#i was working on the next bit earlier and i almost had ed say knee-jerk reaction and then i was like

[ofmdee]

me, sitting bolt upright in bed: oh my god why would mermaid ed use an expression about shoes?????

😂😂😂

(fic)

[ficauthor]

I don't want this to be water under the bridge.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138992

Word count: 2762

Pairing: Richie Tozier/ Eddie Kaspbrak

Warnings: Minor bullying. They don’t use slurs but like you can tell they would if i was willing to write them. Implied Homophobia 

Bowers and his gang really didn't know when to stop. They just loved to kick a guy when he was down. Eddie still grounded by his mother comes across the Bowers gang. --- Tears leaked out of the corners of Richie’s big eyes,” listen, Eds please, I’m sorry. Just please don’t hate me, you can stop being my friend but don’t hate me, please. We can make this water under the bridge… pun not intended.” Eddie stepped closer,” Richie I-“he looked down clenching his fist his nails cutting into his palm,” Please, don’t say that,” He looked up,” I don’t want this to be water under the bridge.“

Whatever it was that Eddie did to piss off Bowers and his gang he didn't know but he sure as hell wasn't sticking around to find out.

He'd been running errands for his mother, the first ones since he broke his arm. But he wasn’t going to lick a gift horse in the mouth. It was just his luck then that as he passed the arcade, Bowers and his crew came stumbling out. They had a new member with them.

Some blond-haired boy with a nervous face, but Eddie hardly had a moment to stumble away before they were leering at him.

“Oh, look it's beaver boys, little boyfriend," Bowers was stomping closer and closer his rancid breath wafting ever closer to Eddie.

Eddie kept his mouth shut though, not out of intelligence but out of fear, there were five of them against him, he knew they were dissing Richie (how couldn’t he, they always called them boyfriends) but he couldn't say anything.

“I wonder if he'll cry when we break his little boyfriend's other arm?" Patrick asked with a sneer.

Without waiting a moment later Eddie ran. He ran as hard and as fast as his body and legs would allow. carrying himself as far as he could before they troupe realized what happened and began their chase. Eddie was smaller and not good at fighting, but he had a head start and was faster, and much less prone to tripping than they were. Something they always teased him for. His co-ordinance was a point of contention with them, enough proof with everything else for them to believe that he was gay. 

He didn’t understand it, it was like his delicate careful motions he did naturally called him out for-

“I’m gonna get you- you little- ah!”

Bowers attempt to say what was no doubt an insult was cut off by him falling and crashing.

Eddie didn't risk looking back, he couldn't, he wouldn't. He was already at the forest's edge. If he could get enough of a lead he could just hide in the clubhouse.

Something hit a tree next to him, it was hard, and it tinged loudly.

“Shit!” he cried out; they were throwing rocks now.

They wanted blood.

His heart was in his throat, he could barely breathe, he needed to puff his inhaler, but he couldn’t, there was no time. This wasn’t the place.

He was near the bridge now, but there was a figure on the bridge. Maybe the could-

Oh, shit he knew that loudly patterned shirt, he knew that hair, he knew those giant oversized shining glasses.

Fuck.

It was Richie.

Shouting was out of the window, it wasn’t an option for him, if he did that Bowsers and his gang would know. They would know Rich was there. And then he’d be in danger too.

The second Eddie was on the bridge his feet shuddering the old wood Richie was looking up fearfully from where he kneeled. He had a knife, but Eddie had more pressing things to worry about.

They had to hide anywhere, any way possible.

Richie’s eyes were the size of saucers when he realized it was Eddie.

“E-eds?”

“Hide,” Eddie whined. “We have to hide. Bowers- “

“I’ll get you, you little bitch!” Belch was bellowing now; Eddie could hear them all crash through the forest. They were close.

“W-what?” Richie was lost.

“We have to hide.”

Richie caught on quickly, as much as the losers teased him for being stupid, he sure knew when to be smart.

Looking around frantically his eyes snagged on the bridge railing,” Under.”

“Where?” Eddie knew his voice was lilting high pitched, he knew his tone was cracked but he couldn’t help it. How could he? Bowers wanted him dead.

Richie climbed over the railing,” Come on we have to hide under the bridge, we have to jump.”

“Are you crazy?” he whisper shouted,” the germs alo-“

“Where are you!” another one of the gang was screaming out. He couldn’t tell who anymore their voices were hoarse with anger and screams.

Richie extended a hand,” come on. Eds trust me.” His red rimmed eyes were soft and gentle. Red rimmed?

“Eds please.” Richie’s voice was gentle, nothing like how they normally bantered or spoke.

Eddie bit his lip, he looked to the tree line and then with his heart thudding and shuddering in his entire being took his best friend’s hand and jumped.

The water was cold, it stuck and clung, and wasn’t that deep. Eddie’s knees and ankles shook with the force of the jump. Every part of his body stung and shook with exhaustion.  But Richie’s hand was warm and steady and tempered down his racing heart.

Time, as it turned out was only just barely on their side, just as they got tucked under the edge of the bridge the sound of the gang’s footsteps echoed above them. Eddie swallowed his spit a hard stone that cut as it traveled down.

He and Richie were trembling, but the rushing water of the river covered their movements.

“Where the fuck is, he?” Bowers demanded; Eddie could almost see the spit flinging from his mouth.

“I-I don’t know,” a new voice was saying. It was probably that nervous blond from before.

Eddie’s stomach churned at his voice and he grit his teeth, he sounded afraid, like he didn’t have a choice, his free hand trembled clenched and pooling nervous heat. Richie’s hand was sweaty and trembling in his hand. But the tremble felt different.

Patrick’s voice cut the conversation next,” What do you feel bad for him?” his voice was taunting, demeaning, scathing,” That little- “A meaty noise cut him off.

It sounded like a punch. The crunch of a broken nose and a tooth clattering on the wood made Eddie’s insides squirm.

