#i doubt they will even give me real painkillers for it and i have leftover vicodin in case its that bad but :

[californiaquail]

i have minor ass surgery this afternoon unfortunately (cyst) and i made the mistake of watching youtube videos of the procedure. fear

[bokutoslittlebird]

I’m Sorry

Alpha!Ushijima x Beta!f!reader x Alpha!Oikawa

Warnings: THIS IS A SEQUEL to Regrets, intention of suicide, suicidal thoughts and actions [overdose, cutting, falling], mentions of self harm [overdose and cutting], angst, pregnancy, bonding mention, I did not look up Argentina resident rules

The rain was heavy today.

You felt as if it was the universe’s way of saying it was sorry for you. The ride back to school would be in the pouring rain that matched the gloominess of your heart, only to enter a campus where nobody wanted anything to do with you. His scent was all over you; despite being a Beta, you could feel it. You had been claimed and nobody would dare try and claim Ushijima Wakatoshi’s mate, despite the fact you’re not his mate.

Sobbing did little to ease the ache in your chest, eyes blotched from the constant tears and your nose sniffling as you tried to wipe away snot with your sleeves. Your sleeves, not his sleeves of a jacket you stole. Reading stories of how an Alpha would bestow their mate clothing would always warm your heart, but sitting on a dirty busstop with nobody but the rain beside you, your heart felt cold.

“What are you doing?” Someone asked. Your head snapped up to see a brunet looking down at you, his attire telling you he was dressed to run. Running? In pouring rain? What an idiot. He was gorgeous, though, hair collecting silver droplets that seemed to only accentuate his features. Your eyes trail down to the black collar adorning his neck, hidden beneath the white and blue jacket he wore. He quirked an eyebrow, giving off a small chuckle. ���You look like you’ve seen a ghost,”

“More like an idiot running in rain. What’s up with that?” You sniffle, rubbing at your raw nose and cursing the timing. An Alpha coming on a claimed Beta alone — words don’t need to be spoken for the other man to know why you’re crying. But instead of running off, he sits next to you. “You’re gonna get me wet, weirdo,”

“Well if I sit too close, I’d get snot on me, so maybe I’d be better keeping my distance, anyways,” he shoots back, barely batting an eye. You just scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Someone seems to have a problem with me. I don’t even know who you are, stranger,” you give off a grin, trying to keep up the light tone.

“Well, you’re wearing a Shiratorizawa jacket and you stink like Ushiwaka, so can you blame me for being a bit of an ass?” He says, grinning. Though you were keeping a light tone, his words quickly reminded you of the position you’re in. Gloomy day, pouring rain, busstop. Looking back to the ground, you sigh heavily.

“Well, at least it’s the most interaction I’ve had all day. Ushijima’s got a stick up his ass and no funny bone in his body, so I suppose if this is my last interaction, it’s better than him,” you off handedly say. The man beside you quirks his eyebrow once more, your words settling into his brain before he’s leaning closer to you. His shadow moves towards you, making you jump back. “What are you doing?”

“You’re pregnant,” he flat out says. Before you can shoot anything back, his eyes get sad as he pulls himself back some more. “You’re going to kill yourself because he abandoned you?”

“How-” you sputter, tears springing to your eyes once more, “how did you-”

“You know if he’s abandoned you, another Alpha can take claim, right? You’re not worthless,”

“Easy for you to say. I’m a Beta with an Alpha’s bond mark. An Alpha that doesn’t even want to talk to me. My family and friends have turned their backs on me because it’s my fault. I wouldn’t expect an Alpha to understand the other party’s feelings,” you say, wiping away the tears. Despite trying to appear strong, your eyes are wet and there’s snot running down your face. “No Alpha wants Ushijima Wakatoshi’s leftovers. Don’t make me laugh,”

“Well, a cute little Beta would look better with a genuine smile then tears in their eyes, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles, rubbing your cheek, but you slap away his hand.

“Stop patronizing me. You sound like a creepy old man. Who even are you?”

“Oh, I didn’t think I had to introduce myself. I’m Oikawa Tōru,” he smiles once more, a genuine smile, as he holds out his hand. “And if there’s someone who hates Ushiwaka more than you, it’s me,”

“[Y/N]. You’re from Seijoh, right?” You shake his hand, although it’s brisk. His nod confirms your suspicions. The captain of the team that never beat Ushijima’s team, but always aimed for the top. Ushijima also mentioned how talented Seijoh’s setter was, but you never expected to be sitting on a busstop next to the man himself. “Well, you’ve gotten my life story and told me you hate Ushijima, so I guess it’s time for you to go back to running in the rain,”

“Nah, I can’t,” he shrugs, but you look at him confused, waiting for him to continue. Eventually, you ask him why. “Well, I can’t leave someone in need alone. If I leave, you’ll still kill yourself. You’re hurting and I can’t just abandon you. I’m not like other Alphas, you know.” You know his reference is to only Ushijima, but it warms your stomach nonetheless, seeing someone actually be there for you.

“I’m sorry you had to meet me then. If you hadn’t stopped, we’d both be blissfully unaware of each other’s presence,” you say, letting a sob wrack your body before covering it with a cough. “Guess I’m the weirdo getting sick,”

“Still thinking there’s no other option, huh?”

“Well what do you expect? You’re the only person who hasn’t told me to face my consequences on my own and turned your back on me. There really is no reason for me to stay here, especially if I have to raise a child without a support system. I’m still in high school, what the fuck,” you huff, running your hand through your hair, looking up at the sky, noticing how the rain has eased up and the sky is brighter. “I’ll be out when it comes, but the fact of the matter is I’ll graduate pregnant, who wants to go through that? I’m basically a cheap slut in everybody’s eyes. I just wanted to feel needed by someone I admire and this is what it results in? The more I think about it the more I want to down a bottle of painkillers and never wake up.”

“If nobody is sticking up for you, then maybe they’re not your real friends. Fair weather friends, only there for good tea and sunny days. If there’s nobody there for you, reach out for help,”

“I don’t want to be a burden,”

“People who will help you willingly won’t see it that way. Me sitting here with you isn’t burdening me, and I haven’t turned from you. I know we just met, but I want to help you. There’s a lot to live for and one setback doesn’t deserve to sever that line before you’ve even gotten to the good part. Good people exist, you just need to find them,”

“‘Find them’? I thought I had, so what’s the point in trying to find more, only to be disappointed?”

“[Y/N], was it? I’m right here, you know,” he puts a hand on his chest, a smile on his lips and shining in his eyes. “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I’m still here. Find someone like me,”

“That’s sweet, but I doubt there are multiple Oikawas running around in the rain,” you sigh, looking back up. It’s almost time for the bus, but you have a feeling that if he’s still here, then he won’t let you leave. “Are you gonna sit there until my opinion changes?”

“They don’t change that easily, trust me,” he chuckles, but it lacks the merry behind it. Glancing at him, his eyes are downcast as he runs a thumb over his knee. “But I don’t want to see someone die over one thing. There’s a lot to live for, a lot to strive for, that’s why I keep moving even after all my failures. If someone kills themselves for one thing, something I don’t see as a reason to end, I wonder if it was deeper than what it was on the surface. Was it a quick way to feel numb for a while? Was it an easy solution? Sometimes the easiest path isn’t the right one. Surviving an attempt makes you realize things can change, but what if you didn’t survive? If you regret putting the blade to your skin or stepping off the ledge seconds after you do it or seconds before death? You can’t change it once it’s in motion.”

“I never.. I never thought about it like that,” you mutter, your hands holding each other, fingers twiddling. A brief meeting with a handsome Alpha suddenly put things in perspective. A laugh breaks you from your trance, his mouth behind his hand.

“If I see an opportunity to help, I’ll be there, but the fact is I can’t change your mind. I would like to put things in perspective and give you options, but that’s all I can do. If the reason you’re planning to end it all is because you have no friends, I can help with that. I’ll be your friend when nobody else gives you a chance.”

You mull it over, thinking of your options. In the end, the worst that could happen is you end up back on the bench, in the rain, ready to match to your death. “You know, I was told that if it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is,” you mutter, but rifle through your jacket pockets for your phone. “Don’t make me regret second guessing myself, Oikawa Tōru. If you want to be my friend, I’ll take the hand extended to me,”

“Wonderful! And just in the nick of time, the bus is here,” he takes out his own phone, ready to swap numbers. As the bus pulls up to a stop, Oikawa waves at you as he pockets his phone, your contact information all piled inside. You really hope you don’t regret this decision, too.

In the few days that pass, you find yourself wondering how you could have possibly thought bad of Oikawa. He was sweet to you, introducing you to his friends (who knew about your predicament prior), with their promise they’d never turn their back. Iwaizumi was also an Alpha, but the other two were Betas. You did think it to be odd about how they seemed to willingly to help you, stay beside you, despite having no reason to. Their only reason was a promise to you. To Oikawa? Maybe, but you never asked him about it; if you did, he’d just shrug and give you a vague answer.

He promised to show you the light on a dark and gloomy evening, and he kept that promise. As your friends turned their backs on you, scoffing about how your decision will affect you for the rest of your life, Oikawa was there when you needed him the most. He was on standby all hours of the day and night, his phone always on and beside him. When your family turned you away, calling you out on your sudden friendship with another Alpha while carrying a child, they kicked you out and you had nowhere else to go, Oikawa was there. When you felt your world crumbling around you, feeling hopeless and desperate, picking up a secret stash of painkillers, Oikawa was there to talk to you. He didn’t actively take away the pills, but he sat on the other side of the door and talked to you, listened to you. Even his mom was there for you when your family and friends had left you, but Oikawa stood beside you through it all.

Then your world crumbled again.

“I’m planning on moving to Argentina,” he had said. You were looking into colleges to further your education when he had knocked on your door, his old sister’s room, sitting on the bed.

“You’re.. leaving?” You wanted to add to that sentence, but you didn’t want to seem clingy. He’s been with you for so much, you’re not entirely sure you can be independent without him.

“It’s been almost 6 months since you met me. I actually went on that run to decide if I wanted to study abroad in Argentina, but after meeting you, I decided to wait. I’ve been studying the language and keeping up with local volleyball communities, but my dream is over there,” he explains. You click your pen and set it down, ready to ask if you should leave his house, but he continues. “I wanted to know if you’d come with me.”

“Wh- What?”

