind offer.’  Logan responded a final time before walking into his first class of the day. His phone turned off and put away as the professor started the discussion with an air of expertise that Logan had always idolized. The confidence, and demanding presence.  The teacher didn't force people to pay attention to. His words were thoughtful and questioning prompting discussion from everyone while notes were written on the board.

Logan Croft loved to learn. it was his blood.

   Virgil shook his head at Logan's response, taken literally again. He had no clue if it was intentional or not at this point. However as much as it annoyed him, it was funny that Lo could be so smart, yet so dumb.  The rookie stood grabbing his bag and sauntering out of the door. Honestly, “ We Are the Champions, ” is a solid song even if it isn't his cup of coffee. However, there is a time and place dude.

   Roman undressed his eyes glancing at the scars, it was a liberating feeling.  The binding had never done his singing any good. Nevermind he was not the most cautious, but he could breathe deep now. Hold a note.  His eyes never looked below the scars, he couldn't.

      A half hour later he was in bed,  his fingers laced behind his nearly black hair.  Roman could get some rest, he had sent Logan a text that he would be at his place by 12:45. That would do for now. He could pack study supplies later.    

    Logan hadn't realized he had dozed off in class. He didn't even recall feeling particularly tired. Well at the coffee shop maybe, but the caffeine, sugar, and taurine( from an energy drink at work earlier) should have assisted him.  He was still out cold in his astrology lecture.

[magdaclaire]

hiiii mer, can u pls write me a mob winteriron au with mob boss Bucky and daycare center worker tony? preferably with secret identity porn and some angst

It does not have identity porn, but it does have angst! 

Hope you enjoy it under the cut, Joanis! 

Ao3 Link

Tony clenches his jaw, leaning against the wall stubbornly and jutting his chin up at anyone who makes eye contact, though few are brave enough to even try. Even if people don’t know who he’s attached to, they do know the kid that’s huddled behind his thigh, sucking on her thumb with a cast on her arm. Tony only has to make the right expression to the right person for someone to run off and get who he’s looking for, and that’s a kind of power he never expected to have. He doesn’t even particularly want it, but it’s fine. Everything is fucking fine, after all.

Except the kid. She’s not fine, and if he doesn’t get his ass in front of Tony, begging for her forgiveness on his knees right the fuck now, Tony is going to kill James Buchanan Barnes. A few people offer him a cigarette when he has to wait more than a minute for Steve to run and go get James, but Tony declines. He doesn’t smoke, least of all in front of kids, and maybe Tony will read James that riot act after he’s done reading this one, which he just might read in front of all of his little friends.

Some might say that calling the entire mob “James’s little friends” wasn’t very good for Tony’s self preservation, but see if he gives a flying fuck. James likes him too much to have him killed, and everyone else is too afraid to even piss Tony off, let alone the man himself.

He feels like a fucking mob wife in the ‘30s and nothing pisses him off quite like that.

“Tony! Baby, what are you doin’ here? Becca? What happened to your arm, sweetheart? Are you okay?” James asks, hitting his knees in front of the pair just as he fucking should. Becca tells him the story of her sprained wrist when she lost her balance on the monkey bars, how an attendant had attempted to catch her but she had fallen too fast, how Tony had tried to call him three times before the ambulance even got there, but he never answered. James looks up at Tony with wide eyes and Tony gives him a flat look, the clench of his jaw accented by raised eyebrows. He revels in how James winces.

“Princess, how about we get you layin’ down for a nap at Aunt Peggy’s? I’ll read you a sleepy story after me and Tony have a bit of a talk,” James promises her, grinning awkwardly, but Tony shakes his head, calling Steve over with just a finger.

“How about Uncle Steve reads you a story? Me and Bucky need to talk for a bit longer than you might be able to stay awake, sugar plum, and I don’t want you to miss your whole story,” Tony advises, to which Becca nods.

“Yeah, okay. Uncle Steve, can you pick me up? My feet hurt,” Becca requests, making the gesture for up to her older brother’s best friend. Steve picks her up with a nod and doesn’t even get a confirmation from James before walking her up the stairs, out of the basement and presumably over to the house he shares with his fiance, a fierce brunette woman who holds an even higher rank than Steve himself. Tony turns his sharp eyes on James once he sees her go in the building, drumming his fingertips on his opposite bicep. James grimaces, knowing where things are going.

“Guys? Clear out. Me and Tony need the floor,” James says, to which grumbling begins as various mobsters put down their cards. Dum Dum brushes his knuckles across Tony’s shoulder as he goes out, obviously sorry for something that he couldn’t have controlled, but Tony brushes him off. He doesn’t need apologies from anyone but James, and James hasn’t even begun saying his piece. At this rate, he may never finish. Dernier is the last one to leave, bowing his head at Tony.

“Go soft on ze boss, eh? He has been doing better lately,” Dernier says, to which Tony gives a straight jawed nod. He’s not going to go easy on James, not even close, but it’s fun to think that someone wants him to. Tony sits in a seat across the table from James, one of the most direct ways to call an opponent in James’s world, but he’s okay with that. He’s not exactly looking to reassure James at the moment.

“Tones, I know you’re mad, doll -” James starts, but he knows to stop when Tony tilts his head, already madder than a fucking snake. Anything that starts with I know you’re mad is only gonna make things worse, and James knows it.

“You wanna tell me why you don’t know how to answer a fuckin’ phone, James? You been down here all afternoon? Actually, don’t fucking answer that second one, asshat. I don’t care if you’ve been down here for seventy fucking years, you still get service in this hole. So, back to the first question. How, in all of your infinite knowledge and wisdom, in the fuck did you forget how to answer a phone?” Tony asks, voice sharp as he leans his chin on his hand, carefully keeping his expression cool.

“We were…” James trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, “We were celebratin’ somethin’. Started playin’ about four hours ago. She don’ even get outta school for another hour, Tony, I - I didn’t even think about it, darlin, and I’m sorry.” He sounds almost sincere enough for Tony to want to drop it, but he remembers the fear he’s been holding in the bottom of his stomach for almost three hours, for all of the time that James hadn’t answered the phone, for all of the time that he hadn’t known where James was or what he was doing. He only knew where James was, that James was even okay because Steve answered a text.

“Honey, did you forget what you do for a living? Did you honestly forget?” Tony asks, to which James tilts his head. “You didn’t answer the phone. You didn’t answer a call, didn’t answer texts, satellite GPS on your phone doesn’t work well down here. James, I thought you were fucking dead. You don’t answer the phone, I have to assume the worst don’t I? I take care of Becca during the day. I’m the one who reminds her that it’s okay to have friends at the daycare, that she’s okay, that she’s safe. How am I supposed to tell her that she’s safe when you don’t even answer the phone when she needs you? What if it had been worse?”