“My cousin-” there were desperate clattering feet and Eddie could hear it, Bowers was pushing Patrick, he was wrangling him, had him in a stronghold against a wall. And just through the cracks of the bridge just barely peaking through Eddie could just barely see their feet block the light. “-is not a fucking freak like they are. Don’t you, Dare say he’s anything like that.”

Spit splattered to the bridge.

Eddie’s stomach swooped, he could hear the unsaid words, in between the insults. He knew what they thought of him, of Richie, of all the losers. Richie shook against him. Eddie squeezed his hand still looking up.

“The little bastard probably climbed in a tree,” Victor seethed.

Silence rang for a beat,” Yeah,” Bowers eventually said, Eddie was almost certain he was nodding.

Dust fell from the rafters of the bridge as Patrick was let down.

“Let’s go hunting,” Eddie could practically hear the grin in his words,” teach them what we do to people like them.”

One

   Two

       Three

           Four

                …

                      …

                             …

                                  Five sets of feet left the bridge.

 Muscles tight and breath still held wound and baited they waited. They stayed under that bridge for far longer than they needed to, but they stayed non the less.

Turning to Richie finally about to speak Eddie’s words died in his throat. He had noticed Richie’s red-rimmed eyes earlier but now, he looked sickly. His face was pale.

“Richie?” Eddie barely let his voice be above a whisper, his voice could easily be covered by the rushing water.

Richie’s body was cowered and contorted to be as small as possible. As minuscule as physical.  His face was twisted and there was sticky, just dried tacky tear tracks down his cheeks.

“Rich, they’re gone.”

Richie stayed silent. Not a joke, not a taunt, not a single grin.

It churned Eddie’s stomach, it made him sick.

Richie was never quiet, he breathed loud, even when he was in class his leg bounced, his pen tapped, his fingers rapped against the desk, he was a being of energy. his every pour oozed high octane energy and laughter.

Something about the Bowers gang’s attack had rattled him. This one was different than before.

They had to get out from under the bridge though, they couldn’t stay there, their ankles submerged in the nasty water of the river that ran under the kissing bridge.

“Come on Rich, we have to move,” Eddie pulled him forward gently.

Richie moved like a ghost, barely aware of his actions and drifting where Eddie lead him.

By the time they made it onto the bridge Eddie’s stomach was a pit of barely contained anger and sadness. Whatever those jerks did to his best friend he wanted them to pay. They were going to pay. Somehow in some way.

Light flashed in his eye, the setting sun glinting on a discarded knife on the side of the bridge. Eddie dropped Richie’s hand.

“Oh, your knife,” he said simply as he went to pick it up.

Suddenly Richie was scrambling back to life again.

“No!”

Eddie whipped hie head to him,” wha-“

Richie cleared his throat nervously,” ha, I- uh- I mean.”

Eddie hardly looked at the knife as he scooped it up,” okay that’s it, fucking spill dick wad.”

“Hahaha,” Richie’s laugh was hollow and nervous, nothing like how he normally was,” w-what are you talkin’ ‘bout eds? I just didn’t want a dame like you getting cut by a sharp knife li- “

Contorted in rage and frustration from Bowers, his mother, the clown Eddie snarled at Richie bisecting his face with his casted arm,” no! You aren’t going to do this anymore Richard- “Richie fell more into his shoulders at the call of his full first name. they never called each other their full names, it was always nicknaming and joking insults never a full first name. “I want to know,” he turned looking to where Richie had been kneeling trying to read,” why the fu- “

Richie was tearing Eddies face from the railing,” Please no, just don’t.”

Eddie shook his head from Richie’s grasp,” shut up not until you tell me what is wrong with you.”

Broken, that was the only word that could truly explain Richie’s face. The expression shattered something in Eddie.

“Eds, please.”

“I-I,” Eddie closed his eyes, he was so close to something he knew it,” Listen if you like carved yours and Bev’s names, hell even if its Gretta. I don’t care.”

He was lying, it was the most important thing to him. He was angry and disgusted by the fact that it was, but he needed to know, just to tell his heart once and for all to stop looking into things.

“I just want my best friend back, and since I broke my arm I haven’t seen you, and we don’t keep secrets-“his voice cracked at the lie on his behalf.

“Eddie please,” Richie was begging him now,” I can’t tell you Eddie please tru-“

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie said before he could think. The nickname churned his stomach coming from Richie.

Richie’s nostrils flared,” then what the fuck am I supposed to call you?”

Angry and frustrated Eddie pivoted,” I’m looking at what you carved, Rich, because I’m sick and ti-“

His voice died in his throat when he finally read the new jagged carving. It wasn’t soft or weathered like any of the others. R which was obviously for Richie. A small plus sign, and-

“It was a joke,” Richie’s voice was both miles away and right in his ear.

He kept rambling on and on a mile a minute about. God Eddie had no clue honestly his own mind was so focused on that second letter, on the implications.

E

There were no girls in their year that could possibly fit it.

Emily Prendergast was the closest, but she was much younger than them. She was seven. That meant.

That meant the E was for Eddie.

His heart stopped at the thought, if the E was for Eddie then that meant.

That meant.

Eddie wasn’t alone, Richie was like him. It wasn’t just a rumour. For a brief moment, Eddie was queasy. Wasn’t he sick? His mother always told him he was sick, and she always said gay people were sick for being gay.

But Richie?

He couldn’t be sick.

He was warm, and alive, and whole, and messy. He got covered in dirt and grime, but he was never sick. Never him. Eddie had never, not once ever thought of Richie as sick, he couldn’t.

That meant.

If Richie wasn’t sick for being gay.

Then.

Eddie finally looked at Richie in his fishbowl magnified eyes.

Then he wasn’t sick either.

“-so you see it was an elaborate joke- hehehe.”