“I’ve been putting in extra time so we can both move together, get a fresh start,” his face tints as he speaks, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It seems a bit forward, now that I’m actually talking aloud about it. Sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckles, before clearing his throat.

“You want me.. to come with you?” You ask, unsure if you’re hearing correctly. He’s asking you to move to a new country with him, which is exciting! But, the baby.. “He is due soon, you know,”

“5 weeks, if I remember correctly,” he smiles, looking down at the large bump. You run a hand over it, solemnly nodding. “He’d be born in Argentina, our new home, if you come with me,”

“But Ushijima—”

“He’s abandoned you, officially. Your bond, it’s hardly noticeable anymore. The scent, I mean,” he corrects himself. “He’s basically just a sperm donor at this point,”

“This is.. very sudden, you know,”

“I know. And it’s also a very grand way of asking to court you, while also essentially marrying you, but I will say that if you choose to stay here, Iwa-chan will take care of you. He’s going to study in California for some amount of time, but that’s not for another few months. There is Mattsun and Makki, but I’m not too sure-”

“Okay, don’t stress yourself,” you giggle, getting him to stop. “I’ll go with you, but you gotta teach me the language,”

“I’ve been told I’m a great tutor, actually,”

“I believe it. Will the bond go away, or is it just the scent that’s gone?” He raises his brows at that.

“Ah, I guess you never took those classes. The bond is permanent, but another Alpha can lay claim on a mate that has been abandoned. I’d be honored to replace his bond with mine, but I’m sure you’ll need-”

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him. He sputters as he processes the words, but then smirks.

“Are you sure? I don’t plan on making mistakes, so you’ll be stuck with me, you know?”

“Tōru, I’ve been ready for a while now. Hope you don’t mind bonding me while I’m pregnant,” your hand once more rubs the large bump, settling on the top.

“It just means I’ll have to wait until it’s my turn to try,” he licks his lips, moving towards the door. The locking sound seals your fate, keeping others from interrupting your moment.

- Years Later

“Koichi, come back here!” you shout, weaving in between the crowds. Aiko is somehow still asleep on your shoulder as you chase your son through the crowd. He’s been dying to meet his favorite uncle for quite some time, so see as he’s the trainer for the Nationals team of Japan, Koichi ran once the match ended. A brief Q&A with the members of the team would happen exactly right after they left the stadium, which he knew because of his father’s position.

You finally come to a stop, grabbing Koichi’s collar as he struggles to get through the crowd. “I told you to not leave me, and what did you do? Uncle Iwa isn’t going to suddenly disappear. He’s been waiting for this day, too, you know?”

“But mama! I told him I’d be the first one!”

“That’s impossible. The paparazzi gets to him first, that’s how it works in Hollywood movies,” you joke, but you pick him up. You’re no professional athlete, but you do stay in shape to take care of two children. As soon as you pick him up, he’s shouting as he sees Iwaizumi, trying to talk to the reporters. He catches Koichi’s waving hand and decides to take a break, going towards where you are as the crowd parts.

“How is the Oikawa family doing? I see Koichi is energetic,” he laughs, taking the boy from your arms.

“Ugh, as always. Don’t know where he gets it from, it’s not like his sister is bursting with energy all day,” you gesture to the child sleeping, despite the loud crowd.

“Well, definitely Oikawa’s kid. He sleeps through anything and so does she, jeez,” he sighs, but you just laugh. A few members of his team come over, excited by the new people.

“Iwa-chan, what’s this? Wife? Your kids?? You have kids???” A man with white and black hair says, giving Koichi a high five.

“Uh, no. They’re actually Oikawa’s wife and kids. I’m the favorite uncle, of course,”

“I wanna be the uncle! ‘Samu is never gonna get married, I need to be an amazing uncle somehow,” a man with platinum blond hair says, but he’s quickly pushed aside as a familiar face comes into view.

A face you didn’t want to see.

“[Y/N], I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ushijima says, tone as flat as ever. Iwaizumi takes on a forced smile as yours drops, a frown etched on.

“Didn’t expect to see you here either. Actually, ever again,”

“Oh?” The owlish man says, eyebrows quirked up as his eyes glance between the two of you.

“I see you moved on. I’m glad to see that,”

“No thanks to you,” the venom in your voice has Koichi turning to him, looking at the larger man with large eyes. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the resemblance. He’s got the same hair color and eyes as the man in front of you, taking hardly any features from you. Not to mention, Koichi is showing signs of presenting as an Alpha.

“Darling, that’s where you were!” Oikawa shouts from over the crowd, them parting so he can mingle with the group around you. “I was wondering where my personal cheerleaders went to,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His eyes meet Ushijima’s and despite being unable to smell the tension, you can feel it. Reporters and guests alike back away as the overwhelming tension of two Alphas clash.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says. Oikawa just tilts his head, looking over his opponent.

“I thought you’d look more defeated after I wiped the court with your ass, but I’m more disappointed in that. Emotionless as ever, aren’t you, Ushiwaka?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, then looks to you. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you, [Y/N],”

“Trust me, I don’t want to hear it. You’re too late, Wakatoshi. You’re much too late,” you say, before nodding at Iwaizumi. “I’m leaving,”

Despite turning to leave, Oikawa taking Koichi away from his uncle and new “uncles”, despite being in the middle of a loud crowd, you can hear him. It’s quiet, almost as if he knows the words are weightless, holding nothing after years of his abandonment. Despite Oikawa’s bond pulsing, your heart still yearns for the other man, what he could have given you and what he did to you. Despite all this, you’ve fantasized about hearing those words, yet they do nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took forever to publish but I hope it was worth the wait! I didn’t keep track of time while writing this, so if something seems wrong just ignore it. I might come back and fix it later but probably not lol ; Argentina residency rules and citizenship requirements were not consulted for this, seeing as it only took up like one sentence, but I might change it if I look more into it of course.

[weresilver]

40 (almost kiss) + 54 (secret relationship)? 🥰

Being in bed at 12:00 am will not stop me, I guess. Bonus Getting Together, I guess. Spent 3 or so hours at this. Ops.

Post S4. This is a disgusting amount of fluff. Unbeta'd (but self proof-read) as I wrote this from 12 am to 3:30 am.

On AO3

Years In The Making

Not that he believed it, but he was sure most people around him would say it was meant to be; something fated somewhere to happen somehow. Eddie didn't really believe that.

What he did believe was that they may have been too afraid (or maybe too repressed, in his case) to see what was going on, what had been growing for a long while. Years, maybe?

But getting shot (again) had given him a good shake, and he could say he'd been almost disappointed to see Ana by his bedside. No fault of her own, of course not, but...

He was pretty sure of what he wanted at that moment.

Breaking things off with her hadn't been that difficult, or painful, a couple of weeks after his return home. Ana's disappointment was clear, but she seemed to know as well as he did that they weren't going anywhere as a couple. With a promise to stay in touch, she walked out of his home one last time.

Now all he had to do was talk to Buck.

-

Buck had been cagey for the first few days when Eddie had asked him about Taylor. It took about a week and a couple of beers for him to blurt out, "She kissed me then ran out." He fidgeted for a couple of minutes. "Then she came back and we talked through it."

Eddie's heart sank, but he still put on a smile for the sake of his friend (if that was all that he would be for Buck, he'd make do). "And?"

"And we are at very different stages when it comes to romance." Buck shrugged, but the tiny frown was right there between his brows. "She became a good friend, but damn, we wouldn't have lasted as a couple."

Buck finished his beer and turned to Eddie, though not looking beyond the water bottle he was holding in his one good hand.

"She, uh... She isn't quite who I want." Buck cleared his throat, abruptly standing up and walking away from the dining table to place his empty bottle in the recyclable bin. "How is Ana, by the way?"

Eddie accepted the deflection well enough, watching as Buck stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, a stance that tried to project calm. Eddie doubted he was anywhere near it; he never enjoyed talking about failed relationships (including those that never took off).

"We broke up last week," he replied easily, standing up to refill his bottle in the kitchen. "Don't worry," he added, seeing the wide-eyed surprise (and dare he say, hope?) in Buck's expression. "It was pretty amicable and even. We both saw we weren't going to get anywhere and decided to split."

"Okay," Buck whispered, following him into the kitchen. "You okay?"

Eddie nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I'm fine." Though he had to ask... "Who is it?" Buck's confused, scrunched-up expression was pretty damn cute, making him look a little bit more like the Golden Retriever pup Hen and Chimney often compared him to. "You said Taylor isn't who you want, so who is it?"

"Eddie," he said on a groan, though he simply leaned against the counter instead of answering.

"See," Eddie spoke with a new bout of confidence (maybe just as ill-placed as the excitement he was starting to feel), standing against the sink across from Buck. "I'm kind of hoping for a specific answer here."

Buck didn't reply. Eddie had barely even noticed a shift in Buck's expression before he moved into his space, pressing a hard kiss against his lips, a huge contrast to how softly his hands cradled his head and how careful he was to not press against the sling and his injured shoulder.

Eddie wasn't sure if the bottle ended up on the sink or on the floor by their feet. What mattered was that he managed to get his hand on Buck's neck, drawing him even closer.

(Not that Buck let either of them press too close, and god, he loved him.

And he was distantly aware that he should be at least a little freaked out over the thought after one kiss - their first kiss - but, well... Years in the making and all that.)

-

One kiss became two, became many, and Eddie could see the same feelings reflected in Buck's blue eyes. Belonging, a finally and a home.

There was no need to go beyond kissing and cuddling, both of them content to sit even closer together, hands intertwined whenever they could.

It was... Soft in a way Eddie hadn't had in so long, intimate in ways he thought he wouldn't experience.

-

And they weren't subtle, weren't actively trying to keep anything a secret. Eddie was still off work, doing his PT as he should and Buck had been staying at his house (their home, he couldn't help but think every time) since Eddie got out of the hospital anyway.

But two months passed and the only two people aware of the change in their relationship were Christopher and Carla because they found them cuddled up on the couch, Eddie knocked out by painkillers and then too out of it to deny anything when his son questioned him about it.

(Christopher had simply nodded with a mumbled "Good" and left it at that. They still had no idea what that was about.)

The sling had come off a few days ago, though he still couldn't do that much, and it was driving Eddie up a wall. Buck was at the station, and he didn't want to think about the conniption he'd have if he drove there.

He knocked on Christopher's bedroom door, opening it slowly to see his son smiling at him from where he sat with his book.

