#gives even the slightest word or indication that they would be okay with that

[haven-gum-rockrose]

Yo yall should ask me about my character playlists. I have 4

Sigma (15 songs), Atsushi(13 songs), Dazai(11 songs), and Yosano (I only just started it today tho so it's only 5 songs still)

There's also my Kenji one but I couldn't ramble about most of those songs

[mins-fins]

˖ ࣪ .  the happiest day

❝ for on its wing was dark alloy, and as it fluttered-fell, an essence-powerful to destroy, a soul that knew it well. ❞ ─ edgar allan poe , 1827

warnings swearing, explicit language, implied sexual content, infidelity (sorta), unhealthy relationships, mentions of drug use, drinking, fighting, and one mention of child abuse. word count 7.3k.

JENO ABOUT FAINTS.

“i will have you know that you have the right to remain silent” detective qian crosses his arms above his chest, a spine-chilling, egregious figure intimidatingly prominent before him. it should instill its own feat of comfort, being met with somebody whose main course is to bring justice, gather evidence and solve the crime.

jeno feels all frightened, however, it’s the law, and you were..

“i’m sorry, it’s just a bit—“

“feel free to take your breaks” the crack of a few knuckles, jeno flinches, it’s cold, sweat endures across his perversely brisk skin, the perspiration clearly not giving him the best possible appearance. he already spent a good few hours sobbing his eyes out, sclera’s red beyond repair.

jeno braces himself, there isn’t going to be a hard hit, not a punch, nothing of innate violence, it’s just.. this.

“i wanna help any way i can”.

“of course, i’ll have you know that you are not under investigation for murder, this is basic interrogation protocol we do to everybody”.

“okay”.

jeno is unaware of why he whispers, afraid of something.

“what was your relationship with the victim?”

jeno pauses, the was is particularly perturbing in this instance, a term which jumps out and broadens the true occurrences of this situation. it dawns on him strangely, almost steadily, most would say several hours have already passed, but jeno barely perceives such a time gap until it suddenly consumes his reality overwhelmingly.

you were alive. then you were dead. now he’s here.

“we were friends, very close friends, i.. uh— i had a crush on him”.

it’s a bit embarrassing, juvenile, cheeks all pink in that inherently boyish constraint. jeno is often commended for his honesty, but for the longest time he could never really admit it to anybody, not even you yourself. yet everybody was aware, batted their knowing eyes and curt grins, those are simply the certain things you expect from people when you exhibit such damning behavior.

detective qian’s eyes practically glow at the given information, as if he had just struck gold, jeno barely even stated much..

well he supposes it is much, to him and the now warming blood in his heart.

“had?”

jeno is unsure what extent of the past tense he is even referring to, ‘had’ could encapsulate many things, your death, or the fact that he supposedly got over you.

he decides the second option is the most suitable.

“it was a childhood thing really, i grew out of it over time”.

terrific save jeno.

“huh” he doesn’t believe jeno, the discrete cock of his eyebrow is a bright, loud indication. “was that an unrequited crush?”

well jeno didn’t exactly expect that, it would be terrible for him if it had been, a true spurring detail that could easily brand him as suspect number one, a murder of outrage, jeno is sure that’s probably the easiest notice one could grab.

“well i don’t.. he never said, actually? we didn’t date ever we just— but i guess we kind of did have a relationship..”

you never named it anything, perhaps you simply enjoyed muddling things for him, jeno was enamored, you apparently had that all figured out at every singular glance.

“y/n didn’t like labels” he blurts, a bit outmoded, you would presumably be the slightest irritated at such a soundless giving of details, you’d glare, decorating the surface with the sheer docility your eyes hold. jeno always loved your eyes, they’ve been very intriguing for the several years you two had known each other. “and he wanted someone else anyway, didn’t even have to say it”.

jeno tries so hard, yet the explicit disdain pervades throughout his speech, his very own reply resulting in a slight agonizing squint. he too earns a squint, from the detective, much of an information dump, a scornful expression merely hidden with a sweet smile. “huh, well he seems a bit complicated”.

the chuckle jeno produces is comically dry, the true amusement impeding this situation could not be any farther away. “i didn’t hold it against him”.

“right, so what about the others then?”

“hm?”

“perhaps a disgruntled ex, a crazy one night stand, you have any names for me?”

well of course, he was so pissed when i came around, it would only make sense that he—

“no” jeno swallows, shaking his head. “yeah y/n has a couple terrible exes but they weren’t invited to the party, and if they did somehow show up he would’ve had someone kick them out anyway”.

jeno didn’t tell a whole lie, it was merely partial, a statement not all littered with fallacies. there’s an intolerable stir in his stomach when he even muses on throwing one of them under the bus, he’s sure they are all aware in their own right, every single one of them was there, present, but he feels much too..

he does the speculative squint, the narrowing of his eyes signaling suspicion over a claim that appears much too feasible in jeno’s own eyes,

but perhaps he doesn’t have much of an investigative mind.

“and when y/n passed?”

“i was.. god mark and hyuck were going at each other and jaemin was laughing instead of helping, chenle was cheering and i was trying to calm them down cause y/n would’ve never forgiven them if they got into a fist fight at his party” jeno slightly snickers at the recollection of you, of course you would be worrying over the state of your party rather than mark and donghyuck getting into a fist fight, you already had your bets set on mark winning anyway. “jisung was getting overwhelmed so he went upstairs and—“

“ah” but then the detective’s eyes widen, it is all for a simple reason really. “do you happen to recall where huang renjun was?”

jeno blanks. he.. doesn’t. that’s a bit strange.

he peers for a second too little, as if the moment will appear before his eyes in the manner of some movie flashback. he sees it all; mark and donghyuck screaming at the highest capacity their lungs could offer, jaemin watching with eyes encapsulated by his pure entertainment, chenle giggling, jisung practically on the verge of tears watching, jeno forcing himself in between the two quarreling.

huh. renjun wasn’t there.

he presumes his memory must be off.

“i don’t remember him being there now that i think about it..” jeno’s head is pivoting much too rapidly, growing dizzy despite the lack of clear movement. “i mean he did seem a little angry all night, his answers were snappy but i didn’t think much of it? sometimes he gets overwhelmed easily, besides renjun couldn’t—“

jeno stops himself.

what is he thinking? renjun is capable of a lot more than people expect, innocence never his forte.

“well i’m just curious, you’re much more honest than your little friend”.

now jeno is wondering how donghyuck must’ve relayed it.

but that contains little of true scrutiny, he wasn’t entirely honest either.

~

jeno had his final conversation with you not even an hour before you had been discovered.

11:16, he remembers, by that point in time his head had begun pounding, repetitive melodies drowning into the ear ringing background which he took in as his own. jungwoo had swayed his whole and dumped a shortened story about your clash with donghyuck because of course you two argued, jeno failed to completely hear it all.

“i think i might die”.

always the ever so spectacular, you slapped a hand over your forehead, a tentative habit made to supposedly aid with headaches. you mused to jeno that whenever your father had done it back in your turbulently ‘pain-stricken’ childhood all of the agony erased straight away, he is beginning to wonder how many of those moments could even be clarified in truth. your dad has irked him in every moment, as a child, even too in adulthood.

you were strange, in a frankly striking way which has always interested him.

“don’t do that, does it really even help?”

“you won’t know until you try it”.

jeno had tried it, having almost burst into tears once when he was going through one of the worst fevers life could offer.

it didn’t do shit, but at least you were there to cushion the pain and listen in on the endless rambling paired with sobbing that took place. you let him cry into your shoulder for hours before he was finally ready to take a nap, overwhelmed by it all.

“kinda looks like you’re just hurting yourself”.

“it’s a bit ironic”.

jeno does not recollect the moments in time that led to you two holding hands, but it began much rapidly and never had a sure explanation in his mind. “why’d you two fight again?”

you crinkled your nose at his tone, as if feigning annoyance. “there wasn’t even a reason, we just fight to fight really, sometimes i think it’s embedded in us or some shit”.

jeno has to admit, he giggled at that one.

“seriously, i’m so.. i don’t know, it’s always a thing with us, we argue and we just act like it’s normal”.

“well it sort of is for you two isn’t it?”

you squeezed his hand discreetly, almost glaring, though your eyes reserved that beauty they had in every gaze, jeno may have been just the slightest smitten. “i do love hyuck, you know, i get on his nerves and he gets on mine but it’s all in the name of sport or whatever, debating.. he doesn’t hate me”.

right, donghyuck had been careless with his words but when is he not? it could simply be the effects of knowing someone so closely for that long, but jeno was always aware he’s been a softie, never the toughest type, just stubborn.

“that’s a way to say it”.

“he was drunk”.

it was a minuscule moment where jeno heard you be unsure of yourself, that is much too atypical, he simply perceived everything as planned out in your very mind. “what the fuck am i even saying right? i need to lie down, vomit everything”.

you waved a shy hand as if surrendering, finally allowing your fingers to slip from jeno’s, he about complained, yet he stopped himself.

you rubbed your temples, one, two, three times, then your arms dropped where they had remained prior to the turbulent hand holding. “yeah, think i just miss my bed”.

“you alright?”

“of course i am, just got too drunk” jeno never assumed such a statement would ever escape your mouth, he always assumed your go to would be do now think later.

he realized then, and carries now, that such a prospect could not have been further from every other thing true to your nature.

of course he had to discern such a thing too late.

“do you want me to go with..?”

“no no it’s fine i’m not gonna sleep” you seemed as though you could slip at any moment, eyes having already begun to flutter, yet you pursued on. “a few minutes, i’ll come back downstairs, i’m sure you guys can entertain yourselves without me”.

a few minutes. a. few. minutes.

jeno blinked, a tight breath kept in his throat, he wanted to grab your hand, maybe follow behind you like a lost puppy for the rest of the party.

he should’ve.

“i’ll be fine, don’t worry about me”.

but jeno did, in every waking moment he had that sneaking voice alerting him that he should brood on the singular things you say. sometimes he wishes his mind didn’t expand in such a manner, there is only so much sure worrying you could do over so many words.

“you sure you won’t fall asleep?”

“yes, i have a sure point” you leaned in, a kiss on his cheek, your signature. “love you”.

“love you too”.

then jeno observed you rush upstairs, yearning to follow you, fingers hesitantly pinching at one another. he should have followed you.

he did not, alone time is alone time and you certainly did need it after hours spent downstairs practically driving yourself to insanity.

he supposes much more faith should be put in his own judgement.

JENO PRESUMES HIS MEMORY JUST ACTS AGAINST HIS WILL in most important moments, when he attempts to have a sane conversation with somebody or is simply trying to study, perhaps take an innocent shower. no. his mind dizzies with flurries images he feigns ignorance too, aptly spacing out midway through very pertinent minutes of life he shouldn’t be taking for granted. his pride shatters at each recollection, it’s humiliating, future mind readers possibly having a laugh at the dreadful nature reeling in his head.

jeno remembers the day you two slept together for the first time almost perfectly.

it happens to be that way due to the gravity that night holds, amusingly enough.

just blinks before his eyes every now and then, startling him at even the most mundane of moments, he’s beginning to believe he’s been rendered abnormal.

he almost too often harks back on it all, you pressing him into the doorframe, hands steady on his hips, then they began roaming, curving nails carving marks into its seams and hasty hands meandering to virtually rip his shirt from his chest. tripping over your very feet as you journeyed to his bedroom, disorderly, tangled, done through frankly idiotic giggles and extensive lip biting.

jeno recalls assuming such all to be a dream when it had happened, it’s the person he’d been essentially in love with for a time he barely comprehends displaying his innate desire point blank.

well it couldn’t have been any more crystalline.

jeno still presumed it was a dream whilst you two lied together, the flat of your palm resting atop his encased heart, the quickening beats per minute would have easily been observed, even soundly. you gazed up at the insipid ceiling, jeno’s vision continued blurring for some odd reason.

“how long were you planning on doing that?”

jeno glanced in your direction, immediately entranced by the just how simply you could behold such looks. the whole universe could be portrayed by the hue of your eyes alone, it’s fascinating, jeno could stare in them for hours.

your awareness appeared brightly, displayed in the manner you flicked him in the forehead, drawing a yelp. “you alive in there?”

“let a guy breathe dammit”.

“was it all you ever wished for?”

jeno always regarded himself as exceptionally hopeful, a true man of his word, all bright despite the disdain the world so tried to push atop him.

his eyebrows furrowed, they were never all detailed, jeno assumed the highest point possible would be imminent rejection, his virtue had torturously beaten such a thing into his head until he figuratively bled out on the floor with the blurring image of you beholding his gaze.

but you were there in his bed, jeno got the memo way too late.

it didn’t matter then, though.

“not exactly, more of dreamed”.

“wow, you weren’t wishing on a shooting star every night awaiting this very moment?”

jeno allowed a snort, what mattered was your delivery, not much pertaining to the true amusement the joke could hold in another setting. he just thought you were funny, explicitly funny, bounded to extensive sarcasm and self serving quips.

“you’re so full of yourself”.

your stare from that day was one jeno struggled to decode, jeno can visualize it all, your rings, a barrage of gold and silver that somehow fit together, your eyes, a massive spiral akin to photos captured of the milky way, the initial quirks of your smile which he couldn’t help but shy away from.

that hadn’t been the end of your night, though.

and jeno also had an inherent intrigue in something else his eyes could not even be forcefully pried away from.

he just couldn’t decipher why such a sight angered him as much as he recalls.

“you know what? we should go out”.

“go out? it’s almost midnight”.

but you’d already rolled out of your very comfortable spot in his bed, leaning over onto the floor where you began collecting the strewn variety in which your clothes littered around. it was all so simple to you, nothing of the innate embarrassment jeno could not his showcasing of.

you clicked your tongue, nose scrunched at the wrinkled nature your shirt posed. “it needs to be romantic, okay? can't believe i haven’t taken you out yet”.

“you don’t have to..”

you glanced again, almost amused before whistling. “what kind of person would i be? dinner is only a sure”.

“dinner? at this time?”

you tutted, willfully ignoring such a question as you stared down the articles of clothing, momentarily, jeno observed regret in your eyes, but then you smiled, as if nothing had happened at all, little lapse in your judgment. “you haven’t eaten dinner today, right? okay, i’m gonna go home and change into something more fitting, you wait for a phone call from me”.

jeno digested such said information gradually, as if somebody’s life was on the line or you could even really bide your time in that particular situation. you allowed the silence to hang, not one distinct blink that jeno can recall glimpsing, just.. staring.

occasionally, even without fault, you displayed a coy eeriness.

then the smile appeared once again, vibrant, way too pretty. “i’m taking you out on a date, stupid, wear something nice”.

it was all puerile, the way jeno grew flustered at the rustic words, his smile so faint-hearted, so cute. being treated is sweet, dates are absolutely to die for, if you hadn’t been there he would have little choice but to giggle to his heart’s content.

he may have been much too smitten by then.

FALLING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH FOR A GOOD THREE AND A HALF months should be the most impractical of tasks to successfully accomplish, but you have never enjoyed taking no for an answer. jeno could mark several days leading up to that discrete moment that he assumed it was a farce, the dramatics of it all have always been your favorite, however, speculation drives you, countless people with your name on their tongue akin to adrenaline, a fix, the sort of drug you don’t just get from guys in shady alleyways, you have to do big to earn the attention you want, your sights had already been set.

it may have been one of your worst addictions, yet everybody handed such a fix to you on a silver platter. it extended from strangers to even those who were extensively close, donghyuck and chenle simply couldn’t resist, they presumed that you not being around meant that you would never figure out the tales they spewed.

but the words falling into your hands was inevitable.

well someone did know where you had disappeared off to in that time, jeno was aware because he kept most quiet during lunch story times, only ever observing idly, biting his tongue in order for the truth to not aptly slip from his lips. donghyuck and chenle spouted their ridiculous stories while jisung scrunched his nose because he liked to believe you were all perfect, the edges which rid your personality were nothing to the golden shade he admired you.

not even jeno was that naive.

“if it really was an overdose than his parents probably would’ve bled our ears to death with the news”.

“what makes you think they didn’t just cover it all up so their little gala would be spotless?”

“he didn’t even go!”

“well that proves my point genius!”

he thinks they were much too into it.

jaemin rolled his eyes at the remarks and went back to cooing at the stupid photos of his cats he adored so much, he always attempted the mysterious approach, jeno knew he had little of that in his true personality, he was simply peculiar in his own sense.

renjun sneered, the claims entertaining though increasingly tedious to hear of every single day. jisung kept the sugarcoating to an all time high, of course he did because how else would he cope? jeno loves jisung, but he could just never understand the leaps his mind had to take in order to paint you in such a bright light.

he remembers what you said a good month before your.. ‘break’ (if it could even be called that).

“what makes you think i can’t just disappear? pull a houdini and walk into a box to never come out?”

jeno gazed, your dazzling flair displayed in the manner you motioned your hands, like you really were about to pull a houdini and escape from handcuffs. you have wanted to be many things, an author, a magician, perhaps an actor, anything that would piss off your father extensively, witness such a turning frown sprout on his face when you became something he detested.

you adored his bubbling anger.

“well for starters, your parents would never support such a thing”.

“they don’t have to, they don’t know the half of it”.

jeno supposes you did have several secrets, but how much could your parents not know? sometimes he thinks they have cameras behind their eyes, especially your father, he can’t even begin to envision your relation, it’s all looks, your father’s got nothing of a picturesque personality.

you, however, had all of it.

“how dishonest can you be with your parents before they catch on?”

your smile from that specific moment perturbs jeno, strangely, there’s a possible horror there he lingers on for a sheer moment, then it all muddles itself into nothing. he stared at you, attempting to gauge out something from the shadow which cascaded over your intent.

“you’d be surprised”.

“but you’re so..”

jeno did not collect his words in time, instead remaining silently gobsmacked despite his clear desire to say something. the hefty terms sat atop his tongue, you didn’t long for the answer, rushing on over to the widely expanded kitchen where you began rummaging through cabinets.

“i’m so? don’t you go silent on me now”.

“so bright, yeah that’s the word.. it’d be a little useless knowing everybody would suspect something sinister”.

your eyes glistened with an ingrained want, a glowing need jeno didn’t need extensive academic credentials to understand. “well i want the attention, for one”.

of course, jeno was too busy observing other things to grasp that one.

the locket had been there for a while, jeno didn’t get you that. totally platonic friends can gift their fellow friends gifts such as that, but the heart and pristine golden engravings purportedly glared in his direction, as if mocking. messing around with others was a given, jeno should’ve known somebody else could capture your attention in such a fashion, get you a gift which practically screamed i’m better than you in his face.

every time he glanced, a confining curl of unwritten envy stabbed at his stomach, the gleam at the corner of his eye always alerting him that ‘exclusive’ was not a word in your vocabulary.

he tried to ignore it.

“seriously?”

you hummed, all cute, then holding up a vintage porcelain plate, the ridges a gold akin to your locket branded in a stylish circle. your nails did nothing against the ridges, it’s likeness reminded jeno of several old paintings, the same kind which adorned the walls of your parents home. “do you wanna know what’s special about this plate, jeno?”

jeno snorted, your smile remained, your surveying eyes fixed on the material which could only produce a giggle. jeno has had bright knowledge of your various laughs, you have certain ones you love to simply sprout. your giggles are important because he’s aware they’re genuine, your laughter is always transfixed on something, someone.

for the certain person, your laughter echoes distinctly.

only one of those laughs was ever as vibrant, though,

and it wasn’t for jeno.

“enlighten me”.

“this plate is a family showpiece, it carries a stupid amount of worth, the shit goes for five thousand at best, dad had it and his daddy had it and his daddy had it and so on and so forth, mother treats it as more of a child than me”.

“is this a story?”

“it’s pertinent” you very gently placed the valuable piece onto the counter, delicately, too out of fashion for somebody in your caliber. “if my parents care about this little plate so much, whose to say they’ll even notice i’m gone?”

“a plate is your ticket to disappearing?”

“it’s an idea”.

the apparent idea was an evident success, just how was the strange outcome.

when the two week mark passed, jeno realized you really did pull it off, disappearing without anybody.. including your parents, realizing where you had gone.

scratching behind his ear, he adjoined the conversation. “wouldn’t he be at the lake house then?”

donghyuck scoffed, squeezing his cheeks into an astounding vice grip; jeno didn’t recall him ever being particularly strong, but the shit hurt. “that’s the most obvious of places, it’s why we already verified he isn’t there!”

“maybe he left the country, went on an abrupt vacation”.

“by himself?”

“what is he, twelve? y/n can handle his own shit”.

“is this all you guys are gonna talk about? i’d rather hear mark impersonate a weatherman” renjun’s complaining was on par with how the whole situation stood out.

it wasn’t expressly urgent, not because you carried little importance, but because he knew you. you’d show up and create a spectacle for the love of everything dramatic, that’s just how you were.

jeno guesses he should’ve seen it coming.

YOU ALWAYS DID ENJOY A GOOD MYSTERY, AND LUCKILY YOU HAD BEEN BORN INTO a life which offered you several millions, enough for a fully crowded library in at least one of your parents assorted properties, an innate privilege most can dream of. it’s entertainment at its finest, you would always muse. someone dies, there’s a cast of quirky characters, maybe they’re trapped on a train, an island, snowed in at some tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, it’s fun when there’s a stake.

there always is one with you.

when you were younger, you wanted to be an author, your mother went to college in hopes of someday getting out a book of her own. jeno only bears such facts in his mind due to your unabashed declaring of them to him whenever you decide you want to spend a good moment up in the clouds.

i found one of moms old drafts once, i thought it was genius, the best writing ever, i kept going back for seconds, all greedy and shit, you know? she wanted to write, but she ended up stuck with dad, stuck doing nothing important, left dreaming about the life she could’ve had if she kept punching at barriers. she made me think i could be an author too, then dad found out i said such a thing, of course he did cause he’d never let me live in peace, made sure i wouldn’t ever think of putting pen to paper, broke my right wrist, said if i cried he’d ‘make me wish i were dead’.

a typical person who understood what they truly experienced wouldn’t brush it off with a mere hand and some terse chuckles, as if it were funny, humorous, amusing, not extensively concerning because your parents should not be breaking your bones for something so small.

cannabis is where the true honesty lies.

that’s terrifying, something along those lines jeno had muttered, his reminiscing can be shifty, blurred.

but he does recall you laughing at it all, your ‘childhood memories’ holding nothing of the vibrance they should, especially for somebody in your situation.

“well at least i have money” and the books continued stacking, as if you were to climb them like a leader. jeno read the fine print embroidered over the covers as best he could, eyes opting to squint instead in order for the terms to appear somewhat readable. head up in the clouds, he snorted at nothing, merely your stack of several books, the stupid stack which practically towered over you, a staggering six feet.. or he thinks, jeno must’ve been too high, numbers appearing as whatever they pleased. “all because my daddy made an investment when he was eighteen, the wonders of the world!”

you had that knack, rambling, droning on and on about shit jeno could only stare idly at. occasionally his brain erased terms of importance, streaming words blurring into an extensive ear ringing pattern. he listened in various moments, wavering in and out of seeming consciousness.

you loved to talk, jeno always enjoyed listening.

giggles are endless when the weed settles, and jeno will admit that they were so fucking cute, it wasn’t just the expanded affection coloring his brain, anybody could admit you produced adorable noises. “well someday it may all just go”.

“when that happens i may just have to go with it”.

jeno recalls choking on nothing, the words slightly brightening despite the effect drugs clearly have on auditory nerves.. mostly. “is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise! anyway, let me tell you all there is about crooked house!”

it was a threat, not in the typical way threats are fashioned, and you could dish out some good ultimatums when you desired, it’s why jisung always jumped at the sight of your strangely crafted smile. jeno had no true fear of you, not whilst you lived anyway, you were simply.. well a bit freakish, not in accordance with someone like jaemin, jeno couldn’t exactly interpret the many lines which dealt themselves across your skin, all that determination instead focused on other aspects.

kissing was nice, giggling over weed as you two acted like everything was real and the illusion held up in some manner jeno almost wishes could crowd his facade. it was no secret that exclusivity made you feel all terribly, your stomach curling with that stupid heat which rendered one bed sick all day. you truly enjoyed the whole acting approach, it is not as if you were some emotionless bastard, far from it in fact, you just mused that life was too short for relationships to keep you bound indefinitely.

jeno simply got wrapped up in what you described as “all tumultuous”, enthralled by the picture of you, various perks he had been hooked upon ever since he realized that you do not have feelings like that for your regular platonic best friend when your in high school and he’s branded as whorish.

and every single time he glanced at the locket, he would hope to retch it all up, he couldn’t fathom such a gift simply tightening itself around his point of respiration. his gaze trained on it in every particular moment of importance, carvings taunting him.