Laughter bubbled out of him, it wasn’t at Richie or meant to be malicious but at the situation. The entire time he could’ve- they could’ve-

Tears leaked out of the corners of Richie’s big eyes,” listen, Eds please, I’m sorry. Just please don’t hate me, you can stop being my friend but don’t hate me, please. We can make this water under the bridge… pun not intended.”

Eddie stepped closer,” Richie I-“he looked down clenching his fist his nails cutting into his palm,” Please, don’t say that,” He looked up,” I don’t want this to be water under the bridge.“

Richie’s voice was hoarse when he spoke again,” What?”

“Richie I-“

His voice was dead in his throat he couldn’t get the words out. So, he grabbed Richie’s hand laced his fingers through and dragged him onto the ground pointing to a carving that was on the board just below Richie’s carving and he dragged his left hand still holding Richie’s right to the jagged blocky carving he cut into the bridge a month ago.

The crudely cut R surrounded by a heart was so sloppy not just because of the medium, but because of the use of his non-dominant hand.

“I-is this?” Richie’s voice was gentle, delicate, afraid.

Eddie couldn’t help rolling his eyes though,” Jesus Rich you sound like Big Bill.”

A grin, large and comforting finally broke out on Richie’s face.

They were facing each other now, knee’s touching in their awkward cross-legged seats.

Richie put his free hand on Eddie’s face. His hand was long and slightly bony, his skin soft but just barely calloused at the fingertips. Eddie could feel that he needed to lotion his dry ass hands but the comfortable weight on his cheek outweighed his impulse to tell Richie that.

“Can I- Uhm.” Richie was choking on the words,” kiss you?”

Eddie didn’t answer not in words, he just leaned forward and pressed his lips to Richie’s.

At first, Richie was limp and surprised his chapped skin lifeless and Eddie was disappointed by the descriptions of first kisses and how amazing they were. But then Richie pressed back and while it wasn’t the spectacular fanfare that Ben’s romance novels described it was-

Breathtaking.

When they broke apart after what could have been minutes or hours Eddie felt dizzy and breathless, but not like how he felt when he turned to his inhaler. It was a kind of breathless that felt good.

“I guess I gotta break it off with your mother huh?”

Eddie shoved him gently,” shut up, I guess my torrid affair with your sister is also getting called off?”

Richie threw his head back in laughter his eye’s crinkling,” Torrid affair? What did you spend your lockdown reading the thesaurus?”

Eddie scrunched his nose trying not to smile,” you try being locked up in your room with a broken arm with nothing to do for forever.”

Richie stood up,” well then I suppose I’ll just have to visit you my good sir.” He was just barely slipping into a voice.

“What are you going on about Rich?”

Richie smirked extending a  hand to Eddie,” well,” he looked away and then back again,” hypothetically if you were cool with it, I could visit at night for sleepovers like I used too. Before you were grounded for life.”

“That would be nice,” Eddie took his hand and stood up,” just don’t get caught okay?”

Richie laughed,” trust me Eds my love, no one will be any the wiser,” he threw a wink at Eddie their hands still joined.

Eddie’s face was red, he could feel the heat on his ears and nose, but a quick glance at Richie as they walked swinging their hands together, told him that Richie was blushing too. His face and Neck were all a bright scarlet in the dusky afternoon light. And in Eddie’s mind, he’d never looked more handsome.

[silly-drink-blog]

Summary : As soon as i graduated from Law School, i was admitted in an internationnal society, which allows his employees to travel around the world if they show langages abilities. As i majored korean at school, i was offered to go to a lawyers office in Seoul. Weeks after my graduation, after reasuring my parents about this sudden trip, i took a plane straight to Korea. All went well, until i had to work for a certain celebrity there, who was nobody but Jeon Jungkook. A jerk.

Genre : Fluff, attempt of angst but i am not good at it sorry ugh. romance, we are all here for romance please.

Warnings : Talks about crime (a rape but it never happens its just mentionned don’t worry) maybe some swearing but i will try not to !

Lets go to the first chapter (i hope i will have some support though).

“turn left just here”

I was pointing him the street where my appartement was so he could turn at the right moment. After a 20 minutes drive, he stopped the car in front of  the building. Before going out of the car, he handle me the keys without really looking at me. I pick it from his warm hands and put it into my pocket. He leaves the car first and i follow him. As if he invited in his house but that wasn’t the case at all since this guy randomly took place in my car without asking .

As i followed him to the entrance i took a minute to ask myself how to get rid of him. Because in fact, i just helped him escape from some crazy people in the street but it didn’t meant he could also invite himself at my place. Moreover, i didn’t even know what he was being chased for. Maybe he was some violent punk, maybe he beated someone and those people wanted a revenge. I don’t  know. I need to stop him now or he will become a burden. And i don’t need that.

Before he enters the hall, i call him by behind. “hey! what are you doing right now ?” he stops and look back at me, with questionning eyes “ i didn’t say i would help you”. I walk to him slowly and i can see he is trying to avoid my eyes but i am trying to convince him, and it all start by looking straight at him. I reach him sooner than i thought and i can feel his tired breath. 

In a sight, he makes a step to me “you are a lawyer right ? I am asking you to help me.” Annoyance is starting to grow inside me and before answering to him i fix my hair on my shoulders “what should i help you i don’t even know you” i avoid his look “plus, you don’t look like a reliable person”.

“What kind of lawyer are you i thought you would be nice but i was wrong. Lawyers those days don’t want to help if they are not forced to. I thought it was a job you guys do because you believe in justice like heroes. Looks like not.” He doubles me and his shoulder hits mine but i am too shooked by his words to react. He was right, i was rude to him. For a second he looked pityful. I fixed the hall door, wanted to enter the buildings, but i still heard his steps behind me, leaving with anger. What if he really was in trouble. Maybe it was a great hazard if he met me. I remembered how he had looked to my lawyer badge earlier and how his eyes lighten up when he realised i was a lawyer. I squeeze the handle of my bag, containing myself for doing something stupid i would regret. 