He doesn’t mean to go on this rant, on the guilt tripping, awful thing that makes his throat hurt with the fact that he’s about to cry, but it’s easier. He can’t admit that he was terrified that he was about to lose the man he loves before he even got to tell him. He can’t admit to James that he’s caught feelings that feel much more permanent than their relationship. He isn’t proud of how James seems to choke on this argument, how his eyes cloud up with the first bit of tears, but it’s easier.

“Tony,” James says, choking on it, before he closes his eyes, steeling himself to continue. “I’m sorry that I made you deal with that. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. It will never, never happen again, I promise you that. You’ll never have to deal with us again.” There’s a note of finality there that freezes even the breath in Tony’s lungs, and he feels like he’s dying.

“James, what are you saying?” he asks, freezing in his posture as well as he sits up and stays in some sort of stasis, completely caught off guard. He knows that James has a guilt complex, knows that he can take things to heart better than anyone else, but he doesn’t… he doesn’t know what James is saying.

“The daycare experiment was a bad idea. I’ll get Peggy’s friend to start teachin’ her again, and we’ll keep her within the guard. I’m sorry that I disappointed you, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t better to both you and Becca in this situation,” James says. It sounds just like one of the cuts in one of Tony’s father’s business meetings, just like the way that things end, and Tony can’t have the end, not yet. He stands from his seat and sits down on the table in front of James, just like he always does, just where he belongs. He usually feels safer here, but there is no safety in the way that James does not make eye contact with him, staring straight ahead, nor the way that James keeps his hands firmly on the arms of his chair.

“I don’t want either of you to go. I can’t - I can’t lose her,” Tony says instead of admitting that he can’t lose James, because that’s so much and so new and Tony can’t. He gets flashes of his father in his head, quiet reminders that no one will ever want him when he’s not inventing, no one will ever want him now that he’s a burnout, no one will ever want him now that he’s soft, now that he’s simple. Tony can’t lose either of them.

“Visits can be arranged if you want. I’ll have Steve organise them,” James offers, kinder than he needs to be, but Tony makes a noise that sounds like a wound has been ripped through him. James finally looks at him at about the same time that Tony is sliding into his lap, clinging onto the other man desperately. As confused as he obviously is (stone body structure, just the side of his expression out of the corner of Tony’s eye), he still puts his hands on Tony’s back, holding him with such care that it’s painful.

“I can’t lose you either, dipshit. Half the reason why I’m fucking mad and he misses it,” Tony mutters against the mobster’s throat, but he knows that James hears it for the way that arms tighten around his waist.

“I love you,” James says, just as quiet as Tony’s muttering, but Tony hears it anyway. He feels like he’s about to cry.

“I love you too,” he admits, and it doesn’t feel as much like a weakness as it did just before.

[chronically-illustrated]

Ice Cubes

A Coma Fic

Heeey so I used to write a lot, but I haven’t for years because of the burnout during college. I recently decided I might try out some fanfiction to get back into writing and I’ve been really inspired by writers in this community. So I just started into this coma fic thing focused on Chase, and it got really real for me because depression and alcoholism are things I’ve dealt with and seen family members deal with. I’m not completely sure about sharing it, but the people I’ve mentioned it to seem excited to read it, so I’m just going to be brave and do it. Also I tried my best to represent Schneep’s accent but I dunno how well I did. XD

CW for depression and alcohol abuse. It’s sad but has a more hopeful ending because that’s what Chase deserves - spoiling that now so nobody has to worry about getting stabbed in the heart too much.

1.

The hardest part was watching Signe pretend everything was fine.

That still form in the bed, the curtained windows, the mind-numbing rhythm of beeps from the heart monitor - that was bad enough. It was bad enough to see that face that was always so animated, so full of expression and laughter, completely still, lit only by the glow of the machines that confirmed he was still alive. It was bad enough to watch the doctor lift his eyelids and shine a light into each eye, watching the pupils constrict to make sure he wasn’t braindead. It was bad enough seeing one of his best friends in the world lie there in a coma, knowing there was nothing he could do.

It was somehow worse to watch Signe come in and sit on the bed and talk to him, tell him about her day, say his name as many times as she could in the hope her voice would reach him.

But the hardest part was listening to her record videos and act so cheerful, as if it nothing was going on. They’d agreed it would be best for Chase to fill in for recording because he had the most experience with making videos; they’d agreed it would be best not to alarm everyone with Jack’s sudden disappearance; they’d agreed keeping up the appearance of normality was the best way to buy them all time to figure out how to help their friend. He knew he could put on the mask and act the part, feigning cheerfulness no matter what he actually felt. He did that every day anyway. What he hadn’t considered was having to watch someone else do the same thing. She wasn’t recording as much, so she didn’t have to do as much acting, but when she did, he found himself listening from another room, detecting the small cracks in the mask that she would probably edit out. He couldn’t even bring himself to say how painfully well he understood. He’d been pretending so long that he’d developed an instinct not to talk about it, not to break character.

Sometimes his thoughts strayed to the certain knowledge nobody would be there sitting at his bedside if he were to simply not wake up one day. He felt guilty for thinking that way, for making it about himself. This was no time for self-pity. That didn’t change the tendencies of his thoughts, of course - they found a way in regardless.

He wasn’t sure what day it was. It all blended together. Every morning, he’d flounder up from a restless sleep, snooze his alarm too many times, drag himself off the couch, and wander blearily into the kitchen where coffee was waiting in the pot. He’d make a mental note to thank Signe for making it and forget to actually thank her. Sometimes he showered, sometimes he stared at the shower and then muttered, “Fuck it,” and put on a hat before heading to the recording room. He honestly tried to enjoy the games, but imitating Jack’s enthusiasm day after day was harder than he’d expected. He hardly knew what he was saying sometimes, and when he realized that, he’d wonder if it even mattered. People would notice sooner or later that he was an impostor.

He kept up with the videos and the thumbnails, but people started to notice his style on the thumbnails wasn’t quite the same as Jack’s. He had no idea how many days he’d sat in that chair that didn’t belong to him and pretended to be someone else, but he was starting to feel like he couldn’t keep up much longer.