“we should make cookies” you lept from your spot instantly, almost tripping straight into a shelf, about putting a wood shaped hole in your head. “we need to make oatmeal chocolate chip this time”.

“can you even walk?”

“i don’t need my legs to make cookies” and then you stumbled over, hands bracing his own as you wrestled when pulling him upward, jeno doing his own purposeful hard work in order to bruise your attempt a few, just to play with you. “hey, i’m not playing around here”.

“but it’s so fun”.

jeno really assumed the locket was nothing,

it was too much.

“you won’t get any, then”.

“but i have to do all the work!”

it was an unfortunate night of messes, the cookies turned out good, you knocked out in a matter of minutes, snuggled against his side with occasional shivers alerting him that you had not just silently passed in your sleep, the rise and fall of your chest keeping the warmth around him elevated.

jeno supposes you may have been closer to other people, but a fucking locket doesn’t mean anything, not in comparison to baking cookies while exchanging kisses in a kitchen, snickering over inside jokes nobody else would ever recognize though you were both high out of your minds, disoriented beyond relief.

or maybe that is just what most people think when they get caught up in a situation they don’t have control over, with the huge glaring issue of not knowing how much you understand the person you’re infatuated by.

a lot of it keeps pounding into his head, continuous, a good add on to regrets his conscious delivers.

“HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP THIS UP?” BECAUSE DONGHYUCK ALWAYS TOOK THE blunt approach when it came to whatever the fuck you two had going on, a sore subject that he had his clear suspicions about but uttered on a small-scale. crushes are their own feat of normalcy, yet donghyuck was aware you weren’t the most regular of people, so was jeno and chenle and mark and jaemin and renjun, maybe jisung kept the wool over his eyes, but that’s jisung, jeno perceived that as a simple rite of passage, he was mostly akin to your shadow more than anything.

“ugh, what now?”

“why so annoyed, jeno? it’s not like you to suddenly be so inattentive with these things”.

“it’s cause his feelings are too big”.

“fuck you”.

“ouch! my heart!” donghyuck opted for a performance bit, a hand placed atop his heart, his figure falling backward onto various cushions, presumably feigning death, abject despair from words jeno usually didn’t speak, even when they were irritating him with their consistent kissy noises and pairing eyebrow raises. “how rude jeno, you killed him!”

“he deserved it”.

when donghyuck rose again, he swooped his head upward and fixed his hair, not even a strand meeting fingertips. then his arms propped up over the advanced table and he narrowed his eyes, the extensive attention on jeno. “seriously, it’s a good maybe two weeks before y/n decides he wants to hop on another one”.

“that’s a little ironic coming from you��“

“this is about y/n, not me, you can’t talk about morals to me”.

“yeah but i can talk about hypocrisy”.

“do you even know what that means? you ever open a dictionary, chenle? or did you have a nanny do it for you? little bitch..”

“oh no jeno is y/n’s little bitch”.

jeno scrunched his nose, the language nothing of a bother yet having met his senses in various rushing fashions, that may have just been the wine, donghyuck and his stupid wine collection which always pinched at his throat unbearably. how he even drank that stuff is beyond jeno’s comprehension.

he was about to say something, perhaps a week argument in his favor, but renjun of all people beat him to it.

“that’s much more up jisung’s alley”.

“hey! don’t get on jisung’s case, he’s a baby”.

“a tall eighteen year old baby, why don’t i get his treatment?”

“you’re a literal monster, at least jisung has redeeming qualities”.

“i have many redeeming qualities! i’m chivalrous!”

jeno is sure chenle could not spout the definition of that word even at gunpoint, all crossed arms and large mouthed when it mattered, because being right in comparison to donghyuck was all that mattered.

“renjun called jisung a bitch, i think he should get booted from the group” jaemin aimed his glass in the former’s direction, shaking his head, his attachment is all obvious, not much of a glare yet enough for jeno to have unraveled a mere animosity. jaemin can be uncanny, yes, but jaemin doesn’t typically hate. “and hyuck called y/n a slut”.

“i didn’t say that!”

“it was implied”.

“implied my ass it’s nothing no one else hasn’t said before, mark didn’t even show up!”

jeno squinted, that was strange, even with his stance on things, the whole thing was a tradition most of them took with true pride, drinking in a circle accompanied by your friends who aren’t exactly friends in the general sense of the word is something most people cannot resist, jisung only avoided such a custom because he didn’t want to drink underage, a rule follower from birth. mark not showing up was weird but jeno guessed he had more important things to do which did not include a group of them shaming you before him.

it was the first of those meetings which did not include you, peculiarly enough because you and hyuck pretty much started the whole thing, a bit ironic considering all you two did was argue when the terrible wine finally settled.

everyone enjoyed watching.

“mark is probably sick of your shit”.

“and y/n’s also literally missing! for all we know he’s dead in mexico or something..”

“you don’t seem that concerned, it won’t be long until you see him in hell”.

“anyway” donghyuck waved his hand renjun’s way, ignoring him with the smile that always sprouted when he was drunk. “jeno, i’m just looking out for you, y/n’s like a shark, you know? he’ll drain you of all your life and then leave you all dry when there are bigger fish around”.

“could you get that cushion for me?”

“smother him!”

chenle glanced donghyuck’s way. “i can’t say i didn’t see it coming”.

donghyuck again fainted over the couch, his heart having stopped at such rough words from those who were meant to be his coveted friends till death or whatever. maybe mark should have been there, he’s the only one jeno has recollection of being to calm them down, you were always the catalyst for blow ups, it caused something of a terrific spike in your heart, all smiles as you watched everybody grow more agitated.

“think you’re the last person on earth who should complain about someone sleeping around, hyuckie”.

“don’t call me that”.

“no seriously, you wanna be all big and bad, what if y/n was here, huh? you’re no better than jisung, don’t even have the guts to say it to his face”.

jeno’s eyes passed over the two arguing, there was no contest, jaemin would beat donghyuck to a pulp, all for him having a big mouth, at least you could put up a good fight, donghyuck wished. “what’s wrong with telling the truth?”

“y/n would kick your ass”.

“well he isn’t here to kick my ass, maybe you could do it for him, hm? if jeno won’t do the pleasure”.

jeno clicked his tongue, it was too late by then, one in the morning, rounding the corner halfway to two, he decided it was the perfect time to exit. if donghyuck ended up getting punched by jaemin like he so dearly wished then chenle would send him the video, maybe renjun would giggle or something, jeno couldn’t even say he was entirely against it, most of the debacle was hilarious.

“if you do get into it i don’t wanna be here for that”.

“but what if you need to hold hyuckie back when he throws a punch?”

“i said don’t call me that”.

“well what are you gonna do about it?”

“ladies please!”

jeno hummed, offering his best eye smile despite the overwhelming situation. “i’m sure y/n will send a postcard or something, you two do all the damage you desire”.

“wait why are you leaving me with them?” renjun whined. “take me with you please!”

“good night, renjun”.

he’s sure renjun cursed him to hell that night, and maybe he deserved it, not entirely.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK SOMEBODY WOULD GAIN FROM MURDERING Y/N?” JENO HAS NEVER THOUGHT detectives could truly have that horrific look in their eyes, all of it beholding a degree of barbarity he typically never witnesses in men, but he guesses he has only gazed upon men who had no true terrible intent, jeno realizes he would never recognize if he were looking the murderer in the face that night, and that’s masquerading well in a crowd. he blinks, he doesn’t have to think for that one.

“satisfaction” he drawls. “it probably would’ve been momentary, maybe they didn’t want to kill him but—“ then he gets a look, jeno knows that look because every time jaemin says something that doesn’t really make sense he can’t help but gaze that way. “i mean, i don’t even know what i’m saying, i’m sorry i haven’t slept at all”.

“usually people are more honest when they’re exhausted” jeno supposes his inhale is too loud in the room’s expanse, because the detective does that smile thing which freaks him out, eyes rid of their typical color, as if they’re pitch black. “and honesty is the key in an investigation”.

jeno bites the inside of his cheek, he begins scratching at the junction his wrist shares to his hand. “think, i’m sure you all have interesting answers”.

“well throwing our lives to shit for one” jeno winces, the continuous scratching made for good pain. “of course y/n wasn’t the greatest but he also wasn’t the spawn of satan, he wouldn’t invite people who despised him to his birthday party”.

“so what gives you the impression that one of you didn’t do it?”

jeno almost flinches, he barely keeps it all together, hands kept clasped together like he’s on life support, glued shut, he can’t pull them apart. he blinks, two separate blinks as if he’s some idiot who cannot comprehend big words. “like.. the seven of us?”

“if people who hated him weren’t there then they possibly couldn’t have done it, right? you know people are most likely to be murdered by someone they know well in comparison to some one off enemy”.

jeno’s eye twitches, donghyuck probably knew that, heck you probably knew yourself, courtesy of the many detective stories you two can’t help but have littering across your shelves. “well i don’t.. i just can’t see one of them doing it, i know that probably isn’t a good answer but i can’t imagine fucking— renjun grabbing a knife and stabbing y/n like seven times”.

his eyes again light up, he gets too excited over things he shouldn’t, but he guesses being a detective entails that, excitement for words which don’t come out completely right, eyes all glowy like some over obsessed teenager. “well maybe that’s just an indication that you don’t know your friends as well as you may think, time means nothing when you all have secrets”.

jeno remains silent, a bad sign.

“you know what was missing when y/n died?” his fingers poke at a certain file, his eyes do not stray off jeno, however, his lips do that side hook upward, all cocky, a sham. “no i really want you to take a guess”.

“i have nothing in mind”.

the detective decides to drop a crystal clear picture of the crime scene before him, jeno instinctively moves back in his seat, but there is also another photo there, a photo of your college id.

the fucking locket.

jeno is sure he’s paled, as if he’s seen a ghost.

the detective whistles, drawing a figurative circle around your neck, pointed in a very specific direction. “you wouldn’t happen to know who got him this locket, do you?”

well jeno guesses this is a good time to be honest.

“no, i’m sure one of them knows, but it’s not me”.

“ah, maybe you should swear an oath on that, then”.

jeno isn’t sure he can swear on anything, not on his parents, nor on god or the law or anything credible, he didn’t do anything, he’s sure none of them did either but how is he supposed to trust them?

he knows them, he knows enough.

of course jeno’s a coward, not jisung cowardly but he presumes he could make a good stance on that point. there are too many other issues for him to be worrying about stupid things like lockets or if you actually loved or not or—

when jeno leaves that interrogation room, he craves to just bash his head in on the nearest wall, images of the locket flashing in his brain like some stupid movie.

he’s sure he has a migraine creeping up on him.

masterlist .. ˓   previous ─  next

[thatgiraffefromtlou]

UPPER HAND

‼️men dni‼️

literally just smut. not canon like in the slightest. reader finally gets to top ellie! readers body type, race, etc is not specified at all except for being a girl cuz.. ellie’s lesbian.. duh.. 🫶🏻

warnings?: bondage(? kinda? she’s cuffed to the bed idk) uh reader uses ice. praise, decoration if you squint. idk bro reader just teasing fr. not proof read.

word count: 1.8!

if you like this lmk and i will post part two. i just don’t wanna go in head first and yall think its cringe and hate it 😭 first actual like smut post ever- i had a wattpad but thats NOTHING compared to how i write now.. 🧍🏼

also had this ‘sexual content’ banner saved a while ago and forgot who i got it from please lmk if you know 🫡

Ellie lays in nothing but her underwear and a white wife pleaser, her toned body tensing under the pressure building in her cuffed and outstretched arms.

You love when she wears that shirt, you like how it leaves little to the imagination but still doesn't give away everything. You gaze at her body before you, the way her breathing is a little off and her freckles peek from where the hem of her shirt lays just above her prominent hip bone.

You could drool at the way her muscles look right now in the dim light of her room. She is beautiful in a way you could never truly describe. No matter what you say it would never do her beauty true justice, physically and spiritually. You almost begin to blush, the corner of your lips holding the ghost of a smile in appreciation for the girl sprawled out in front of you.

You quickly snap out of it, if Ellie catches even the smallest slip-up in your dominance you know she'll use it to her advantage. You crawl back off the bed, placing your feet onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Ellie watches your every move, like a predator stalking its prey. She agreed to the arrangement surprisingly easily—almost too easily…

The arrangement being getting to tie her up and do whatever you pleased. It was something you just mentioned in passing really and her response was "why not?" You figured she was just being cocky, like you couldn't make her whine and beg for your touch like she had done to you countless times before.

You had already been at this for a good 15 minutes at this point, undressing, kissing, biting, teasing, and whispering dirty things but she is still not giving in.

Not breaking eye contact, you begin taking off your t-shirt, slow and methodically as she watches. Her grip on the restraints tightens in anticipation, tugging at them, wanting to set herself free.

"Already?" you mock as your shirt finally falls to the ground, leaving you in only your panties.

"Come on… let me undress you.." she smirks with her words, emphasizing the *me* as she stares intently at your half-naked body.

"Hmm.. thought you'd hold out longer… throwing in the towel already?" you tease, enjoining Ellie's look of lust she has plastered on her face.

You watch her face for a moment, making sure she is okay with this. When there is no indication that she is uncomfortable and she doesn't say the safe word, you continue. You turn around to her closet and grab an old sleep mask she had tucked away a long while ago. You make your way to her and lean over her body, putting it around her head and covering her eyes to block her sight.

"Look at you.. getting creative," she comments, knowing full well those words turn you on. You ignore her words though. "What's the safe word?" your words are stern but still soft, a check-in that is a necessity. "Grey.." she answers softly. You smile and kiss her lips before pulling back.

"Not another word, Ellie. Be a good girl and just enjoy it, yeah?" you proudly say, the words pouring out of your mouth like an uncontrollable river. You know she likes praise as a top so why wouldn't she now?

She smirks at your words as they turn her on more, almost proud of you too. This almost ticks you off. You want her to be flustered, for you to have the upper hand, but it gives you an idea. You briefly leave her side, causing her to be a little confused before arriving back with a cup filled with ice cubes.

You walk back to the bed and place the cup onto the bedside table, causing them to bounce off each other making a clinking noise ring through the room. Ellie tilts her head towards the sound in curiosity. You get on top of Ellie and straddle her hips, making sure she can feel the heat from your core just below her navel.

You slowly rake your hands up her body, bringing her shirt with you till the fabric bunches above her breasts. You take your time as you let your hands roam, running your thumb along her nipples, feeling them harden as her breathing picks up slightly.

You smirk at her mouth siting slightly agape, glad she's finally shutting up. You lean over and grab an ice cube from the cup, placing it between your lips before you lean your head down to her body and gently drag the ice cube down the centre of her stomach.

She suddenly jolts upwards at the sensation, the head board hitting the wall slightly as she yanks her wrists away from it. She lets out a small grunt while doing so, before letting out an exhale as you lift the ice cube off of her body once more.

"Yeah?" you coo behind the ice, a smirk glued to your face.

You scoot down a little and your eyes meet with her navel. You slightly graze the ice cube over her hip bone down to the center of her waist band. Her stomach slightly dips in, her back arching and her hips swiveling away from the cold a little. The sensation heightened without her sight, causes her breathing to become louder and more fast now.

Unfortunately, the ice cube is about halfway gone at this point, you drag the remainder of it back up her body, leaving a wet trail beneath it. She lets out somewhat of a breathy moan, still holding back from letting you win.

You turn the ice and let it run over her left nipple, causing her whole body to writhe slightly with a faster and louder moan. You honestly would never have expected that, but you don't complain either.

"Shit.." she exhales making you lift your head up with surprise. Her moans are so soft yet echo so loudly in your head, you can feel your pussy twitch at each sound, but you have to keep your composure.

You crush the half melted ice cube between your teeth, leaving tiny fragments on your now bitterly cold tongue. You grab her jaw and tilt her head up, meeting Ellie's neck with your lips, running your tongue over her pulse point. Her hot skin melts the ice left in your mouth, turning it into water as you begin to suck and kiss the side of her neck.

"Babe.." she groans in your ear. "I don't think I can take much more” she admits in something close to shame, though you still weren’t satisfied.

It just wasn’t enough for her to admit defeat, you needed to see it. Actions spoke louder than words anyways.

"Sounds like a personal problem" you mumble as you continue to mark her.

You slowly drag your fingertips down her toned stomach as you readjust, moving from straddling her hips to just her thigh, one knee going between her legs. You bring one hand to the waistband of her underwear, grazing one finger underneath it as you trace the elastic against her skin. She lets her head fall back in frustration as her lips part again, breathing heavier than before. She lets out a small sigh of relief once your fingers move down to brush over her clothed pussy.

You palm it over the top of the thin cotton, feeling her pool of wetness under your gentle touch.

"You're already this wet?" you lean down to whisper into her ear, grazing your teeth against her earlobe.

"Fuck..." her cheeks begin to flush for the first time, her pale freckled skin finally dancing with a slight pink color.

You move your lips to meet hers, kissing her a little more hungrily than you had initially planned, but you couldn't help it. Your tongue finds hers instantly as she still fights for dominance.

Though you soon win because your hand keeps at its lazy pace over her neglected clit, enough to get her dripping more, to lose herself in her own desperation, but not enough to truly get off to.

Your other hand wraps around her throat, a move she loved to pull on you. She lets out quiet groans at your actions, her mask truly starting to slip with every brush over her clit and swipe of your tongue over hers.

You pull away from the kiss and Ellie lifts her head, searching for your lips again but you don't give it to her. You push your hand into her throat and her head falls back onto the pillow with a sigh. You slowly remove your other hand from between her hips, watching her face. Well watching as much as you can with their eyes being covered.

"Come on doll... don't make me beg for something I know you want too," she smirks. You could tell, if she wasn't wearing a blindfold she would have the same dark look in her eye she usually did.

"That so?" you breathe, feining pouty tone. You draw your index and middle finger up her slit with more pressure than before, earning a soft groan from Ellie.

"Think you might want it more than me.. no?" you retort cockily, taking your finger off once again. You both knew it wasn't true, you probably did want it more, but you also knew you had to go slow, drag it out as much as possible.

Her head turns to whisper in your ear, with a tinge of neediness, "Such a tease."

"Yeah? You want more, Els?" you question in a soft voice as you plant one gentle kiss on her collarbone.

You could feel the effect her name on your lips had. "Yes..." she almost groans in a low tone.

"Oh come on..." you draw out. "You can do better than that..." Your voice is sweet, a stark contrast to what the words were actually saying, much how she would speak to you in bed.

Her brows furrow under the mask, evident by the small creases on her forehead. "Please... touch me..." she practically whines, her wrists tugging at the headboard, her mask actually gone now.

"Tell me how bad you want it, love... I wanna hear you say it..." You could feel the sexual frustration inside her from just the way her jaw clenches and the deeper breaths she has to take.

"Need you to touch me... please..." You smile in approval and begin to trail soft kisses down her body.

You move both of your knees between her legs, her legs widening to make room while her head falls back in relief. You could feel her muscles still tense in anticipation under each kiss left on her skin.

You graze your fingers under her waistband. "Lift..." you whisper against her skin, and she does, lifting her hips enough for you to pull them down her legs before discarding them on the floor.

lmk if you want a part two 🤭🤭 (i will fully finish it in part two i PROMISE I WILL! i already have it written so you will NOT BE LEFT WITH NOTHING PLEASE

[thehypnone]

Things haven't been great and it's only Tuesday lol, I don't want to bother you at all so this ask is free to ignore but, can I have something comforting? Someone helping someone get through shit sort of stuff? Pairing is free ofc but no pressure

i had some thoughts earlier and so I used this to project a little bit onto rain, hope its okay

It just hits him sometimes.

He’s fine, but then he…isn’t. And he never knows how to fix it.

And so, again, Rain wakes up with an overwhelming feeling of dread suffocating him for no reason at all. Nothing happened, nothing that would be able to explain it.

He sighs and burrows himself in the bedding, nowhere near ready to face the day. At least it's Sunday and he doesn’t really have anything to do, he can rot the day away and that’s what he’ll do.

It’s hours before someone knocks on his door.

“Princess?” Swiss. Of course it’s Swiss.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Rain mumbles, just loud enough for the multi ghoul to hear. “You can come in.”

The if you want to remains unspoken. He doesn’t feel like a person nice to deal with at all, especially now.

Swiss does come in, though, because no matter what Rain’s brain is telling him, the multi ghoul would never give up on him. Not until his last breath.

“Hey, Bambi,” he smiles down at Rain and it feels like a wave of heat hitting him. The water ghoul doesn’t feel quite so…dead anymore. “Whatcha up to in here?”

Swiss sits by him and even though Rain has no energy left in him, he lifts the covers for the other to join him and warm him up. Literally and metaphorically. He grins at the invitation and the indication it carries; that Rain isn’t lost, that he hasn't wandered off too far in his head.

The multi ghoul crawls in and rests against the headboard, letting Rain choose what to do with himself, not pressuring him in the slightest. He’ll wait for him. He’ll do whatever he needs him to do.

Rain chooses to lay against Swiss’ chest—ear pressed right over his heart—and he takes it as the biggest compliment and show of trust and love. He throws an arm over his middle and it also has it’s meaning. It means I’ve got you, always and Swiss says as much out loud.

The water ghoul melts into the warmth of his body and the feeling of that thick void that’s been crushing him for the last few hours melts away.

He doesn’t have to say anything, he knows he doesn’t—Swiss understands him, anyway—but the words bead on the very tip of his tongue and he doesn’t have to want to choke on them if he can let them out in the open instead.

“Thank you, beam,” he whispers. “I love you so, so much. Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank me for, princess,” the multi ghoul sighs, squeezing his waist. “I’m always here with you, okay? I’m not going anywhere, ever. I love you, too."

“I know,” Rain says as he snuggles further into Swiss’ body and holds onto him a bit tighter. When he closes his eyes the darkness isn’t as scary as it has been earlier.

[run2seob]

⌕ "in your hallway" in which yn finds themself constantly drawn back to yeonjun whenever sad, and he with open arms in the same hallway

PAIRS ▸ bsf!yeonjun x reader GENRE ▸ short one-shot, fluff, hurt/comfort (v slight angst @ the start) WORDCOUNT ▸ 0.98k WARNINGS ▸ reader is sad :(

AUTHOR'S NOTE — "so terrified of the road that takes you, me too." ｡♪ ₊˚

Moping, you drag your feet up the apartment’s staircase. Honestly, you wish to simply melt into each ascending metal step. If it hadn’t brought consequences, you would sit down and stop walking- give into the urging temptations to rest. After such a stressful day, you’d hope to think you deserve it, anyway. No matter how much you try distracting your mind, all you can think about is the misfortunes of your day.

On each step, the disgusting texture of your wet socks rubbed against your soles. If you asked for a reminder of just how unlucky you are, you’d receive one. And even in your unsettling silence, the reminders still pop up in your head. Your hand, still burning from scraping it against the rough concrete, swings against your side. Honestly, you’re afraid to look at it. Afraid to look at your state. If you hadn’t trusted yourself, avoiding mirrors and reflections to be at slightest peace, who could you?

But the answer is an easy one, because the dripping blood on your hand so easily accepts the coolness of Yeonjun’s doorknob. Room 201, the place where you can rest.

Immediately, your shoulders relaxed. The mere thought of Yeonjun made your body rest. Memories of his arms enveloping you, no matter what situation, made you smile. Sure, your body’s energy is giving out. Furthermore, your forehead would be doing you a favor if it didn’t turn red, your head clashing against the door. But his door is always open.

There hadn’t been a time where Yeonjun didn’t open his door to you, and the record swears to end when eternity does.

Soon, you hear words flowing out one’s mouth at a cascading rhythm. Words spoken softly; you were quick to recognize the culprit. Yeonjun lives with himself and the air surrounding him, but both treat you so well. Nothing could engulf your tears the way the artificial breeze could. Similarly, nothing could compare to intertwined limbs with no sign of pulling apart due to the freezing air. Winter was bitter, but Yeonjun was your warmth.

“Yn?” he called against the wood between you, the words reaching you despite the barricade, “I’m gonna open the door, okay?”

His warning was taken with caution, your head departing from the barricade as it opened slowly. It happened in a similar motion to your eyes, becoming doe once Yeonjun entered more of your vision. In any state, he was beautiful. You couldn’t deny that, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to.

His hair was far from made, sticking up in all directions. Though, that brought you immense comfort. You trusted Yeonjun with seeing you in your worst states: snotty-nosed and with red eyes. The opposite applied, the boy in front of you standing with a puffy face, indicating he slept late or that his tears kept his eyes open. It was never one-sided, your friendship. Comfort emerged from both sides, never just one.

Seeing Yeonjun in a state of worry of pain never unsettled you but reminded you of all of it. All of his words he speaks into your hair; all of his imperfections, all of the glances you two have shared that exceed any line of sole “comfort”. His pain was one you wanted to experience together. One you wanted to hold your hand against and share. 