“What is up with you, what do you need from me ?”

My voice echoed. At first i regretted immediatly my words. Well not just at first. I also regretted it when he turned back to me with surprise. I keep squeezing my bag, hoping he won’t go back to me. I just wanted to save my honor by offering some sort of help. But deep inside me i just hoped he won’t turn back to me and still think i was an asshole for the rest of his life. Unhopefully, he didn’t. He run back at me, like a kid who was offered a piece of cake. His oversized hoodie floated around his body and his hood fell off his head, letting me finally see him clearly. He was probably my age. Which made me more confortable for some reasons. Knowing he wasn’t too older than me made me think i could defend myself if i needed to. Which is the dumbest reasoning ever.

“so, are you going to help me?"

He was almost smiling, eyes holding hope and looking straight at me. I bitted my lips before answering. “yes i will ty to help you”. He let his head fall back “thank god, i really thought you were a stupid lawyer”.

I should have punched him after that but i didn’t. Instead i gave him a fake smile, not wanting to hurt him. “first, don’t ever run into shops like you did earlier, and don’t steal others cars ! Seriously.” He grinned and answered “i didn’t stole it, you were ok with that” i rolled my eyes. Was he really this anaware ? “well, it’s not like you gave me choice” “sorry for that, you were the only escape i had”.

I nodded to myself and finally offered him to follow me. His steps were carefull behind me, copying each of my moves and trying not to bother me. Leaving the escalator, we reached my door and before opening it, i turned back at him. He was looking at the wall, he looked bored. I felt my heart shake for a second but my mind was clear so i punched his torso to wake him up. “Hey! wake up, don’t think you can fool me with your depressed look” i lied. He look ed down at me and let an ironic sight escape his mouth, making his lips pout. “don’t think you are my type, you are the exact opposite, i am just here cause you are usefull to me”.

So he can be an asshole too. Well, guess i am going to help him and get him to leave my appartement asap. Why was he cute when he needed me, but know that he is about to get what he wants he treat me like i am an old sock.

“don’t make me call the police because this is what you deserves after stealing my car”, he grinned and put his hands in his pocket “call them then”. He really was pissing me off. But i don’t wanted to loose this kind of fight and i rolled my eyes again “ i shouldn’t have offererd you my help. Lets  fix your problem quickly i don’t want you here too long or i might kill you”. I pushed my door in anger, leaving my bag on the floor, with my shoes. He put his shoes off too and entered the leaving room, making himself  confortable by sitting immediatly on the couch. 

“it’s cosy here. do you leave alone ?” He was scaning my appartment, which was quite small making the review fast. My place wasn’t original, except there was tons of plants and flowers everywhere, books and dvds on every free place. I used to live in the coutryside with my parents, so plants weren’t even an option to me when i had to leave in Seoul. 

“yes i am alone, do you want something to drink?” i asked, opening the fridge and choosing myself a Sprite.

“no thanks, just lets get to the facts since you don’t want me here any longer”

I laughed in exasperation “right, tell me then”. I opened the bottle, making a “pcht”. “first what’s your name?” I stayed at the bar of the kitchen, where i was able to see him clearly. I sat on a chair, legs crossed.

He leaned his head on the back of the couch, making his bang part on his forehead, giving him 5 years older than he was seconds ago. 

“I don’t know if i want to tell you this already. I will just tell you in what kind of trouble i am, and then, if you accept to be my lawyer, i will tell you my name” He tilted his head in my direction looking at me in despair.

“is that a satanic offer?” i joked while sipping my drink.

“just promise me that after knowing my name you won’t reject me or i will really steal your car”

I closed my eyes, lifting my brows up in frustration. “just go ahead and stop saying shit”

“well, it all started when-”

“make it short” i cut him

“for fuck sake just listen to me!  A girl is about to file a complaint about me because she wants me dead and she is going to tell the police i raped her which is fake”

“tell me it's wrong please or i will punch you out of my appartement”

“of course it is not please trust me” he eyed me with anger

“do you know who is she”

“yeah, she texted it to me”

“then spill it out”

“let’s say it is my ex”

After i heard this word my heart stopped. It was just a common war between exes. He was doing all this drama for this.

“well it’s simple, just call the police before she does, and explain everything. If what she is about to say isn’t true then tell them"

I started to ask myself what kind of guy he was. This is a difficult situation he was going through but the police is really helpful in this kind of case. He don’t need a laywer but just to call 119. 

“i assure you, all you need is to tell the police that this girl is harassing you if you want to get rid of her. Plus you have the texts has proof so go on”

I went back on my feet and pick a bag of doritos. i go next to him with Doritos in my mouth, i put the bag in front of him, he looked tired and hopeless. He wave the bag away and get up, facing me.

“you don’t understand”

“i do, your ex hates you, end of the story, what’s your name again ?” i pick another chips

“i haven’t told you my name yet”

“well go on, if you want i can make sure this girl won’t bother you and tell my collegues to watch it out”

He pauses, bitting his lower lips. His dark hair were pulled by both side of his forehead, i could smell his sweet and musky perfume. i kept on chewing the doritos, hiding the fact that the way he looked didn’t let me indifferent. He was  attractive.

I sat down on the couch, trying to ignore him. “what’s the problem with your name though”. He eyed me. 

“tell me, this could be our secret, you remind me of someone”

He watches me eating like a pig, turning on the television with hands full of rests of doritos. I can feel the pressure of his stare on me. But i try not to care. 

“What kind of girl are you”

“Not your kind as you said earlier”

He tilts his head without me noticing and run his tongue on his teeths. 

I stopped zapping the channels until i found a cultural show. He suddenly bend over me, trapping me between his arms. Both hands on the back of the couch One of his knee climb on the couch, making sure i won’t move.