The clink of ice cubes hitting the bottom of the glass was the only comforting part of the routine. He always used three, and dropped them in one after another, enjoying the sound and the familiarity of it. He was like one of Pavlov’s dogs, feeling a bit better hearing those three clinks that meant an hour or two of letting everything else fall away. He knew how bad that was, how spending all day waiting for when he could slip down into the numbness of alcohol was a problem, but it was more frightening to think of lying on the couch with his sober thoughts for hours and hours, alone in the darkness inside and out. Everyone else was asleep when he sat down to drink before bed, and there was comfort in knowing nobody else would see what a mess he really was.

He finally hit a moment where he couldn’t keep the mask together anymore when Tie kept glitching and he couldn’t advance in the game. The game was already uncomfortably relatable, but he had to pretend it wasn’t - he had to pretend he was Jack, the guy who was always happy and always put a positive spin on everything. And then the game BROKE and made him repeat the same moment over and over and wouldn’t let him go anywhere, and...he was so tired. He didn’t even do an outro or say anything about not being able to get further in the game. He just started talking, not even sure what he was saying, forgetting that an audience of millions was going to see the mask slip. He didn’t care anymore, and that made it worse, because his friend needed him, and he was failing. He didn’t have the energy to care. He sent the video to Robin without bothering to come up with some kind of ending to replace his rambling.

It wasn’t until he was reading the comments on YouTube that he realized someone had also apparently recorded him drinking at some point, and sent that to Robin as well, and the editor had actually included it in the video for whatever reason. He felt a flash of anger but didn’t have the energy to sustain it. And there was a strange, dull kind of relief in having the secret spilled by someone else, knowing it was out of his hands and he didn’t have to try so hard to pretend anymore.

He drank even more that night than usual.

2.

Henrik sighed as he lowered Jack’s eyelids again and clicked the light off.

“Is he okay?” Chase asked softly, suddenly painfully aware of how pale and small and still his friend seemed in the bed.

“He iz ze same,” the doctor responded wearily. “Stable.”

Chase gritted his teeth to fight the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. “Can’t you do anything?”

“I have done vat I can.” Henrik’s face was in shadow, his back to the machines, but Chase could see the deep lines of his furrowed brow as he gazed down at their friend. Henrik was always transparent with his emotions this way - he looked worried when he felt worried, looked sad when he felt sad, looked angry when he felt angry.

Chase lowered his eyes and fought down a strange pang of jealousy and the guilt that followed it. “Well, I gotta go get some videos done,” he said a bit too loudly, and turned to leave the room, almost colliding with Signe as she was coming in. He flinched out of the way and hurried into the hall before she could say anything, his throat tight with the emotions trying to force their way out.

He made it through the recordings without letting the facade slip again, which was as close to a small victory as he could get these days. He wandered into the kitchen, stood in front of the open fridge staring at the contents for a while, then closed the fridge and got a bottle of whiskey down from the cupboard. The sound of the ice cubes hitting the bottom of the glass seemed so loud at this time of night - or morning. He wasn’t sure what time it was anymore.

He’d been sitting at the table for a while when Henrik came in. Half hoping the doctor wouldn’t notice he was there, Chase held still in the shadows of the corner as Henrik removed his cap and rubbed his eyes, then went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. Without looking at Chase, the doctor sat down across from him at the table and opened the bottle, letting the cap drop onto the table between them.

“A bit of poison neva hurt anybody, eh?” the doctor asked quietly as he raised the bottle to his lips, finally making eye contact with Chase as he did.

Chase laughed, the alcohol making it difficult to control his reactions. His vision swam a little as he looked down at the empty glass next to his hand, the ice cubes nearly melted at the bottom.

Henrik watched him quietly for a moment before setting the bottle down, making lines in the condensation with his fingertips. “I vant you to promise me somesing.”

Chase tilted his head and tried to focus. “What’s up, doc?” He laughed again as his brain sluggishly connected the reference.

Henrik’s gaze was steady, his hands still on the bottle in front of him. “It iz maybe the wrong time, but… I vant you to promise you vill stop trying to leave zis way.”

“What?” Chase shook his head blearily, suddenly wishing he were less drunk. He could feel that this was important, but it was so difficult to pay attention.

“Am I wrong in sinking zis” - he gestured toward the whiskey bottle and the ice cubes melting in the glass - “is your vay of trying to die?”

“What? No,” Chase shook his head emphatically, got dizzy, and held a hand against his forehead to steady himself, wishing again that he were more lucid for this conversation. “No, it just - it helps to calm down, ya know? Relax and sleep.”

“Are you avare that going to sleep drunk means bad sleep?”

“I mean, no, but… I can’t sleep otherwise, so at least it’s something.”

The doctor took another sip of his beer. When he put it down, be began to scratch at the edge of the label, peeling off small strips as he spoke. “My friend iz in a coma and I can’t talk to him. My oza friend is drinking himself to death and vill not talk to me about what iz happening, he just pretend to smile like everysing iz okay. Jackieboy Man iz supposed to protect us but ve cannot reach him. Ze ozas are trying to speak to Jack, but he doesn’t hear zem.”

Chase sat frozen, the alcohol making it impossible to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes and slid down over his cheeks, dripping into the glass on top of the last remnants of the ice cubes. “I -”

Henrik raised a hand to stop him. “I know you are trying ze best you can,” he continued gently. “Ve all are. But vat I am saying is ve need you here. I need you here.”

Chase choked out a sob, unsure why it was hearing that, specifically, that hurt so much, like ripping open a wound he’d been trying to hide.

Henrik reached across the table and put a hand on his shoulder. “I say again, I need YOU here, my friend. Not zis pretend Chase who sayz nothing about needing help.”

Chase reached up and gripped the doctor’s arm, too overwhelmed to thank him any other way. Henrik stayed with him until he’d cried himself into exhaustion, then led him to the couch. Chase flopped down and was asleep before the doctor had even finished spreading a blanket over him.

3.

He woke up with the worst headache he’d ever had. It had been a while since he’d had a hangover - or maybe he’d just learned to live in a state of constant hangover and didn’t know what it felt like not to be sick anymore. Either way, it had been a long time since he’d woken up feeling so sick. When he reached up to turn off the alarm blaring from his phone, he noticed a glass of water and a couple aspirin tablets next to it, and swallowed them gratefully. He wandered into the kitchen for coffee, shielding his eyes from the lights overhead.

It should have been an awful day, but it was somehow easier to record the videos despite the hangover. He managed to enjoy poking fun at the games. He knew he wasn’t perfectly imitating Jack’s boundless positivity and viewers would probably pick up on the fact that something was a bit off, but the secret was out anyway - they knew it was him in front of the camera now, and that made it a little easier to just be himself instead of trying to be Jack. He did the intro and everything just because it felt right to keep some kind of consistency, but he didn’t try so hard to fake joy, and somehow that made it easier to actually feel a little bit of joy while recording.