A magnet, he was. His skin stuck to yours when it came into reach, but you made no effort to pull away. Arms wrapped snugly around his neck, you melted into him. Into the way his hands imprinted carnations into your back and soul. The little bottle containing the mark of your mortality would have Yeonjun’s name on it, his breath in it, and his touch around it. But you didn’t mind. His arms were always open for you, and you would never mind.

“Wait,” you mutter into his shoulder, reluctantly pulling away, “Can we go to your room?” And your question is a regular one. In any situation, it would make sense. Well, save some. Nonetheless, Yeonjun smiles widely upon hearing those words. It was common- every time you wanted to cuddle; you’d ask to go to his room. But the task was never carried out, yet you still tried.

Shoes wet and muddy, you find the reminder’s attempts to lower your mood futile. You step on the back of your heel, slipping off your shoe in the process. Your socks were removed soon after, the wet texture against your feet bringing you discomfort. You didn’t care much. Besides, nothing could remove the comfort Yeonjun brought to you.

As you walk to the hallway leading into Yeonjun’s room, you stop. In the spot you always do. Just three years ago, your soles set their first marking into the planks of the hallway. And eight years ago, when you first stopped in the hallway of Yeonjun’s parent’s house, standing next to the photograph of Yeonjun and you graduating from primary school.

You wore a dress, and he wore a display of his theft- his crime of stealing your heart ten times over. 

The photo frame hadn’t grown dust yet, it was new at the time. It wasn’t a frame with the fresh look of day or a week, but the accustomed warmth of a month. You never stopped to reminisce on the many photographs that laid in front of Yeonjun’s door, solely glazing your eyes over them before heading into his room.

But on the winter day where your tears laid as snowflakes against your cheeks, the memories were soft enough to linger over your tears without breaking you. Yeonjun, too, lingered. When he moved into his apartment, he remained. And now, he remains with his hand on your hip, pulling you into an embrace- the feeling of everything overwhelming you.

But you didn’t mind. Your body easily accepts Yeonjun’s touch. Yeonjun, the place where you can rest.

TAGLIST[perm]: @junoswrlld send an ask/dm to be added

[laurfilijames]

Even When...

Pairing: Pete Dunham x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: The flu. Mention of lack of appetite/nausea/eating. Taking aspirin. Small reference to sex. Some kissing and cuddling.

Summary: Pete gets home from work to find you sick with the flu.

A/N: I've been battling the flu all blasted week and would really love some Pete cuddles right now, so yeah, this is for me to escape and feel better. He is my official comfort character 💗

---

Pete confidently jogged up the steps of the dimly-lit stairwell two at a time, whistling the tune of ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’ as he went.

Even though his flat was nothing worth bragging over, he was always happy to come back to it at the end of the day, especially knowing you would be walking through the door only a couple hours after him once your workday was done.

He fished his keys out of the pocket of his jacket and quickly unlocked the door, still whistling as he pushed it open and walked through.

He abruptly stopped as soon as he stepped inside, seeing you curled up on the sofa with a blanket disguising all of you but the top of your head. Despite him being as quiet as possible, the noise made by the latch on the door as he closed and locked it made him wince, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't disturbed you.

You didn't move even the slightest, and though that was his goal, he felt nothing but worry.

You had intended to go to work today, he was sure of it, thinking back to seeing you cleaning your teeth in the bathroom in nothing but one of his West Ham shirts early this morning, having seemed yourself aside from being a bit tired which he assumed was his fault by keeping you up later than normal.

Everything else in the flat appeared as it usually was as he glanced around, giving him no indication as to what was wrong, making him frown as he slowly made his way over to where you lay unmoving.

Reaching his hand out to smooth up along your side, he perched on the edge of the sofa, watching your brows knit together tightly as you started to wake up.

"Hey, love," he whispered, "what's happened?"

Your eyes slowly blinked open, your eyelids feeling so heavy, the headache that was splitting through your skull intensifying just from that.

"I'm sick," you croaked, your voice brittle and small and revealing how depleted of energy you were.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, fully aware that his sofa was not at all comfortable, and even less so when feeling poorly.

"I don't want to give it to you," you explained, "I'll just sleep out here."

Pete chuckled, "Don't be daft, I'm around all those snotty kids day in and day out, my immune system is good as."

You sighed heavily, "I don't think I could even move if I wanted to."

"Right, come on," he encouraged gently, standing and removing his jacket.

He extended his hand for you to take, helping you slowly sit up, his eyes flickering over your peaky-looking features as you tried to get your bearings.

"I'm okay," you fibbed, feeling completely nauseous and dizzy as you stood.

Luckily, Pete was standing tall right in front of you, acting as a pillar of strength for you to grab onto as you swayed on unsteady legs.

Before you could register how you'd gotten there let alone protest it, you were scooped up in Pete's arms and being carried through to your bedroom, tucking your head in the crook of his neck appreciatively.

He set you down in your bed carefully, the back of his hand coming up to feel the temperature of your forehead after he had pulled the duvet up around you.

"Christ, you're on fire," he muttered.

"But I'm freezing," you whined, trying to bury yourself beneath the covers even more.

Pete frowned and exhaled heavily, wishing he could take this away from you.

He kissed your forehead and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze through the thick duvet, "Hang on, I'll be right back, yeah?"

He walked through to the bathroom, opening the cupboard door to rummage through for anything that would help, finally locating the bottle of aspirin.

Assuming you hadn't been able to eat anything, he popped a piece of bread in the toaster when he crossed through to the kitchen and filled up a glass of water, knowing the aspirin would make your empty stomach turn.

His fingers drummed impatiently as he waited for the toast to pop up, his mind racing to think of every possible thing that could help you feel better.

Finally, he made his way back to your room, setting the plate on the bedside table along with the bottle of pills and water.

"I need you to eat a bit of this," he instructed, seeing your one eye pop out from under the blankets to see what he was doing.

When you responded with a groan, he continued. "I know, love, but you need to take something for that fever and you haven't eaten all day, have you?"

You shook your head 'no', the thought of trying to keep anything down seeming like the biggest chore.

"Do what you can," he urged, taking his pillow and propping it up behind yours to make it easier for you to sit up without actually having to.

"Thanks, Pete," you spoke weakly, feeling on the verge of tears.

"'S alright, love." He leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips, then again on your forehead before walking back to the kitchen to put his work things away.

He grabbed his phone and rang up Dave, trying to think ahead of what you would want when you were actually able to eat something proper again.

"Hey, mate…yeah, good. Listen, does your Clair have any of that soup she made tucked away in the freezer? Sweet. Would you mind bringing it 'round? I'll leave the door unlocked, you can just pop it inside. You're a legend. Cheers mate…yeah, next round is on me." He laughed as Dave began giving him shit, telling him he'd believe it when he saw it, and hung up. A smile continued to dress his face as he thought how lucky he was to have such great friends who didn't think twice to help out when asked, and he knew your best friend's famous soup that you always went on about would make you happy and help give you the strength and energy to feel better when you eventually felt up to eating it.

Pete strode back to your room, lifting his jumper over his head as he walked through, giving you a nod as he set it on top of the dresser.

"How'd that go?"

You shrugged, "As good as it could, I guess."

He took the plate with the half-eaten toast on it from the bed and set it back on the nightstand, assessing you with silent worry as he unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Hmm, no," you murmured, tucking yourself back into the bed as deeply as you could.

"Right," he said, "shove over."

"...Pete-"

"Nah, nah, I won't hear it," he stopped you, climbing into bed in just his boxers, his body radiating a warmth that yours severely lacked.

You immediately curled up against him, wedging yourself as tightly as you could to him, smiling faintly into the side of his chest when he wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

"Comfy?" he asked, his lips moving against the top of your head when he spoke.

"Mmm, yeah."

You closed your eyes and breathed him in, feeling marginally better just by having him with you, the feel of his warm skin against yours bringing a bit of life back to you.

"I'm sorry you're sick, darling," he whispered, shifting slightly so he could kiss the side of your face.

"Pete, seriously, I don't want to get you sick," you moaned, though through a smile.

"Seriously, I'll be fine," he mocked, making more of a point by kissing every part of your face that he could until he landed on your lips. His hand reached up to cradle your cheek, continuing to kiss you tenderly until you forgot for a moment that you were sick at all.

"Let's get you better, yeah?" he vowed, his blue eyes filled with a mix of concern and hope as he searched your features.

You flashed him another weak smile as he let his fingers linger on your cheek, trailing down so his thumb rested on your bottom lip.

"I love you," he said, his tone serious.

You looked up at him, the urge to kiss and touch every part of him overwhelming and making you feel more frustrated that you were ill. "Even when I'm poorly?"

"Even when you're poorly," he smiled.

"I love you, too, Pete."

Tucking your head back into the space between his chest and his neck, you settled in against him, thankful to have such a sweet and caring Hooligan in your life to help look after you.

"Get some sleep, love," he hummed, his soothing words trailing off to allow you to focus on the sound of his calm breathing and steady, assured heartbeat.

---

Part 2

Taglist:

@stealfromthedevil @theesirenteller @inbar-thomas1980

[sencity]

yandere!botanist x gn!darling, pt. one . . .

˚₊ ꒰ nightmare fuel 𝄁︎ obsessive behavior, the calm before the storm.

˚₊ ꒰ word count 𝄁︎ 792.

˚₊ ꒰ key 𝄁︎ crossed out red texts indicate sencha’s thoughts. blue text indicate sencha’s messages. purple text indicate y/n's messages.

˚₊ ꒰ sen’s statement(s) 𝄁︎ you’re more than likely to find my oc’s information here along with the rest of them. sencha’s a rusted gem, so polish him up a bit before handling him for me, ‘kay?

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who is your next-door neighbor and a close friend sitting in his coniferous garden, plucking a bourbon rose while playing a silly little game of “she loves me, she loves me not” even though he’s received the “not” end a plethora of times. yet, he’s not letting up, believing that he needs to try different flowers causing her to sit in a pile of flower petal …

“they love me… they love me so not… they love me! i knew i just have to try harder to get them to understand…this is perfect! next step is buying them a ring one day!”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who gives you different herbs for teas and restoratives daily in order to keep you healthy and nourished! because there’s no telling what pharmacists are putting in those lousy pills we call pain killers of yours. anything to keep you living for as long as…forever! …

“gingko can be used as antioxidants, but please don’t take too much, okay? actually, i’ll divide them into perfect amounts. i’ll make sure that you’re never ever sick, bee…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who studies plants and flowers to the point where he lacks so much sleep just to perfect bouquets for you. he’s up taking the time to tell you each and every individual meaning and fact behind each flower and why it reminds him of you. heliotropes to symbolize his eternal devotion towards you, amaranths to immortalize his love for you, and calla lilies to represent your magnificent beauty.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who also plants your favorite fruits and vegetables, don’t wanna get poisoned ones from grocery stores, they could be contaminated and make you sick! (even though part of him wishes for it to happen so he has an excuse to take care of you).

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who tears up at the sight of your excitement when you planted a flower of your own in a garden he built just for you. the bud was emerging from the soil and seeing you geeking over the fact that your flower was actually growing made his heart swell up with pride and mental adulation. word on the street says if he ever feels gloomy, he thinks about that moment and falls asleep with the biggest smile on his face.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who is easy to please. a pat on the head washes away his frantic mind. a kiss on the cheek causes him to short circuit and never wash away the area on his cheek you’ve kissed. a simple thank you and the slightest smile makes his stomach do backflips, stammering over his words before he simply just closed his mouth and nodded frantically, his body bursting with tingles that feels like butterflies in the breeze.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who gets very slick-mouthed and petty when you invite someone over and you don’t have time for him. you would think you would get used to his mouth, let alone him getting used to you being around other people, and yet he still behaves in such a way, and somehow he gets more blunt …

“flower boy, where are your cups?”

“oh? they’re really lame did the person you chatted with not have any? how could they not find y/n the tallest glass in the world?”

“if they did, i wouldn’t have asked you.”

“they seemed to have pretty big cups, honey… ones that you couldn’t keep your eyes off o-”

“ALRIGHT.”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who does/shows you everything for your validation and approval because without it he’s wilting in despair. he worked so hard on his flower pressed portrait and surprised you with it with the happiest (yet hopeful) smile. he, once again, leaped joyously when you beamed and praised him, giggling while hiding his face behind the painting, which caused only his blushed ears to be the star of the scene.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who has a personal notebook that pertains to you and questions he wants to ask you when he finally has the courage to. he writes in it especially when you’re around to remember and study all the things you tell about yourself; it just looks like he’s studying another flower, but instead coming up with more ways to please you and learn all about you.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! whose heartbeat was the only thing he could hear when your first flower you planted was the one he gave to you as a welcoming to the neighborhood. a potted marigold which you gifted him blithely and nostalgically. you then burst into laughter when he began with the waterworks, awwing him when he embraced you so suddenly, your feet lifting from the ground during the process …

“y-you’re the absolute kindest! thank you so much, y/n… you’re really a godsend… no, i’m being sincere! they’re so clueless it’s so cute i mean… just look at you! i wouldn’t want anything else in the universe, not even life itself…not a single flower…”

© all rights reserved 𝄁︎ sencity. plagiarism will not be tolerated on this blog but addressed and chastised accordingly.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Okay, I've finally collected my post-rewatch thoughts on the CX clones, and have two major points. Allow me to state in advance that, while my thoughts are... mixed (to say the least), this is NOT intended to bash the show's creative teams.

First, let's tackle the subject of CX2.

Let's make one thing perfectly clear: there were clear indicators that CX2 could be Tech. I went into season 3 NOT wanting CX2 to be Tech, AT ALL, so the fact that I left "Point of No Return" thinking chances were high that a Tech-X reveal was coming really says something. Even rewatching with the understanding that CX2 was apparently intended to be a shadow of Crosshair (per Jen Corbett), the Tech parallels couldn't be ignored. Others have spelled out exhaustive lists of the parallels; for me personally, the things that stood out and STILL read as Tech-coded to me are: 1) the dude moves like Tech, 2) looks like Tech with all his gadgetry/pouches that also link directly to his ship (Crosshair never had pouches nor is he ever shown to be the primary pilot, of course he has some level of flight training but he even gives the flying reins over to Omega), 3) there are at least four instances where he sounds just like Tech to me (Tech says "Who are you?" twice with the same cadence in season 1, so the fact that CX2 uses the same exact speech pattern... well, let's just say if I had a nickel for every time...), and 4) some of his word choices are precisely what Tech would say (it might be cliche by now but I am telling you, CX2 dropped the word "Domicile" and that was THE moment that I squinted at my screen and literally said out loud "Tech, is that you?" [insert Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme]).

Thing is, there are also several times where CX2 sounds like Crosshair to me, and most of the time he sounds like a reg under the distortion. In terms of sniping skills, he really is more on par with Crosshair compared to Tech (precise though Tech may be), and all regs seem to have some level of the other physical/weapons skills CX2 possesses.

My point? During my rewatch, all these details ended up coming across even more strongly to me as purposeful misdirection to ramp up speculation and interest. Of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using red herrings. It was actually really fun to speculate and even joke over whether CX2 was Cody or Soup Clone or Dogma (back when we were young and naive and thought the CX's might actually be redeemed). What I personally DON'T care for in the slightest is the trick of not only allowing the fate of a fan-favorite character to be left ambiguous all season long (and some would even argue it remains so now) but ALSO including several prominent hints that make said character (who is supposed to be dead) a red herring, especially considering that some of the fanbase (including me) was truly hoping for a comeback for the character for various reasons. And now, part of me is glad that CX2 wasn't specifically revealed to be Tech after Hunter skewered him, but I'm still screaming into the void over the fact that they didn't even bother to make THAT point crystal clear!

(I'm not going to touch on the gaslighting that has occurred within the fandom (cough Reddit cough) over the CX2=Tech evidence. That's on the fans, not the creative team, especially since I know the creatives are very limited in what they can talk about and how they can word things.)

As it stands now, frustrating though it is that Tech was used as a red herring, and much as I think there might have been some odd rewrites regarding this plot point, I'm taking the firm stance that the CX2 we saw skewered was NOT Tech. If Tech comes back, I want him to either have been living with amnesia or been kept in stasis somewhere on Tantiss. Preferably amnesia, with Omega or Echo finding him and bringing him home.

Second, my thoughts on the CXs as a whole.

I... am not sure what the overall point of them was supposed to be, besides being cool-looking baddies (and we already had plenty of those). Prove how awful the Empire is (as if that point hasn't already been made abundantly clear)? Prove how awful Hemlock is? Prove that Hemlock can do even worse to clones than even Palpatine was able to do? But if we're talking about how awful Hemlock's experiments are and the absolute horror the clones go through, why are we ultimately supposed to be glad/relieved that the CXs all die (including via suicide chip and assassination by fellow operative) and the CX-Batch are defeated in a boss fight? And it gets even muddier since the little characterization we have for the CXs is all over the place.

Let's take CX2 as an example again: he is a big meanie, a bigger meanie than CX1 who tried to kill our favorite senators Singh and Chuchi. He disobeys Wolffe. He kills CX1. He gets Nemik and other clones killed. He tries to drown Crosshair. He tortures Cid (mixed feelings on whether that actually makes him a meanie...) He obeys Hemlock's order to get the kid or else... But then he disregards the order to terminate the other Batchers if they get in the way (HE SHOOTS HIS OWN PILOT INSTEAD OF HUNTER), only targets the citizens' "means of escape," is borderline civil to Shep, and actually heeds Omega's plea to leave Pabu alone. So maybe he's not as much of a meanie...? (If he's supposed to be a brainwashed Imperial shadow of Crosshair, may I remind you that Imperial Crosshair murdered civilians and a member of his own team when they proved the slightest bit refractory and/or didn't have the intel he wanted.) But then he chops off Crosshair's hand. And after that - well, doesn't matter much anymore if he's a meanie or not. Apparently everything he did meant he was irredeemable.

Maybe we're just supposed to root for the "regular" CXs. It's the regular CXs Rex talks to when he offers help and a way back to the clones he manages to capture. But we only meet two of these "regular" shadows and hear of others alluded to, and these shadows die before we really get to know them. So maybe we're not supposed to have had enough time to care about these shadows after all. Maybe Rex's line is meant to illustrate how far gone they are (except CX2 kills CX1 before that plot point can really be explored), or to illustrate Rex's stance on wanting to help any and all clones (as if this had to be clarified any further).

And then... Well, there's not much to say about the CX-Batch. They have super cool character designs. The one CX-Batcher getting unhelmeted is admittedly the one and only solid bit of in-show proof I have that CX2 was a regular clone. They are evil and killing people left and right and must be put down. I guess they're meant to be shadows of what the Bad Batch might have been had they joined the Empire, but I can't help but see the message as: if the Empire tortures and experiments on you long and hard enough against your will, you're irredeemable, which is kinda odd in a show which has choice as a main theme (I mean, come on, we start with clones who were born to be soldiers with no choice in the matter, to ending with Omega choosing to be a soldier of her own free will after other clones had the choice to stop being soldiers). Maybe if it was clear that the CXs had volunteered to become CXs, the message would be different.

In conclusion: to say that my thoughts on the CXs are complicated is an understatement. Frankly I would have no trouble overlooking the confusing handling of the CXs if the show had just handled Tech's death better rather than allowing him to become inextricably linked with the CXs (even if only in speculation/theory). Despite this, I still love the show (including season 3) and still applaud the overall brilliance of the creative teams.

[bi-bats]

trick or treat!! 3-sentence fic or wip sneak peak? (up to u!)

HELLOOOOO MY BELOVED!! HAPPY HALLOWEEENNNNNNNN

For YOU I have a snippet of the one shot I'm working on that was like. supposed to be a drabble for the prompt you sent me and has gotten. long. lmao.

also it's going to be a fic with smut in it and I haven't even gotten to the smut yet and it's already 2.5k words lmao

so here my TRIUMPHANT RETURN TO WRITING JAYTIM

~ ✨ ~

“Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?”

Jason blinks at him.

“Did… I’m sorry. Did you just say you could give me a massage?”  

Tim’s face burns furiously hot. What does he say, no? 

Well. He kind of wants to say no, actually. Maybe he can just gaslight his way out of this one—

No, no. Jason heard. 

Damn. 

He tries to say yes, but it tilts up into a question at the end. 

“Yes?” 

Jason blinks at him, and Tim’s skin feels too tight. The material of the couch is suddenly itchy on the back of his arms, but the heat on his face distracts him from it. Mostly.

“…Okay.” 

There’s a stutter in Tim’s breathing, the slightest hitch between in and out, right after Jason answers. It’s unnoticeable.

If you aren’t a bat.

Jason raises an eyebrow, because of course he fucking noticed.

Tim can’t just sit there while Jason looks at him like that, so he moves. 

He shifts forward on the couch, scooting an inch or two closer and waving his hands in what he hopes is a gesture indicating ‘turn around so I can rub your shoulders’ and not ‘I have no idea what to do with my hands right now this is so awkward why did I offer this oh my god’. 

He’s probably fine. The gesture for that would have had more flapping. 

Probably. 

It still takes Jason a second to get in gear. He shrugs, tilting his head to the side in a way that says something like ‘eh, why not’, which isn’t exactly what Tim had been hoping for when offering to touch a guy he’s had a crush on since he knew what crushes were, but he’s letting Tim do it, so it’s better than rejecting—

Jason slides his shirt off in a smooth motion, reaching over the back of his head to grab the neck of it and tug it off. 

It’s like one of those fucking thirst trap reels on Instagram.

Tim was just watching him move over on the couch while his thoughts went on a little spiral, and then Jason reached for the back of his shirt, and bam.

The lights drop, the music starts, the speed slows down, and Tim can see every ripple in the muscles of Jason’s forearm, every inch of skin revealing as he lifts the shirt, every angle of the dips in his spine, every scar, every scab, every damn freckle — for god’s sake, he can even see about a half an inch of elastic above the top of his pants. 

It’s red. 

Of course it’s red. 

Tim takes a deep breath, trying to disguise it by shifting closer to Jason, who’s sitting with his back to Tim, his arms threaded through the shirt in his lap. 

He can do this. He can do this. 

It’s just a massage. 

“Come on, Timbo. Let’s see what those scrawny fingers got.” 

Tim lets out an exasperated scoff, and Jason’s shoulders shake two or three times as he chuckles. 

He considers digging an elbow into Jason’s spine, just to be an asshole, but he has a better plan. 

He’s going to wow him. It’s going to be the best damn massage in his life. 

Scrawny fingers, Tim grumbles in his head as he places his hand down on Jason’s left shoulder. 

Immediately, Jason flinches and lets out a noise of surprise, and Tim flinches back because he’s surprised.

Great start.

“Jesus fuck, your fingers are like ice!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tim mutters, even though he isn’t, not really. Still, he rubs his hands together quickly, just a few times to get some of the cold out of them. 

He puts his hands back on Jason’s shoulders, and Jason stiffens, but he doesn’t flinch away this time. 

Okay. Good. 

Tim starts applying pressure, rubbing up and down the muscles, and after a few moments, it’s easier to shift into a more clinical headspace, even with the warmth of his skin seeping through Tim’s fingers. 

“Where is it bothering you?” he asks. 

“Oh, uh. By my spine. And…” Jason pauses for a moment while Tim’s palm digs into the meat of his shoulder, and when he resumes speaking, his voice is a little higher. “…my neck.” 

Tim nods, letting his palm dig in again. He wishes he had lotion or something. Jason’s skin drags against his every time he moves his hand, and it’s uncomfortable. Also, Jason’s skin is warm, flushing pink under the area he’s been rubbing, and… a little bit up his neck, too actually. The tips of his ears are pink, Tim realizes as he works his way up to the crook of Jason’s neck. 

He digs his thumb into the muscle right by the top of Jason’s shoulder, and he’s just starting to lose himself in it when he hears a breathy noise, almost like… 

No. No, Tim’s making shit up. Jason did not audibly moan. Tim is putting things where he wants them to be, because that’s what he wants.

On the next roll of his palm, Jason says, “Ngh, Christ, Tim.”

With Tim’s hand frozen on his shoulder, he can feel the way Jason tenses, has a front row seat to the burst of color across his neck.

Thank god they’re in Jason’s apartment. In Jason’s living room. With Jason’s cameras recording. He doesn’t have to memorize the way that sounded coming out of Jason’s mouth.

No, he can go hack into his files and save it as a clip and then back it up on three separate servers, and then also a hard drive, and maybe also on a USB in a lockbox buried in the woods somewhere, because he doesn’t think he can live another moment of his life without having access to the way his name sounded coming out of Jason’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” Jason mutters, and he sounds… meek? It’s weird, but Tim doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jason sound shy. 