"Hey, buddy." It was impossible not to smile back, feeling the all-encompassing warmth at the fact that he was still here, could see his son growing up for a while longer. "What do you say we pay a visit to the station?"

The frown he got for that was so much like Shannon's that he didn't know what to do with the pang in his chest. There was no guilt, not then, over the fact he missed her. He just did, she should be able to see how much their kid was growing, how much like her he could be sometimes. And maybe she was, if the afterlife turned out to be a thing after all.

"You are not supposed to drive."

And that tone was way too much like Buck's, just this morning, for Eddie to hold back his laughter.

"I was thinking we could take an Uber." He shrugged with his left shoulder. He might have been desperate to get out of the house, but he wasn't stupid; he didn't want pain and he didn't want to end up lectured by the entire team once he got there. "What do you say?"

Christopher considered it for a moment, then placed his bookmark and got up. "Let's go!"

-

"You better not have come in your car, Eddie!"

He rolled his eyes at the very much expected exclamation as Christopher giggled beside him.

"Don't worry, Buck," the kid said, walking ahead as Buck came downstairs. "I didn't let him drive."

"Thank God for you, kid," Buck said, kneeling on one knee to give Chris a hug. "Your dad is stubborn, he probably would have driven here if it weren't for you."

"Hey!" There was no real annoyance in his protest, but Eddie still said, "I get enough sass from my kid, don't you start, too."

Buck, in such a show of maturity, stuck out his tongue at him before turning to Christopher once again.

"Come on, buddy, let's go see the fun people."

Chris' laughter echoed in the station, and Eddie let the light atmosphere carry him upstairs to the loft where he was greeted by the rest of the team with hugs, and some friendly pats on (thankfully) his uninjured shoulder.

Chimney and Hen immediately walked with Christopher to the pinball machine, and Bobby had given him a plate of leftover breakfast to carry wherever he ended up sitting.

He chose the couch, where Buck had already made himself comfortable again and was currently watching the trio at the machine. They could hear Hen encouraging Chris to beat Chim's high score.

"Hey you," Buck greeted softly, an arm going around his shoulders as Eddie adjusted himself.

"Hey yourself." Buck glanced at the other side of the loft, then pressed a quick peck to his lips. Apparently, everyone was sufficiently distracted. "How are you?"

"So far so good." He took one of the biscuits from Eddie's plate, quickly popping it into his mouth as if Eddie hadn't sat here to share them. "I'd ask how your day is going, but it's obvious you're bored out of your mind."

Eddie groaned, letting his head fall back against Buck's arm. He was beyond bored, at this point, and no amount of movies or video games had helped. Buck's chuckle beside him was another pretty good incentive to get out of the house.

He turned his head to face him, his own expression undoubtedly soft as he took in the man that had been by his side for so long and for so many things already.

Buck's expression softened even more, somehow, his smile bright as the sun and even warmer. He leaned closer and-

And what sounded like a very undignified squeak interrupted their almost-kiss, causing Eddie to huff in mild annoyance and turn around.

Chimney stood by the dining table, gaping at them. Bobby was still in the kitchen and turned to look at them at the sound of Chimney's squeak.

"What's wrong, Chim?" Hen asked, frowning all the way from the pinball machine (where Christopher continued to play).

"They..." He gestured between the two of them. "Since when are you two together?!" He ignored Hen's own surprised exclamation. "They were about to kiss!"

"Yeah," Eddie confirmed, nonchalantly making himself comfortable in Buck's arms in the new position so he could look at the rest of their team. "And you had to ruin the mood."

Buck hid his face in his hair, and Eddie could hear the quiet snickering. They really thought the others would have caught up after two months of visiting Eddie at least once every few days.

"What about Ana?"

"We broke up two months ago, man."

"And Taylor?"

"Dude, we never started dating in the first place." The exasperation was clear in Buck's voice. "She's really just a friend."

Chimney nodded, satisfied for the time being. They had no doubt that there would be more questions later.

"When did this even happen?" Hen asked this time, walking over with Christopher.

"Two months ago," Chris answered before either of them could, smiling a little too innocently. "A week or something after Dad broke up with Miss Flores."

Eddie had no idea Christopher knew that level of details, but he had definitely been out of it when he told him. Maybe he said more than he remembered.

"Well," Bobby finally spoke up, walking over to their little family unit on the couch, now that Christopher was tucked on Eddie's other side. "I'm happy for you two." Eddie could feel whatever tension had been on Buck's body (not that there was much in the first place) drain out of him at Bobby's words. "And we can deal with HR and paperwork once you're back at the station," he added, directed at Eddie. Bobby's smile was genuinely warm, putting him even further at ease.

Years in the making. Maybe it was obvious to everyone else, but Eddie wouldn't change a thing about the road they took to get here. It had been hard and full of hurt, but what they had was solid and them and it was definitely worth it all.

Including the cheering, clapping, and whistles of everyone else when Buck pressed a kiss to his lips right there and then simply because he could.

[meloncubedradpops]

Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin. 

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive.  You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations. 

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

[seungcheolsbodyharness]

heart shaped: v

wc: 6.8k

summary: you start to doubt everything. jihoon takes you out for valentine’s day, and you make a decision that changes everything. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | finale (in progress)

when you wake up, you find that jihoon was right: your head is absolutely pounding. you open your eyes just to close them a few seconds later - your vision spins a bit and even though the room is dim, it seems too bright. breathing slow and deep for a minute or two, you open your eyes again slowly and take in your surroundings.

you're still on jihoon's couch, and there's a pillow underneath your head and a blanket overtop your body, a small trash can on the floor next to you that jihoon must have put there after you'd fallen asleep. a gentle turn of your head finds a pair of feet next to the trash can, leading up to the rest of jihoon's body. you frown and wonder why he's there and not in his own bed? but your head pounds harder, setting all other thoughts aside. you turn, little by little, onto your side from your back and look down at jihoon as he continues sleeping.

jihoon, as you've had no trouble noticing, is an incredibly handsome man. he's passionate about his work and charming when he wants to be, has proven himself to be a loyal friend to you and to others in the short time that you've known him. you can't help but wonder how, before the two of you decided to start your little charade, he could have any trouble finding a nice person to date. sure, there'd been the horrendous minji, but he hadn't lost all faith, right? he'd told you he'd been going on dates, after all. it was one of the things the two of you had bonded over. 

jihoon's chest rises and falls evenly in his sleep, his face pinched and mouth moving as though he were arguing with someone. from what you know about him, it's probably seungcheol. or maybe mingyu. 

you spot your unfinished water on the coffee table from the night before and reach for it, careful not to spill as you sip at it in your sideways position. jihoon continues sleeping and you sigh. jihoon is a good man, you posit, and he deserves to give the love he has to someone. a real someone, not just his fake girlfriend. for the first time since you'd suggested the fake relationship, you wonder if asking this of him is selfish of you. hoarding him to yourself when, surely, there's someone out there who deserves his affection in a real way. at the very least, you're aware of the fact that it's what jihoon deserves. 

your brain begins to swirl painfully with thoughts and the leftover burn of alcohol, and you're debating with yourself whether you should go ahead and head home or not - jihoon would understand, and you could always leave him a note letting him know. you're struggling to sit upright on the couch when there's a thunk and an "ow, fuck!" from below you - jihoon had banged his arm on the leg of the coffee table and is now sitting up himself, rubbing his arm and looking up at you. 

"good morning." he says, still pouting over the way he'd been brought back to the realm of the living. "are you feeling okay?"

you bite your lip and shrug. "my head is killer, but i'm not nauseous. not yet, anyway."

he nods and uses the arm of the couch to pull himself to a standing position. "well, i'm glad you didn't throw up. the smell is so hard to get out."

you let out a short bite of laughter and jihoon gives you a small smile, stretching his arms above his head. 

"why didn't you sleep in your bed?" you ask, sipping again at the water. 

"oh -" he pauses, scratching at the back of his head. "i was worried you might get sick in your sleep. and choke. like, i know it doesn't happen a lot, but you had a lot of soyoung's jungle juice or whatever, plus the soju, and -"

"thanks." you say softly. he stops talking and nods. 

"no problem." jihoon moves into the kitchen, opening cabinets and running the sink. you assume he's getting himself a drink, and you're not wrong. he returns a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee, placing one in your hands after taking the water from you. "here. this will help, i bet." he also hands you two small pills - painkillers. you're so grateful you could kiss him.

"you know a lot about hangovers for someone who doesn't drink." you say off handedly, tossing the pills back and downing them with a big sip of your coffee - made just how you like it. 

jihoon laughs. "i didn't say i've never drank before. i just don't like it because my tolerance is so low, i can't really enjoy myself the way others do. so i just don't bother." he sips at his own coffee. "besides, with friends like seungcheol and soonyoung, i've taken care of my share of drunks and the people they are the next morning."

you chuckle into the rim of your mug and he smiles. you sit in silence for a minute or two, both of you still trying to wake up and become more yourselves. 

"are you hungry?" jihoon asks softly, running a hand through his hair. it looks nice, all sleep-mussed, you think. "we can go get something. i don't think anything i know how to cook would be helpful at all for a hangover."

"yeah, i think that sounds good." you agree. "but maybe - do you think we could stop by my apartment so i can shower and change first? there's a nice cafe that does brunch a few blocks down from me."

"i'm down for brunch if you promise no mimosas." he teases, smirking.

"but jihoon," you gasp, mock offended, "how could anyone enjoy brunch if there's no brunch cocktail? i simply won't hear of it."

he laughs, hard enough that he has to set his coffee down in fear of spilling it. "well, do what you want, of course, but i think coffee might be your best friend right now. let me shower and get dressed and we'll go."

"sounds good."

jihoon stands and quickly downs the rest of his coffee before heading towards his bedroom, leaving you alone in his living room. again you're struck by the thought that jihoon would make someone an incredible boyfriend, and how maybe you’re standing in the way of that. 

you’re stuck in your thoughts right up until jihoon comes back out to the living room. he smiles at you softly, calling your name to get your attention. he smiles wider, quirks his head towards the door. 

“let’s get going.”