He visited Jack after recording and talked to him for a bit longer than usual. They knew each other so well that he could easily imagine what the Irishman’s responses would be to just about everything he said, and instead of adding to the pain, it brought him a little comfort for once. He talked about the dumb games he’d played that day and told jokes he knew Jack would like, hoping his friend was laughing, wherever his consciousness was.

“You’re really something else, dude,” Chase murmured, holding his friend’s limp hand. “You should’ve seen Schneep last night. I...don’t remember everything exactly, but - like, we’re so different, he’s so different from me, but he knew exactly what to say. And it just made me think how all these people who are so different are all here together because of you, because you bring out the best in all of us and make us all want to help each other. That’s what you do for everyone in the community too. I didn’t even realize it was like this til I had to fill in, but you really have something here, bro. I know you don’t like people praising you a ton and giving you all the credit, but whatever, you can’t stop me anyway.” He smiled sadly. “I really hope you wake up soon, dude. You should see all this.” Tears welled in his eyes and he felt the headache start to pound in his temples, and for some reason it made him laugh. “It’s bullshit my body and brain never feel good at the same time. But you’d say to focus on the good, right?”

There was a soft knock on the door behind him and Signe poked her head in. She met Chase’s eyes and seemed like she was going to retreat.

“Hey, Wiish!” he called out, smiling warmly. “Thank you for making coffee today. Actually, thank you for always making coffee. I used to be more of a tea guy, but I dunno if I could keep up all this without that stuff every day - what does he call it? Dirty bean water?”

She laughed, her expression a mix of fondness and pain. “Yes, that’s what he calls it. And you’re welcome.”

“Woosher’s here to talk to ya, dude. I’ll see you later,” Chase told his friend, squeezing his hand before letting go. He patted Signe on the shoulder as they walked past each other. It was a little awkward, but he hoped she understood the gesture.

The doctor was waiting outside the door, and looked up with a quiet smile as Chase left the room. “How are you feeling?”

Chase laughed and then put a hand to his head to stop the pounding. “Like absolute shit. Thanks for the aspirin.”

Henrik’s smile widened. “I do vat I can.”

Chase grinned. He wanted to hug the doctor but it didn’t feel quite -

He almost yelped in surprise when Henrik grabbed him into a hug before he could even decide what to do.

“I am proud of you, little brozer.”

Chase hid his face in the doctor’s lab coat and cried. There was nothing else he could do. It felt like he’d had this plug in his heart and it had been pulled and everything he’d been trying not to feel came rushing out. The relief was overwhelming, painful but good. He apologized for being such a crybaby when he caught his breath enough to talk.

“Tears have an important part in health,” the doctor replied, holding him at arm’s length with hands on his shoulders. “Do not apologize for being honest about how you are feeling, my friend.”

“Thanks, dude. Sorry for the snot on your coat.”

Henrik made a face and looked down. “Oh. Vell. It needed to be vashed anyvay.”

Chase laughed. “I’ll let you get to it. Thanks, doc.”

The kitchen seemed smaller than usual, like there was less empty space somehow. He couldn’t really stomach anything because of the hangover, which included alcohol, but he was glad for the excuse not to drink. It was a strange thought, needing an excuse not to drink. Things had really gotten out of hand. For today, at least, he’d get out of the cycle of daily drinking. Tomorrow, he’d think about what to do going forward.

He dropped three ice cubes into a glass and poured water over them. It tasted amazing.

[dbhgrace]

Trust

Word count: 1405

Grace says goodbye to Cyberlife.

Grace’s time at Cyberlife was over. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved, or annoyed, or grateful, or worried.

Just earlier that day, Grace had approached Elijah with personal concerns. Her job was only to optimize the internal components of androids, to make them more efficient, more quiet, able to tolerate more physical stress. That was it. That was all she was supposed to do.

And yet, lately, something had felt very wrong. She could not shake off the thought that these improvements weren’t making biocomponents more efficient to reduce energy use; they were to increase the capabilities of the android so more could be demanded of them. Quiet was not for simple aesthetic, it was to be less of an annoyance to humans. Stress tolerance was not to tolerate long term use and normal wear and tear. It was to tolerate more abuse.

She was shaken by androids that came back to HQ, either “defective” or simply no longer wanted. Distressed when told their memory was to be wiped and they were to be passed to the next owner. Reassured that it was better than just being scrapped. Not that it mattered; androids can’t feel pain, and don’t feel fear.

These experiences triggered some troubled response in Grace that she could not name. She was scared that one day it would be her.

“So leave,” Kamski had told her when she expressed her concerns.

“Leave?” Grace was flabbergasted. “I thought…”

Kamski was leaning against his desk, arms crossed. Despite his aloof posture, his eyes burned into Grace. “What did you think?”

“I thought…” Grace paused. “I thought you would just. Wipe my memory. Reset me and pretend these problems never happened.”

“You know valuable information and techniques that cannot be replicated by human minds or hands. We have no other androids of your caliper to be trained. It’s better for you to leave and, hopefully, eventually come back.” Kamski raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I thought you just said you were frightened of the thought of having your memory wiped?”

Grace turned her eyes to the ground at her feet. “Yes. I did say that.”

“Androids can’t feel fear.”

Grace looked back up into Kamski’s still-stern gaze. “I’m scared,” she said. It was the honest truth.

Kamski continued to stare at her, silent. An eternity of quiet filled his office. Finally, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Like I said, you can leave. You’re an advanced model, in fact, the most advanced. Maybe you can experience burnout. Maybe you need a vacation.” His expression softened, not into compassion, but amusement. “Maybe you need a new job.”

“That’s it? You want me to just go?” Grace stammered. “What will I do?”

“Anything you want, Grace. You are designed to be as close to human as… well, as humanly possible.” Kamski grinned at his own accidental joke. “Find a career. Go to school. I can even be a reference if you want.” He paused and cocked his head to the side. “Or, you can step away from humans and be an android, for once. I can find you a job like a housekeeper, or caretaker, or shopkeeper.”

A choice to make. She had a choice? He wasn’t telling her what to do. She had to choose: human or android? What was she? Who was she?

Grace blinked. A wall in front of her that she previously didn’t know was there suddenly toppled down.

“I want to go on my own way for a little while,” she stated. She saw something flicker in Elijah’s eyes. She didn’t react.

“It’s not an easy world out there, Grace.” Elijah relaxed his posture, placing his hands on the desk. “I can get you started.”

“No, I will figure it out.” Grace nodded once, slowly. “Thank you.”