“No worries,” Tim says, feeling like he’s regained some ground. 

“You can… make noise,” Tim adds. 

Immediately, he feels like he’s lost that ground. 

Jason clears his throat a little. “No, it’s — it’s fine, I’m good. You can, uh. Keep going.” 

A grin tugs across his mouth as he resumes his massage, listening to the way Jason’s breathing is getting heavier. 

“I thought my fingers were scrawny?”

[winchesterszvonecek]

“ you know, i talk to a lot of people every single day. i hear all their voices telling me all kinds of stuff; i hear it all. and the only voice i really wanna listen to is yours, you know? even when you’re driving me crazy. so come on. please… just drive me crazy again? “

Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek x fem

From The Loudest Silence Prompt List

Love your work 😊🩷

Loudest Silence - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Prompt: “You know, I talk to a lot of people every single day. I hear all their voices telling me all kinds of stuff; I hear it all. And the only voice I really wanna listen to is yours, you know? Even when you’re driving me crazy. So come on. Please… Just drive me crazy again?”

Word Count: 1296

Warnings: female!reader

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You didn’t like shutting yourself away from people. Didn’t like having them worry about you and whether or not you were going to slip and do something they couldn’t save you from. Otis especially. You hated hiding yourself away from him but after yesterday's shift, after what you saw, what you heard, you couldn’t help but want to lock yourself away from the world. And everyone in it.

“Baby?” Otis’s soft voice called through the wood of your bedroom door, a gentle knock following behind as he waited patiently for you to respond. He knew you more than likely wouldn't, given that the door was locked, a clear indication that you wanted to be left alone, but he’d be damned if he stopped himself from trying. “Please open the door… I’m worried about you.”

A few moments of silence went by, silence in which Otis’s stomach tied itself together so tightly that it felt like he was about to be snapped in half at the waist. He couldn’t help but think the worst when he didn’t hear your soft voice reply back to him like you normally did. Even if you’d just told him to go away, he’d happily take that as at least then he knew you were semi-okay, but to get nothing but silence in return, it worried him greatly.

Otis had never seen you like this before, not even after the railroad incident where you and Mills saw that little girl scattered across the tracks, well mostly you as you shielded Mills from it given that he was barely a few months into his candidacy position and you didn’t want to him to be scarred for life so soon. You’d locked yourself away after that too but never to the point where you actually locked the door and refused to let Otis in, even though it was his bedroom too. But he never said anything about it as he didn’t care about sleeping on the couch at night. All he cared about was you and whether you were okay.

“You know…” Otis began, unsure whether this would work but he was willing to give it a try. “I talk to a lot of people every single day. We both do… I hear all their voices telling me all kinds of stuff; I hear it all. And the only voice I really wanna listen to is yours, you know? Even when you’re driving me crazy. So come on. Please… Just drive me crazy again?”

Otis was practically begging at this point. Pleading. Praying for even just the slightest noise to leave your lips. To tell him you were okay. To tell him that you just needed time to yourself. Hell even if you’d just tell him to go away or tell him off for leaving his socks on the floor again. At this point he’d take anything he could get just to know you were still with him. And as he stood there, his hands a little shaky as nothing but silence engulfed the air around him, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get to hear anything leave your mouth except the sobs that haunted his nightmares.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone...” Otis sighed in defeat, his forehead pressing against the door as he briefly shut his eyes. “But just remember that I love you and if you need to talk, I’m here… I’m always here.”

The click of the doors lock had Otis’s eyes snap open, his head flying back as he straightened his position. It took a few seconds of hesitation before he watched the door open in real time, and when your blotchy, tear stained face came into view, your eyes puffy and red from crying, it broke his heart more than anything ever had.

“I didn’t think you’d ever beg me to drive you crazy.” You chuckled weakly, a small, almost unnoticeable, smile appearing on your face. One no one but Otis would be able to notice and one that made all the tension in his chest slowly start to fade away as he never thought he’d ever get to see you smile again.

“At this point I’d take whatever I can get just to hear your voice.” Otis said softly and with a gentle smile as he stepped forward and across the doorway, bringing one hand up to your face where he ghosted his thumb just below your eye, feeling the dampness of your tears beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your lip trembling as your eyes began to water again, making Otis close the gap between your bodies and pull yours against his, wrapping his arms tightly around you as you buried your face deep into the crook of his neck. “I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

“Don’t apologise.” Otis said soothingly, stroking the back of your hair the way he knew you liked. He turned his head a little, placing a long, lingering kiss on the side of yours as he held you, allowing you to cry in his arms rather than on your own like you had been.

“You left your socks on the floor again.” You mumbled into his neck, the hotness of your breath causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt across his skin before he pulled back just a little, having not made out what you said.

“What’s that?” He asked quietly, making you look up at him through glassy eyes.

“You left your socks on the floor.” You repeated, making the corners of his lips twitch upwards a little. “And you left the toilet seat up. Again.” You added, making him chuckle softly and shake his head a little.

“I guess I brought this on myself by asking you to drive me crazy.” He chuckled, cupping your face with both hands as he stared deeply into your eyes, the intense pain you were feeling still hidden behind the facade you were so good at putting on. “Which you don’t by the way, you could never drive me crazy… I just needed a way to get you to see me.”

“I know.” You nodded briefly, looking down before Otis lifted your face back up to eye level. “I just didn’t want to burden you with all of this.” You gestured around yourself, as though motioning to your ability to allow even the smallest of incidents to turn you into a mere shell of a person.

“Baby, you’re not burdening me… You could never burden me.” Otis said assuringly, using his thumbs to wipe away the few tears that had fallen from your eyes before he lowered his hand to take yours, bringing them up between your chests where he ran his thumb over your engagement ring. “This right here… This means that I’m here for you, no matter what. No matter how much of a burden you think you’re being, I can tell you that you’re not, otherwise I’d have never asked you to marry me.”

“I’m so lucky to have you.” You whispered, your voice breaking a little as you looked down at your joined hands, feeling the warm tears drip from your eyes and land atop your skin.

“I’m definitely the lucky one in our relationship, but I’ll take that as a compliment.” Otis chuckled, his heart warming when you returned it with a soft laugh of your own. “Now come here.” He pulled you back into his arms, allowing you to rest your head against his chest, where you could hear the beat of his heart that he often told you belonged to you. “I love you, you know that right?”

“I know.” You replied, kissing his chest, just above his heart before you rubbed your cheek against the softness of his t-shirt. “And I love you too.”

Prompt List

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[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Chapter 8

WARNING: The following story contains mentions of drugs, violence, and death.

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Alphonse: "Now, then....let's get down to business."

Mr. Alphonse walks up to the Director's side and deliberately whispered something into his ear.

Alphonse: "I would like to confirm that the telegram sent by the Marquis has been properly processed, if I may?"

Director: "Yes, of course. Upstairs, please."

The director did not give the slightest indication of doubt and agreed to him with two words.

Alphonse: "Mr. Roger, will you take care of Lord El for me?"

Roger: "Yeah...timing is running out, so keep that in mind."

Alphonse: "Of course, I understand."

Mr. Alphonse climbed the stairs, looking familiar with the tragic scene.

----I have yet to accept the reality that is right in front of me.

(What should I....do now?)

Roger: "I guess I'll search the workshop until he pulls his intel."

Girl with empty eyes: "..........Ah........"

(.......!)

As I stood there in a daze, a girl with a heavy-looking bag staggered out in front of me and rolled over with a small groan.

Kate: "A-Are you okay......?"

William: "......!"

My body which was supported by William moved reflexively, crouching down and picking up the girl.

Kate: "Are you hurt anywhere?"

But she was emaciated and trembling, just sharing blankly into the void.

Kate: "Ah......"

(......Already)

(She can't even say 'ouch' or 'help')

(No matter how hard she screams, no one....will be able to reach out to her)

I recognized those vacant eyes, as if they had given up on everything.

William: "....Kate."

William's voice that was calling me is far far away.

"What are you shocked about?"

"Until now, you have a habit of pretending not to see it."

A voice came from inside my head and the notebook in my pocket heaved like a stone.

(......That's right, I was.....)

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Today's delivery is a single love letter addressed to a boy. Just before he received it, the letter was taken from him by his father.

When the boy glared at his father who said 'Convenient, go squeeze some money out of him'. The father assaulted him....

Delivering an acceptance letter from the university to the second daughter of a viscountess. Expecting her to be delighted, she ripped it up and threw it away.

Crying half-madly, saying she's forced to marry someone for the sake of her house....

From a woman with a baby in her arms who was picking up scraps from the river and selling them,

He entrusted me with a letter, asking me to give it to the father of the child. However, someone else was living at that address....

Once the door is closed, there is nothing the delivery person can do.

(Deliver an important letter filled with your thoughts)

(Someone's thoughts move someone's heart. I loved such moments)

However, we also see situations where feelings are trampled upon and turned into sadness and despair.

Every time I encounter such a situation, I just want to do something about it, but my mind is just spinning.

(In the end, there was nothing we could do about it)

(I'll take out my sadness and anger that I have nowhere else to go and record what I see in my notebook)

Even though I knew that while I was doing so, someone's heart was dying.

We pretend to be understanding and to live our trivial and happy lives peacefully.

Swallow the voice of your heart.....swallow it.

(That's why I killed it)

(My heart and my voice)

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "If it is not going to come true, it is easier to live in paralysis than in hope."

----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(You're right)

(It is painful to hold on to a wish that cannot be fulfilled)

William: "Kate."

A gentle tap on the shoulder makes me gasp.

William: ".....You look pale."

------Options-------

I'm fine

Sorry

I'm sick

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

Kate: ".....Sorry....excuse me....."

William: "Why are you apologizing?"

(I want to help. I want to help you all)

(But I could never, ever do that)

A sense of helplessness and emptiness fills the sadness and not even a tear will flow.

Kate: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't...do anything."

I didn't know if I was talking to William or the girl in my arms.

I didn't know if it was to someone I had abandoned until now.

William: "No one can save everyone they see."

Kate: "Eh.....?"

I raised my head, after hearing the pessimistic words that came out of his mouth.

William: "You absorb each and every thought of others to the point that it spills out of your hands."

William: "You are so kind that you feel guilty that you couldn't save them."

William: "That's all there is to it, isn't it?"

William: "Just because you couldn't save them, doesn't mean you have to kill yourself. Kate."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "Just because you couldn't save them, doesn't mean you have to kill yourself. Kate."

(Ah............)

Kate: "But....I....."

(This is not kindness. It's not beautiful)

I wanted to turn a blind eye and make it disappear the shamefulness, ugliness, and guilty.

(So much so)

(I didn't allow it.....so easily)

Something that had been stuck in my throat for a long time, something that had been holding me down in my chest for a long time.

I am impatient as I feel the night breeze snatching me away and quietly pulling me away.

(....Too naive to feel all if forgiven with just one word like this)

Kate: "I...."

(Even though I'm....too spoiled)

I bit my lip unable to forgive myself for being so pleased and William's fingertips gently traced there.

It was as if the pain was wiped away with all the black lees that had built up in my chest.

William: "I think I finally figured out why you're killing your voice."

William: "Haven't you had enough of punishing yourself?"

Kate: "....... ........mm..."

The back of my eyes was burning hot and I couldn't help but look away.

(.....No)

The tears that were about to be lured out are pushed to the back of the throat.

(William's kindness is too unforgiving.....)

Once poured, the comfort is irresistible.

William knelt down beside me and gently stroked the head of the girl in my arms.

William: "You should get some sleep. The next time you wake up, all the bad dreams will be gone."

She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes.

(....It's as if just a touch washes away the pain)

If there is such a thing as magic, it is either a universal elixir or a fast-acting deadly poison.

Roger: "Hey you guys, we're almost there."

Mr. Roger, who was standing near the doorway, looks up with a tense voice.

Elbert: "........Did you find anything?"

Roger: "The Marquis is said to be sheltered in a house owned by the Privy Council in North London."

Kate: "! How did you find that out, Mr. Roger.....?"

(Mr. Roger was standing here with us all this time......)

Roger: "I heard what Al was saying to the directors upstairs."

Kate: "You heard?"

William: "Anomalous Hearing. That's Roger's ability."

Roger: "I've got about a 100-yard radius of defense. Be careful, what you say in private, young lady."

(F-For real?)

Roger: "So, Al's ability has worn off and he has realized something is wrong. I can hear them fighting up there."

Roger: "That's why I told him to watch out for the time."

Elbert: ".......Maybe he did it on purpose."

Roger: "I know. Tsk, still a bad character as ever, I'll give you that."

William: "Well, I'm sure he will be fine........But just in case, I'm going to go cover him."

William: "Kate, can you stand?"

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "Kate, can you stand?"

Kate: ".......Yes. I'm fine."

I stand up with the girl in my arms.

(Even though she is skinny, she still have some amount of weight)

(If it's not too late, even now)

(I want to save the life in my arms)

.........

Strong-looking man: "We got company! The stairs!"

When I looked up, I saw a group of strong-looking men, who did not look like employees of the workhouse, waiting for us at the top of the stairs.

Elbert: "..........Voice......it's loud....."

(.....What's happening there? I'm curious too.....?)

Roger: "Why can't he just let everyone have a good dream until the end of the day.... That Al guy, dereliction of duty, I guess?"

William: "We've got the information we came for. So he has done his job well."

Roger: "Sweet."

With a steady click on his shoes, William ascends the stairs.

Strong-looking man: "Kill them! Don't let them get away!"

William: "Everyone, stay where you are."

With a creaking sound, the men stopped moving.

William: "How does it feel to be shackled?"

Strong-looking man: "W-What....I can't...move...!"

My stomach clenches as I find the face of the man who dragged the boy who had just been screaming earlier.

They have been easily trampling on the lives of these people. Now the Crown will punish them.

(I don't think it's 'justice'. But.....I can't stop it because it's 'evil')

It must have been feeling it deep in my chest.

I feel anger and sadness toward the 'evil' that tramples on the feelings of others.

The one who can twist absurdity with overwhelming power is.....

I was looking at William.

Strong-looking man: "Hey you! What the hell did you do to us?"

William: "Same thing you did to the people underground."

Strong-looking man: "What..the hell!?"

Alphonse: "Excuse me, can you let me through."

The face of the man standing in the center of the room is contorted in pain.

A sword with flowing ornamentation was piercing through his body.

Strong-looking man: "Nn ARGH.....!"

Alphonse: "Oh my, what an uninteresting death rattle. I was expecting more."

Looking down at the man who had fallen down with a thud, Mr. Alphonse muttered in a bored tone.

Roger: "What happened? You look pissed."

Alphonse: "Yeah. I dislike this workhouse."

Though he said he disliked it, Mr. Alphonse looked more amused than usual.

Alphonse: "Besides, they are all dirty. There's no reason to keep them alive in this facility, right?"

Roger: "Well, if the information leaks out to the Marquis, there's a chance he'll escape. Have you taken care of everyone except for these guys?"

Alphonse: "Yeah, all the way through."

Alphonse: "The police won't even notice for a few weeks or even months...."

Alphonse: "When they find the body, they won't even do an autopsy. Why an autopsy for dead bodies in a place like this, right?"

William: "You heard him, gentlemen."

Then the men, who had been screaming in hushed tones, gasped and fell silent.

William: "I'd love to hear more of the invective, but unfortunately, we don't have that kind of time."

William: "Let's put an end to this nightmare."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

When the men's screams subsided, the workhouse fell silent.

(....Not so fast)

I had a certain anger inside me toward the 'butterfly' people who had done such terrible things to the people underground.

However, when they were condemned for it in front of me.....all that welled up in my heart was a deep sadness and emptiness.

(William.....?)

(I wonder how William feels)

He has his usual good-natured smile on his face, but I don't know if he is laughing from the bottom of his heart.

(...I wish I could see through his mind like he does mine)

Not knowing, for some reason, I felt more frustrated than ever.

Roger: "We have the information. Witnesses have been handled. All that's left is...."

Kate: "! Let's rescue the people in the basement. Let's contact the police....Ah."

Elbert: ".........Sorry......Kate. We can't call the police."

(That's right....if we call the police now, then)

Roger: "There are people from the 'butterfly' within the police force. If they get involved, of course, the Marquis will know and he will escape."

Kate: "That's right....."

(But we can't get all those people out of the basement by ourselves)

Alphonse: "We are here to extract information about the Marquis of Avalus, not for charity."

Kate: ".....I know."

The purpose of the Crown is to eliminate the source of the problem so that there will be no more victims.

(But the people who have been hurt....can't stand up by themselves)

I racked my brains frantically for some way to help.

(It's not the right thing to ask the Crown. It's selfish of me to want to help, but.....)

Kate: "Can you at least let me take her to the hospital?"

William: "......"

I held the sleeping girl in my arms tightly.

(If not all of them, then at least the one I'm holding in my arms right now.....I don't want to give up now)

Until now, I have stopped at closed doors and pretended not to see them.

But now, I am standing behind a closed door.

(If I can take one step forward...and then another step)

Kate: "Of course, I'm in a position to be monitored. I know I can't act alone when you guys are on a mission."

Kate: "I'll be back as soon as I leave her. I promise not to tell anyone about the situation either....!"

Alphonse: "What if we say we don't trust you....?"

Kate: "In that case....."

Elbert: "In that case.......?"

(This is a sneaky way to do this, but......)

Kate: ".....If I go to the hospital on my own, you'll have to go after me, right?"

Kate: "You have been given the task of watching over me by her Majesty, the Queen."

Al and El: "............."

Roger: "Heh. You're going to use us as leverage to get us to come in handy on your mission?"

Kate: *gulps*

(Even if it's cunning, even if it's not powerful enough to save them all, even if it's selfish)

(I can't leave her in a place like this)

Kate: ".......Y-Y-Yes."

William: "Hehahahaha!"

Kate: "!?"

William: "Can't believe you're trying to bargain with us....."

William: "You got some nerve, Kate?"

One eyebrow jumps up and William shakes his shoulder in amusement.

(Eh.....Huh.....?)

I was prepared to be criticized, but he smiled so happily that I didn't know what kind of face to make.

William: "I'd love to see you take advantage of us, but unfortunately.....that will have to wait until another time."

Kate: "! Then."

(Will you let me take her to the hospital.....?)

William: "Ah look, my men are here."

Soon after, the doors of the workhouse open quietly and a group of men entered without making a noise.

Alphonse: "Fufu....as always spectacular, isn't it? Servants wearing black. They look like an army of ants."

Kate: "T-They are....?"

William: "These are the people who chose to do this nasty job, who like to be dictated to by my selfishness."

William: "When numbers count, they are all over England. Ethan, on behalf of everyone, say hello to Kate."

A man, with ash gray hair, stepped out of the bunch and bowed reverently.

Ethan: "I am the head butler. I rarely appear like this, but I would like to make your acquaintance."

Kate: ".......Thank you for your help. My name is Kate. Pleased to meet you."

After a hasty bow, he had a few small conversations with William and then descended to the basement quietly as they came.

Roger: "They came early. You, by the way, were almost certain this place was dirty."

William: "Well, that's how it was."

William: "Kate, they will take the people in the basement to the hospital. Are you relieved now?"

(Huh.....)

Kate: "Forgive me! I made a mistake...."

Roger: "It's fine. Knowing the possibility that William was arranging it, Alphonse and I were also at fault."

Alphonse: "Oh my, can you please not make me look bad?"

Kate: "H-How embarrassing....I want to go inside a hole and never come out....."

William: "What's so embarrassing about it?"

William: "You raised your voice without fear. You're the most charming person I've ever met."

William's knuckles caress my flaming cheeks.

(.....?)

His eyes seemed to be on me with a slightly different kind of heat than before.

My heart was filled with a restless feeling as if something hot was stirring deep inside my body.

William: "My eyes were not deceiving me."

William: "You are noble, greedy,.....kind and strong."

Chapter 9

[chrissbluehat]

Nervous

Part 1 2 3

Pairing : y/n and Chris Sturniolo

Summary: You lived a pretty standard life, you kept to yourself mostly, and never felt you drew the eyes of anyone. Though this always felt conflicting when comparing yourself to friends. This was until a boy came into your life and flipped it completely around.

I didn't realise I had part 4 in my drafts this whole time.

I thought about her words for the rest of the day, confusion running through me causing my head to spin. I thought back to every time they spoke about him but my mind fell blank, nothing that filled in the blank was rising to the surface. I paced around the space in my room searching for answers but nothing worked, I collapsed onto my bed and buried my head into my pillow. They were never explicit when they spoke about him, I could never work out what they were trying which made me usually feel disconnected from them but now I was just annoyed. Annoyed that I'm expected to follow along with the rest of them as if I was even close enough with them to understand why I was to act this way. 

My confusion was blending into slight irritation, Maisie at the root of it all. I didn’t understand her personal agenda with my friendship with Chris which led me to question other things. I wonder if they ever dated, no I didn’t want to think about it. I tried to force the idea out of my head, trying to think of anything else to fill my mind but my focus was only on the idea of them. I knew he’d been with girls before but not knowing any of them helped with pretending none of it happened, yet I couldn't deal with the idea that someone I was friends with may have already had him. I thought over what she said and thought, fuck that. I didn’t see any issue with me talking to him anyway.

The following day I took my usual seat in homeroom, soon to be greeted by Chris. My eyes scanned for him after people flocked into class one after the other. I eventually spotted the long haired brunette behind his other friend, his head looked over in my direction and shot me a small smile before coming over to his seat. He sat in silence for a bit. I picked up that he probably needs his peace a little first thing in the morning, which was fair enough, so I let him be until he was ready to talk. My eyes were on my screen until I felt him gently tap my arm, making me look over at him. “Help me with this, I don't get it in the slightest”, my eyes looked down at the page in front of him. 

“So you only talk when you need something,” My eyes now look up at him. 

“You did the same thing when you were bored the other day”, he says while sliding the paper towards me with a smile on his face causing me to laugh a little. At closer inspection I realised it was Algebra which I understood enough to probably help him, I talked him through the paper with a couple of hiccups along the way. Once it was finished he looked at me with a small smile. “You’re pretty smart”, and with that I did everything in me to hold back the blush I felt coming, his words were so simple yet they found a way to always make me feel something. 

“I’m really not”, I give him an awkward half smile. 

“You know how to do that, so you’re smart to me, and thank you”,

“It’s okay”, I then spotted Maisie from the corner of my eye, glaring at us from her seat. I tried to act if I couldn’t see her, and continued talking to Chris until the bell went off indicating that we needed to head off to class. 

Maisie hadn’t bothered me for the rest of the day, which made me think she’d stopped crawling into my business. I headed into the lunch hall and sat down with Jenna and our other friends, Maisie also present. We both looked at each other quickly but I thought that would be the end of our interactions for the day. I ate my lunch in peace talking to the people around me until Maisie gained all of our attention. “How long have you been friends with Chris Y/N?,” I choked on my drink at her words, I felt a table of eyes dart to me. I tried to collect myself.

“We aren’t friends”

“Sure doesn’t seem like that, always giggling together. Last time I checked he wasn’t even that funny”, the girls looked as if they were watching tennis from the way they were turning their heads to see the next response.

“Why do you act like you want him then, you sound a bit threatened by him talking to females”, 

“Please you can have him, I wouldn’t want anything to do with him, but if that's the mess you want to get tangled in be my guest. I did try to warn you”. The last comment resulted in the girls looking at each other confused, it sounded bad. I saw a smile spread across her face which made me mad, I held it in though and looked down at the table. “Silence speaks volumes y/n”, I heard her giggle to herself. The rest of the table awkwardly sat in silence not sure what to say to the other. The bell went off a couple minutes later and I picked up my things and darted from the room with Jenna close behind me. She eventually grabbed my arm and spun me around. 

“Can I come over later?” I could see the concern in her face. I nodded my head slightly. 

“Yeah”, I deeply exhaled and turned back around to be met with the sight of Chris talking to other girls, with way more confidence than he's spoken to me since the party. My eyes flickered over to Jenna whose eyes were on Chris before turning back to me. I pretended I didn't see it before heading off. 

After class I waited outside the gates for Jenna, who greeted me with a smile. I tried to smile back at her as we headed towards my house. Once we’d arrived and headed into my room, I sat down on my bed and Jenna closely followed sitting close to me. “What was Maisie talking about earlier?”

“I sit next to Chris in homeroom and she’s made a bigger deal out of it then she needed to”, I replied looking down, trying to avoid eye contact.

“What did she mean she has warned you though?”

“I was walking to class after and she stopped me to tell me that I shouldn’t be talking to Chris, it was hardly a warning, more of a demand with no clear reason as to why I should comply.”

“I feel like you aren’t telling me something, she wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t doing something more. I would expect the talking is only minimal”,

“I mean I talk to him through the whole period, but I don’t get why it’s that deep”,

“Is he the reason why you’ve been off with me recently?”. I ignored the question.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because all you do is talk shit about him”, I see her look in the distance slightly.