“and then, and then,” seungcheol breaks off in the middle of his story to throw his head back and laugh. “then this idiot tries to tell me he injured himself training at home like he doesn't know i'm getting a report from his doctor. he got too drunk and rolled his ankle trying to get in the bathtub. his friends recorded a video." seungcheol sighs, a dreamy look on his face. "i'm so glad i got to see it before the company had it deleted." 

the whole table - you, seungcheol, sohee and jihoon - burst into laughter. seungcheol has a way of telling stories that make them funnier than they should be, otherwise. he wipes at his eyes, though you don't see any tears, and then he gasps and his face lights up, turning towards you. 

"did hoon tell you about his little admirer?" seungcheol's voice pitches low, like he's telling a secret. jihoon groans and seungcheol smiles wider. "i take it that's a no."

"admirer?" your heart sinks, but not for the reasons seungcheol or sohee or even jihoon might expect.

“it’s nothing to worry about, of course.” seungcheol assures you, waving a hand as if to placate you. “jihoon turned him down very kindly. poor boy was crushed, but i guess no one told him jihoon was taken.” seungcheol hums, then chuckles. “he came up to us while we were walking the halls, red as can be but looking so...determined, you could say. asked if jihoon had plans for valentines day, and when he said ‘not yet’, the kid nearly leapt out of his skin he was so excited. asked him to dinner, bolted into a spiel he’d probably been planning for a while, but thankfully hoon stopped him before he could get too ahead of himself.”

jihoon shifts next to you, shrugging. “i thought it would be meaner if i let him go through the whole thing. so i thanked him, but told him i was seeing someone, and it was pretty serious, so as flattered as i was, i had to decline.”

seungcheol nods sagely. “i’m surprised you didn’t tell her, hoon.” 

all eyes turn to jihoon, though yours are infinitely more sympathetic in comparison to seungcheol and sohee’s more curious stares. jihoon flushes under all the attention, almost shrinking in on himself. “i just didn’t think it mattered that much. i did the right thing and turned him down, and he’s not an intern in my department so it’s not like things will be awkward at work.” he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, almost as if begging for forgiveness. 

you force yourself to laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too fake and patting jihoon’s shoulder. “it’s okay, jihoon, i’m not mad!” you assure him, even if it’s mostly for seungcheol and sohee’s sake. jihoon knows there’s no reason for you to be mad in any way, and once more your thoughts are shoved towards the idea that maybe your ruse with jihoon has run its course. sure, he told that intern what you had was serious, and you’re certain seungcheol gave him hell for it afterward, but that doesn’t mean things couldn’t change. 

besides, it had only been a little over a month. it wasn’t that serious, especially from an outside perspective. 

dinner finishes and you part ways, slipping back into jihoon’s car and waving goodbye to seungcheol and sohee. things in the car are quiet at first as jihoon slips onto the highway, music playing softly in the background. neither of you speak until jihoon sighs and says, “you’re not really mad, are you?”

you blink owlishly, surprised. “what? no, jihoon, of course not. i’m just...thinking.” 

“would you mind sharing? the silence is making me kind of, well, nervous.” 

you sigh now. “i’m not mad that someone asked you out or anything jihoon, that would be ridiculous. but...did you want to say yes? was he cute?” 

in the dim light, you see jihoon’s eyes go wide. “no, i didn’t want to say yes. i was flattered, but i wouldn’t have said yes.”

you chew at your lip, thinking about whether asking the question at the tip of your tongue, knowing it’ll only increase the nervous ache in your chest. 

“i know it’s not - we’re not really dating, but i’m still loyal, you know?” you’re not sure if he’s teasing or not, but it doesn’t help either way. 

“that’s not what i meant, jihoon.” you pause, and before he can say anything else, you rush out, “have there been other offers?” he looks over at you, and you continue, “since we started ‘dating’, i mean.”

“no.” jihoon responds quickly, “no, there hasn’t been. and even if there had, it wouldn’t matter, because i’m with you.”

“sort of.” you say softly, looking out the window. 

you don’t see the way jihoon looks at you, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. you tone is hard for him to read, which makes this all the harder. you’re too neutral, too blank, like you’re purposely closing yourself off to him. 

you don’t say anything else, and jihoon isn’t sure whether he wants to ask what’s bothering you because he’s afraid of what the answer might be. instead, he starts talking idly about work, and how busy he’s been since the new year started - too many idols and groups and soloists wanted fresh, new love songs in time for valentine’s day, and he’d been charged to write and produce a fair few just by himself. 

you’re glad for the distraction, glad to have something else to think about, especially when you and jihoon are so close together in his car, where your silence would be too noticeable, too worrisome. you talk to jihoon about what the process has been like, working on multiple songs for multiple artists at once, and he shrugs. 

“technically, that’s just what i do for a living, you know? the thing that makes this different is the fact that all the deadlines are the same: they have to be ready for valentines day.” he beats a steady rhythm onto the steering wheel with his fingers. “speaking of, i uh…” he trails off, and he’s grateful for the dim lighting because he can feel the way his cheeks heat up. “if you’re not busy, i’ve kinda got something planned for valentines day.”

“oh.” you say, surprised. “is it a work thing? i don’t mind not spending it together.”

jihoon starts to speak and then closes his mouth, opens it to start again and clears his throat. “uh, no. i meant for us. i have something planned for us.” 

“oh.” you say again, your surprise morphing to genuine shock. you hadn’t even been thinking about what valentines day would mean for the two of you. you definitely hadn’t anticipated that jihoon would plan something. 

“yeah.” jihoon shifts in his seat, your shock making him nervous suddenly. “we don’t have to, i can cancel the reservations -”

“you made reservations?” 

“ye-yeah?” 

you find yourself unable to respond. you’d thought maybe a movie, a quick dinner, something to show the two of you had spent the holiday together to show everyone that things were fine. but jihoon had gone outside that expectation and actually planned something. suddenly your thoughts turn back to how he should be showering someone real in his quiet affection when he clears his throat again. 

“is - is that okay? i should have asked, i’m -”

“no, jihoon, don’t be sorry! i just -” you bite your lip. “i wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” 

jihoon’s entire body relaxes, releasing the tension built up by his anxiety. “okay, good. because i’m um…i’m really excited for what i planned, and i think you’re really gonna like it. is a surprise okay?”

your chest tightens and you’re not really sure why, but you tell jihoon that it’s fine, and you’re excited too, even though the truth is you can’t escape the dread filling your heart. end it now. you tell yourself. let him spend it with someone he doesn’t have to fake affection for. 

jihoon pulls into your shared driveway and puts the car in park, watching you for a moment. “are you okay?”

the question stings in a way you weren’t expecting and you’re careful not to wince. “i’m fine! just a little tired, i think. work has been busy, you understand.” 

with the car stopped and the overhead light on, you can see the unsure look on jihoon’s face, but he doesn’t ask again. he opens his door and walks around the car to open yours, walking you up to your doorway. the two of you hug and for a split second, you think jihoon might kiss you - he hesitates as you pull apart, eyes locked on your mouth, but in the end nothing happens and he simply wishes you a good night, reminding you that he’d be too busy between now and valentines day to see you in person. you nod, standing on your porch and watching him get in his car and drive away. 

once you’re inside, surrounded by the walls of your home and the silence therein, your mind is tormented with ideas of calling jihoon, ending things now, setting him free from your own selfish hold. but he’d seemed so excited by whatever he has planned, and you’re torn. 

you tuck yourself in beneath your covers, pulling them tight up to your chin as you lay there in the dark, alone with your thoughts.

maybe a good night’s sleep would soothe you. 

maybe.

the next few weeks pass and you find yourself feeling lonely without jihoon. you’d grown so used to seeing him regularly that going so long without him leaves a hollow feeling in your chest. you’ve spent more time with soyoung and some other friends you haven’t seen in a while, but even when you’re with them and having fun your mind drifts to jihoon, hoping that he’s taking care of himself with how busy he must be. the two of you have texted back and forth, a bit, but it’s been scarce. soyoung has teased you countless times about how you must miss your lover, and you always blush and bat away her words without offering any of your own. 

the one constant is jihoon’s excitement about valentine’s day. every time you talk to him he brings it up, shares his hope that you’re as excited as he is. you don’t have the heart to tell him you’re not. when the day arrives, jihoon tells you simply to “dress nice” and that he’ll pick you up around seven. you keep in mind that he made reservations and dress up for more than just “nice”, and wait for him to let you know he’s arrived. for once, you think, you’re ready before he is. 

there’s a soft knock on your front door shortly after seven at the same time that your phone chimes with a text notification. you open the door to reveal jihoon dressed sharply - a grey blazer over a collared black shirt with black slacks, his hair slicked back. you’re taken aback by how good he looks, and his cheeks flush when he realizes you’re staring. 

“ready to go?” he asks, holding his hand out to take yours. you take it and close the door behind you, following him out to his car. he opens your door and waits until you’re settled before closing it, quickly jogging back around to his side to get in himself and pull the car away. 

“you look amazing.” he says once he’s on the road, eyes unable to keep from glancing over at you. your cheeks flush and you thank him, picking at the fabric of your skirt. “i mean it. you’re always pretty but - i mean - just. wow.” 

you giggle a little at that, patting the hand he doesn’t have resting on the steering wheel. “you’re not so bad yourself you know. you look really good when you’re not dressed in sweats and oversized tops.”  jihoon sputters, about to defend himself and his fashion choices, but you laugh harder. “i’m just teasing, hoonie. it’s okay.” 

jihoon goes quiet and you’re almost worried you actually upset him until he says, “you haven’t called me that in a while. since new years.” 

you blink, surprised, and think about it. it hadn’t been a conscious decision or anything, but you’re pretty sure he’s right. “oh.” you say, “i hadn’t even noticed.” 

jihoon shrugs. “it’s - it’s not a huge deal, i just...noticed that you stopped, that’s all. thought you were trying to...nevermind. it’s not important.” he looks over at you and smiles softly, and if you were a better person maybe you would have pressed the issue. what had he thought you were trying to do? 

but you don’t want to fight with jihoon, and you’re not sure where asking that question would take you. jihoon had taken the care to plan this night for the two of you, and you were going to do your best to make him think you were enjoying every moment - to make him think you were doing anything but counting down the moments you had left with him before you set him free. 

“so,” you say instead, “are you going to tell me what exactly you have planned for us tonight?” you fiddle more with the material of your skirt as jihoon drives out of the city, your eyes watching the inky water moving slowly underneath the bridge. 

“well...you may have noticed i didn’t bring you any flowers.” he says cryptically, voice tinged with excitement. 

you didn’t notice, but you keep that to yourself. jihoon continues. 