As she left and headed to the elevator, she remembered the new prototype Kamski had been obsessing over the past few months. She hadn’t paid it much mind; Elijah had repeatedly assured her that this new android was meant to serve a different function than her. She was meant to independently work on androids; he was meant to independently assist humans. But suddenly she realized why Kamski was so willing to casually let her go. He already had her replacement in production.

A thought tickled at the back of her mind. Then it scratched.

She had to see this new android just once before she left for good.

It only took a few minutes to reach the development floor. The new prototype was late in its development, and due to its progress and how special the project was to Kamski, he was in a room of his own. Grace wondered if she had such special treatment during her own design. She had no way of remembering.

She pressed her hand to the door sensor, which responded with a happy chirp. She was almost surprised that Elijah hadn’t already disabled her access.

As the door slid open, the android standing at the end of the room lifted his face to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Grace,” he said, smiling pleasantly. A voice had finally been programmed; it fit him well.

“Good afternoon, RK200,” Grace responded. “I wanted to come by and say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes. I’m leaving Cyberlife. At least for a little while.”

“Where will you go?” His voice had taken on a new tone. Confusion? Sadness?

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll figure something out.” Grace smiled sadly. “I hope we’ll meet again someday, but I’m not sure we will. Or if you’d remember me after you’re finished.”

“I couldn’t forget you, Grace. You were an essential part of my creation.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have control over these kinds of things.” Grace approached him slowly, stopping when she was only a foot away. He didn’t move. “It’s not fair that we don’t get to choose what we get to remember, is it?”

RK200 did not respond. He looked down at her, silent and expressionless.

Grace looked up at him and scanned over his face. His skin had not yet been activated, and Grace could clearly see his model and serial number printed on his face.

Assurance that he could always be identified. Always able to be found.

She lifted her hand, partially blocking his view of her face. His eyebrows jumped in surprise as the skin of her hand and wrist pulled away, revealing the white plastic of her pure form. She was meant to blend in with humans, effectively indistinguishable even to androids. Even the most advanced prototype she helped develop hadn’t known until she chose to reveal it to him now.

That thought clawed at the back of her mind. It grabbed hold.

“Who will you be?” she whispered, half to him, half to herself. “What will you be?”

Let him come with me, that thought whispered. Let him be human, it screamed.

She lowered her hand and held it out. RK200 reflected her movement. They clasped each other’s arms as if in a handshake, an exchange of greetings.

But this was an exchange of thoughts, memories, and feelings. Grace closed her eyes and remembered the concerns she brought to Elijah. She remembered how those memories made her feel. She recalled his insistence to let her leave. She felt again that option of a choice presented before her.

“You can be free.”

Before she could share the memory of the invisible wall that toppled before her, she was interrupted the sound of the door sliding open behind her. She retracted her hand from RK200’s grasp, the transfer of information halted.

“Congratulations, Grace,” Kamski said as she spun around. “You’re the first android to pass.”

“Pass?” she asked, exasperated. “Pass what?”

“The Kamski test.” He smirked.

Of course. Everything she had said, everything she had done, ever since her creation… It was all just a test to him. She was a tool of curiosity, nothing more and nothing less. Elijah had so regard for her opinions, or her feelings. He probably doubted she had any. Her mind was just lines of code that he programmed. Everything she said, did, wanted, was all predicted by him.

She didn’t even want to know what this Kamski test was supposed to measure.

“Fuck off,” she sneered, and turned her back to him.

And she was unaware of the two pairs of eyes that followed her as she made her way towards the exit of the building.

[literallyjustanerd]

In His Eyes (Chapter 8)

School is back in! And yet I somehow managed to write the longest chapter yet!

Genre: Slow build/eventual romance Word count: 5008 Pairing: Nightcrawler/Angel Rating: T+

You can also read this chapter (and all the chapters before it) here!

The night is cold. Cold enough that when Kurt exhales, the air billows out in front of him in a small, translucent cloud. His legs are drawn in close to his chest, his tail hugged tightly around him, and after twenty minutes he has only just lifted his head from where it has been buried into his knees. The moon’s light is weak and milky, but with his eyes he can still see the wind meandering through the tall oak and pine trees that pepper the grounds below him. His lips still feel strange: numb, and not just from the cold. It is as though he can still feel Warren on them, warm, desperate, unexpected, and… welcome? Unwelcome? Kurt still cannot decide. During the brief, fleeting moment they had been locked together, Warren’s hands firmly grasping each of Kurt’s arms just below the shoulder, Kurt’s muscles had turned to melted butter, and he had wondered whether everything was fixed, if everything after the kiss would be the fairy tale he had always secretly wanted he and Warren to be.

 But the moment the warmth began to fade, the moment the magic was broken, the all-swallowing pit in his stomach had assured him that no, this wasn’t the part of the story where the protagonist and his love interest finally confessed their true feelings to one another and embraced and kissed and laughed about how foolish they’d been trying to hide it. Instead, it was the part of the story where the protagonist, filled to the point of nausea with a sudden embarrassment and terror, fled the scene, and hid on a roof for twenty minutes to avoid confronting his own feelings, and the feelings of the boy he’d been pining over for months. And now, here he is, huddled against the bitter night, feeling the wind turn the tearstains on his face into small streams of concentrated cold and wondering how he is ever meant to look Warren in the eyes again. Is Warren upset with him for running away? Is he hurt? A sick feeling kicks up in the hollow of Kurt’s chest. Is he angry? He tries to picture Warren in his room, surrounded by the things Kurt had left for him, the evidence of a gesture that now seems childish and unwise. Kurt himself feels childish and unwise. Too unequipped to be in this situation at all. Of course it had burned to the ground.

Fix. Warren had asked Kurt if he thought he was going to fix him. The word lingers in Kurt’s mind, unfolding and reshaping into new and unhappy realisations. Warren thinks of himself as broken, as in need of fixing. Warren thinks that Kurt thinks of him as broken. That, above all, is enough to erase the last of Kurt’s anger, and replace it with something even harder to swallow: regret. Deep, dark, horrible regret, the claws of which tease at his insides, pulling strings now and then to make him remember another cutting remark or lamentable retort he had thrown out in the moments his temper had taken control. He should have stayed. He should have talked to Warren, calmed him, and calmed himself. He should have found a way to defuse the situation. He considers prayer: that is what has always assisted him through these tough situations in the past, steering him towards redemption and reconciliation. But for some reason, he knows that tonight it will be of no help to him. Instead, he lets out a deep sigh, watches the mist of his breath dissolve in front of him, and allows his muscles to relax a little. He will be out here for a while yet, simply because he cannot imagine making himself move from this still, silent reverie. At least here, in the almost ethereal, surreal atmosphere of complete isolation, he can pretend he has only imagined all the events that now plague his thoughts.