“shhh, i am not your style remember. You can leav my appartement by the way”

It was obvious he was mad at me. Because he probably expected from me that i would solve his problem right away. But i didn’t. And it was making him crazy. I am sure he don’t want to go outside annd face the same people who chased him. But i didn’t care at all.

“please i can’t see through people, just leave” 

He didn’t move an inch. “ i remind you someone ugh?”

“yeah and what”

“I am Jeon Jungkook”

I stared at him. I squint, not sure if he is joking or not. I have heard that name before maybe on the tv or at the radio. 

“Are you maybe an idol or something ?”

“Do you know INTERNET?”

“hey don’t be rude to me, of course i do but-”

He cut me by throwing a pillow at me and leave me free. I throw the pillow on the ground in an epiphany.

“ARE YOU JEON JUNGKOOK FROM BTS”

“yeah i am oh my god you are a retarded human”

“Go to hell, i don’t care about idols and stuffs like that... Plus, you are not a god so calm down” I understand why he was running like a crazy, why he was hiding himself under a hood and why he won’t tell me his name at first. He took a look at his phone and sighed. he put it back in his pocket. giving me the opportunity to look at his figure for a second.

“like what you see”

“not that much, but i thought the Golden Kid would be a nice and cute person. You are more like a demon. What’s up ?

“Apparently she already told the police”

“it sucks being you”

“yeah...”

I started having pity for him. I was used to deal with celebrities. An Idol or not, nobody deserves to be left aside. I hate to admit it but i wanted to help him. Not because he was an Idol, but because he really was in trouble since his ex complainted already. It could ruin his life.

“that’s why companies ask their artists not to date.” 

“shut up, i am sure you will grow old and be a crazy cat woman” he groaned.

“the crazy cat woman offers you her help” i said, without looking at him because of my proud self.

He squeeze his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“just leave tomorrow, cause you are still a stranger to me and that’s quite embarrassing having you here”

He nodds and takes place by my side.

“thank you.”

“you’re welcome” i offer him doritos again

“what’s your name?” he picks ome chips out the bag

“i am Y/N”

“Y/N, you are such a pig”

“shut up”

I slap him on the shoulder as he chew happily, getting some more doritos.

here is it ! hope you guys will like it :) it is a bit longer than the preview but since i suck at english it take me forever to write “properly”

CC.

[iamwhelmed]

Win One, Have Two: Chapter 8

Hey guys! Just a quick note to let you know that school has started up again for me, and so has an increased workload. I’m concerned about how I’m going to manage my time, but I care a whole lot about this fanfic, and I want you guys to know that, even if I have to skip an update or two until next break, I’m going to do my very best to keep the chapters coming!

On AO3

On Fanfiction.net

“Come on, Red. Give me something to work with, here.”

Isaac bit down on both his lips, a nervous tick, one Hardy picked up on. He was watching him from across the training mat, legs bent, hands at the defensive, and if the grin itching to grow on his face got any bigger, Isaac might have felt somewhat unsettled-- ya know, unless he could use his powers, which he wasn’t about to, especially when this sparring match was going unsupervised.

He’d woken that morning to Hardy shoving his face into the smooth fabric of his nighty, nose jabbing into his stomach uncomfortably close to his belly-button, and an empty space where Clara usually laid at his other side. Her imprint was there, but the arm she’d usually taken governance of was free and belonging entirely to him for the morning. He’d roused Hardy from his beauty sleep and they’d wandered around for a bit, aimlessly. Miss Rose, her mug of coffee, and her cryptic-looking book of the day were also missing from her usual spot at the kitchen counter, and Crawford had locked himself in the library (actually, it might have been an office? Which was worse. He couldn’t tell with the mess of books and loose leaf papers everywhere). The dojo was theirs for the time being, and after they’d scarfed down whatever they could find in the pantry (Hardy took to a package of mini cookies, and Isaac found some rice cakes), Hardy had all but gripped him by the scruff of his shirt and tugged him to the designated sparring floor.

“Just show me what you’ve got!”

“You don’t wanna see what I’ve got.”

Hardy’s demeanor shifted, relaxed, smirk shifting to a toothed purr. His eyebrows raised and fell. “Oh yes I do.”

What? They were talking about sparring, right? Why did he-- oh. His cheeks flushed. “S-sh-shut up! Don’t s-say things like that! Wh-what are you even--?”

“Well maybe I’d shut up if you’d squared up!”

Isaac closed his eyes, stood silent and still and simply breathed. He’d seen Isabel do it in the past, a few times, when a mission got tough, when she had to focus on her drive and not her bloodlust. He took that memory, let it flash before his closed eyes like a guide. He could see her body freeze, tense, fists clench as her aura crackled between the gaps in her fingers. Like fire, like flame, it’d consumed her hands, her arms, acting less like the colorful gas it was, more like a spirit at the edge of unbridled power. He opened his eyes.

Hardy was smiling, like a friend, like they weren’t getting ready to duke it out, then tensed as he had before, clenched hands raised in the defensive. “Now we’re talking. Hit me.” His deep emerald aura circled around his shoulders, but it wasn’t concentrated, not that way Isaac’s was.

He leapt at Hardy, one fist raised, let a small surge of energy collect at the flat of his fist. He was fast-- Hardy was just faster. Isaac blinked and he was gone. Wait, what? His punch fell limp through the air, hit nothing where he should have hit something. His brain didn’t catch up until a small tap to the back of his head sent him stumbling a few feet forward. Isaac squeaked, and twisted around on his heel, shifting his other foot to catch his fall. He raised one hand to his head and set his eyes on Hardy, who was snickering at him from where he’d once stood, hands in his pockets. He looked innocent. “Hey! Was that really necessary?”

“What? It was a love tap!” Hardy winked.

Isaac bit down on what would have probably been an undignified sound, pink cheeks flaring red. “It was an insult to injury!”

Hardy shrugged, then raised one hand to wave him closer. Once more.