“that’s because i’m bringing you to the flowers.” jihoon grins wide, like he’s done something incredibly clever. you’re still lost, yourself, blinking at him owlishly as you try to piece together what he means. deciding to cut his losses, jihoon reaches out and takes your hand and squeezes it. “i signed us up for a couples’ floral arrangement class.” 

you think of your nice outfit and jihoon’s, and wonder if that’s a good idea - you’re both quite overdressed for something like that. you say as much and jihoon laughs. 

“we’ll get aprons, and then go to dinner right after.” he pauses as the car slows and he pulls into the turning lane. “unless you don’t want to go? we don’t have to.” 

“no, jihoon, it’s not that! i think it sounds fun, and i do want to go.” 

“really, you won’t hurt my feelings if it’s not something you’re interested in. i just thought it would be nice.” he pauses, then adds quietly, “romantic.” 

“sure, but...you don’t have to romance me, jihoon. i didn’t even think we were going to do anything special until you said you were making plans.” 

he says nothing, continuing to drive as some top forties hit plays in the background. you’re stuck on why jihoon would bother trying to do something romantic for you, even if it was just to tell your friends you’d done it. that didn’t seem like something jihoon would be worried about at all. he pulls into a parking lot and stops the car, turning the radio off and looking at you with tired eyes. 

instantly you regret everything you’ve said. 

“i’m sorry jihoon, i must sound like the most ungrateful bitch of a fake-girlfriend. you went through all the trouble to plan things for tonight and here i am questioning you when i should be thanking you for being so thoughtful.” you take a deep breath and let it out. “i’m sorry. i’ll be better from now on. i would love to go in and make a floral arrangement with you. or for you. or however this is going to be set up.” 

the tension melts from jihoon’s body and he smiles in the dim light over the overhead. “thank you.” he says softly. “let’s go in, shall we?” 

you return his smile and nod, and before you know it he’s out of the car and around the front to open your door again, hand extended to help you down. you take it, intertwining your fingers as you head inside and up a flight of stairs to the florist. another couple is leaving as you enter, holding hands and exchanging adoring glances and each holding a small pink basket of their own. 

“i - it’s a private class.” jihoon says suddenly. “just so you know.” 

“wow. that is romantic.” you reply, peering over your shoulder as one of the men leans in to give his boyfriend a quick, sudden kiss on the cheek. you smile to yourself and turn back to look at jihoon, suddenly overcome with the need to do the same. you don’t, of course, but for a few brief moments, you genuinely consider it. 

you let jihoon lead you into the small shop, taking in the sights of all the different flowers hung in different arrangements - and some just hanging - around the lobby. jihoon calls out a soft “hello?” and a deep voice replies “just a minute!” 

you and jihoon stand in the lobby, hand in hand, jihoon’s thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the back of your hand as he gazes intently at a wreath of roses and lilacs displayed in one of the corners. a door opens behind the counter and you’re greeted by a broad, handsome man with dark messy curls and a bright smile. 

“oh, it is you, jihoon!” he says, smile growing wider. he comes out from behind the counter to shake jihoon’s hand, and you’re a little taken aback by how big this man is up close. 

“dongho i didn’t realize this was your shop?” he pats the florist - dongho? - on the bicep, and they both laugh. 

“i only opened this one last year - finally moved from the little alleyway shop.” dongho looks down at you, smiling. “so this is your girlfriend?” 

jihoon nods and introduces the two of you and then dongho takes you back to the workroom, which he’s decorated with ribbons and flowers just for today’s classes. 

dongho hands you both aprons and directs you two to sit at the table where most of the tools and buckets of flowers are set up. he teaches you both how to cut the flowers just so, to be mindful of the weight of the flowers as you place them, but otherwise lets the two of you be. 

the room is quiet as you work, other than soft music playing in the background and dongho’s occasional humming under his breath. 

more than once, you catch jihoon’s hands frozen in place and his eyes locked on your face, only for him to blush and look away as soon as you’ve caught him. you can’t figure out how it makes you feel, your heart a flurry of battling emotions as you continue. you are aware of one thing, though: it most certainly doesn’t feel unpleasant.  

for the next forty-five minutes the two of you in trim and arrange the flowers in your selected vessel: a cute little heart-shaped bucket that you fill with cream roses and soft pink peonies, delicate baby’s breath and white carnations. 

it looks pretty good, you think.

the two of you thank dongho for the class and leave with the arrangement in one of your hands as your other is safely secured in jihoon’s. as you descend back down the stairs towards the car, jihoon squeezes your hand and starts to laugh. you raise your eyebrows at him, asking what’s so funny. jihoon shakes his head and tampers his mirth down to just giggles, opening your door for you once you’ve reached the parking lot. he stands there in the space of the open door as you settle in your seat, smiling wide and still chuckling to himself. 

“i’m just…having a really good time. i’m really glad you wanted to do this with me.” 

your heart pounds and your cheeks flush and that urge to kiss him comes back full force. you wonder if his lips would be just as soft as they were on new year’s eve. you wonder what it would be like to kiss him fully sober, without the haze of alcohol bleeding through your senses. you bite your lip without thinking and jihoon’s eyes track the movement. 

you wonder if jihoon has been thinking about kissing you too. 

“did you have fun, baby?” he asks. a cold gust of wind whips up from behind him, tousling his hair and pushing at the flowers on your lap. 

you flush deeper at the pet name and nod. “yeah, hoonie. i had a great time. thank you.” 

jihoon beams and says nothing, closing the car door before climbing in on the other side. he reaches out his hand over the console, and without thinking you place yours in his grasp. he pulls the car out of the parking lot and drives down the road, twisting and turning until he pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant you’ve never seen or heard of. but with the full, full lot, and the decadent detailing of just the outside, you know why jihoon sprung for reservations. walking inside you see just how elegant (expensive) this place was, and suddenly you feel incredibly out of place. 

jihoon gives his name to the maitre d who has a hostess show you to your table - tucked away in a candlelit corner, waiting with a bottle of champagne. 

“jihoon.” you whisper, nearly beside yourself, once the hostess is gone. “this is absolutely too much!” 

jihoon’s mouth opens, eyebrows drawn together, and is about to say something when the waitperson comes up to the table. they list off the specials and pops the champagne, pouring each of you a glass. they leave to let you look over the menu, and you turn your attention back to jihoon. 

“really, jihoon i - this is so, so beautiful and romantic, but it’s too much.” 

“well, i think you’re worth it.” jihoon takes a swig of his champagne and grimaces. “that tastes awful.” 

you’re so distracted by his first statement that you can’t even laugh at his reaction to the alcohol. you have questions, and your heart is flipping over itself, but you can’t bring yourself to push words onto your tongue. you take a few sips of your champagne (jihoon is right, it is awful. but he paid for it) and soon the waiter comes back for your orders. you try to order something on the cheaper side, already racked with guilt thinking about how much jihoon must have spent. 

“what -” jihoon starts and stops, takes a breath. “what i meant before was just...you know, i’m sure haejoon never treated you to a nice valentine’s day. so i thought i would.” his eyes lock with yours and he continues. “so don’t worry about this.” 

you sigh. “at least let me pay the tip or something.”

jihoon laughs. “okay, fine. i’ll let you take care of the tip.” 

the waitperson brings out your first course and as you try to miss the dressing into your salad as delicately as you can, you say, “you’re right, by the way.” 

jihoon hums around a spoonful of soup. “most likely, but about what?”

you laugh. “about haejoon. we had two valentine’s days together and they were both...awful. lackluster. he..” you laugh, thinking about it now. “he forgot me both times.”

jihoon’s face pinches, angry. “that’s not something i’m happy to be right about.” you shrug and he pouts, wishing he could tell you just how incredible he thinks you are. “then i definitely want you to just…enjoy this tonight.” 

you nod, smiling softly to yourself and digging in. 

the rest of dinner is exquisite and incredible, and thankfully, not actually served in microscopic portions, which was something you and jihoon were both concerned about. 

once the meal is over and paid for and you’re back in the car, jihoon drives you home and when you’ve pulled into your driveway, he asks if he can play you something. a song. you agree and soft, sweet music fills the car - jihoon’s voice singing a melody filled with adoration and something that makes your heart both flutter and clench tight. you’re suddenly reminded that jihoon could be doing this with someone else, for someone he actually wants to be in a relationship with instead of you, who practically forced him to fake one. 

“it’s beautiful.” you say, distracted. it ends and without saying anything you get out of the car, barely hearing jihoon cry for you to wait. he catches up and takes your hand as you walk up to the door. there he takes your other hand as well, mumbling again that he had an incredible time tonight. 

“me too, jihoon.” you return, eyes downcast. jihoon squeezes your hands, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

you don’t see it, but jihoon bites his lip nervously. you don’t see it, but his eyes are trained on your mouth. you don’t see it, but jihoon leans in close, desperate to ask you a question. 

“thank you again for tonight, jihoon. i guess i should head in, huh?”

you don’t see it, but jihoon’s face falls but only for a moment because then you’re finally looking up at him and he can’t let you see the disappointment in his eyes. 

“yeah.” he says softly, pulling away.

“talk to you later?” you have the feeling that jihoon wants to say something to you, but it’s only one of so many thoughts swirling through your head that it’s gone in an instant. 

“yeah.” he says again. “sleep well, baby.” 

“you too, jihoon. you deserve a rest after working so hard.” 

he nods and hums, letting out a hollow little laugh as he walks back down the drive and you head inside. 

you close the door and sink to the ground, wishing the earth could swallow you whole. just how long were you going to be so selfish? how much more of jihoon’s time were you going to waste? how many times did it take, telling yourself he deserved something real, before you allowed yourself to let him go? 

your head rolls back against the door as you sigh. you were starting to regret every asking jihoon to do this for you. what was he even getting out of it? your benefits had been clear - no more dates with fucking weirdos that soyoung thought you could be cute with. no more set-ups that were disguised as favors hoping you and the guy would magically hit it off. 

to be fair, you had never imagined that the arrangement would bring you so much heartache - if that’s what it even was. never in your life had you felt so conflicted and yet so unsure as to why. 

you and jihoon were just friends, it had never been and never would be anything more. no matter how many times he called you baby, how many times you held his hand, how many times you felt the pull to kiss his lips and so much more. it wasn’t real. 

it wasn’t real.

maybe that’s why it was so confusing. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, jihoon had convinced your heart that what you had was real.

your mind, however, was well aware of the truth. 

x

you get his response and relief floods your chest. 

you weren’t avoiding jihoon. not by any means. it’s just that you knew if you saw him, you wouldn’t be able to let things go on any longer, and you weren’t ready to deal with that just yet, so you were just taking some space. by lying. 

it was only a little avoidant. 

you settle back onto your couch - you’d been pacing in the kitchen while you’d texted him - pulling a blanket over yourself and pressing play on the new season of your favorite show. you’d been meaning to watch for weeks now but you’ve been too busy.

you’re an episode and a half in, just about to press ‘place order’ for some takeout when your doorbell rings. you’re surprised, to say the least, but you yell out “coming!” and make your way to the door. you open it without checking the spyhole and immediately wish you had. 