“You’re the last person I thought would hide things from me like that”, I furrowed my eyebrows at her words.

“Well what was I supposed to tell you, yeah i’m fucking obsessed with the guy you all hate. How would that have gone down?” I glared at her.

“You never stopped to think that we must hate him for a reason, how long have you felt like this?”

“Like a month”, I could see her mind ticking away, attempting to work out if there was any correlation between that time. 

“Did you meet him at that party?” I nod my head, not looking at her. “We all wondered where he went, he was with you that whole time”. I could hear her exhale, I suddenly felt her arms around me. “I hate arguing with you, I just want my friend back”, my arms wrapped around her torso and we sat there for a minute. 

“I’m sorry”,

“I’m sorry too”, her response made me laugh a little. She breaks away slightly.

“Why are you laughing”,

“I just found you apologising even though you did nothing wrong funny”,

“You know what i’m like”, she says laughing now as well. We break from the hug and glance at each other with glazed eyes. “You really shouldn’t be more than friends with him though”. I glanced down at my lap, with the pace we were going out it’s not like we’d ever be more than that. “You don’t have to latch onto him because he was the first person to show interest in you”. That sentence hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt her place her hand on my shoulder as if to reassure me. I wanted to get away from her at that moment, she was the last person that I thought could break me like that. I avoided her eyes because I knew I'd crack if I glanced at her. She left a little after that. I laid in my bed feeling completely alone, feeling as if I had no one. Left consumed by my feelings.

The next day in homeroom was slightly sombre. I could hardly look at Chris so I rested my head against the table and tried my best to ignore him, that was until I felt a piece of paper slide under my arm. I lifted my head up and rubbed my eyes and lifted the paper and observed what it said. Are you okay was scribbled onto the paper, causing me to glance at Chris and nod my head. I was lying. I was far from okay but I couldn't tell him that. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you tired or something?”

“Yeah, just tired”, I lied again. 

“Oh okay”, I noticed him turn back to whatever he was doing and we didn’t interact with each other for the rest of the period. As we were getting ready for first period I watched him reach into the small section of his bag and passed me a folded piece of paper. He quickly got up and left the classroom, leaving me slightly confused. I unfolded it and saw a bunch of numbers. Then hit me, he just gave me his phone number.

[fixfoxnox]

Okay, I have been thinking... What if Ghost and Anima Roach got separated for a long time (because idk, Ghost got captured by the enemy and for some reason Roach couldn't stay with him)? And because they weren't meant to be separated for a long time, Roach was FREAKING OUT and venting to Soap the whole time. Soap, who couldn't handle seeing Roach so desperate to get Ghost back (and also not-so-secretly very desperate himself), started to plan a rescue mission or something and boom.. happy ending :3

I'm lowkey craving some hurt/comfort GhostSoapRoach recently I'm sorry 😭

- 🥀

So this isn't...exactly what you asked for, but it's something that I've been thinking about for a bit and really the only way that I can see Anima Roach being "separated" from Ghost in any way. I have twisted it to give you some GhostRoachSoap hurt/comfort, but I will admit it is very heavy on the Ghost/Roach side of things.

A Year (Anima AU)

Pairings: GhostRoachSoap, GhostRoach, Ghost/OC, Roach/OC (yes please welcome two new OC's to Luke's extended universe lol)

Warnings: Angst, Slight nsfw, discussion of nsfw hurt/comfort, slight suicidal ideation/thoughts

They were arguing. It was quite possibly the first time that Soap had seen them argue. He didn't like it in the slightest.

Roach was always smiling or giving some sort of mischievous grin. It was just who he was. The only time that Soap had seen him not smiling was when Ghost was injured, the first time he'd seen him. Every time he was blessed with the sight of the Anima after that, he'd always been wearing a grin. Roach wasn't smiling now. His lips weren't even quirked up a bit, his face was serious.

Ghost looked angrier than Soap had ever seen him. His face was stormy and he'd been laying into Roach since they'd gotten back from their last mission. Soap understood why. He also understood Roach's side of things. He couldn't get a word in between the two men to try to help solve the issue.

"You shouldn't have gone ahead," Ghost hissed out. He ripped his mask off of his face and turned back to face Roach with gritted teeth. The black of his grease paint was faded from the mask and had spread in little streaks across his cheeks. Still, Soap could see how red his face was. "You could have given our position away!"

"No one could see me but you," Roach reminded Ghost with a hiss, "I was checking ahead, that's all! Nothing happened!"

"Nothing happened," Ghost scoffed, "Soap was nearly shot!" He motioned in Soap's direction and Soap wanted to point out that it wasn't true. Sure, he'd been seen because Roach had opened the wrong door at the wrong time, but he'd been able to dispatch the man before anything bad happened.

"Soap was and is fine," Roach stepped forward with a growl and pressed his finger to Ghost's chest, "You were fine. I was making sure that it would stay that way."

"You should have listened to me," Ghost countered, "I was leading the mission." Roach scoffed at the words and Soap could see the way that Ghost clenched his jaw in response.

"My job isn't to follow you," Roach crossed his arms over his chest, "That isn't why I was there. I was doing my job."

"Well," Ghost snapped, "I wish you wouldn't. My life would be much easier if you weren't running around trying to do your job and getting in my way."

The effect was instant. Roach reeled back at the words, his face crumpled and Soap could see the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyes. Ghost's reaction was just as quick, regret spreading across his face only moments after the words left his mouth. There was a moment where the two just stared at each other silently. Soap tried to find the words to help, but he found his own shock and horror seemed to sew his mouth shut.

"Roach," Ghost's voice was weak. He took a step toward Roach and Roach took a step away from him. "I didn't-"

Roach disappeared from Soap's sight and the only indication that he got of the Anima leaving the room was Ghost rushing to the door, calling out his name in a desperate voice several times. Ghost didn't leave the room, he just collapsed against the door frame. His grip on the wood was hard and he seemed to shrink in on himself, one of his hands came up to cover his face.

"Ghost," Soap stepped forward carefully, his own voice soft, careful. He didn't know quite how to approach the man at the moment, but he was determined to try.

"I can't," Ghost's voice was shaky and he took in several desperate gasps for air, his entire body keeling over, "I did it again. I can't believe I did it again. I didn't- I didn't mean-"

"Again?" Soap reached out, slowly placing a hand on Ghost's back to rub soothing circles against him, concern eating at his chest. He'd never seen Ghost this stressed. "Ghost, what do you mean, again?"

"You're overbearing and annoying and overprotective!"

"I'm doing my job!" Roach hissed, his hands slamming onto the table in front of him hard. "My job is to protect you!"

"What if I don't want that?" Ghost hissed back, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. "I've made the decision, whether you like it or not!"

"Don't you understand how dangerous joining the military is!" Roach reached up to tug at his hair, frustration eating at him. So much could go wrong if Ghost went into the military. There were so many ways for him to be hurt. So many things that Roach wouldn't be able to properly prepare for. "Are you trying to make my life difficult!"

"Are you trying to make mine difficult?" Ghost snapped, his face going a deep red color. Before Roach could respond Ghost was speaking again. "I've never had a break from you! You're always hanging over my shoulder and making decisions for me to try to protect me! Well, guess what? I don't want you to protect me! I don't even want you around half the time!"

Roach's heart jumped up to his throat and it felt as though a terrible weight slammed into his chest, taking his air away. "Ghost," he choked out, his eyes stinging with tears already.

"My life would be a million times better if you weren't in it!"

Silence settled around the room. It hung over them thickly and neither of them spoke for several moments, the words just hanging between them. Roach was fighting back the desire to cry, a hand covering his mouth to keep any sobs that threatened to escape inside. Ghost still looked angry, his jaw clenched tight. He wouldn't meet Roach's eyes. He wouldn't even look at him.

"If that's," Roach took in a shaky breath, "If that's what you think."

"It is," Ghost confirmed, his fists clenching at his sides.

Roach was Ghost's anima. That was the bottom line of things. He was made with the sole purpose of protecting Ghost. Of keeping Ghost happy and healthy. That was his job. That was what he would do, it was what he had to do. If leaving is what it took to make Ghost happy, then that was what he would do.

Roach didn't say another word. He rarely ever changed himself. He rarely ever made himself invisible to anyone but Ghost. He'd never had a reason to, Ghost's family had always treated him like he was one of them. Not like he was some sort of creature, but like he was a person. Now, though, now he made himself disappear.

Ghost wanted a life without him. Roach couldn't provide that, but he could make himself virtually as invisible as possible. To anyone else, Ghost would be normal. Roach would allow him that.

He quietly slipped away, leaving the kitchen to make his way out of the backdoor of the house. He took a moment when he was outside, leaning up against the small house as he choked on his own tears. The air ripped from his lungs as sobs pulled at him. He didn't need to breathe, but it still wasn't comfortable to go so long with no air.

He pushed past it. He pushed past it all. Quietly, as tears continued streaming down his face, he tried to evaluate where the best place to go would be. He needed somewhere close, somewhere where he could still watch Ghost, could still watch the house, but far enough away that he could stay out of sight and out of mind.

He landed on the old treehouse in the backyard. It was a rickety old thing and, if he made himself present, there was no doubt it wouldn't be able to hold his weight. If he stayed invisible though, if he stayed as essentially a spirit to everyone but Ghost, it wouldn't even move an inch. It would be like he didn't even exist. That was what Ghost wanted. That was what he would do.

Roach hated basic training. He fucking hated it. He hated the military. He wanted to hate Ghost. He couldn't. He could never hate Ghost.

But weeks upon weeks of watching Ghost be whipped into a soldier, be trained into something dangerous and fierce, it was hard for him. There were injuries, there were times when he wanted to step in and smash the face of some army officer in, there were times when he just wanted to drop to his knees and beg Simon to quit. To just go home. He never did.

He stayed back. He stayed out of sight. He just watched. He just watched Ghost turn himself into someone stronger and more skilled. He just watched him excel in nearly every class and training exercise. He watched and he knew that Ghost needed him that much less.

Of course, he learned as well. Any opportunity to pick up more skills, any opportunity to learn things that would help him protect Ghost and he would do it. He would watch during the day then, at night, when everyone was asleep, he'd practice things himself.

He hated it. He hated all of it. Most of all, he hated that Ghost seemed happy. He hated how content Ghost was while he wasn't around. He hated the way that the other recruits made him laugh. He hated the way that Ghost hadn't looked at him in months. He hated it. He wanted to rip himself out of existence, to tear and destroy the strings connecting him to Ghost. Ghost was happier without him, he saw that he was doomed to know it for the rest of his existence. His existence was a burden on Ghost and he could do nothing about it. How was he supposed to make Ghost truly happy when he was the thing causing that unhappiness?

It was worse to feel. Seeing Ghost being happy and content was one thing, but feeling it was something else entirely. It had never been clearer to him before which emotions belonged to Ghost and which belonged to him. Ghost's were happy, light, strong. His were like a weight trying to bash that to pieces. Trying to create dust of any of the positivity he was forced to feel so that it could float away from him, carried by the wind. Roach wanted peace. He wanted to disappear for Ghost's sake. He couldn't.

Worse than basic training was clearly the squad that Ghost was placed on. Roach hated how much they liked Ghost. He hated how much Ghost liked them. He hated one member of the squad, in particular, more than anyone else.

"It isn't healthy for you to sit out here like this." A shaggy blonde-haired man slid down the wall, sitting next to Roach. Roach knew the other man was feeling exactly what he was at the moment, he hid it much better than him.

"Ash," he acknowledged, turning his head to watch the other Anima light a cigarette between his fingers and bring it to his mouth. Roach knew the smoke wasn't going to be a problem. There was quiet between the two as Ash took a long drag from the cigarette before holding it out for Roach. Roach took it from him gratefully.

"Seriously," Ash blew the smoke from his lungs, his eyes carefully watching Roach as he took a drag from the cigarette. It wouldn't hurt either of them, so there was no harm in smoking. At least, that's what Roach told himself. "You shouldn't sit out here like this."

"I'm waiting for Simon," Roach passed the cigarette back to him and folded his hands over his knees, picking at his nails. "That's all. Just doing what I'm supposed to."

Ash gave a low chuckle at those words, "Yeah, just protecting the guy who doesn't even want you around." Roach flinched at those words and tucked into himself further. He refused to meet the other's careful eyes. "Simon will be fine, you know that. Just pick up watching him in the morning." He moved closer to him, shuffling until their legs were pressed tight together, "Don't make yourself sit here."

There was a pause. Roach wanted to listen to him. He wanted to go as far away from the room as he could, to be so far away that he wouldn't be able to feel everything that Ghost was. All of the emotions. Everything. He knew it wasn't possible. He had to stay. It was his job, that was it.

The door beside them opened and two laughing figures stumbled out, straightening their clothing. Roach didn't look at them, he didn't think he could stomach it.

"Ash! What are you doing out here?"

"Sorry," Ash gave a grin up to his bonded, "Just sitting with Roach for a minute. All good?"

"All good," Todd, Ash's bonded, confirmed. "Simon and I are all good. We took care of each other." The words seemed directed at Roach more than Ash and Roach glared down at his pants. His fists tightened into balls against them.

Ghost didn't acknowledge him, "Let's go get something to eat, I'm fucking starving."

"Oh, right," Todd turned back toward them, "You two keep doing whatever, we're going for food."

They set off down the hallway together. Roach gave them a moment, allowing them to get a decent distance away before standing up to follow. Ash stayed seated on the ground, just watching him.

No words were spoken until Roach had started after the two men, until he was only a few feet away. "You have to stop doing this to yourself." Roach paused, freezing for several moments, "You and I both know that you'll just end up killing yourself."

Roach glanced back at Ash for a brief moment and took in how serious his face was. He turned away and didn't say anything else before taking off after Ghost and his...paramour. The implication of the action stood between the two Anima, though. They both knew what Roach's response was to the idea of his death: good.

"I'm not letting you do this."

Roach looked up at Ash, his vision feeling a bit hazy. He was tired, which was a first for him, though he considered it a good sign. "You don't really get to decide that," he replied lazily. He tucked into himself further, still leaning up against the wall next to the door. Waiting for Ghost.

Ash rolled his eyes at him. "Stand up," he ordered, his face serious. There was a moment of silence between the two. Roach didn't move. "I'm serious Roach, I'm not letting you do this. Stand up."

There was another long moment that passed between the two before Ash sighed and stepped forward, hauling Roach up from the ground easily. Roach struggled slightly against his hold, fighting to be dropped back down to the ground. Ash wouldn't let him and, seeing as they were both Anima, it wasn't easy for Roach to break out of the sudden hold.

He found himself pinned back against the wall with Ash's body pressed tight to his, keeping him from struggling. "Ash," Roach met his eyes with a stern look, "I have to stay focused, let me down."

"Staying focused," Ash pushed even closer to him, "Is what is going to get you killed. I'm going to distract you. I'm going to give you a break from worrying about Simon."

Roach snorted, "Yeah, good luck with that. What's your plan? Hold me here until-"

Ash slammed his mouth against Roach's, cutting off his words and catching him completely by surprise. The other Anima didn't give him a moment to think before licking into his mouth and nipping at his lips. One of his legs shoved between Roach's his knee pressed just slightly against his crotch to give the slightest bit of pressure.

Roach, surprisingly, relaxed against his touch. He and Ash knew one another, they'd been in the same boat since their bonded had been transferred to their current squad. They understood each other probably better than even their bonded ones knew them. It was an odd thing to think, but it was the truth. And, as Roach wrapped his arms around Ash's shoulders and pulled him further into the kiss, he thought that it was nice to be wanted again, in whatever way that meant.

The kiss was harsh and biting and filled with all of the frustration that had been building within the two for the months and months that they'd been cast to the side. They took out their frustration on one another, biting and nipping and tugging at their hair until the other was groaning and pressing even closer. They were desperate to feel, desperate to distract themselves and they were doing a damn good job at it.

"Ash! What the hell?"

Roach and Ash broke apart from one another, their heads turning quickly to meet the eyes of their humans. They just stared blankly at them for several moments, their minds running circles.

Roach let his eyes trail over to Ghost and, for the first time in months, the two locked eyes with one another. Ghost looked...hurt? That wasn't right though, he wouldn't look hurt by this. Roach reminded himself quickly that Ghost didn't want him around. He reminded himself how happy Ghost had been for the past several months without him.

He shoved down the rising anxiety and upset in his chest. What sense did that make? Ghost would cut him off then feel upset when he finally did something other than follow him around silently? It didn't make a lick of sense, so Roach pushed it down. Ghost was probably just embarrassed that Roach had been doing something like this in such a public area. Not that it mattered, no one could see him or the man pressed against him.

"Are the two of you going for food?" Ash's breath was heavy as he spoke, but he still managed to get the words out.

"Probably," Todd responded by crossing his arms over his chest, "But what the fuck are the two of you doing? Don't you know-"

"Great," Ash pushed off of the wall and wrapped an arm around Roach to tug him with him, "You two enjoy your food. We're going to take over your room for a bit."

"What?!" Todd's face went a bright red as Ash shoved past him, pulling Roach along behind him.

Ash shoved Roach toward the bed in the room before turning back to the door and the men on the other side, "You may want to stay in Simon's room tonight, we're going to be a minute." With that he shut the door in their faces, muffling any noises from the two men out in the hallway and leaving himself and Roach blissfully alone.

"You seem uncomfortable," Ash looked down at him, his eyes scanning across his face carefully. Roach shifted again, trying to resist the urge to just fully hide his face in the other's shoulder. "What's going on?"

Roach sighed and peeked away from him again, his eyes immediately catching on to Ghost's from across the long training yard. He looked away quickly. "Simon keeps looking at me," he whispered the words, as though he was afraid to speak them out loud. "And, he hesitated for a moment, his hand raising to his chest, "He's been feeling different."

"Different how?" Ash tucked him closer to his side, one of his hands coming up to rub soothingly across his arm.

"Like...sad," He tilted his head a bit, "Regret too? I don't know it's like...similar to before but, he just feels more upset."

"You're having trouble separating his feelings from your own, aren't you?" Ash didn't speak the words in a judging manner, he didn't seem smug or upset about the fact. He seemed like he understood. Roach nodded to him slowly, tucking closer to his side.

He hated it. He'd been so sure that Ghost was happy without him around, he'd been so sure of it. And yet, now, when he could tell that Ghost was upset...it felt like things had only slightly changed. "I just...I don't know what to do."

There was a silence that hung between them for several moments, Roach couldn't tell what Ash was thinking. "You could try talking to him," Ash suggested quietly, his eyes focusing on Roach's face, watching for his reaction. It was apparently quite obvious based on the amused glint in his eyes. "I'm serious. You two haven't actually talked in, what? Over a year? Maybe it's time that you try to talk with him again."

Roach jerked away from him at the words, blinking with wide eyes at the suggestion. "What? No, no way. He said-"

"A year ago in the middle of an argument he told you that his life would be better if you weren't in it," Ash finished for him, watching his face with close eyes, "Maybe now that he's lived a year without you in it he's reconsidered." He paused for a long moment, just watching Roach's shocked face closely. "What's the worst he could do," he reached up to brush a bit of Roach's hair out of his face sweetly, "Confirm what you think you know? At least you'll have tried and," he hesitated for a long moment, "I'll even do the same."

"What?"

Ash shrugged and Roach could see him swallow nervously, "I'll talk to Todd if you talk to Simon. If, well, if things don't work out then I say that the two of us leave."

"Leave?" Roach blinked wide at him.

"If they decide they don't want us here? Why should we stay? Why shouldn't we go live our lives somewhere?"

"Can," Roach hesitated for a moment. He didn't know how he felt about what Ash was suggesting. Not being wanted was one thing, but could Roach actually be able to leave Ghost? Whether Ghost wanted him around or not, Roach loved him. He didn't want to give him up, even if Ghost wanted to give him up. "Can we even do that?"

"I've heard of other Anima who have," Ash spoke quietly, "When they were rejected by their bonded."

The two were silent for another long moment and, even without saying it, Roach could see that both of them were unsure about what Ash had suggested. Still, Roach reasoned, there would be no harm in at least talking to Ghost. Like Ash said, the worst that could happen is that Ghost would tell him he didn't want him around anymore again.

"Okay," he spoke quietly and Ash seemed to relax at his words, "I'll talk to Simon."

Roach waited until Ghost was alone. He was in his room cleaning a few things up and Roach had stood by the door for nearly thirty minutes, trying to work up the courage to actually go inside. He just had to step inside. That was it.

Still, actually moving inside of the room was possibly the hardest thing that Roach had done in his existence. When he finally did, he was quick.

He opened the door, stepped inside, and turned quickly to shut the door behind him. He just stared at the wood for several moments, terrified of turning around to meet Simon's gaze. He was too afraid of the hatred that he'd find there. The anger.

"Roach?"

He turned quickly at the call of his name, his eyes wide from having been acknowledged. Roach couldn't figure out how to get his voice to work. The words were right there at the back of his tongue, trying to leave his throat and failing.

"What are you doing here?" Ghost dropped the sheets he was pulling at and started around his bed. He only stopped when he was almost directly in front of Roach, standing only a few feet away from him.

They stared at one another for several moments. "I," Roach took in a shaky breath and leaned back against the door for support, needing something to help keep his knees from collapsing under his weight. "I came to talk to you."

"To talk?" Ghost asked quietly.

"To ask," Roach corrected himself, "To see if...if you're still sure about what you said. About not wanting me around. I know that you've been happy without me around and more than anything I just want you to be happy," it was like once the words started, he couldn't get them to stop. "But I had to check, I had to know because lately I feel like something has been different and I couldn't not ask. I just care about you so much and I don't think you understand how important you are to me, so if there was any possibility that you wanted me around again I had-"

Ghost stepped forward to place a hand over Roach's mouth, silencing him both physically and mentally thanks to the sudden proximity. There was silence between them for several moments, both of them just staring at the other. Finally, Ghost spoke.

"Roach," his voice was soft and it sounded weak to Roach's ears, "I am so sorry." He moved his hand away from Roach's mouth, leaving him gaping at the words. That was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

"You? You're sorry?"

Ghost nodded his head slowly, "I was angry. I didn't mean what I said, I swear I never meant it. I just," he looked away from Roach and Roach could feel the shame from Ghost blossoming in his chest, "I wanted to hurt you I guess. I didn't..."

"You didn't think I'd actually leave," Roach pieced together quietly.

"I was too afraid to tell you," Ghost moved carefully, as though he was afraid of scaring Roach off. His hand ever so slowly made contact with Roach's face, cupping at his cheek. Roach couldn't stop from leaning into the touch, "I was sure that you hated me."

"I could never hate you," Roach was quick to the words. They were the truth. He didn't think it was possible for him to hate Ghost, it just wasn't something he was capable of. "I thought you hated me."

"No," Ghost stepped closer to him, "I could never hate you. I need to make this up to you, please let me make it up to you?"

Roach nodded his head slowly, still nuzzling into Ghost's hand. His entire body felt warm at the contact and his ears were tingling with the sound of Ghost's voice speaking to him! Actually talking to him! He could have vibrated with the excitement of the entire situation. Ghost didn't hate him. Ghost wanted him in his life. "Just," Roach looked up at Ghost with wide eyes, "Please don't say anything like that to me again and...if you do," he looked away from Ghost briefly, "don't let us go so long without talking about it. I don't think I can survive another year like this one."

Ghost nodded his head and, in one quick move, he tugged Roach against his chest. Roach tucked himself close to Ghost and gave a contented sigh as he was tucked against the other's chest carefully. "I really missed you," Ghost whispered against his hair. There was a moment and Roach could feel him hesitating, he could feel that there was something else the man wanted to say. "You," he cleared his throat nervously, "You and Ash, are you?"

Roach understood immediately what Ghost was asking and he almost scoffed at the man. That was his question? What did it matter, especially now? After all, Ghost had Todd. "I don't know, are you and Todd?"

"No."

Roach shot back, pulling away from Ghost to look up at him with wide eyes, shock running through him. "What?"

"I broke things off," Ghost admitted nervously. There was a quiet moment before he shyly added, "For you."

Roach stared at him silently, unsure of how to respond. Ghost had broken things off...for him? Why would he have done that? Sure, Roach didn't like Todd, but that shouldn't have-

Suddenly things clicked for him. All of the emotions he'd been feeling over the past few weeks, over the time that he and Ash had started their little affair, it all suddenly made sense to him. He didn't have the context. He had the context now. Jealousy.

He stared at Ghost for several long moments, just trying to make sure that he was reading the other man's face correctly. When he'd determined that, yes, he was reading the situation correctly, it was quite an easy choice of what to do from there.