Isaac took the invitation and lunged again. This time, he’d focus on watching Hardy, not hitting him. He readied his fist as before, steadying the stream of lightning itching at the tips of his curled fingers. He threw the punch, Hardy ducked, but this time Isaac was prepared to follow. “Gotcha!” He grinned, following Hardy’s step to the side with his other fist-- might not have been quite as powered as the fake-out, but still enough to land a good hit.

Hardy gripped that fist in one hand.

Isaac’s eyes widened, and he raised his knee to Hardy’s side, only to find himself latched on both sides of his body. Their noses brushed. Hardy was grinning at him, wincing all the same, but grinning. Too close, too close, too close--! Isaac, calm down. He’s having a hard time holding you, right? You can break out of this. “Hey, Red.”

“Stop” Isaac’s nose twitched “calling me that!”

“Would you prefer Strawberry?”

“Shut up!”

His other fist wasn’t powered up anymore, wasn’t cracking with electricity, but his aura still collected there, still flared, and Hardy only had two hands-- he just needed to swing. He took his other hand and aimed for the stomach. Don’t dodge! Isaac kept his eyes on Hardy, squinting but never blinking as his other fist came upon its target. Hardy blinked and looked down, not soon enough, and hissed when Isaac’s punch landed-- but he could have been more hurt. I’m weaker for some reason. Why? Their eyes met, and before Isaac knew it, his back was to the floor, and Hardy had a knee at his chest, towering over him. “I’m impressed you managed to land a hit on me.” Isaac tried to move his wrists, but found both pinned by Hardy’s hands. All at once, he was reminded that a fist-fight with Hardy was probably the equivalent of a fist-fight with Ed-- he had more raw power, but they were trained, molded. He was somehow still learning. “You use electricity, huh? That’s pretty cool.”

“Hardy,” he cringed at the strain in his voice. “You’re a- a jerk. H-has anyone… told you that?”

He chuckled. “All the time.”

Then he paused, brows furrowed, and glanced down at his knee, still lodged into Isaac’s abdomen. “Hey, dude?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… like, in pain?”

“A great amount, yes.”

“Ah.”

The color drained from Hardy’s face, once wide-toothed, playful grin falling. He moved his leg. Isaac glanced down, trying to see exactly what had caused such a sudden change-- well, blood would certainly do that.

Oh. Oh crap. Blood!

Isaac gaped, body freezing as deep red soaked his shirt, seeping through the seams, dieing the blue stripes an even deeper purple. Hardy’s knee was covered in it, bend of his jeans soaked. Of course he’d been feeling weak earlier… he still hadn’t healed completely. Hardy screeched and jumped up, hands at either side of his head, apologizing and apologizing, eyes wide, moving as if his body had frozen and was thawing under the heat of panic. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I completely forgot about your stitches! Ah!”

Isaac would have sat up, would have told him that, while he was annoyed, he didn’t blame him for forgetting, but his abdomen felt like it was tearing itself apart, which it literally, probably, was. He grunted and raised both arms to cover it, stop the bleeding. It wasn’t as bad as it was when it was fresh, but it sure hurt plenty, more likes a dull knife dragging across his open wound and less like a chainsaw just there all the time.

“What’s all of this racket?”

“Crawford!” Hardy was practically leaping up and down in his frenzy. “I-Isaac! Help Isaac! I didn’t realize--!”

There was a heavy, gruff sigh, and then heavier footsteps against the polished wood of the living room, then the sound of sticky steps as Crawford stepped onto the mat. Isaac yelped as he was hoisted-- yes, hoisted-- over a very broad shoulder, right where the wound was. “Ow!”

“Stop complainin’ or I’ll give you somethin’ to complain about.”

Isaac’s face continued to contort following every degree of pain he was feeling, but he fell silent, crossing his arms indignantly, painfully-- honestly it wasn’t worth the effort, but he did it anyway. Crawford took to the staircase, stopping only to give Hardy a look. What look? Isaac didn’t know. He couldn’t very well see, but Hardy definitely knew the look, and was scared of the look, and snapped into gear with almost military-like rigidness. “Y’lall need to be more careful next time, ya hear me?”

“Yes! Yes sir!”

Crawford was surprisingly good with his hands, for a man of his size and-- Isaac glanced at the size of his bicep-- clear strength. But he handled Isaac’s stitches with kit hands, and on top of it, had him patched up in seconds.  For as painful an injury as it was, for as painful as it was to be reopened, Isaac had been anticipating fix-up to be more straining. Well, that wasn’t to say there was no pain involved, and Crawford had to threaten him a good handful of times, with all the twitching and hissing and jumping he was doing, but it was still not as bad as he’d been expecting it to be. He turned his eyes to the glass-doored cabinet, where Crawford was busying himself scrummaging through the collection of first-aid products. “Clara made a few mistakes the last time she changed your bandages. She used t’ make ‘em too tight, now they’re too dang loose.”

Isaac glanced down at his wound, now open to the world with his blood-soaked shirt discarded somewhere to the side. The stitches were swollen, two lumps of flesh sewn together across the length of his abdomen. It made him uncomfortable looking at it, but morbid curiosity took precedence over disgust. He raised one finger to the blue string weaving in and out of his skin like a hemline, wincing when the feather touch stung.

“Well don’t touch ‘em, ya idiot.”

Isaac smiled awkwardly, apologetically, and Crawford waved him off as he approached the bed, bandages in one hand. “Lift.” Isaac raised his arms, and Crawford bent forward to run the gauze of the wound. It was definitely tighter than when Clara did it, and more uncomfortable, but he could breath, so he wouldn’t complain.

“Where are Miss Rose and Clara?”

“Out picking herbs. I’m gonna teach Clara how t’ make some temp’rary remedies.”