“hi, jihoon?” you say, stilted and shocked. 

jihoon is standing there with two white shopping bags in one of his hands - one takeout, and one you’re assuming holds medicine. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gesturing with his free hand. you nod and silently lead the way into your kitchen, where jihoon immediately starts unpacking his - your? - spoils. there’s medicine, soup, crackers, tissues, lozenges, fried rice, juice, and he says nothing as you watch him place everything on your counter. 

“i - i told you not to come over, though, jihoon.” you say softly, pointedly not looking at him. 

“yeah, but i haven’t seen you since valentine’s day, and i was worried when you said you were sick. you said that being sick is always really hard on you.” jihoon looks you over - takes in the healthy glow of your skin, the way your breathing and voice seem perfectly normal. “you said you were...sick?” 

“oh, it’s just a headache mostly, and my body is kind of achey.” you lie quickly. “i haven’t been sleeping well lately and i always feel ill when it catches up to me, you know?” 

jihoon doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then takes the lid off one of the soup containers. “well, i brought this, so you should probably eat it…”

a few minutes later finds you and jihoon seated on either end of your couch, not touching or speaking as you both eat. he’d tried to say he would leave, and maybe you should have let him, but he’d come all this way just for you because he’d been worried so you insisted he stay. you eat in silence, aside from softly thanking him for the meal and everything else, your show still paused from when he came to the door. 

jihoon clears his throat, loud in the small, quiet space. “is everything...okay?” 

you want so badly to lie to him (again, you remind yourself). you want to tell him you’re fine, and that you have just been so busy lately, and you didn’t want to bother him. you want to lie and continue lying to everyone because the conversation you feel like you need to have is absolutely crushing your chest. 

“jihoon, we need to talk.” 

jihoon’s eyes go wide and his brows furrow, concerned, but he nods. “okay...go ahead.”

all too easily, words bubble up from your chest. 

“i’m so sorry, jihoon. i just - i’ve been so selfish, only ever thinking about how having you be my fake boyfriend would make my life easier, i never...i never stopped to think about what it would mean for you, you know? i just needed soyoung to leave me alone so bad, i was going crazy from all the shitheads she tried to set me up with. no offense. and you - you deserve a real relationship, jihoon, you know? you’re kind and devoted and caring and you’re going to make someone very happy and i can’t let my own selfishness stand in the way of that anymore. i’ve been losing my mind for weeks trying to decide what the right thing to do is, which is awful, isn’t it? of course the right thing to do is call this all off. we don’t have to tell anyone, of course, since that would kinda defeat the point of the whole thing, but - but you’re free jihoon. you don’t have to pretend anymore. we’re ‘breaking up.’ i want you to be happy, jihoon. i want that so much it’s been driving me insane. that’s why i was such a bitch on valentine’s day, i couldn’t stop thinking about how it should’ve been someone else, you know? someone you actually want to be in a relationship with, not me, your fake girlfriend.” 

you take a deep breath before finishing. “thank you, jihoon, for agreeing to this in the first place, even though i should never have asked. at least...i mean, at least now people will leave us alone, right? we can find new relationships in our own time. if someone we’re interested in asks us out, we can say yes.” 

jihoon, who neither visibly nor vocally reacted to your entire speech, chews on his lip. 

“so you don’t want to do this anymore?” he asks softly. “right?” 

“right.” you smile at him, thankful to finally have the weight of this off your chest. “but i really like hanging out with you, so we can totally still be friends! like, exes who are cool, yeah?”

“what are we going to tell people?” jihoon doesn’t answer your question, but you shrug it off. it had been mostly rhetorical anyway. 

“i figure we tell them that we decided we were better as friends.” you grin wide. “that’s not really lying, right?”

“yeah, right.” jihoon says, but he sounds distracted. he stands suddenly, making his way towards the door. “i have to go. i’ll text you.” 

he doesn’t wait for you to call “okay, sounds good!” before the door shuts behind him. 

you press play on the long-forgotten episode and after about another two, shoot a text to soyoung, laying your phone down on your thigh. it takes approximately five seconds before your ringtone cuts through the air and you roll your eyes as you answer her call. 

“what do you mean, you broke up but it’s cool? it’s cool?”

“yeah, soyoung.” you sigh. “we’re fine! we decided it wasn’t working out and we’d be better off as friends. it happens all the time.”

soyoung scoffs. “you’re so full of shit. both of you.”

“what are you talking about? you say that like you know something about my relationship that i don’t.”

she laughs. “don’t worry about it. if you say you’re fine, you must be fine.” she pauses. “are you sure you’re fine? you can tell me if you’re not. i love you, you know.”

your heart swells and you’re so glad she called, suddenly. “i love you too, soyoung. and i promise me and jihoon are fine. we’ve agreed to still hang out. everything is cool.” 

across town, jihoon steps out of a gas station, a bag full of soju in his hand. 

[sparklyjojos]

[THE CHILDISH DARKNESS Recaps, Chapter 9 -- FINALE]

[tw: gore]

---------

NINE

Near the end of Paul Auster’s 1995 movie Smoke, the writer protagonist says something like this:

“Thoroughly trapped, I believed in his story. This is the only fact that matters. As long as just a single person believes in a story, it can’t not be true.”

[Note: I haven’t found anything like the above quote in the actual screenplay. The closest thing was: Bullshit is a real talent, Auggie. To make up a good story, a person has to know how to push all the right buttons.]

Even if the person knows well that the story is a lie, as long as they continue to believe in it, it’s also the truth. A lot of writers have talked about this in and outside their novels, and others quietly acknowledge that. The true story is one that contains lies. If you want to tell the truth, you have to lie sometimes. But why does the believer believe in something he knows isn’t real?

One could say that all stories are made out of lies and overflow with contradictions. To what extent can these contradictions be forgiven varies from person to person. Some seek complete order, some don’t, some notice a disrepancy yet let it pass. It depends on a person as to which stories they consider true and dive deep into, and which they dismiss as a lie. Every story meets every type of a reader, and that reader can either understand what the story’s trying to convey or not.

But it’s not like Saburou really understood just what made the difference between people who believed in a given story or not. As far as he was concerned, he only believed in stories that he wanted to believe in, saw and heard only what he wanted to see and hear.

That’s why he’d kept believing that Jirou could still be alive.

He knew that this was a lie. He had noticed the contradiction.

When Jirou and Maruo had argued that fateful night, they knocked over the pot with stew meant for dinner, completely ruining the meal that his mother had prepared using all the leftover meat. Then how, after Jirou was thrown into the warehouse, the rest of the family could still have stew for dinner? Certainly they had plenty of vegetables and miso left in the storage, but where did the meat come from?

Saburou knew why his dreams kept showing him Hannibal Lecter. He knew why the poor Mr. Krendler was another him, or rather not another him, but his extension: his elder brother. It was really Jirou, even if he had Saburou’s face -- that was yet another sign of Saburou trying to conceal the truth from himself. Though it wasn’t really self-deception. In a way Jirou really was, as his brother, an extension of him, just like he was Shirou, Ichirou, his father and mother and maybe their fathers and mothers as well. He was his entire family and he consumed his entire family.

The cannibalistic family of Chiuhi living secretly in Nishi Akatsuki.

Jirou had never escaped from the warehouse.

Jirou had been sealed away in the locked room inside them.

Jirou had died. Jirou was still living inside him.

He had wanted to believe the story about how Jirou had escaped, became Kawaji Natsurou, invented Jawakutora. Of course, all these things about Natsurou and Jawakutora had been prepared for Shirou to solve and not for him, but he still wanted to believe the lie more than the truth.

But if he knew the truth, why had he been so convinced that the letter found with Okamoto’s body had been written by Jirou? No doubt it had something to do with being a mystery writer and being used to figuring out a possible rational solution to anything. He could think up so many possibillities, but chose the one in which Jirou had written the letter.

--

Saburou woke up in their living room tied up so he couldn’t move a muscle, as if he was to become someone’s dinner. That was only fair, perhaps. He would be properly punished and forgiven, then disappear completely from this world.

But he wanted to live! Punish him as you will, but let him live! He hadn’t yet made himself worth anything! He still wanted to do so many things, to go to so many places with Yurio! Even if that could be hard, seeing what Yurio had recently done to her father.

But that headless body wasn’t really her father, was it? It’d been Saburou who returned home and got stabbed. Yurio cut his head off and put her father’s wallet into his pocket to conceal the body’s true identity, and Saburou was now a hapless ghost who hadn’t even noticed his own death--

--would be a twist in a third-rate mystery novel and not something that Saburou would care to believe in, not with all the contradictions -- why would the carved out LOVE ME TENDER be a fresh wound? Then again, Yurio had read a lot of mystery novels, so she could think of carving the sentence once more on top of the old one… but no, no matter how much Saburou would like to think otherwise, the one killed had been Yurio’s father.

To tell the truth, he was glad that Yurio had killed her father and gone away. He’d hate to be killed by her. He didn’t want to die.

--

When Kawaji Natsurou = Kawai Youji entered his field of vision, Saburou tried to taunt him, but it mostly fell flat.

“Saburou,” Youji said, “I have lived all these past years just to get a single answer from your family. I’ve been masquarading as Jirou for over ten years, acting and looking like him but under another name. My intention was to lure him out, but oh well, it seems he wouldn’t be fooled just like that. Still, I’ve waited. Do you understand why?... I feared Jirou. I didn’t want to meet him ever again, even if there was something I absolutely had to know.”

Youji pulled out a gun to show that he had a way to defend himself if he met Jirou. Saburou questioned aloud if a gun could do anything against that human whirlwind of violence, but advised to keep the weapon out anyway, since who knew if Jirou wouldn’t suddenly arrive, right?