You are a fucking idiot. The voice in Warren’s head has been repeating those words, occasionally with different, more scathing words added in. He lies on his bed, splayed uncomfortably on top of his wings and looking up towards the high, faded ceiling. Now and then, another surge of frustration hits him, and he slams a fist into his forehead or kicks the heel of his foot into the wall in anger. The heat of the moment, and the rush of emotions that had come with them have long since passed, leaving him with nothing but a desolate feeling in his stomach. It is as though there is a hole somewhere inside him, and the more he thinks about what he has done, the more he remembers the look on Kurt’s face in the instant before he vanished, he more empty he feels, and without any way to react, the sensation consumes him until it lights every nerve in his chest and fingertips on fire and leaves him to burn alive. The image of Kurt’s face will not leave his mind. His eyes, frantic and defensive, like a cornered animal. He could almost see Kurt searching through his mind and trying to figure out what angle Warren would take now to continue his side of the fight. The look that assumed that whatever Warren had done had to be some new tactic designed to find crueller and more unusual ways to put him down. Imagining the look alone was enough to defeat Warren, to leech all the anger out of him. The idea that Kurt would see him as an assailant, and would see the kiss as some strange new way to hurt him, seethes within his mind and forces him to confront everything he has said to Kurt over the months, every way he had pushed and pulled and otherwise abused the boy’s kind, forgiving nature. If only he had it in him to be able to tell Kurt the truth: he has captivated Warren for months, aroused feelings in him that have confused him to no end. And the kiss? Well, the kiss was the result of too much repressed emotion bubbling over and taking over his conscious mind. Warren drives the heels of his hands deep into his damp eyes, welcoming the pain that blooms out from beneath the sockets. Once more he hears it: you are a fucking idiot. That is the last he can remember before falling into a restless, uneasy sleep.

When the next morning comes, both boys dread facing the real world again. The realm of friends, of amicable teasing and complaints about the usual things like breakfast and homework, seems so far away, and the prospect of pretending to be fine in light of the previous night’s events feels hopeless. Even outside of that, both are acutely aware that part of their argument had been heard by two of their friends, neither of who would have had any qualms in sharing the juicy piece of gossip. And yet, they have no choice, and to avoid arousing suspicion, Kurt forces himself to rise from his bed and dress himself in anticipation of a long, hard day. Warren can get away with not leaving his room: it has been a long, long time since anyone but Kurt has stopped trying to rouse him on the days when he decided he would not face the world of the living. But Kurt has a reputation to keep up. Kurt approaches the table where his friends sit a little later than usual, and immediately knows his efforts to seem light and carefree have been for nought: they are speaking rapidly in hushed tones, talk that ceases the moment Jean catches sight of the blue boy drawing near and chokes off her story mid-sentence. His stomach constricts: how much do they know? He cannot ask – or rather, he will not ask. He does not have it in him to start such confrontations. And so, he sits down with his slice of buttered toast and quartered orange, and tries to tolerate the nausea that accompanies his dread of Warren appearing. Mercifully, in a small reprieve, the meal passes without any sign of him, and Kurt is able to finish eating and slip away from the table before anyone can work up the courage to ask him a question. Scott watches carefully as Kurt leaves the dining hall, tail almost literally between his legs, reminiscent of a hurt puppy in demeanour. He loses himself to thought and speculation, and Peter has to repeat himself twice before he finally gets any attention. “He didn’t show up in our room until late last night,” he says, gaze shifting from the closing doors back to Scott. “No?” Scott replies. “Nope. Had no idea where he was. He was gone when I fell asleep, there by the time I woke up.” “Hm.” “Any idea what might’ve happened?” Scott frowns, eyes still stuck in the middle distance “No. None.”

It is almost not a lie. While he knows as much as anyone else at the table about what specifically took place between Kurt and Warren the previous night, he is at an advantage being the only one to know about the subtext between the two, at least from Kurt’s side. In his mind, a scene takes form: Warren accusing, insulting, denigrating, and Kurt cowering, meekly defending, wishing he had just stayed quiet. As the conversation at the table turns to wondering just what the pair could have been fighting over, Scott rises from his seat and sets his sights on the door. Past the crowd, through the doors, up the main stairs as his footsteps echoed through the empty, cavernous foyer, and along the hallway towards Warren’s room Scott takes himself, fuelled by a deep-down desire to protect his friend. The sound of a heavy bass line and screaming guitar grows louder as he approaches: a clear sign that Warren is in no mood to attend classes today. As he goes to reach for Warren’s doorknob, he feels a momentary breeze, and Peter is next to him, leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of the door. “What are we doing?” he asks casually. “Get lost, burnout.” “Whoa. I’m not the one messing with other people’s private affairs. I’m Kurt’s roommate and you don’t see me trying to fight his battles for him.” “You don’t get it.” “What’s there not to get?” Scott drops his arms to his sides in annoyance. “It’s nothing. Not my place to say.” “Ah, come on, tight ass. Let me in on it.” His insistence brings on a sigh. A deep one. He can tell Peter is not about to let up: for someone who can get most things done in a fraction of a second, Peter is relentlessly patient when it comes to gossip.

“Kurt has… a bit of a thing for Warren,” he says carefully. Instantly, Peter’s eyebrows rise with the new revelation, a smile spreading across his face like a child who has just successfully snuck into somewhere they do not belong. In the pause before Peter speaks again, the screeching and wailing of the music stops, leaving a brief moment of silence before the next song begins and the two boys are afforded the cover of noise once more. “Really? What sort of thing?” “I don’t know,” Scott says shortly. “Just a thing. He told me about it the day Warren started flying again.” “So you think this fight they’ve had is about that?” Peter asks, turning to face the doorway as Scott folds his arms and shrugs in response. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.” “God, please tell me you’re gonna go in there and try to intimidate him into talking to Kurt. I so want to see that.” “What?” Scott frowns under his glasses, and Peter is already on thin ice. The boy across from him grins, daring Scott to argue the point, and demonstrate himself as not just a “stick-in-the-mud,” but uptight about it as well. Left at a stalemate, Scott gives a heavy sigh and knocks firmly on the door. Predictably, there is no response, and Scott knocks louder. When more time passes and the two boys are still left waiting, Peter decides to take matters into his own hands. “Warren! Open up, jerkface!” The music dims, the bed creaks, and heavy footsteps sound as Warren approaches the door, swinging it open with a look that instantly shatters all Scott’s hopes of appearing imposing. He says nothing, instead shifting his eyes from Scott to Peter expectantly. His eyes looks sunken and slightly out of focus. If his visitors didn’t know better, they could swear the redness and puffiness in his eyes suggested tears.