His hands pressed hard to Ghost's chest, shoving him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed and all it took was another good shove to knock him onto his back with a small groan from his lips. Roach didn't give him a moment to recover, he just climbed onto his lap with a grin on his face.

"Roach," Ghost's voice was a bit higher than normal and there was a high blush rising on his cheeks.

"You wanted to make it up to me, right?" He put his hands on Ghost's chest and used the leverage to grind his hips down. The effect was immediate with Ghost's hands flying to his hips and his head tilting backward with a gasp. Roach gave him another grin."How about, to make it up to me," he ground his hips down again, "You let me ride your cock?"

The answer from Ghost was almost instantaneous, "Fuck yes."

"You went an entire year without talking?" Soap's voice was filled with horror. He'd never even realized that such a thing was possible for Anima and their bonded. He thought they always stuck together, that nothing like that could ever happen because of the bond. He supposed he didn't know as much as he thought he did.

"Yes," Ghost rubbed at his face and stood from his seat. He snatched his mask into his hands and took to shoving it over his tear-stained face. Speaking with Soap about his past, about that year, and those words that he always knew he would regret and feel guilty over...it made him realize that he couldn't do it again. He had to find Roach. "I can't let that happen again," he turned to Soap, "I have to go find Roach."

"Let me help?" Soap stood from his seat as well, his eyes wide, "It might be easier with two people and, it will probably help both of you to have someone else around." He leaned forward a bit, trying to hint to Ghost that he was offering his presence to try and comfort the two men. Ghost seemed to get what he was saying a shot him an appreciative look.

"Thanks, Johnny." With that, the two men left the room, trying to track down their missing boyfriend.

"Roach," Soap called carefully. He couldn't see Roach, but he had a pretty good idea of where the other man was. He'd learned fairly quickly into dating both Ghost and Roach that, when Roach wanted to be alone, he tended to move into dark quiet spaces. That was exactly why Soap had gone almost immediately to one of the record rooms on base.

No one ever really came in, no one would be able to bother Roach. It was the perfect space for when he needed to get away. He called out for the man again, desperate for any sign of him. Just as he was sure that this wasn't the right room, or at least that he would need Ghost to be able to properly check it, he felt a pair of arms wrap him up from behind.

A face buried itself against his neck and he could feel and hear Roach's quiet cries. "Roach," Soap's voice was quiet and he was quick to turn around in the man's hold to wrap him up in his arms. He stayed silent for several moments, just holding tight to him, trying to provide as much comfort as he could. "Ghost is looking for you," he finally whispered.

Roach choked a bit on his cries and held tighter to Soap, "He's? He's looking for me?" It was as though he didn't believe what Soap was saying and, based on what Ghost had told him, Soap could understand why.

"Yes," Soap pressed a kiss to the side of Roach's head, "he wants to apologize. He didn't mean what he said and he's very upset with himself." He paused for a moment before adding, "He was crying."

He figured that Roach could have guessed that, considering he could feel Ghost's emotions alongside his own, but he also knew that Roach sometimes had trouble reading the emotions that he could feel from Ghost, so he decided it would be better to tell him rather than just leaving it up in the air.

Roach took a moment to respond, just burying his face into Soap's shoulder harder. "Can we go to the room?" he asked after a moment, still wrapped tight in Soap's arms.

"Of course," Soap hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you want me to tell Ghost?" Roach hesitated for another long moment before giving a slight nod of his head against Soap's shoulder. "Okay," Soap wrapped an arm around Roach and started guiding him to the door all while pulling his phone from his pocket to shoot a quick text to Ghost, "C'mon, let's get you back to the room."

Ghost was waiting for them when they finally made it back into the room. It was clear to see how nervous he was by the way that he shot to his feet as soon as the door opened.

His eyes landed on Roach almost immediately, watching him with wide and apologetic eyes as he froze in the doorway to the room. There was silence for several moments and, despite Soap's desire to encourage the two to talk, he stayed silent and let them work at their own pace.

"Roach," Ghost choked out after a moment. His face was twisted up into a picture of regret and Soap could see how glassy his eyes were. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I swear to god I didn't mean it like that. I shouldn't have said it in the first place I was just worried and angry. I know it doesn't justify it." He paused for another moment before taking a step closer to Roach. Roach watched him carefully, his own face a mess of red and tear stains. "I'm sorry."

After a long moment, Roach took a few shuffled steps forward and buried his face in Ghost's chest, tears streaming down his face again. "I don't like it when we argue." He grabbed tight to Ghost's shirt, using it as a safety blanket of sorts.

"I don't either," Ghost responded by wrapping him up in his arms and cradling him tight against his body. After several moments, he lifted Roach into his arms and turned toward the bed. Roach didn't even react, he just stayed with his face buried against Ghost's chest.

Soap reacted quickly to the questioning look that Ghost sent his way, understanding almost immediately what the man wanted. He moved across the room in quick strides and threw himself down onto the bed, happily wrapping his arms around Roach and Ghost when they settled next to him on the bed.

They lay together silently for some time, Roach just quietly pressed between them. There were clearly things that would have to be handled, more discussion to have, and more apologies to be made, but for now, they just laid together.

"I'm sorry you had to see us fight, Soap," Roach threw out after a long moment of silence.

"It's fine, Bug." Soap assured him, "I'm sure we'll fight at some point. It's just part of life, unfortunately."

"I hate fighting," Roach's voice told Soap that he was pouting and he couldn't help but chuckle. Even like this Roach was still his same old self. "There's only one thing fighting's good for."

"And what's that?" Ghost asked, sending Soap an amused look over Roach's shoulder.

Roach slowly unburied his face from Ghost's chest to shoot both of the men a bright grin, "Makeup sex."

Soap couldn't help but laugh.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

(Yeah I was honestly debating whether or not it would fit so THANK YOU FOR THAT!!)

Her heart stung as he briefly compared himself to his father, lightly tightening her hold around his hand as she spoke in a murmur. "Hiccup, you did what you could, and that was enough. No one would've lasted long in that storm in the first place.."

Brushing a strand of hair away from his face, she quickly observed the blankets to see if they were securely settled on him. "Yes, but…right now, we should be focusing on you…We'll deal with that situation once you're completely better." She specified, predicting he would try and do more work while in his current state if she didn't restrain him from it.

Although shivering was an indicator of him getting better, she couldn't help but feel wretched. The sight of her boyfriend undergoing another tremor left an uneasy sentiment down to the pit of her stomach, doing her best to comfort him as she rubbed his back and hand, whispering, "It's okay, it's okay…You're okay.."

Glancing at the doors of the Great Hall, Freya winced as the sound of the aggressive winds outside beat against their temporary shelter. She gravely nodded, "Yeah…you might be right.." A flicker of a smile welcomed itself on her lips as he told her to come near, unhesitatingly obliging and pecking his cheek while she plopped beside him. "Yes, Chief."

She pointedly held eye contact with him, wanting to get the message across that she meant everything she said and also understood what he was saying. "I know, Hiccup..but you are doing enough -- more, even. I can't tell you how much you've inspired and encouraged me to keep going when everything felt so hard…" She took a breath in, "Please don't burden yourself with things you don't need to.."

Copying his actions and leaning her head down, Freya remained only inches apart, giving her the ability to notice the tears that were forming in his eyes too. Her hands sympathetically cupped both of his cheeks, thumbs stroking underneath his eyes to catch any falling tears. "Shh, shh, shh…It's alright, you don't have to know what to say…I just needed to tell you I love you.."

She reached up and warmly kissed his forehead, her tone soft. "Now why are you saying sorry? It's okay, hun, you don't have to do anything if you don't want to…I'm glad I can still do this anyways after what you barely came back from.." Her gaze landed on his freckles for a moment before continuing, "You deserve every single word I said…because you are all of those things.."

Perceiving him began to shiver less, she felt a wave of relief flood her - which she was extremely thankful for. She allowed Hiccup to hold her as he drifted off to sleep, taking the time to relax in the comfort they gave each other. She couldn't have been more happy that he didn't break his promise and returned alive.

---

Freya chose not to actually take a nap, instead listening to the sound of her boyfriend's heartbeat and breathing, reassuring herself that he was still fine. Once he woke up, however her tranquil state faltered in the slightest as he immediately asked about the tribe. "..No, you didn't miss anything…everyone's perfectly okay.."

Apparently, her answer wasn't too sufficient. "W-wait, what..? Hiccup, what're you talking about..? You literally almost froze to death, you need those blankets more than anyone here!"

She swiftly stood, hastily grabbing his prosthetic which had been on her side of the fire pit, clutching it behind her to hide it from him. "No. I won't let you do this, Hiccup. Not now." She spoke firmly, unwavering. "What you need to do is rest."

Stepping out of his reach, Freya quickly knelt in front of Blaze and placed the leg in between his paws. The Sand Wraith curiously sniffed it, sneezing after a couple of seconds. "I'm not gonna have you walk around here as if you've fully recovered already. We both know you haven't yet." Sighing, her voice loosened its adamancy. "…You said you don't break your promises, right?"

"Then I need you to live up to that and allow yourself to rest. You said you'd be fine, and resting is how." She steadily inhaled, calming her nerves. "…I'll go check on everyone… I'll make sure they have everything.." As Blaze's tail flicked to and fro in a small fit of excitement because of having Hiccup's prosthetic, the very thing he'd seen Toothless play with, his rider walked up to the Chief.

She held his hands in her own, gazing at him in sincere affection. "You deserve a break… Let me do this for you..at least once.." She kissed his cheek before leaving, "I'll be okay, don't worry."

--------

Freya was pretty sure she was the one worrying.

Clusters of Vikings surrounded her, all of whom were shouting endless demands and questions, their concerns reaching up to the ceiling. She couldn't even make it to the Chief's table. Turning repeatedly in her spot, which was right in the middle of the Great Hall, she did her best to answer every question and bring them some form of solace in the midst of such chaos.

A small panic arose within her, frantically making herself appear calm when she, in fact, wasn't. "Will we have to stay here for more than a day?!" Someone yelled.

She feebly responded: "I'm, uh, I don't have an exact 'yes' or 'no' to that just yet--"

"Why are you here? Shouldn't Hiccup be doing the talking?!"

"Yeah! Where's Hiccup at?"

Spitelout, who stood a few steps away, rigidly crossed his arms, brows lowering. "They have a point. Where's the Chief?"

She hesitated, lifting a finger to indicate that she was going to speak, but couldn't. "He's--"

"You're mumbling, Freya."

More yelling.

"Why isn't he taking charge?!"

More anger filled her.

"He should be the one responsible for communicating to the tribe! Not his partner!"

She had the notion that they were implicitly testing her to a certain degree, examining how she would react to the situation and how she'd handle it. The look Spitelout wore gave her the evidence she needed for her guess.

"Didn't Stoick leave the village in his care? Where is Hiccup now?!"

And she'd very much pass that test.

Seething in indignation, Freya rapidly grabbed her dagger out of its sheath, stiffly clasping the scales embedded into the hilt as she instantly thrusted the blade onto the table next to her in one hefty motion, the metal piercing through the wood and causing a loud disruption to the ruckus around her.

The room became eerily quiet, her inflamed gaze lifting to meet the crowd. Her voice was steadfast and authoritative, echoing across the room while her hand still grasped the helve of her dagger. "Look at you all. Behaving like you're sheep running with their heads cut off! You act as though you're not safe and sheltered inside of here, as though you're starving outside without a fur coat to your name!"

Straightening her posture, she continued and gestured at the doors. "Someone, please be my guest and stay outside for five minutes and come back in here and start complaining again." When nothing but silence came, her head shook in disapproval. "May I remind you, our Chief is the one who gathered us here to keep us protected and, currently, no person is missing. What more can you possibly want? For him to stop the weather?! Where he's at is none of your concerns, just know he is in here. But you don't need to constantly..monitor him like he can't take care of himself!"

Ayla, who was towards the front of the crowd, dropped her toy Sand Wraith in shock. She's witnessed her older sister's anger..but not in this manner.

Freya abruptly pulled the dagger out of the table, stepping up to Spitelout as she raised her chin, not letting their height difference scare her off. "Did I mumble?" She waited for no response, walking away and through the sea of Vikings to start checking if everyone had blankets and food.

If some didn't, she'd give the command for others to retrieve it, ordering the ones who were responsible for cooking to resume their work. The Great Hall was bustling with noise again as she strode across the room to multiple areas, ensuring that each person was content.

Ayla snuck her way towards Hiccup for the second time, petting Cloudjumper and Blaze, who delightedly chewed on the prosthetic his best friend left to his guard. The younger girl leisurely sat next to the Chief, fiddling with her plush Sand Wraith. "Meet my sister..!" She jested, fixing the blankets on him so they were more tightly fixed. "Are you feeling better..?"

Hiccup gave a small nod, but his mind was already racing with ideas. They could expand the village maybe, or start relocating the dragons elsewhere...

But, if the dragons were relocated, that put them at risk of being captured again...

He'd have to brainstorm a bit to figure out a concrete solution.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Chief? C'mon, we're more casual than that. Call me...O Great Defrosting One!" Letting out a string of laughter, he waved a hand, indicating he was not being serious by any means.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a grin as she settled in beside him, soaking up the warmth she gave. "That's better..." He was still shivering occasionally, but he knew he'd warm up more soon.

Her encouraging words helped to put him more at ease, his shoulders relaxing a little as he let out a sigh of relief. Giving a subtle nod, he settled in closer. "...thank you, I...I needed to hear that..." Meeting her eyes, he added, "If...you know if things feel hard, you can always come to me. I know I have the village to worry about now, and the dragons, but you are never a burden. I don't want you thinking I'm too busy to be there for you."

His eyes softened, and he placed his still cold hands over hers. "You really are amazing, you know that? I can't say it enough. I...I am lucky to have you."

Toothless, having heard all of this, let out a disgruntled grumble.

Choking out a laugh, Hiccup placed a hand on the Night Fury, "You know I'm grateful for you too, bud! I'm especially lucky to have you!"

Satisfied, Toothless huffed, laying his head down on his front paws.

------

After everything that had happened, Hiccup needed that rest. He was exhausted, having put his all into searching for Ayla in that storm, and then fighting the constant chill he felt after coming to.

The young chief hadn't quite registered Freya's words as his mind raced on what still needed to be done, that there were still a few on the island that sought to take the role of chief and use it for their own gain. He couldn't let that happen, the tribe would suffer if they succeeded in their pursuit of calling him unfit for the task.

At her insistence of him keeping the blankets, he turned to her, "The youngest and oldest of our tribe need the extra blankets sometimes, they have a harder time fighting off the cold than we do...I'm doing better, I could do without a few of these, probably..."

In truth, he couldn't, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The tribe had truly grown in population since the war ended, and he knew there were a good amount of children and infants sheltering in the Great Hall tonight, along with their few elders.

Seeing her confiscate his prosthetic, he gave a frustrated pout. He'd been going for so long, he didn't know how to stop and let someone else take over. How could he? His father never did that.

As she pointed out that he hadn't recovered just yet, he deflated a little, pulling the blankets back around himself sheepishly.

It was true, his skin still had a red tinge to it, and while he may not be outwardly shivering anymore, he could still feel goosebumps all over. He was even still tired, the quick nap he'd had didn't help as much as he hoped.

Nodding at her question, he looked up at her from where he sat on the ground.

Hesitating, he relented, leaning back against Toothless with a sigh. "...Alright. I'll rest. But only because I promised earlier... Just...don't let them overwhelm you. It can be a lot happening at once, and Berkians aren't exactly known for their patience..."

Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he agreed to let her help. "Thank you. I'm glad I can count on you."

He held her hands as long as he could, his touch lingering as she moved away.

Once she was out of sight, he leaned forward, wrapping the top blanket around his back and shoulders before laying back down, covering his head with the blankets spread on top of him.

It was his way of staying out of sight, and warming up at the same time. Closing his eyes, he got more of the rest his body was aching for.

--------

Gobber watched as Freya commanded the room, a proud smile on his face.

Ah, yes, the lass is fearless, he thought to himself, Hiccup has found himself a perfect partner when it comes to Chiefing...

The blacksmith rightly assumed that since Freya was there, filling in for Hiccup, that the chief was on the mend, and would be alright.

Moving from his spot, he began to make the rounds too, helping out and adding more logs to fire.

---------

By the time Ayla made her way over, Hiccup was wide awake, curled up against Toothless' side. The dragon had draped a wing over the Viking, and he was watching the fire roar.

"Ayla!" Seeing she was fixing his blankets, he said, "Oh, thanks," looking back at the girl, he answered, "Yeah, much better. Still a little cold, but gradually warming up. I feel a bit useless right now, though..."

Taking on a more concerned tone, he asked, "Hey, how's Freya doing out there? The people didn't come on too strong, did they? And you, how are you?'

[ghostiewriter]

👻 how about stoner!jj getting high and going to a football game just to see cheerleader!kie (congrats on 1k by the way I guess it's impressive or whatever)

ew thanks or whatever

...

Fuck.

That was the only word echoing through his foggy mind as he pushed through the crowd of students, teachers and parents. There were bright colours everywhere—and he fucking meant everywhere. No matter where he looked, no matter which direction he turned his head, the school’s colours seemed to be splattered across every possible surface, bright and irritable and burning into his retinas. 

Must be an important game, he briefly thought to himself as he bumped shoulder against shoulder, being pushed around the crowd as he made his way to the bleachers and slumped himself down into a free spot.

JJ Maybank didn’t care about football games or school spirit. In all his years of living, he could count on one hand the amount of games he had been to and all of them had been against his will. JJ Maybank wouldn’t be caught dead at a football game, sitting in the bleachers in support of his school. 

And yet here he was, beanie pulled over his messy blond hair, with hooded, red-rimmed eyes as he listened to fans scream and chant and sing along to whatever fucking song the marching band were playing. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was here. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GIVE IT UP FOR KILDARE COUNTY HIGH’S SPECTACULAR CHEER TEAM!”

Okay, so that was a lie. He knew very well why he was here, and it had everything to do with a certain brown-eyed girl and a bitter feeling in his chest that he was unable to rid himself off, no matter how much he smoked. 

Fridays were their days. Fridays were the days he would stay late after school for Kiara to finish practice before giving her a ride out to their favourite spot, sitting in the back of his truck and passing a joint between them until the fucking sun set. 

Instead, Friday was the day Kiara had to blow him off for a stupid football game.

He knew it wasn’t personal, not in the slightest. But his brain couldn’t seem to grasp that concept, and neither could the burning sensation in his gut that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried. He was jealous. He was fucking jealous over a stupid fucking football game. 

And now here he was, sitting in the bleachers whilst he was high off his fucking head, all because he wanted to see his girl. 

His fucking girl.

“LET’S GO, FALCONS!”

Despite the buzzing crowd and loud screams, he heard her voice like it was a beacon in all the chaos. His eyes quickly focused on her, standing there at the bottom of the bleachers in her short skirt and tank top, a smile plastered on her face like she knew it was damn picture-perfect. 

She looks pretty, he thought to himself. 

She always looks pretty, he added a few moments later.

JJ couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she went through cheer after cheer. As she jumped and flipped around, as she captured the crowd’s attention like she always did. He couldn’t tear his damn eyes away from her because she was the reason he was there. 

Even as the game started and the cheerleaders stood by the sidelines, letting out encouraging chants. 

Even as the buzzing sound indicating the end of the game echoed through the pitch and people jumped up in celebration. 

Even as everyone rushed to flood the pitch and congratulate the team before heading towards the after party. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes off his pretty girl. 

“Never thought I’d see you at a game,” her voice was smooth and teasing, and god he wanted to drown in the sound of it. 

“I would’ve showed up earlier if you told me that uniform looks even hotter when you’re dancing around in it,” he replied with a lazy smile on his lips. 

Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby,” he nodded with a hum. 

“You got your truck?” Kiara asked, her eyes meeting his and he was surprised to see a heat that matched his own that was burning in the pit of his stomach. 

“Of course.” 

“Good,” Kiara smiled and reached down to grab his hand, their fingers intertwining like it was a reflex. “You can show me just how much you like this uniform then.”

Football games were still fucking stupid, but Kiara Carrera made them damn worth his time.

...

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 12: The Tourists // The Hacker

HELLO ALL. I hope you're having a lovely January and I haven't missed too many cool trends or posts or what have you. Behold, a fucking monster of a chapter that I should have split into two!

some fun links! first, here is a crinoid. i didn't even make it up, that's really what it looks like. second, if you like the natural history museum as much as kirk, spock, and i do, you might like this book: otherlands. these links will make more sense after reading.

This chapter is also posted on my AO3 here. :)

Okay. Here's the chapter. Off I go again to play too much Tetris. Hugs and kisses.

☆☆☆

Kirk woke up with a crick in his neck and a twinge in his spine. His alarm sounded suspiciously far away, and it wasn’t until he peeled his eyes open that he remembered his rash decision to sleep on his couch. His alarm beeped aggressively from its spot next to his bed, and he dragged Spock’s blanket over his shoulders as he shuffled across the room to turn it off. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed as the lights came on, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of the blanket, which still held the slightest reminder of Spock.

He felt like someone had wrung out his spirit like a sponge, but at least a night of sleep had rubbed the sharpest edges off his emotions. For a moment he considered laying down on his bed, dragging the blanket back over his head, and giving up on the day before it had really begun--- but he was the captain. He had responsibilities. He pulled the blanket to his face one more time, inhaling as much as he could, before standing, dropping it back on the couch, and heading into the bathroom to shower. 

He and Spock had fought before. In the early days of his captaincy, before he had understood that the Vulcan’s questions and disagreements were the logical outputs of a logical mind and not a personal attack on his leadership, they had fought frequently. But slowly, over time, they had settled into a rhythm that forced them both to be better than either of them were individually. Kirk could only hope that they would be able to find that rhythm again. He would apologize as soon as he could find the words. As soon as he felt like a real human being again and not a faded copy of one. 

Kirk stepped out of the sonic, shaved, dressed, and left their quarters before coming to an abrupt halt. A white wall stood in silent judgment in front of him. With a sinking heart, he realized that some small part of him had been hoping that, despite everything, Spock would be standing outside the door. The turbodoor closed behind him as he stared at the wall, willing Spock to materialize. But he did not. Kirk walked down the hallway alone.

☆☆☆

Bones and Uhura were eating breakfast together at a square four-top table, but Spock was nowhere to be seen when Kirk entered the officers’ mess. Bones was probably still angry with him for vanishing out of Medbay, and if Kirk had to guess he would assume that Uhura would take Spock’s side in their breakup, if that’s what it was. Kirk had to admit that, if he were her, Kirk would too. Didn’t she say, right at the start, that he had better be good to Spock? He stood in the entrance to the mess, frozen, the beginnings of a cage forming around his lungs. He had wrecked his relationships; he had lost Spock, and then Uhura for good measure, and pushed Bones away and the woman in whom he had placed all of the trust he had left after Tarsus had lied to him and hurt Kevin in his name---

“Jim!” At the sound, Kirk snapped to attention. Bones waved at him with a half-eaten piece of toast, and when their eyes met Bones kicked the chair next to him out from the table. Kirk blinked, but made it across the mess mostly and slid into the chair Bones had indicated. 

“If there’s ever been a man more in need of a cup of joe, I haven’t met him,” Bones said to Uhura, and she nodded solemnly. 

“I was just about to get another. Would you like one, captain?” Her voice was perfectly even; her liquid-dark eyes met his without hesitation. 

“That would be nice,” he said, the first words he’d said that day coming out rough, and she nodded. As she walked away, Bones turned to him. 

“How are you holding up, Jim?” The kindness in his eyes was unexpected. Kirk, undeserving, turned away from it. 

“Are you going to remove me from command?” It wasn’t the question he meant to ask, but in the end, it was the only one that mattered. 

“Jesus Christ, Jim, absolutely not,” Bones said, shocked into stillness, and the authenticity of his reaction pulled Kirk’s eyes back to him. “You still owe me about a hundred more answers, and they had better be honest ones this time, but it’s not an impeachable offense to get in an argument. I wish you hadn’t fled while I was holding some poor kid’s skull together--- he’s fine, by the way, just an idiot--- but I’m glad you went to go talk to the lieutenant. If I had known enough about him, I would have told you to see him myself.” Bones patted his arm as Uhura approached with two steaming mugs. “You’re not suddenly a bad captain because someone lied to you, Jimmy. We’ll sort this out.” 

Uhura handed him the mug as Bones’s words settled into his mind, easing away some of the tightness that had taken root in his chest. She slipped back into her chair and wrapped both hands around her mug, breathing in the rich, warm smell. 

“Thank you,” Kirk said, sipping from his own mug. She flapped her hand at him in acknowledgement, and even that was friendly. He cast about for a safe topic of conversation before giving up on that idea. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “How’s Spock?” 