“Now about this question you want answered,” he added, “I’m afraid that I have no idea where Kazuhiro is. You think that Jirou was involved in his disappearance, don’t you? Well, Jirou is dead.”

Youji didn’t listen. “Jirou murdered him, wanting to use him as a body double for himself. …After I first felt that my brother was dead, I ran away from home, hid, and intended to make Jirou tell me where Kazuhiro was. Even if Jirou wouldn’t appear, I stil enjoyed acting like him…. Maybe more than searching for Kazuhiro.”

After this short speech, Saburou’s hell started.

First Youji gave him strong painkillers so he wouldn’t die from shock. Then using surgical tools he carefully connected the big blood vessels above his thighs creating a bypass, then took to work using an electric saw. In an instant, both of Saburou’s legs were gone. No more walking the mountain paths. No more trying to get himself in shape.

Saburou yelled, “We ate Jirou, goddamn it! Me, Shirou, mom and dad! Mom cut him into pieces and cooked into a stew with miso and vegetables!”

Youji didn’t listen. He took away Saburou’s arms next. No more writing mystery novels with his own two hands, no more basketball, no more Rachmaninoff.

When Youji was about to continue his work, Saburou saw by his side the pale ghost of a child and understood.

“Youji,” he asked, “didn’t you and Kazuhiro wear okappa style hair when you were children?”

The ghost girl wasn’t a girl at all. It was Kawai Kazuhiro wearing the feminine style clothing his parents used to dress him in.

“Kazuhiro is here,” Saburou said.

“Where?”

Where? Saburou remembered the footsteps.

“In the kitchen. Under the floor.”

Youji went to the kitchen and opened the trapdoor. “Here?”

“It’s further underground.” The storage had been renovated along with the kitchen thirteen years ago...

“How do you get there?”

Saburou asked to be moved outside and into the warehouse. If Kazuhiro’s body hadn’t been found during the renovation, it had to be somewhere else than in the small storage, but close enough that the ghost could appear in the house. Some underground space connected with the storage? Even if that space had been filled with dirt since then, it’s not like a ghost would care.

They found a hidden entrance under the giant pillar in the warehouse. Youji vanished inside calling Kazuhiro’s name, leaving Saburou completely alone.

Saburou wondered if he would never see Kazuhiro’s ghost again. The boy had probably shown himself to ask Saburou to find his body. To lead him here.

Let’s think about the reason why Kazuhiro had died under their house. The secret passage had undoubtedly been created by Jirou to escape from the warehouse. Maybe he wanted to one night use it to kill the entire family, which is why he kept it secret from everyone. Being seemingly closed in a warehouse all night would be a great alibi.

Or maybe Jirou planned to use Kazuhiro as his body double and fake his own death, using some sophisticated method to trick the investigators that’d try to analyse the corpse’s DNA and fingerprints. Or maybe he just escaped through the hole in the roof... Or what happened was a completely unplanned incident of getting cooked. Maybe Jirou hesitated just before enacting his plan and had Kazuhiro come to him, and when the family arrived to eat Jirou he tried to hide Kazuhiro underground but someone from the family murdered him too, or maybe Jirou had just killed him so he wouldn’t get in the way...

Or maybe Saburou being a mystery novelist was just obstinately trying to solve mysteries. But since he was already dying, he’d have to give up on reaching the solution. (Snip! Goodbye, stubborn traits of a mystery writer.) There was no need to solve the mystery. He always loved thinking about ridiculous tricks more than obvious solutions, and so the egoism of his love was always at work as well – but no more, seeing as his death was approaching.

Shirou had been right about the note meaning “Death to God Jawakutora”. The letter was probably written by Youji. Saburou didn’t understand why Youji would kill Okachi, but it’s not like he’d have to think about it anymore, as he had already let all his drive to find the answer to the mystery die. Peaceful sleep would come so soon.

But wouldn’t finally finding Kazuhiro instill mercy in Youji? Maybe he would let Saburou live! He didn’t want to die!

But then again, maybe it was better to die than to live without limbs but still with his stupid fucking head filled only with stupid worthless thoughts.

Saburou heard a shriek from the underground passage. What had just happened? Did Youji scream upon finding his brother’s body? Did he see the ghost? Finally Saburou heard quickly approaching footsteps.

“You okay there?” he called.

“I should be the one asking you that,” came the answer.

From the secret passage emerged Okachi.

 --was what couldn’t happen. Okachi was dead. The one standing there was actually another, taller man. He was just wearing Okachi’s skin. Was it Jirou? No, not at all. Then who? The electric saw he was holding was dripping with blood that may have been not just Saburou’s.

“Found you,” the person said. “You don’t have to look so shocked. It’s me!” And he showed his true identity to Saburou.

 Of course, Saburou’s not going to simply write their name down here.

After all, the truth can only be conveyed using lies.

Well then, let’s write some lies.

 The man was obviously Jirou. Jirou was alive! Ha ha ha! What the hell! Apparently Jirou had been hiding somewhere before learning about Youji’s actions and coming back to town to get rid of him. He attacked Shirou’s enemy and now arrived here. Thank you, Jirou! Thank you for saving Saburou’s life! And here he thought he’d eaten Jirou, but that was just a false memory created by his feelings of guilt! Anyway, hurray for being saved!

 --was the lie. In reality, the man was Ichirou. He’d given up on searching for their mother and came back to town, learned about what had happened to Shirou, murdered Okachi, left the letter, and came to save Saburou. Thank you, Ichirou!

 --was another lie. The man was Maruo. Tormented with guilt after what he’d said to Saburou, Maruo came to his help after having taken revenge for Shirou. Thank you, dad! Your little boy forgives you!

  --was yet another lie. The man was Fukushima Manabu. After his mother had died, he assisted Shirou in the search for Jawakutora’s true identity and realized it was Kawaji Natsurou. He killed Okachi both as revenge for Shirou and as a copycat crime to lure Kawaji out, and finally avenged his mother. Congratulations, Fukushima! Just don’t go bragging about it to the police!

 --was a lie as well. The man was the boyfriend of Saburou’s mother. At her request he had both avenged Shirou and arranged the copycat crime, and then killed Kawaji. Thank you, mom’s unnamed boyfriend! Isn’t she a wonderful woman? Please take good care of her!

 --was of course yet another lie. The man was just some guy, no one of much importance. For some unknown reason he had avenged Shirou, wrote the letter and came to Saburou’s help. Thank you, no one special!

 --but oh dear, that was a lie too! This wasn’t a tall man at all, but a girl of tiny posture! She’d found Saburou’s cut off limbs and attached them to her own limbs and came here walking on his legs like on stilts. Thank you, little girl, even if you look a little silly!

 One may create as many lies as they wish.

That’s exactly why Saburou’s able to make his living by writing only lies. Why he’s a man living by creating lies and showing them to people. Lies are his only friends, the kind of friends that you don’t really like at first, but after you hang out with them for some time you realize they’re actually pretty cool dudes, those lies.

 But there’s no use in writing only lies, so Saburou’s going to write about how he truly feels.

He’s glad that he’s alive and that Jirou, Nozaki and Kawaji / Jawakutora / Youji all survived.

When Youji cut off his limbs, maybe all of his stupid fixations and obligations went away with them.

That’s why he can safely say that losing his limbs was, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to him.

If you compare human life to a story, then there’s but one truth that Saburou’s story conveys: that sometimes people are saved by having their limbs cut off. That sometimes the despair of loss and the proximity of death may bring salvation to the soul.

After the loss and despair, Saburou can’t see anything but hope in front of him. Once you’ve reached the bottom, the only way is up.

Yurio disappeared after killing her father, but Saburou is hopeful about her too. Maybe she will one day be caught by the police and put in an institution somewhere, but that’ll certainly be better than the care she had in his house. If she started getting better while staying with him, then she’ll surely make an even greater progress under professional care. Maybe she’ll come visit him one day.

Of course, Yurio will probably forget about him and find love with another guy. If so, then great. That’s how it should have been from the start. They will have his blessing. As long as Yurio’s happy, then he is too.

Then again, maybe Yurio will be restrained and abused in an institution all her life and die in suffering. But if she survives, then she’ll certainly find happiness again. If she continues to suffer even still, then precisely because of the pain she’ll feel happiness whenever it stops for a while. When she dies after a life full of suffering, then he’ll go looking for her in the other world after his own death. He’s not sure whether the age difference will still be there after death and whether his ghost will have his limbs back, but should she still suffer, he’ll embrace her and calm her down with his well and tried “It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright”. He won’t run away even if he gets his legs back.

Maybe Yurio is now staying hidden at Shirou’s place. Shirou is a man of many secrets, after all, so maybe he was worried about Saburou being a pedophile and is trying to keep the girl away from him. Ha ha ha, what a strange thing to worry about. Better worry about yourself. About the possibility of getting into a third damn car accident and getting yourself injured yet again.

Or maybe Yurio is under the protection of the man who wore Okachi’s skin, who came to her help just like he helped Saburou. If that man was Jirou, then he should have his mother by his side, and Yurio will be fine being with them. But if so, then Saburou will have to try really hard to find her, as Jirou is wicked smart when it comes to hiding.

 There is hope. A lot of losses too, but Saburou thinks about his hope with happiness. To ensure his hope will prevail he didn’t have his limbs sewn back on, even though it’d be possible. If he let it happen, than maybe all the hope he had gained by giving up his limbs would vanish. You can only gain something by losing something. He’d lost some physical parts and gained something that doesn’t have a physical shape, and he’s fully satisfied with it. Trully happy, la la la, yeah! He can’t exactly dance from joy, but it’s not that important, oh yeah!

Having hidden the bodies of Kazuhiro, Youji and Yurio’s father as well as the bloody tools and his own limbs underground, Saburou now lives alone in the Natsukawa house. He meets ghosts sometimes, but he’s not afraid. He is strong. More than anything, he feels so clearly now that he’s alive. People told him to go die so often, and he himself wished to die so often, that the line between life and death grew faint and he felt like he was lost for so long, but he’s alright now.

Precisely because he thinks he is alive, he really is. Just like thinking that you love is the same as loving. Conversely, doubting your love makes it feel like a fake thing. If you don’t feel like you’re truly living, then you really aren’t. It’s as good as death. It seems everyone and Shirou especially were right when they told him that by not feeling alive, in a way he was already dead.