“Wait, you’re the medic?” Crawford cocked an eyebrow, and Isaac laughed-- another nervous tick. “I mean, I guess I just assumed--”

“-- it was Rose? I get that, what with all that nurture bull she pushes,” Crawford tightened the last round of the gauze, reaching to the side for some tape to hold it in place. “But you’d be wrong. She’s a bookworm, not much’ve a field operative.”

“And you are?”

He tapped the scar over his eye, straight down the top lid to the bottom, almost the length of his nose. “One ‘f the best.”

Isaac frowned, reaching up to touch the bandage over his right eye, fingers brushing the edge at the side of his ear. Crawford pulled away and got to cleaning up the mess of the bloodied bandages that’d been tossed to the floor in haste. He was so tense all the time, so on-guard, at least he looked like it. In his time at the boarding school, he’d felt he’d gotten to know everyone, at least to a reasonable degree. He trusted them not to slaughter him in his sleep, and he ate dinner every night with little to no intrusive thoughts about the possibility of the poison and its potential mask as the onion powder dusted over his plate. But Crawford-- Crawford was still a mystery. He kept to himself, kept away from the kids, and scarcely interacted with even Miss Rose. The few times he’d seen him around the school, Crawford was either brooding over a beer in the library (office), preparing dinner with a knife far too sharp to not incite just a bit of fear, or scowling at the occasional sparring match, when Miss Rose had to take a call and wasn’t available. “I just didn’t expect the guy who looks like he stepped straight out of an Old Wild West movie to be the team medic.”

“I learned outta necessity.” Crawford tossed the bloodied bandages in the trash, then twisted the sink on and got to washing his hands, pumping the soap twice.

Isaac frowned. “You’ve been through a lot, huh?”

“You will too, by the time the world’s through with ya.” Isaac turned to the floor, eyeing his hands, running along every scratch, every bite mark, every bit of dry skin that was healing. He’d seen more war, more pain and more power than he’d ever witnessed before in the month he’d been away from home. The spirits in Mayview, they were tame for the most part. Things were quiet. Sure, there was the occasional problem child, but outside the barrier, things were so much worse. He’d been attacked in his sleep by a creature that could shapeshift from one huge claw to a drooling eye with a mouth. He’d seen spirits three times his size swallowed whole and digested like bite-size chocolate bars. And then the monsters-- the one that took that gash out of his stomach, left him bleeding in a city park, nearly made him blind in one eye… he grimaced.

Then, there was a hand at his head, ruffling the spike and mussing his hair until he looked like an unkempt toddler. He blinked, and Crawford was giving him an old-fashioned, country-man grin, having somehow lit a cigar in the time Isaac had been contemplating that sting of fear in his chest. “Just do yourself a favor…” Isaac’s brows furrowed. Crawford’s grin widened. “Make sure the world ain’t done with ya today, or the next if ya can help it!”

He’d lost track of time, lost track of how long he’d been there. A week? He’d stopped counting after Day 14. His wounds were healing… somewhat. His stitches had started to look less like two conjoined clumps and more like blended skin with the tattoo of a string running along pale white. He’d still have to resist pulling on it sometimes, and when he didn’t, Clara would hit him for it. His eye was still bandaged, but Crawford said he’d be clear to remove it in the next week. His food poisoning had long since passed, and he was enjoying the benefit of eating actual meals again-- his muscles and bones had been fading, but he was as healthy and thick at the waistline as he used to be. It helped that Crawford was a good cook.

Miss Rose had trained him a few times, one-on-one; after the sparring incident with Hardy, and a good scolding (complete with parental pointing finger), she elected herself as his partner instead (“Since you kids don’t know how to hold back, yet…”). She was an odd woman, spent most of her time with them instead of musing over spectral artifacts, which was, as he’d understood it, her actual job. Instead, when the three of them managed to wake up in the morning, and somehow manage to carry themselves out of bed after that, Miss Rose was always waiting with some kind of activity for the day-- cryptic-ancient-language translation, spectral shot practice, backyard track running, sprinting, and hurdling, to name a few. And at the end of each day, she’d ride them to brush their teeth and wash their faces. Isaac objected to this the first night, after all, he and Clara were thirteen, and Hardy was sixteen, surely they could manage so much on their own. Miss Rose then gestured avidly to Hardy, and informed him that she’d once thought that, too. With a smile, of course, but Hardy still grew red at his nose and swatted at her.

Hardy was a huge flirt, quick to tease him and poke him and squeeze him half to death if he so happened to feel like it, but he was cool, and nice, and he’d apologized profusely for breaking his wound open. When they were bored, with little else to do, they’d often times lay around on the living room couch, Isaac watching the latest episode of the animes he’d come to miss dearly in his time as a runaway-- felt weird to think that, to acknowledge that was truly what he was, that he matched its definition-- and Hardy lounging back with his feet in Isaac’s lap and his head in Clara’s lap (assuming she didn’t have medical training to attend to) with a magazine in his hands. Not surprisingly, those car-themed magazines had belonged to him.

Clara was a little more like Miss Rose, but not quite. She was headstrong and nosy like their mentor, but she was also bubbly, and a tad ditzy-- she was smart, and just as Hardy was, touchy-feely. When they hung around together, when Hardy was off doing something probably stupid and dangerous, like seeing how many times he could ride the rail down the spiral staircase, he and Clara found time to lay around on their phones together in their joint bedroom. He’d scroll through some fanart and she’d ask him about the show. He’d go for tens or twenties of minutes, just talking avidly about his favorite shows, about the K-Dramas he’d gotten himself invested in somehow. She’d nod along, ask him to repeat names and characters, show her pictures, show her clips. In turn, he’d ask her about her interests, and oddly enough-- she loved superheroes. She had a few favorites, but they were kind of unknown, heroes he’d never really heard of before, but he never told her that. She’d site her favorite comic issues and hand him some of the volumes she owned, stacked not neatly, but organized, on a bookshelf on the wall opposing the bed. She’d watch him read the first few pages until, inevitably, they’d hear a:

THUMP. “Ow!”