Uhura and Bones traded a glance that was far too immediate and synchronized to be insignificant. “He’s fine,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday lunch, though. He was working on some research project of his all night in the laboratories.” Kirk felt a slight thrill of vindication that he had guessed correctly where Spock would be, but he squashed it. 

“He’s… fine?” 

“Yes, captain,” Uhura said, in a tone that she might have adopted to explain something to a child. “He is fine. But you’re going to have to talk to him yourself if you want any more detail than that.” If Bones wasn’t angry, and Spock was fine, and Uhura was on speaking terms with Kirk, maybe, just maybe, there was a way that he could salvage his life on his ship. If he could figure out how to apologize for how he had behaved while still maintaining the boundary that he had placed between himself and Spock, maybe things could go back to normal.

Bones pushed his tray in front of Kirk as he took another sip of coffee. “Toast?” 

Grateful beyond measure for the both of them, Kirk snagged a piece. It was slightly burnt, and Bones always put an amount of jam on it that should have been illegal. It was delicious.

Kirk noticed three strange things when he stepped onto the bridge with Uhura, four minutes before the start of alpha. The first was that Scotty stood on the bridge, chatting with Sulu, when his typical work schedule indicated that he should have been down in Engineering. The second was that the science station was empty, even though Spock usually arrived six to ten minutes before the start of his shift. 

The third was that Starbase 27 loomed enormous in the viewscreen ahead of them, despite the fact that they weren’t scheduled to have been anywhere near it for another sixteen hours. Kirk blinked vigorously at the improbable sight, and then glanced to Scotty. Scotty beamed at him. 

“Morning, captain,” Scotty said, and those two words were so gleeful that Kirk half-expected steam to start whistling out from underneath his thatch of dark hair. There were a few other engineers leaning against the security station behind him, chatting amongst themselves, who also should have been down in the engine rooms rather than crowding his bridge. “Where’s your better half?” 

Kirk floundered. “In the laboratories,” he said faintly. “He was working on some research project.” 

“Isn’t he always,” Scotty said. “Well, we should wait for him to arrive.”

“Wait for? Scotty, what’s going on? How did we even get here?” Kirk gestured to the starbase in front of him, the one that should have been lightyears away from their current position. Behind him, the turbolift door slid open and Spock appeared, somber and handsome, as the ship’s clock ticked over to 0800 precisely. He tucked multiple padds into the pockets of his pants as he went straight to his station, long legs eating up the distance in three steps. 

“Mr. Spock! Just the man I wanted to see!” Scotty grinned at Spock, who straightened slowly and looked at Scotty with a completely blank face. For once half-second his eyes flicked to Kirk, as if to gauge Kirk’s thoughts on the matter, but then his gaze returned to Scotty before Kirk could react. 

“Good morning, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, and his voice was gritty in the way that Kirk knew meant he hadn’t slept at all. 

“As I believe you can all tell, we have arrived at Starbase 27 a wee bit ahead of schedule,” Scotty said, clasping his hands excitedly in front of himself. He glanced at Spock again, who gave him an indulgent head tilt. “Just a wee bit. Nothing too wild. And any and all unregulated adaptations made to any and all engines have been reverted. So don’t ye worry. But, captain, commander…” Scotty looked over at the other engineers, who grinned. “Behold: yer wedding gift from the engineering department.” 

Kirk narrowed his eyes, parsing through exactly what Scotty was saying and not saying. “What did you do to the engines?” 

“Aye, never mind about that, sir,” Scotty said cheerfully. “But Janice helped us all arrange it, shift-wise. So here’s our gift to you.” 

“A starbase?” 

“As much of a honeymoon as we could provide,” Scotty said, and the engineers behind him bumped fists. “Before we pick up the brass and get real orders again. Time for you and Mr. Spock to be off-ship together.” Uhura covered her smile with one hand as Kirk’s heart sank. It was an ingenious feat of engineering, impossibly thoughtful, unbearably kind. He couldn’t possibly accept. There was no way that Spock would be willing to spend twelve hours with him on a honeymoon after yesterday, after skipping their morning routine.

“Scotty…” Kirk breathed, mentally digging for a way to let Spock out of it. But Spock’s eyes flashed to him again, and then Spock was speaking over him. 

“This is a thoughtful and considerate gift, Mr. Scott,” Spock said. “We are grateful for the effort you and your engineers exerted to do so. But,” and Kirk closed his eyes. There was the but. They were going to get divorced right here on the bridge and then Spock would leave. 

“I recommend that in the future you simply do not mention any adaptations.” Kirk opened his eyes, and Scotty beamed at Spock, who favored him with a teasing eyebrow. 

“Duly noted, Mr. Spock,” Scotty agreed. “Mr. Kyle is waiting in the transporter room for you, at your convenience.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, and finally turned to face Kirk. When his eyes met his, they were unreadable. But he said, “After you, captain.” 

“You have the conn, Scotty,” Kirk said, and with all the conviction he could muster: “Thank you.” 

“Our pleasure, captain,” Scotty said, and he took Kirk’s spot in the chair as Kirk walked on numb legs back to the turbolift. Spock walked a half step behind him, and turned to face the door as it closed between them and the bridge. Kirk’s eyes snagged on the proud set of his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw and the slight discoloration under his eyes that evidenced his lack of sleep. He needed to apologize. He wanted to take Spock’s hands in his again and let Spock do the awful work of sorting through his conflicting and contradictory desires. Maybe Spock could figure out the most logical path forward for them. Instead he said nothing.

Spock stopped the lift halfway to the transporter deck, and Kirk stiffened. The sudden silence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Without turning to meet Kirk’s eyes, his gaze still steadily ahead, Spock asked, “Do you wish for the dissolution of our marriage, captain?” 

Kirk’s stomach dropped, and he snapped his eyes away. Of course he didn’t. If he lost Spock to another position after all of this, he would resign his commission and go back to Iowa to build ships instead. But he said, “I’ll do whatever you want, Spock.” 

“That is not an answer to the question that I posed,” Spock said. Kirk turned at Spock’s firm tone. Spock’s eyes were locked on him, his head cocked slightly, and his cold anger from yesterday had been replaced with a probing intensity. “I asked what you wanted.” 

He could lie to Spock again. He could tell him that he wanted a divorce, and free them both from the path that he had set them on. He would lose his best friend and grieve for the rest of his life, but he could force himself to say the words. But he thought of Bones’s shock-slackened face at Kirk’s admission, and Uhura’s kindness this morning even though he had been cruel to the man they both cared for, and he thought of Kevin Riley’s silent suffering at the recommendation of the woman who had shaped him. 

“No,” he said. The word was out of him before he could convince himself that it was wrong. It was reckless, maybe irresponsible, but it was what he wanted. “I don’t.”

Spock’s shoulders loosened the slightest amount, and he restarted the lift. When he looked back at Kirk at the corner of his eye, there was almost a smile in the tilt of his head. 

“Good,” he said. Kirk gaped at him, but he fixed his eyes forward again. Before he could pose any of his follow-up questions, which mainly consisted of ‘what the hell?,’ the turbolift deposited them in the empty hallway that led to the transporter. Spock stepped out, but Kirk hesitated. He at least owed Spock one more graceful exit from what was sure to be an unpleasant and awkward day.

“Spock…” 

Spock swung around immediately, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, captain?”

“We don’t have to do this,” Kirk said. 

“Clarify.” 

“You don’t even like shore leave,” Kirk said. “You could---”

“But you do,” Spock said evenly. Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock continued over him, “Your stress levels have been unacceptably high for the past eight days. Your efficiency is decreased by 10.2%, your general morale lowered by more, and I do not foresee a better opportunity for you to relieve this stress before we spend the next two weeks with the admirals onboard, which, historically, has not been what you would describe as a ‘pleasant’ experience.” 

Kirk spluttered. “My stress levels are fine, Spock---” 

“They are not,” Spock said calmly. “And I understand that human beings consider it rude to reject a gift, especially when such effort was exerted to provide it. Therefore, we are going to the starbase.” Spock turned and started walking again, and Kirk strode after him to catch up. Before Kirk could drag him around by the elbow and force Spock to explain himself, even though he didn’t have a single leg to stand on when it came to demanding explanations for anything, Spock reached the door to the transporter and it opened before him. Engineer Kyle was already at the command board, grinning at them. 

“Mazel tov, sirs,” he said, and Spock inclined his head. Kirk smiled at him as best he could and followed Spock onto the transporter pad.

“Thank you, Mr. Kyle,” Kirk said. “Energize, please.” 

They arrived in the busy transport bay of an enormous, arched hall that seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. They moved rapidly off the pad as other groups around them materialized or vanished, and Spock hovered by Kirk’s shoulder as Kirk blindly made his way out of the thronging crowd and to a quiet space along the wall of the space. Above them were hovering lights of a thousand colors, combining to create something similar to natural light, and along the walls of the throughway were signs for attractions, events, sales, and locations to visit. Storefronts peppered the hall, and more species than Kirk had ever seen before in one place mingled and shopped and ate and talked. It was beautifully boisterous, and for a moment he let the noise of the crowd wash over him.

“Captain, I researched the attractions on this base before our arrival, and had intended to visit a museum of some interest if given the opportunity. I believe you would enjoy it, if you cared to accompany me.” Spock stood with his hands behind his back, peering around at the sights with his permanent scientific curiosity. 

Kirk frowned. First Bones, then Uhura, and now Spock. Where were the consequences of his outbursts from the day before? He had lost control of himself, and there were supposed to be consequences for it. Kirk turned to Spock. He should let it go, accept the second chance he’d been given, but he couldn’t help himself. Spock looked as he always did, but Kirk was the one who had been changed. Facets of his identity, the rules that he lived by, had gone unchallenged for years and overnight someone had pulled the keystone out. The arch threatened to crumble.

“Spock, what is going on?” 

“We are on a starbase---” 

“No,” Kirk said, swiping his hand through the air as if to erase what might have been Spock’s wry humor. “I don’t understand. Yesterday, I--- I was unkind to you, and I upset you, don’t pretend that I didn’t, and now we’re on a starbase and you’re talking about my general morale and asking if I want to go to a museum with you?”

Spock watched a gaggle of young Andorians in school uniforms run down the tiled pathway towards the other end of the causeway before he said quietly, “I cannot deny that I had hoped, captain, that your trust in me would be sufficient to allow me to provide assistance or support when you were distressed.”

“It’s not about trust,” Kirk started, but Spock cut him off.

“It is. And I apologize for touching you after you revoked your permission to do so, but I was concerned for you. I wished to help you. However,, captain, it would be illogical for me to refuse to consider your needs now solely because of that situation. My duties to you are quite clear.” 

To cover the rising tightness in his throat, Kirk said, “I’m fairly certain that the first officer handbook doesn’t say that you have to be nice after your captain is an asshole to you.” 

“It does not,” Spock agreed. “But as you confirmed for me earlier, ‘for better and for worse’ still applies.” Kirk stared at him, dumbfounded, as Spock watched groups of people walk by. “So yes,” he continued. “I did ask if you would like to visit the museum with me.” He turned back to Kirk with one eyebrow raised. 

Spock did not reach out to touch him, but the warm brown of his eyes, his unwavering eye contact, the familiar set of his face, had the same comforting effect as the way he had passed his hand up and down Kirk’s back. A weight fell away from Kirk’s shoulders. He had been so convinced after yesterday that he would have to work for months to earn Spock’s forgiveness, and he had been willing to do it. He had thought that he had lost Bones’s and Spock’s trust on the same day, and lost Uhura’s respect as a casualty, and instead his friends had shown him such easy grace that he felt ashamed for having doubted them. The permission that they offered to him to be imperfect blindsided him. 

“I do trust you,” Kirk said. “And I’m sorry. For how I treated you yesterday.” 

“I am aware,” Spock said. “And I accept your apology. But I do hope that someday you will trust me with whatever this may be as well.” 

Kirk wanted to tell him that it wasn’t about him at all, that he didn’t doubt Spock’s trust but his own worth. But instead, as he felt the stirrings of his first genuine smile in forty-eight hours, he said, “So what’s this museum?” Spock kept his hands clasped behind his back, but walking side-by-side with him down the causeway, alone with him in the hustling crowd, made Kirk feel as though something integral inside himself had been repaired. 

☆☆☆

“Holy shit,” Kirk breathed. Spock had been right. This was a museum of some interest. As the front-line diplomats of the Federation to new cultures and civilizations, the vast majority of the Enterprise crew’s time was spent either meeting the primary sentient species on a planet or assessing its flora and fauna as a threat. He so rarely got to appreciate the infinite diversity of organic life for what it was. But this museum was a masterclass in appreciation. 

It was built into four huge levels of the base, sprawling for at least a mile on each deck, with an intricate system of stairs, elevators, and escalators placed strategically for visitors to the starbase to follow the themes of evolution that most interested them. He couldn’t fathom the effort that it must have taken to assemble a display of this magnitude: each floor was dedicated to one of the four nearest solar systems, with a series of rooms devoted to each planet in the system, split within those rooms by form or function. A veritable army must have been necessary to create the casts of the skeletons and fossils and plant life, then paint and construct and model them among murals and dioramas that depicted what the organisms may have looked like in context. The lighting on each floor and in each room was based on the solar system’s primary star, and the planet’s unique characterisitics. One room was a cheery golden light not unlike Earth’s, whereas another was hued in pinks and purples because of the makeup of the atmosphere. Kirk could have happily moved into the museum, set up a tent in one of the summery plains dioramas, and never left. 

In front of him was a creature unlike anything he had ever seen. The closest Earth analogue would have been the giant ground sloths of the Pliocene era, but only if it had been amphibian and unconstrained by Earth’s relatively heavy gravity. A cross-section of its bone had been replicated for children to touch, mounted on the wall, and Kirk couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers in wonder against the curious texture. It was pocked with holes all the way through, which made it easier for these enormous and muscular creatures to swim through the highly salty waters of their indigenous oceans. The top of Kirk’s head only came up to the complicated hip joint of the model. 

“Indeed. I would be interested to see the method by which it swims,” Spock said, peering at the hip. “The range of motion of its legs must be immense.” Spock stood comfortably next to Kirk: not pressed against his shoulder, as he might have been before yesterday, but only a few inches separated them. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, and for all that Spock had said about Kirk requiring shore leave, Kirk thought that unstructured time wandering through a museum might have been good for Spock as well. They walked slowly between the dioramas. Rather than following one of the suggested paths, they had, without discussing it, decided to move through the museum linearly in order to see every exhibit. They had the time, after all. To Kirk’s delight, he learned immediately that Spock was the type to read every single informative panel before progressing to the next room. Kirk was the same way, when he was unrushed, but Sam had never had the patience to move that slowly through museums when they were children. They passed the hours of the morning meandering slowly through the rooms of the first two floors. They learned about the entirely aquatic planet of Shindon III, where amphibious peoples lived in sprawling coral cities in places where the currents carried warm water. The oceanic sloth creature was from this world, and was called the mother of the seas because of its role as the primary underwater pollinator. They witnessed a demonstration on the mechanics of how the enormous, bear-sized otters of Shindon V used acid to hunt smaller creatures, and watched a documentary on the symbiotic relationship between the nomadic populations of Detra IV and the nimble, camel-like quadrupeds that they rode across the steppes of their mountainous planet. 

The only time that Spock was more than a few feet away from Kirk was, in another aquatic room on the second floor, Kirk moved on after reading the panels and only realized after a few moments that Spock had not followed. He doubled back through the winding sandy maze of the room until he rounded a corner and halted. Spock stood still, bathed in the blue-green light of the display panel, hands hanging open by his sides as he stared, entranced, at one of the creatures. It was called a crinoid, and some adventurous spirit had swum deep into the depths of the ocean on Detra III with a camera to film its movement. The invertebrate was made entirely of long, feather-like arms that it used to move itself with rhythmic flicking motions, and its feathers undulated in the currents of the green waters around it. For a moment Kirk watched Spock watch the crinoid. Deep beneath the veneer of professionalism, he thought that this might have been what had driven Spock to accept the five-year mission posting: this joyous curiosity, and his boundless love of the unknown. Kirk’s heart twinged to see it, and displayed so openly. 

After another minute, Spock’s shoulders jerked, as if he had given himself an allotment for wonder and his time was now up, and he turned to leave. As he turned, his eyes alighted on Kirk, who was still leaning against the wall. Kirk smiled at him genuinely, fondly; he couldn’t help himself. 

“I know you said no pets, but what about this one?” 

Spock’s eyes were soft as he came to join Kirk again, hands returning to behind his back. “I do not believe we have the capacity to responsibly house a creature such as this,” he demurred, but he looked back over his shoulder once more as they continued on. “But I admit that I found its form fascinating.” 

At the end of the second floor was a food court, and Kirk discovered that he was ravenous. There were different kiosks dedicated to the culinary traditions of the nearby systems, and he and Spock agreed to split off to find their lunches and reconvene at a table near the entrance. Unfamiliar with this region of the galaxy and with no strong preferences arising, he picked one with less of a line and headed towards it. 

“Good afternoon,” said a tall, handsome person in accented Standard. They had a shiny, waxy coating to their purplish skin, enormous brown-black eyes, and a long, intricately beaded ponytail. “What will you have?”

“I’ve no idea,” Kirk said cheerily, and scanned the menu behind them. He didn’t recognize most of the titles, but the images alongside the listings all looked wonderful, and the smell wafting from behind the counter was enticing. “Whatever you recommend for lunch, I suppose.” He glanced down at the counter before him. Among the bottled drinks were scattered trinkets and souvenirs, marked with the logo of the museum. He spied a box with a feather on the front and picked it up. Within the box was a clever little perpetual motion machine, a tiny moving simulacrum of the crinoid that had so ensnared Spock’s attention. “Whatever you recommend and this, then,” Kirk amended, and handed over his credit chip. He tucked the little box into his pocket, took the tray of something that looked and smelled delicious from the cashier, and turned to find Spock. 

Despite what Spock had said earlier, Kirk was still shocked to sit across from Spock and listen to him muse about the evolutionary implications of different organisms that they’d seen. He had expected for Spock to display a residual distaste for him, at the very least. But it seemed that Spock had genuinely accepted his apology; he met Kirk’s eyes without reserve, and, so subtly that at first Kirk didn’t realize he was doing it, rhetorically tugged at Kirk until his own scientific interest emerged. 

“Would you like to see the next two floors, captain?” Spock asked eventually, when their plates were empty. 

“Definitely,” Kirk said, and pushed his chair back to stand up. Before he could reach for his tray, however, Spock had snagged it, stacked his own on top of it, and left the table to return them to the disposal area. As he watched Spock wend through the tables, he was reminded of the day, one week previously, when Spock had insisted on carrying his tray through the mess for him. But there was no audience here, no one to convince of his intentions. 

No one except for Kirk. Kirk’s brain stuttered to a halt as he stared at Spock, methodically unloading both of their trays into the appropriate recycling receptacles. There was no way. Spock could not possibly still carry any interest in him after what he had done yesterday. He had shut down Spock’s confession, told Spock that he didn’t want to be touched by him, had forcibly erected a boundary between them and brooked no discussion. 

But, the hopeful little voice in his head whispered as it roared back to life, Spock had known that Kirk was lying. 

Spock returned from the tray disposal, and Kirk followed him onward to the next level of the museum. Though the flora around him was just as intriguing as on the first two floors, Kirk found his attention more drawn to the man beside him. Spock continued to point out different contradictions, facts he found interesting, pausing to watch the movement of different creatures, but Kirk watched Spock instead. How much had it cost Spock to pick his moment to approach him, to confess that he had enjoyed their charade for the crew? How much had it cost Spock to admit that he felt something for Kirk?

And yet, despite Kirk’s dishonesty and dismissal, he had been forgiven. Spock was here, talking quietly to him about hunting patterns, the same steady presence by his side that he had been for years. Even while Spock respected the boundary that Kirk had set and did not cross the line between them, he orbited around Kirk’s space like a planet around a star. He moved in response to Kirk’s movement, a complicated waltz that Kirk had never before been aware of. They progressed through the rest of the museum, taking the better part of four hours to do so, and they emerged at last from the last purple-black room of the museum into the warm early-evening sunlight of the central causeway. Blinking at the sudden shift, Kirk felt as if they had returned from a journey through a different time before suddenly, shockingly, returning to the present. Had the spell of the museum been broken, and Spock would remember that he should have shunned him? But Spock turned to him, a calm, settled grace in the curve of his spine, and said, “What did you think, captain?” 

“I loved it,” Kirk said, and was surprised by the force of his own response. “It was wonderful. What did you think?” 

“I found it fascinating,” Spock said. He gently steered himself and Kirk away from the exit so as to allow the other patrons to leave. “I find myself still thinking about the crinoids. I have never seen a creature such as they. If the images of them were the only exhibit in the museum, it still would have been worth the visit.” 

Kirk pulled the simulacrum from his pocket. “I got this for you,” he said, offering it to Spock. He took the little box from him and gently pulled the top flap open to reveal the machine inside. For a moment, Spock silently watched the gentle undulation of the feathers within, and Kirk watched him. When Spock finally looked back up at him, the muted delight on his face floored Kirk.

“It is beautiful,” Spock said. “I thank you.” He looked at Kirk like there was no greater gift in the universe that he could have been given than this little museum trinket; like Kirk had bestowed upon him jewels and riches beyond measure. 

“You’re welcome,” Kirk said, and looked back down the causeway, away from the weight of Spock’s warm gaze. “Dinner?” 

They wandered down the tiled pathway as the lights above them slowly shifted colors from a bright day through a cozy twilight, and the ease of the day combined with the bustle of the crowds lulled Kirk into a contented stupor. 

“Do you have a preference for anything, captain?” Spock asked, and Kirk was about to shake his head when he was hit with a wave of nostalgia so powerful that he stopped in his tracks. The smell of something deeply Iowa-like was wafting down the causeway, and it dragged him forward. 

“Whatever that is,” he breathed. He followed his nose down the way, Spock amused beside him, until he pulled up in front of a restaurant emblazoned with a neon sign: “The Best of the Midwest.” Within was a checkered linoleum floor, diner-style booths and tables, with a high-top bar in the back and cooks in the little folded paper hats he could have recognized from a mile away. His relationship with what he would call ‘home food’ was complicated for a thousand painful reasons, but what it came down to was this: if it was available, he would eat it. There were multiple buzzing packs of people waiting in front of the restaurant’s opening, and only one or two open tables inside. 

“This is where you would like to eat?” Spock’s voice was by his ear. Kirk almost nodded, but he hesitated. 

“I don’t want to wait, it’ll be hours. We can go somewhere else.” Kirk turned and almost walked directly into Spock, who had not moved. Kirk found himself with his nose nearly against Spock’s neck, and he could feel the warmth of Spock’s body as Spock looked down at him. 

“One moment, please, captain,” Spock said, and stepped around him to approach the hostess stand. Kirk turned to watch him go, and saw Spock say something to the hostess, leaning over the stand to make himself heard. She was a young human woman, no more than twenty-two, and she popped a piece of bubblegum even as she ran her finger down the paper pad in front of her. To Kirk’s surprise, she nodded and shot Spock a megawatt smile before snagging two menus from the stand and stepping out from behind it. Spock turned to meet his eyes as the hostess waited for them, and Kirk came to meet them as she led them to one of the two empty tables.

“Table for two, Mark will be taking care of you, thank you for visiting the Best of the Midwest,” she chirped, and deposited their menus on the table before heading back to her stand. Spock sat in the chair closest to the entrance and pulled one of the menus towards himself as Kirk dropped into the other chair. He put his hand flat on the menu Spock lifted, forcing it back down to the table. 

“What the hell was that, Spock?” Even as he said it, he couldn’t stop the disbelieving smile from spreading across his face, and Spock met his eyes with a deeply satisfied look. 

“A reservation is an Earth custom where one contacts a restaurant---” 

“Stop that,” Kirk said, and glanced around the table to find something that would be appropriate to throw at him. His search was fruitless. “How did you know?” 

“How did I know what, Jim?” Spock unrolled the napkin that had been set at his place and draped it over his lap as he crossed his legs under the table. They were on a first-name basis again? It was a good thing Kirk was not a betting man, because he would have lost a significant number of credits on how he thought this day would have gone. 

“All of it! This restaurant, the reservation, being on the starbase, the museum…” 

“I am sure you are intimately familiar with the sound of the ship at warp,” Spock said. 

Kirk blinked. “Sure. Don’t change the subject, though. How---” 

“I am as well, and I was awake this morning when I heard the pitch of the ship’s engines change,” Spock said. “It increased, implying that we were moving faster than we had previously. Navigation did not indicate that we were going anywhere other than our originally plotted destination. Lieutenant Commander Scott is a friend and an extraordinary engineer, if somewhat irresponsible. From these facts I surmised what might occur, and took the appropriate steps to prepare.” He raised his menu, but Kirk pressed it down again.