What Okachi said about the thin line was apparently true. You can’t see it well, but it’s there, and maybe you can spot it better using your feelings. Close your eyes, calm your breathing and look deep within yourself, and you will know what side you’re on.

Knowing that he’s firmly on the side of life, Saburou is going to be alright from now on. After all, he’s Natsukawa Saburou. The many hopes and dreams within him can only come true. Having lost his physical limbs, he will dance using the ones inside him up until the darkness is finally broken by dawn. Alone, but that’s alright. He finally likes himself. Giving up on things he hates, recognizing the beloved things in himself.

No matter what, he’ll always be Saburou. Saburou, Saburou, ha ha ha, Saburou, Dubi-Duba. Yeahhhhh!

[survivalspecialist]

Bedside Manner

Sooo. I felt like writing fic. Apologies to any Claire rpers out there, I probably butchered her character but I tried! Probably the longest thing I’ve written in a long time and inspired by an old fic I remember reading.

No warnings. Under a cut for length.

-x-

The plane had touched down only an hour ago but already he was stood outside the bland and unassuming door that led into what he knew to be a cosy, clean apartment. The bedroom would be a mess, it always was but the apartment itself wouldn’t be.

His hesitation came from the late hour, in the small hours of the morning when the apartment’s lights were off and there was only silence from within.

She’d given him the key knowing full well the hours he could be keeping; kept a stocked medical kit knowing the kind of state he could be in and yet that night, seven months after the events in DC with Arias, he stopped at her apartment door and didn’t let himself in.

Was he sure that he wanted to burden her? She’d invited it, left him an open invitation but was he really sure that he didn’t want to just go home to his empty apartment where he’d be bothering no-one, where he had a bottle of good whiskey waiting for him to drown in?

Yes.

It was selfish. It was unlike him to put his own needs above those of others but right then, with a hole in his leg, tears in his shirt and the chasm of depression yawning before him; waiting to swallow him whole with the futility of it all, he needed to see her. He needed to see a familiar face- someone who wouldn’t ply him with questions, debriefing him even before he was out of his bloodied clothes. He needed to see her.

He could let himself in, it was why she’d left him a key but he didn’t want to steal in under the cover of darkness like a thief. So he knocked.

And knocked again.

“Alright, hold your horses,” Claire grumbled, voice thick with sleep as she approached the door. Who in all the hells was knocking at that hour and why couldn’t it wait until morning? “Who is it?” she called, cursing the lack of a peep-hole the way she always did when someone was at the door. The gun in her hand ensured that she didn’t need to know who was on the other side in order to be confident in her own safety though.

“Leon,” the agent answered smoothly.

He could literally hear all traces of sleep leaving her in an instant once she heard his soft assertion and the soft thump as she dumped the gun on the side table before hurriedly opening the door to him meant that he was wearing a small, tired smile when she was revealed to him.

As soon as he saw her, framed in the doorway and shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the hallway lighting, he felt his breath leave him. She was stunning, even with her auburn hair tousled with sleep. Especially with her hair tousled like that.

He didn’t have time to admire her further though, because she laid eyes on his reasons for being there, her eyes widening in alarm as she reached to pull him inside.

“You’re going to bleed all over my doorstep, get in here already,” she berated lightly, tugging him by the hand through to the lounge and flipping the light on as she went. “Take a seat- I’m going to get the supplies. And don’t bleed all over my couch!” she ordered with slightly worried smirk over her shoulder as she moved off down the hall.

Just hearing her voice was like music to his ears as he was tugged inside and he gingerly lowered himself onto the couch, mindful of his myriad wounds. They were all bandaged- his employers wouldn’t let him bleed out in the middle of debriefing- but after the travelling he’d been doing and the length of time it had been since he’d first received medical aid, they were in dire need of changing.

He was already rolling his shirt up to get a better look at the place where claws had raked across his chest, the bandages beneath the ragged holes in his shirt darkened with blood, when Claire returned with the first aid kit and he spied the look of pained sympathy on her face before she was all business once more.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured her, to a disbelieving scoff from the redhead.

“Sure it isn’t. What did you get yourself into this time?”

“The usual,” he replied blandly, earning himself another scolding look from her as she reached to touch the edge of the bandages. He watched her as she took up the end to begin unwinding them, unaware of how her focus was divided between the bloodied material and the contours of his abs.

“You might be more comfortable if you just took that off, Leon,” she observed, nodding to how he was holding his shirt in place. “The pants are gonna have to come off too if you want me to sort out your leg.”

“You’re a real charmer,” he replied wryly, carefully pulling the shirt over his head, teeth gritted as raising his arms pulled on the tears across his chest. Claire made a soft noise of sympathetic pain on seeing the ragged wounds, thin though they were and Leon peered down at them with her, inspecting them as best he could. They were a little red around the edges and fresh blood wept from the bottom edges, evidence of how he’d pushed himself a little too hard.

With characteristic gentleness, Claire dabbed the blood from his chest, disinfected the wounds and then bandaged him back up, the pair of them quiet while she concentrated. She apologised for hurting him when he hissed as she used the disinfectant but otherwise he bore the pain in silence. He had to admit that once she was done, he felt a lot more comfortable, some of the pained tension leaking from his shoulders and she smiled when she noticed.

“Okay tough guy, pants off,” she ordered with a smirk, standing over him with her arms folded and hip cocked. “Don’t be shy now.”

Raising a brow in weary amusement, Leon kept his hands right where they were for a moment. “Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired. What happened to ‘please’?”

“Leon Kennedy if you don’t want me to rip those pants off you right now, consequences be damned, you’ll take them off yourself right now,” she replied, holding his disbelieving stare for several moments before snickering and reaching forward to smack him upside the head. “Get your mind outta the gutter right now mister. Do you want my help or not?”

“If it’s going to carry on being at the cost of my dignity, I’m not so sure anymore,” he replied, still chuckling gently after the cuff he’d taken.

Claire shook her head in exasperation, placated only when the wounded agent unbuckled his belt and undid the ruined cargo pants to push them down. It would be a lie to say she was unaware of the unresolved sexual tension in the air but she was trying so hard to keep things friendly between them.

An argument could be made for Leon being married to his job, seeing as he seemed to put his work ahead of everything else in his life- to his detriment, so she’d heard- but Claire knew that it was more than that.

The minor legend sitting on her couch was keeping secrets and while she knew the government expected as much, those secrets, the apparent futility of the job and no doubt a host of other things were driving the agent to the bottle. Hard. Her brother had let slip to her the way Leon had been found out in Colorado when he and Rebecca enlisted his help. Honestly she was a little surprised that he’d not asked for a drink since coming in.

“Earth to Redfield, are you there? Earth to-”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” she replied, looking away. “Spaced out a bit while you were making a big deal out of taking your pants off.”

“And there was me thinking that you were enjoying the show,” he quipped back with a fake sigh of disappointment.

Rolling her eyes, she moved closer once more, kneeling before him to begin unwinding the bandage from around his thigh. “If bleeding all over my couch is your idea of wooing a girl, you’ve got more screws loose than I thought.”

Chuckling softly, Leon relaxed and watched her work. She was no nurse but she’d definitely picked up a few things over the years and it was deftly that she cleaned and disinfected the puncture in his leg before wrapping it in fresh bandages. Once more he was quiet while she worked to let her concentrate and he focused instead on how at ease he felt while around her. The stresses of work just seemed to fall away for a while and he could just be himself. The smart-mouthing was a part of him though, he couldn’t stop that.

“There, all done,” Claire announced, patting his knee before rising to get rid of the soiled bandages. “I suppose you’ll want feeding too? And painkillers, and something to drink and somewhere to stay,” she listed off on her fingers with a brow raised.

“Please?” he replied with a helpless grin.

“You’re worse than a stray,” she grumbled affectionately before leaving the lounge with a long-suffering sigh to fetch the things he’d need.

Meanwhile Leon stretched carefully on the couch and sighed softly, leaning into the cushions and closing his eyes. Going to Claire’s apartment instead of his own home might not have been the right decision, but he was glad that he’d not overthought it and talked himself out of it.

On her return, Claire paused in the doorway to look over the weary agent. He looked as tired as he probably felt and her heart went out to him. What she wouldn’t give to have him share even some of the burden he carried but he had changed so much, even since Harvardville. He’d put on a brave face and insist that there was nothing wrong despite all evidence to the contrary. Or as she’d heard from Chris, go to great lengths to just be left alone. His turning up on her doorstep was unlike him, those days.

With leftover cold pizza, a large glass of water and some strong painkillers all loaded onto a tray, she moved back into her lounge to hand it all over. “If you need anything else, give me a shout. I’m gonna go change the bedsheets for you,” she announced, smiling gently. He may never let her in but she would help where she could and ask nothing of him if she could help it, since he’d obviously given so much of himself to others already- willingly or not.

“Ah, Claire no, I can’t take your bed.”

“You can, and you will. Honestly Leon, you’re wounded, you’re allowed to not be so much of a gentleman.”

“But-”

“No buts! None!”

No further argument was forthcoming so Claire smirked and turned away, moving off down the hall to the linen closet to fetch a change of sheets and the spare blanket and pillow for the couch.

Some twenty minutes later, the sheets were changed and the bed was ready for her guest. However on returning to the lounge, she had to sigh and shake her head in exasperation. The agent was already practically dropping off on the couch, his plate and glass empty, the painkillers gone.

“Come on you can make it to the bedroom, wounded or not. I’m not leaving you on the couch,” she called gently, moving closer to help him up. He waved her away with a soft mumble and tentatively eased himself upright, yawning widely as she watched just to be sure that he was okay.

“Thanks, Claire,” he said quietly as he moved to be level with her. They were close enough that he could feel the warmth of her through the strappy top she was wearing (a girly contrast to the sweatpants she also had on) and he swore her breath caught for a moment as their eyes met. He was the first to look away though, taking another tired step past her.

Before he could progress too far down the hall and away from her she reached out to him, grabbing his hand and making him look back at her, a question in his weary eyes. “You’re welcome Leon. Anytime.” She let his hand slip from hers then and if his hand hovered for a moment, if there was just a hint of longing in those beautiful blue eyes of his, she didn’t call him on it.

It was only once Leon had disappeared into the darkness of her room that she finally turned away, quietly wishing him a good night before getting settled for what remained of it.