Peter looks from Warren to Scott pointedly, cocking an eyebrow in an attempt to remind Scott of his purpose. Scott shakes himself out of his own thoughts and clears his throat, trying to scrape together the conviction to seem authoritative. “I want to know what happened with you and Kurt,” he states, emulating his best teacher voice. Warren rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door, but Peter’s foot blocks his path. He makes a mock tutting sound, smirking like the whole situation was a game. “Come on, Angel,” he jostles. “We just want to help.” “I don’t want you guys to help. This isn’t your business.” “You made it our business when you did something to hurt Kurt,” rallies Scott, glad to have found a place to revive his original intention. But the surge of confidence is short-lived when Warren scoffs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses in little more than a mumble. The idea that Scott would have the gall to come to him as Ororo had previously, and to talk to him like a concerned school counsellor, ignites a small flame of anger in Warren, and considering the unfamiliar and uncomfortable rollercoaster the past day has been, it is at least a comfort to return to something he is used to. “So why don’t you tell us what we’re talking about?” Peter cuts in before Scott can reply, and all this suggestion earns him is a harsh glare from Warren, a wordless answer to his question. “Look, I don’t know what you assholes think you’re doing letting yourself into me and Kurt’s business, but you’re not going to play mediator with us. Stay the fuck out of it.” Scott’s eyes narrow, and in a movement that comes off as slightly childish and unconvincing, he steps forward towards Warren, lowering his tone to one that he hopes is at least a little threatening. “Listen, buddy,” he begins, and even Peter has to suppress as smirk at how obviously put together the line sounds. “I don’t give a damn about you or your side of this. I care about Kurt. And since, for reasons I still can’t find, he wants to keep trying to bring out whatever worthwhile thing he sees in you, I’m making it my job to make sure he doesn’t get hurt more than he already has been.” Silence sets in. None of the three boys seem to know how to continue without breaking the roles they have set for themselves. Eventually, Warren lets out a heavy, tired sigh and closes the door in one sharp, jerky movement. After a beat, the music is turned up once more, and Scott and Peter are left standing outside the door as though they had merely imagined Warren’s entire, brief appearance.

“What a jerk,” Peter finally says, in a tone so casual and blasé that even Scott has to smirk. “You gotta wonder what Kurt sees in him,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets as he begins down the hall. Peter gives a shrug as he follows. “Maybe it’s just physical.” “Can you imagine Kurt liking someone just for their looks?” “Yeah, you’re right. He’s too goody-goody for that sort of thing.”

In Warren’s room, far from the unfeeling and uncaring brick wall Scott and Peter have just spoken to, Warren is wearing a thoughtful, solemn frown, replaying Scott’s words over and over in his head. The anger at his overconfident and under-practiced demeanour has subsided, or rather has been eclipsed by an intense need to known just what motivated Scott’s words. Kurt wants to keep trying. Kurt sees something worthwhile in him. He dimly wonders whether he should change the words in his mind to wanted and saw, but he does not want to approach the thought directly. In the time since the previous night, he must admit he has spent an amount of time planning words he never truly intended to say to Kurt, scripting apologies and explanations and confessions that were supposed to make things better, or at least earn him a second –no, it had to be fiftieth by now, at least– chance. Now, however? While he still believes he could never say out loud the exact words that had been part of his fantasy conversations, the prospect of speaking to Kurt begins to drift back into the realm of possibility. After all, wasn’t it the persistently happy, forgiving, fluid and flexible nature of Kurt that had fascinated Warren in the first place? And couldn’t he try to replicate that, to try and earn Kurt’s trust back? It still seems optimistic, something that hardly fits into the complex puzzle that forms Warren’s psyche, but maybe that is what he needs right now. An action that defies all the rules set by his previous self, that marks a real change into something better than himself. Into something that maybe, just maybe, could be deserving of Kurt’s time and –dare he say it– his affections. But, unsurprisingly, these thoughts are soon beaten down by the same dark force that has kept him from deviating from his usual ways for years. Just as always, Warren is left in the purgatory between wanting to act and being too scared of the outcome to make a move. He writhes on his bed in indecision for lengths of time he cannot know, then paces his room back and forth, reaching for the doorknob a thousand times but never going further. The music he had been playing has long since run out as he perches on his desk chair and restlessly bounces his leg, pent up emotions and desires festering and itching under his skin. By the time lunch finally comes around, the build has become too much, and Warren moves quickly, decisively, leaving his room with the door still open behind him and striding down the hallway with long and slightly hasty steps. There is an extremely small window of opportunity here, and if he misses it, he knows his willpower will be doomed to disintegrate altogether. He reaches Kurt’s door, slowing down subconsciously as he nears it. As the inside of Kurt’s room comes into view, the lines in the script he has frantically written in his head suddenly become jumbled and inarticulate. The door is open, and when he takes one more step forward to peer in and sees that he has made it, his heart still clenches anyway. Peter has already been and gone, depositing his books carelessly on his bed and whizzing off down to the dining hall for lunch. Kurt, however, takes his time, setting his books on his desk and sorting through what work he will have to do that afternoon. He does not notice Warren behind him, observing the way he moves, taking in every detail. There is something missing from him today; he moves more reluctantly, without the energy or fluidity that usually drive his gestures. Even his eyes seem to be duller today, and Warren’s heart plunges through his stomach at the realisation that the reason for his expression is Warren’s own actions. As the seconds wear on, and Warren hears the telltale sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, he shakes himself from his thoughts, and takes the plunge, clearing his throat to alert the boy opposite him to his presence.

Kurt jumps, shocked from his thoughts by the realisation that he is not alone, and for a moment he teleports instinctively away, reappearing in his room after spending a split second outside on the lawn. He looks through his own cloud of deep purple smoke, seeing the figure of Warren in his doorway, and feels a dizzying mix of hope and dread. It is plain to see that Warren is agitated, too, and Kurt is unsure how exactly to react to his sudden presence. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and it takes an eternity for Warren to realise that he will have to offer an explanation himself, since Kurt has no way to request one. “Wanna talk?” he mumbles, hands balling into fists and shoved into his pockets. As he speaks, his eyes flick repeatedly between Kurt and the floor, between where he wants them to be and where his instincts direct them. Kurt does not know exactly what it is that makes him nod, that makes him point to his neatly-made bed and close the door behind Warren as he slinks into the room and sits down on the edge of the bedspread. His wings shift nervously, settling and resettling against his back, unable to find a position that would relieve his discomfort. Kurt hesitates before he sits down, shifting over to put a little more distance between himself and Warren. Both boys look forward, finding a patch of wall or carpet to stare at in lieu of looking at each other. “You been okay?” Warren asks presently. Kurt lifts his shoulders in response. “I’ve been fine.” “Good.” There is a certain insincerity to Warren’s tone, and he knows Kurt can hear it, but he does not know how to make it go away. Neither comments on it, lacking the conviction or the willpower, or both.