“So you knew we’d have leave time. But this restaurant?” 

“You have said before that when North American food, and specifically the food from your home region, is available on shore leave, you prioritize it. When I saw that this restaurant was an option and that it was popular, I only ensured that it would be available to you if you desired it.” Spock lifted his menu again, and this time Kirk retracted his hand to allow him to study the options. 

Kirk stared across the table at the Vulcan sitting across from him. His eyes traced the elegant points of his ears, the sharp angles of his eyebrows, the surprisingly soft line of his mouth. Even after Kirk had rejected his advances and lost his composure entirely, Spock had taken the time from his research project to ensure that Kirk would have what he wanted. Spock flipped the menu over. 

Kirk asked, “Why?” 

Spock did not pretend to misunderstand. He said, “‘For better and for worse’ did not come with caveats.” He glanced up at Kirk, chocolate brown eyes meeting his, and his expression remained self-assured and steady even when Kirk could not respond. 

Mark, a human being either from the Midwest or with a stellar ear for the accent, came to take their order before swishing off again. Kirk ordered comfort food in the form of a pork tenderloin; Spock ordered the only vegetarian option, which was macaroni and cheese. Their conversation ranged from Spock’s mistrust of the dubiously named ‘cheese product’ to their favorite organisms from the museum, when Spock pulled his crinoid from his pocket again to watch its movement fondly for a moment, and then to reminiscing about various missions.

“It might have been scientifically valuable to have retained some of the pods from Omicron Ceti III to study their healing capabilities,” Spock said at one point, and Kirk scoffed. 

“And risk losing the capabilities of the crew somewhere millions of lightyears away from help? Sounds like a nightmare, if you ask me.” 

Over their meals, Kirk admitted that he still had not told his parents that they were married, and Spock offered that, even after the blood transfusion debacle en route to Babel, his relationship with his father remained strained. As Mark cleared their plates away when they were done and subtly deposited a dessert menu between them, Kirk said, “Would you have sought out Vulcan food if you were on your own?” 

Spock threaded his fingers together, steepling them on the table. “I would not have,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“I do not feel the same connection now that I might have before,” he said. “I have access to the food, my instruments, on the ship. But after the kal-if-fee I feel no strong bond to the homeworld.” He met Kirk’s eyes. “There is no one to draw me there.” Spock’s long fingers drew delicate patterns over the table before he snagged the dessert menu and peered at it disinterestedly. 

“You asked earlier about my behavior towards you today, even after yesterday’s events,” Spock said suddenly, and Kirk’s attention, which had been drifting towards the ideas of home and sleep, snapped to him. “I told you a partial truth earlier. It is true that it would be illogical for me to ignore your needs after conflict. However, you were correct in assessing that your words perturbed me in the moment.” 

Kirk closed his eyes in a relieved sort of dread. Now, would the ramifications finally arrive? 

“I found myself to be unsettled by the idea that you would lie to me, especially when you were distressed, and I sought a period of meditation to recenter myself. You, typically, are an honest man. But in meditation I was able to understand exactly what I found so unsettling about our exchange.” There was a light knock on the table near Kirk’s hand where it rested, and he opened his eyes as Spock’s arm retracted back to his side. 

Once he had Kirk’s eyes on him, Spock said evenly, “You lie to me when you believe that it protects my safety or well-being, or that of the crew, even at the expense of your own.” 

Spock’s eyes were molten now, and scorched him. Kirk opened his mouth to argue, but Spock’s carefully guided and uncharacteristic trip down memory lane was suddenly cast in a new light. Though not intentionally, he had allowed Spock to think that he had killed him in order to end his pon farr and depart Vulcan alive. He had lied to Spock to break through the control of the spores on Omicron Ceti III, even though he had put himself at the mercy of Spock’s unbridled strength to do it. And he had lied to Spock on the journey to Babel to give him the peace of mind necessary to relinquish command and save his father, despite the still-gaping stab wound in his chest. Kirk stared at Spock as the restaurant spun around him: Spock knew. Spock knew him. Spock knew that he was hiding something, and still orchestrated a day for them to spend together with his own brand of logical, unflinching kindness, and now sat across from him and offered him safe passage through the consequences of his own actions. 

“What I have not yet deduced, regarding yesterday,” Spock said, as he laid the menu down and slid it across the table to Kirk, “is what, precisely, you believe that you are protecting me from.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked at Kirk, shoulders square, eyes alight. Checkmate, game to Spock. “Would you like dessert?” 

☆☆☆

“Welcome back, gentleman,” Scotty said as they materialized together in a shower of golden light onto the familiar transporter pad of the Enterprise. “How was your day?”

“Satisfactory,” Spock said.

“Great,” Kirk said.

“Sounds about right,” Scotty said, and, after shutting down the command console, followed them out of the room. “Did ye get to see the gladiator arenas?” 

Kirk laughed as Spock pulled his crinoid out. “We spent the majority of the day in the natural history museum complex,” he said, and showed the movement of the little creature to Scotty. Scotty took one glance at the undulating sea creature and shuddered. 

“Beautiful,” he said unconvincingly. “Best left in the ocean, methinks.” 

“Perhaps,” Spock said. The three of them departed for the officers’ quarters, Scotty informing them of everything they had missed on their day away. They had missed very little, and April and Pike were still scheduled to arrive late the next morning. 

“Thank you again, Scotty,” Kirk said, as they arrived at the door that used to be Spock’s. “It was a great day.” Spock inclined his head to the engineer. 

“T’was my pleasure, gentlemen,” Scotty said. “Neither of ye take enough leave as it is, and after this we’ll be out in the middle o’ nowhere for ages. I’m glad we could give ye more time to celebrate properly.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. This pleasure would be entirely linked to a gift well-given and not any unregulated engine upgrades, would it?” Spock asked. Scotty grinned at him, wolf-like, before unlocking the door and vanishing into his room, which now looked more like half of a warp core than a bedroom. The door slid shut behind him, and Kirk and Spock were left alone in the hallway. Without his input, Kirk’s feet took him to his own door, and Spock walked alongside him in companionable silence. 

At the door, Spock halted. “Did you enjoy yourself, captain?” 

“Yes,” Kirk said immediately. Spock’s eyes did not meet his, exactly; they were fixed on a point beyond his left ear. “God, yes. I…” He paused as he read Spock’s physicality: his shoulders were a tight, straight line, and his arms had vanished entirely behind his back with the force of his grip on one of his wrists. He still hadn’t made eye contact. 

“It was perfect,” he said softly. “You were right. I needed time off the ship, and it was… it was wonderful. Thank you for picking the museum, and making the reservation, and for not letting me say no this morning.” 

At his words, the tension in Spock’s posture released, and when he met Kirk’s eyes he pressed his lips together in the imperceptible motion that was almost a smile. “I am glad to be of assistance,” he said. “I will leave you to your rest.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“I must review today’s work and updates from the ongoing experiments,” Spock said, and his gaze dropped away from Kirk’s face. Without the warmth of his eyes on him, Kirk suddenly felt cold. “I did not anticipate missing an entire shift before the admirals’ arrival and do not wish to be unprepared tomorrow.” 

“Right,” Kirk said. “Very logical, Mr. Spock.” 

“Thank you, captain,” Spock said. “Good night.” With one more lightning-fast glance at Kirk, expression unreadable, he nodded firmly once and turned to leave.

Kirk turned to his door to unlock it. Then he turned instead to watch Spock go. Time seemed to slow as Spock’s footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and each step that took Spock away from him brought forth another memory. Spock telling him that he didn’t want to leave. Spock gently teasing him in the mess. Spock catching his head in the gymnasium. Spock kissing him against the bookshelf, in front of the crew, running his hand along Kirk’s spine, taking him to the museum, making a reservation in the quiet hours before alpha shift to make sure that Kirk had what he wanted. He thought of Spock taking his tray at lunch, his delight in his little crinoid, his satisfaction at Kirk’s pleasure in the restaurant. A small seed of fear gripped him as he inhaled: what if he was wrong? But in his head, Spock’s sure, steady voice said, “‘For better and for worse’ did not come with caveats.”

Kirk called, “Hey, Spock!” Spock halted and spun. Their eyes met across the distance between them. Sharp-edged hope cut through him. “Do you have time to help me with something?” 

At this distance he didn’t hear Spock’s response, but his mouth formed a shape that looked like “always.” He finally turned to open his door, and by the time it swished open Spock had returned to his side. 

“What do you need, Jim?” 

They stepped inside their quarters, and Kirk waited until the door slid shut behind them. Then he said, “I need your help breaking into the Starfleet personnel directory.” 

Spock inhaled through his nose, eyebrows drawing together. “It is public access to officers, is it not?” It was a sensible question, but behind the cool facade Kirk could see the gears of interest beginning to turn.

“Most of it is. But someone lied to me. And I intend to find out why.” Kirk dropped into his office chair and booted up the console as he explained what he had done the night before. When he had brought Spock up to speed and pulled up Elise’s profile, he swapped spots with Spock, allowing Spock to have the chair and leaning over his shoulder to watch what he did. 

“And who is this person?” 

“She, ah…” Kirk started, and then blanked. Where could he even start? He didn’t want to open with, “Well, she was my Starfleet-assigned therapist at school, because I needed one.” He didn’t want to start with Tarsus. The idea of it made him nauseated. After four seconds of him choking on air, Spock said, “It is fine, Jim. You do not have to tell me.” His fingers flew nimbly over the keyboard. Then, with a slightly smug tone, he said, “I will find out who she is soon enough.” 

Kirk half-smiled at that and rapped his knuckles against the back of the chair. “I have no doubt of that.” 

After three frustrated hours, Spock was coldly radiating his distaste for Elise, the directory, and every Starfleet computer programmer who had ever lived, and Kirk was half-asleep in his uniform from that day on top of his covers, still wearing his boots.

“You ought to prepare for rest, captain,” Spock said, peering intently at the back-end code of the directory. 

“I’m not the one who stayed up all night,” Kirk said, but he dragged himself into the bathroom, changed into pajamas, and prepared for bed. He had just reentered the room, Spock still hunched over the console, when their padds dinged simultaneously. 

“I’ve got it,” Kirk said, as Spock slowly pulled his eyes away from his puzzle to regard his padd with disdain. “I’ll let you know if it’s important.” He reclaimed his padd from where it sat on his bedside table and sat down, back against his headboard and his feet crossed in front of him. He tapped open the message.

SUBJECT: RE: Regulation Revision, 6245-B: Field Officer Recommendation

To: schntgaispock@enterprise

CC: jamestkirk@enterprise

From: kathleenlee@headquarters

Commander Spock,  

Greetings from afar! Thank you for this most recent contribution. Your revision is, as usual, meticulously researched and logically argued. I’ve submitted it to the upcoming regulatory board meeting as an agenda item and will keep you apprised of the outcome, though I think we can take a pretty good guess at what that will be. 

I noticed that your CO got dropped off the original message, so I’ve CC’d him here. 

Please let me know if I can be of any other assistance at this time. 

Best, 

Lt. Cmdr. Lee 

P.S. Congrats :) 

Spock frequently submitted regulation revisions; he might have been the only person in all of Starfleet to keep the regulatory board in meetings. Of course he was on smiley-face level with the regulations administrator. Spock’s recommendations were usually about research protocols, but the regulation number snagged Kirk’s attention. 6245 referred to lifesaving missions. He scrolled down to view Spock’s original message. 

SUBJECT: Regulation Revision, 6245-B: Field Officer Recommendation

To: kathleenlee@headquarters

From: schntgaispock@enterprise

Lieutenant Commander Lee, 

Greetings. I have attached a regulation revision submission pertaining to food storage on deep space exploratory missions. Please see the attached report for my findings and conclusions.

LLAP, 

STS

The message had been sent at 0759 that morning, and the attachment was two hundred pages long. Was this the research project that Spock had been so absorbed in? He had been working on a regulation improvement the day that he moved into Kirk’s quarters, but hadn’t mentioned it otherwise. Kirk tapped the attachment open. He scrolled past all of the standard forms--- Spock’s name, rank, the regulation he was updating, and a thousand other useless pieces of data that Starfleet collected and never used, to the meat of the report. 

Starfleet is, in many respects, an observatory organization. Though it performs admirably as the diplomatic arm of the Federation when engaging new cultures and civilizations, the vast majority of Starfleet man-hours are spent on scientific research in space, far from the turbulence of on-world life.

However, when called to do so, Starfleet ships can and do act as the first responders to crises. There are not many important similarities between the populations that comprise the Federation, but one universal constant is the need for sustenance. Exploratory vessels are frequently the first ones to receive distress signals from far-lying locales, there are infrequent opportunities to restock solid supplies in deep space, and the small scale at which food can be replicated can hinder lifesaving efforts. This report will analyze five previous instances of Starfleet’s reaction to crises before making recommendations for regulatory updates to advance and improve Starfleet’s capacity to respond to acute and life-threatening scenarios. The primary lesson of the case studies presented, and the primary recommendation of the author, is that all California-class ships and newer and all ships commanded one (1) or more AU beyond the current boundaries of Federation space should henceforth increase the volume of solid, unreplicated, immediate-use foodstuffs maintained onboard by 235% from current standards. The mathematical model for this increase is attached to this report as Annex A. 

Kirk pressed one shaking hand to his mouth and continued skimming. Spock had meticulously detailed five lifesaving missions that Starfleet ships had undertaken, outside the normal purview of their work, analyzing common successes and failures before wrapping them into a tidy, logical conclusion of how to save lives. He had listed a planet whose entire sky had been blackened for three years by volcanic eruptions, a generations ship whose soil recycler had broken down, and three agricultural planets that, for one reason or another, had devolved into complete famine: Alexii I, Gradient V, and Tarsus IV. 

He downloaded the report and looked at the metadata. The document had been created two hours after he told Spock why the broken replicators made his heartbeat skyrocket. Kirk turned to stare at Spock, who still bent determinedly over his console, having eschewed the touchpad entirely to type commands directly into the black screen. He looked down at the report in his hands.

“Residual stress,” Kirk had said, when he hedged around genocide by calling it a period of scarcity. He had tried to keep Spock from seeing how it haunted him, and Spock had offered him a hand in comfort and his faith in Kirk’s abilities before moving on, which was far more than Kirk had expected. Kirk had thought that that would be the end of the conversation. But then Spock had forsaken sleep to move the entirety of Starfleet’s behemoth interstellar bureaucracy with the strength of his will alone, so that Kirk might feel more secure. Even after their fight, after Spock had left their quarters, he still spent his entire day on an effort that would make Kirk’s life easier. 

And he had left Kirk off the message. If Kathleen Lee hadn’t looped him back in on her response, Kirk would never have known of the monumental act of service that Spock had done for him. Kirk stared at the back of Spock’s head, the sleek hair that hid his beautiful mind, and it was at that moment that Spock spun, triumphant. 

“Jim, I believe that I---” Spock halted at the expression on Kirk’s face, eyes glancing to his padd and back up. Kirk stared at him, seeing his dear, dear face for the first time again, as something fiery and huge, uncontrollable, unfolded in his chest. Spock had not thought him weak, or unreliable, or untrustworthy. He had accepted Kirk’s fears and needs as fact and shifted the universe around him to accommodate him instead. Kirk had challenged him, lied to him, and pushed him away, and yet Spock had remained steadfastly where he had been for years: by Kirk’s side.

“I have gained access to her service record,” Spock said. “What are you reading?” 

“Your report,” Kirk said hoarsely. “You… did this?” Spock slid the padd from his limp hand and flipped it around to look down on it. 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I did.” 

Kirk asked, “Why?” 

Spock’s eyes, warm and open, met his, and he tilted his head as if to say, “I’ve already told you why.” Kirk’s breath caught in his chest as the wall between his head and his heart crumbled entirely. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. Spock had proven that he was willing to take Kirk at his worst, as much of it as Kirk had been able to show. But what did better even mean, for someone like him?

His eyes slipped to the console behind Spock. If Elise had not been a real medical professional, then an enormous aspect of his so-called recovery had been a sham. If his recovery had been falsified, strategically manipulated, then there might be a reason for his continued struggle beyond his own weakness.

If he was still hurting so badly because he had been refused help, then maybe that meant that he could still get better. Spock deserved better. 

He made his decision; he reached for Spock. 

Kirk shifted to the end of the bed and closed the space between them. He took the padd out of Spock’s grasp and slid his hand into Spock’s, pressing their palms together. For a second Spock sat, unmoving, staring down at Kirk’s hand in his, and Kirk waited for him, serene in his choice, trusting Spock to respond when he would. 

With the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes, Spock took his hand in both of his own and raised them to press Kirk’s palm flat against his chest. His eyes closed as their fingers threaded together. He felt Spock’s steady heartbeat through his shirt, the warmth of his body. 

“I need to tell you something,” Kirk whispered, and Spock’s eyes opened. 

“You can tell me anything, Jim,” Spock said, and Kirk felt the rumble of his voice through his palm. He opened his mouth to say it, to tell him, and his throat constricted. He felt the panic trickle through his bloodstream, and Spock’s expression turned concerned. Kirk looked down at his lap to the padd sitting in his other hand. 

Spock already knew about what had happened on Tarsus, if he had created this report with Starfleet resources. He just needed Kirk to connect the dots. Kirk bit his lip and rapidly paged through it. He pulled up the correct page, with its clinical TARSUS IV heading, and turned it back around to show Spock. Spock glanced between it and him, eyebrows pulling together. Then he blinked, and his hands tightened over Kirk’s. 

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” Kirk said, and his voice cracked. His stomach heaved with nerves. Spock’s eyes scanned over his face before dropping back to his report. He took it and turned to put it on the desk even as he kept Kirk’s hand pressed to him. 

“You are one of the survivors,” Spock said, and Kirk nodded, clenching his jaw against his sudden nausea. For a moment Spock considered, his thumb rubbing slowly over the back of Kirk’s hand, and Kirk saw the fine muscles in his jaw twitch as he sorted through whatever he was thinking. But for once, the waiting didn’t fuel his anxiety. Though seeing the brutality of Tarsus in print sent spikes of panic through him, and telling him now made him feel sick, the knowledge of Spock’s report and everything it meant to him was the bulkhead between him and his ghosts. He was safe in his quarters, on the Enterprise, and Spock was with him, holding his hand. 

Spock nodded, like he had made some decision, and he stood, dragging Kirk up with him by their connected hands.

“Jim,” Spock said. “May I touch you?” Kirk met his eyes and nodded. Spock slid one hand along his outstretched arm, running it up his shoulder, until he was cupping the back of Kirk’s neck. The other hand he wrapped around Kirk’s, cradling it against his chest, and he stepped forward until they were sharing breath. Then he released Kirk’s hand, wrapped his other arm around Kirk’s waist, and hugged him tightly to him, pressing him to the length of his body. The thumb of one hand smoothed down the short, shorn hair at the back of his neck, and the other arm held Kirk flush against him. He rested his cheek against the side of Kirk’s head and breathed.

Kirk wrapped both arms around Spock’s waist, and he buried his face in the side of his neck, and he let himself be held. He leaned against Spock’s warm solidity and breathed in time with him, until Spock pulled back to look down at his face. 

“Is this what you would protect me from?” 

“Partially,” Kirk said. Spock waited. “And from what came after.” 

“Your nightmare from yesterday morning,” Spock said, and Kirk blinked, bemused, as he remembered that the dream hadn’t even been about Tarsus. It had been about Elise. 

“Yes. No. Adjacent,” he said, and leaned around Spock to look at the screen of his console. The screen was filled with text that he couldn’t read at this distance, but Spock had said that he had found her information. “What did you find?” 

“Are you intentionally changing the subject?” 

“I’m not, honest,” Kirk said. “It’s related.” Spock’s eyes narrowed. 

“How do you know this woman?” 

“What did you find in her profile?” 

Kirk stared him down, and Spock broke first. He reluctantly released his hand from the back of Kirk’s neck, but kept his other hand on his lower back as he turned back to the console. 

“Her entire file is redacted,” he said. “Everything that she did after her first posting is confidential. I have some theories about what her career may mean, but I will need to conduct more research first. I would state, with 97.4% certainty, that she was an officer with Starfleet Information and Intelligence Operations.” 

Kirk’s whole body went cold in a shiver. “Like a spy?” 

“I do not believe so,” Spock said thoughtfully. “More in line with propaganda, or information access and control.” 

“Huh,” Kirk said. His hands had gone numb. “That might be worse, actually.” Spock wrapped a hand around his wrist, but instead of it feeling like a cage, it became an anchor.

“Please sit down,” Spock said, and steered him back to sit on the edge of his bed. He knelt in front of him, hands bracketing him on the bed frame. “You are unwell. I apologize, Jim, for---” 

“No,” Kirk croaked as his throat tightened. “I asked. I need to know.” 

“Who is she to you, Jim?” Every angle of Spock’s body, his entire focus, was attuned to Kirk. When they had first met, Kirk had been unsettled by his inhuman intensity. Now he was comforted by it. Maybe the Spock protocol would apply to every area of his life.

“Starfleet assigned her as my therapist when I got to the Academy,” he said. “I thought she was a psychologist until four days ago.” 

“Four years after you were rescued from Tarsus IV,” Spock said. Kirk nodded. “You were eighteen.” Kirk nodded. Spock bowed his head, staring pensively at Kirk’s knees. Then the material of the bed frame cracked under his hands. He unclenched his hands from the ruined wood and glanced at the splinters reproachfully before flexing them open. 

“My apologies, captain,” Spock said, and one corner of Kirk’s mouth twitched up, despite himself, as he reclaimed one of Spock’s hands. He held it in his lap between both of his. 

“It wasn’t just me,” he said. “I know of another survivor who also had her. He confirmed to me that she used us to keep each other quiet.” 

Spock’s eyebrows pulled together. “The sequence of events on Tarsus IV has been extensively documented. The only unanswered question that I was able to find was---” 

“Kodos,” Kirk said, and his stomach heaved again. When was the last time he had said that name aloud? In his mind, a flash of gray hair, and the wet spatter of blood on dirt. Bile rose in his throat and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Indeed,” Spock said, and he watched Kirk with concern. “Do you have any theories as to why information control would be necessary amongst the survivors?”

The answer came to him immediately. It was what had so upset Dr. Johns during his physical recovery, the first topic that Elise had convinced him to keep inside. He saw the fire, and the flash of the gun, and the body. He nodded even as his chest tightened and his stomach flipped inside-out. 

He tried to speak, and his jaw clenched. He tried to speak, and his tongue swelled in his mouth as his brain filled with the buzzing static of an impending meltdown. Be the bulkhead, be the bulkhead, be the bulkhead---

He closed his eyes as the nausea swelled inside him and pressed a hand to his face. 

“Jim?” Spock was very close to him, his voice gentle, and Kirk could feel the warmth of him. He leaned forward, seeking him, and Spock pressed his forehead against his. “Be still,” he said, and Kirk nodded against him, tamping down the urge to vomit or pass out.

Kirk opened his eyes. Spock still knelt in front of him, hands braced on the mattress by his hips, face scant inches from his. “We do not have to continue this discussion at this moment. I will call the doctor if you are ill, and we can broach the subject again when you are better.” His apparent concern warmed Kirk, but if they didn’t keep going now, he was afraid that he wouldn’t have the courage to continue tomorrow.

“I want to tell you,” Kirk said, and for the first time in his life, he meant it. “She--- I need to know why she did this to us. So I can start to fix it. But I--- I can’t. I can’t say it.” Even talking about talking about what he had seen threatened to overwhelm him, and it was only Spock’s hands, coming up to his shoulders, that kept him upright.

“Do you wish to show me?” Kirk looked up in surprise. Spock’s gaze was steady. 

“No, Spock, you don’t want to---”

“I would not have offered if I did not mean it.” 

Kirk swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. “This is going to be the ‘worse’ part of ‘for better and for worse.’” 

“No caveats,” said Spock. “Jim, let me help you.” Kirk paused, his head spinning, and then nodded. Spock stood, stepped away to remove his boots and place them meticulously by the door, and then returned to Kirk. 

“Please lay back,” Spock said. “I believe it will be more comfortable for you.” Kirk scooted himself backwards and lay down, and Spock laid down next to him. He rolled over to face him, Spock lying alongside him. 

“Somehow, when I thought about the first time we might share a bed, this wasn’t how I imagined it happening,” Kirk whispered, and he half-smiled despite his fear. 

“But you did imagine it,” Spock said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Jim, are you prepared?”

“No,” Kirk said, and laughed weakly. “But go ahead anyway.” As Spock lifted one hand to Kirk’s face, he reached between them with the other. Kirk met his hand and laced their fingers together. Spock’s fingers settled along Kirk’s psi-points, and he closed his eyes. 

“My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”