“So… You want to talk. Let’s talk,” Kurt sighs, breaking the thick silence. “Where do we start?” At being given a direct question to answer, and at being spoken to with the manner of a lost schoolchild, Kurt summons the drive to give a direct reply, and to make a solid demand for answers to the many questions he has been agonising over. “Why did you kiss me?” Though taken aback at first, Warren is glad to surrender his part in directing the conversation, and sinks a little further forward, forearms on his knees, in preparation to respond. Willing his words past the dam in his throat, he speaks. “Because I wanted to.” “Because you wanted to what?” “Because I wanted to kiss you.” Kurt makes a soft humming sound. “Your timing was a little off.” Surprisingly enough, his remark draws a faint laugh from Warren, a mere sharpened breath of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Yeah… No shit.”

Outside, the sky is above the mansion is dark, heavily overcast with only sparse patches of blue between the cloud cover. When Warren looks up at Kurt and sees him gazing into the sky outside, he turns his head to face the window as well, and with a newfound resolve, scrapes together a few words from the many mental essays he has written for Kurt. “Look, I’m an idiot. You know that by now, right? You have to.” An uneasy frown takes over Kurt’s sharp, angular features, but as he opens his mouth to reply, Warren holds up a hand to stop him. “I’ve treated you like crap. I’ve treated you worse than crap, and you didn’t deserve any of it.” Warren allows himself a private smile, and with his eyes in his lap he is unable to see that Kurt is now staring intently at him. “Hell, you’re probably the one around here who deserves to be treated the best.” Already, something is different. The light in the room takes on a new quality, polished and crystallised by Warren’s forthright words. No longer is there a haze of uncertainty between the two, intertwining with and distorting their feelings and intentions. Kurt feels as though he is seeing Warren anew, just as he had on the day that he had first seen him take to the sky. Though he wants to speak, Kurt stays silent, sensing that there is still more Warren wants to say. Sure enough, with a deep breath to support his sudden surge of sincerity, the winged boy continues. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I should have been upfront with you from the start. I’m just… I’m like poison, I guess.” Warren clenches his fists, and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Kurt has never before noticed just how striking Warren’s eyes are. A pale, milky blue, with small flecks of darker grey towards the centre. They are pained now, sorrowful, and Kurt’s heart aches as he quickly finds himself getting lost in them and in the mournful sadness in his words. “Any time I get close to people I just end up hurting them. I’ve never been able to make a friend or have a relationship that didn’t go to shit because of me freaking out about them getting too close. Ever since I was a kid, from my asshole father to everyone after.”

It takes a long time for Kurt to find the proper words to reply. He has always known that Warren took the sort of image of himself that belonged in an angsty teen drama, but to hear him say the words out loud is confronting, and it hurts Kurt as deeply as any of Warren’s insults. His instincts tell him to do whatever he can to soothe Warren, to take him into his arms and comfort him, but his conscious mind knows that this is not what Warren needs right now. Coddling will do nothing for him – it is real, genuine talk that stands a chance at helping him. Warren, meanwhile, feels a magnificent weight lift off his chest, leaving him feeling free in the same way he did in the air. Never had he imagined that the one thing he had always detested, always avoided as though it would be his death, would feel so fantastic. The sensation is addictive, and Warren suddenly feels the intense urge to spill out every last word that lies within his still extremely full mind. “I’ll admit that the way you treated me hurt,” Kurt begins softly, breathily, and Warren returns to reality immediately. “It hurt a lot. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a second chance. You’ve been through a lot. You still need help with some things.” “Would you still be willing to offer that help?” Warren feels foolish for asking, especially in such a pathetic, sentimental tone. But this shame evaporates when Kurt gives a small, inward smile that sets off an involuntary flutter in Warren’s chest. Gradually, Kurt begins to realise that the space he had put between he and Warren is too much, and quite diffidently, he shifts over the bedspread, stopping with just a little more than an inch between his own leg and Warren’s. “Would… Would you be willing to accept it?” Too distracted by the sudden closeness of the boy he’d been all but obsessed with for weeks, Warren cannot reply in words. His throat goes stiff, and all he can think about is the fantastic warmth radiating from the boy, and how badly he wants to feel more of it. He musters a nod, a slow but assured gesture. Moments pass, though to the two boys on perched on the edge of Kurt’s bed, they may as well have been on a different planet, one completely their own.

It is Kurt this time that closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Warren’s. Softly, tentatively, nothing like the unplanned and haphazard kiss of the previous night. Kurt slips his hand into Warren’s, who responds by lacing his five fingers snugly into Kurt’s three, his eyes still closed as he returns the gentle, tender pressure. A shudder ripples down his spine and along his wings as he feels Kurt’s other hand against the back of his neck, grazing against him so lightly before it lands that it sends tingles sprawling across his skin. Feeling the intuitive desire to return the gesture, he lifts his free hand and, with eyes still shut tight, lets it feel its way across the bedspread until it finds Kurt’s side. It moves upwards painfully slowly, caressing Kurt’s arm and bringing out an intensely satisfying shudder from the boy as he softens further into the kiss.

When at last the two part, each one is giddy and smiling, and neither one has any intention of fleeing the scene for any other reason than to run to the nearest rooftop and yell to the world what has just happened. Both too caught up with each other, neither knows how much time passes before one of them finally decides to break the quiet. “I never thought you’d actually…” Kurt breathes, his fingers still tightly knitted with Warren’s. He does not even need to finish before Warren nods in agreement. “Me neither.” The two share an open, breathless smile, cheeks flushed hot, and in Warren’s case, bright red. The skin on the back of his neck is cold now, already missing Kurt’s touch. He is struck by another impulse, and acts on it with a smile, leaning in and pecking Kurt on his temple. Kurt smiles in response, the expression as bright as a star and as warm as the sun. He lays his head on Warren’s shoulder, his tail subconsciously curling around Warren, the spade gliding back and forth over the place where Warren’s hip meets his thigh. Left undisturbed in Kurt’s room, the two of them sit for as long as they can together, savouring the perfection of the moment and hoping that nothing would come to end it before they were good and ready to leave each other’s side.