Followed by Crawford yelling or Miss Rose nagging. Then, it was usually dinner time.

He liked it. He liked the flow he was in. He like the people around him. He was happy here. But, as he’d always remind himself-- he didn’t leave Mayview to be happy. He was on a mission, he had a purpose. This was a punishment, and as it was he shouldn’t have dwindled there as long as he already had. There were spirits to help, ghosts to cheer up-- he cringed… monsters to take down. There wasn’t a night that went by that he didn’t dream about it, that he didn’t see the way Spender’s face dropped, or the clench of Dimitri’s teeth, or the uncharacteristic frown on Ed’s lips. He heard Isabel yelling at him, knew everything she was saying was right-- about him being a traitor, about him being hopeless, about the fact that he should have been in that cell with them, that he’d nearly gotten them all killed or worse. He deserved to be an outcast. He deserved to be shunned and cast away. He deserved to meet the bloody end of a monster’s claw.

And then he’d feel Max.

He’d feel his finger jabbing at his chest, smell the metal on him and the rust and the hydrogen peroxide below his band-aids. He’d see his narrowed eyes, the danger in them, the anger and hatred and disgust-- everything he knew he’d practically asked for.

“I’ve never cared less about a person in my life. You think you can read me the way everyone else can read you? We’re not even friends.” Isaac cringed every time. “We never were.”

He was there to suffer. He was there to spend however long he lived pushing himself to the very limit, to make up for all the pain and fear he’d caused. Because even if the club didn’t care about him… he wanted what was best for them.

There was humming, soft, sweet, and yet it wasn’t shy. Isaac paused, peeking around the corner. On the other side of the open door, Clara swayed around the room, folding their freshly-cleaned bedsheets with a lack of grace, and she made it look fun. She was certainly the source of the humming, if the music blaring from her small radio was any indication. He took a moment to process the soft rhythm, the fuzziness of the sound, then felt like a total idiot for not having recognized it sooner. Once Upon a Dream. A took a cautious step into the room, careful not to scare her, because he had a feeling a scared Clara was not a fun Clara to deal with, and he still didn’t know what powers she did or did not have. He coughed into his hand, figuring that was polite and unshocking as any greeting could be, and she turned to him, surprised.

Then, a moment later, she grinned at him, and gripped him by the wrists.

He inhaled sharply and she swung him around in a tight circle, and when he opened his eyes, only then realizing they’d been shut, she’d wrapped two ends of the bedsheet around his throat, like a cape. “Wait--! What--?” She ignored him and his unvoiced question, and instead took to setting one his hands at her waist, then took his other hand in the one she hadn’t set at his shoulder. It was like this that they began to sway.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream~!”

“Wait, why are you leading?”

“Because you obviously don’t know how!”

He snorted, then laughed, and that laugh grew even louder, more obnoxious, and Clara danced him around the bedroom. One moment, they were at a corner near the windowseat and the parted curtains, and the next they were adjacent, by the door to the small bathroom the three of them begrudgingly shared. She was quick, and through all of his laughter, it was hard to keep up. He tried to breath, had to struggle to get a word out. “H-hey, I s-still have stitches, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, and they’re pretty much healed, hush.”

The song carried on, and so did they, twisting and turning around the room, ends of the bedsheet flying with every to and fro, with every step they’d take. Clara fell into a fit of giggles not long after he’d stopped, and then he was right back where he was before, breathless.

The next note, Clara let go of his hand, and for a moment he thought the song was over. But the next, his hand was in another, more callous. He jumped back as Hardy took Clara’s place, gratuitously. He took one look at Isaac’s cape and smiled. “Fancy meeting you here, Prince…?”

“You know my name, you dork.”

“That’s an awfully long name, my lord.”

Isaac groaned and Hardy took the lead where Clara left it, moving faster, but rougher, across the bedroom floor. “Why am I always the one being lead?”

“Because you don’t know how to lead.”

“Where did you learn ballroom dancing?”

“Well,” Hardy snickered. “Maybe I don’t know ballroom dancing--” With a flick of his wrist, Isaac twirled to the side, only one hand latched dangerously to Hardy’s. “--But I know the tango!”

Isaac shook his head clear, laughing to himself.

Max. He had to blink thrice. When he opened his eyes, for a moment, just one fantastic, single moment, it was his hand he was holding. He could feel the tips of his fingers brushing like love against the palm of his hand, touch the square of his wrist. The face, oh he missed that face-- the downturn of his cap and the upturn of his lip when he smiled, when he was happy. He was momentarily breathless, watching the world around him spin as Max tugged him in, caught him in a turn, took him closer-- he could have memorized that pale blue in his eyes.

And then his outstretched hands fell to Hardy’s chest, and he was lost again.

Hardy took one look at him and snorted. “What, did I spin you too hard?”

Isaac batted his eyes-- er, tried to clear his head. “Wh-what? No, why’d you ask?” He took a step back, retracting his hands slowly, so no feelings were hurt. That was unreal. He almost felt stupid, guilty, like he’d been fooled twice and went back for a third round. But he hadn’t. There was nothing there but a memory, or some rose-colored version of it, anyway. He just couldn’t seem to shake how naive, how silly he felt. He must have been-- silly, that is. He was dwindling where he shouldn’t have been.

“You’re red, like, super red, man.”

Clara tittered and pressed a finger to his cheek, which he swatted away with one hand, two when she pressed harder. “You’re so cute! You look like ya ate a handful of beets!”

“Maybe I did!”

“I certainly hope not, we need those for dinner tonight. Otherwise we’d have to use you. Chop you up and throw you in some stew, how’s that sound.”

“Awful.”

“Yeah, well so does eating a handful of raw beets, but apparently you did that.”

The cafe was perfect for a writer, really, so it wasn’t a wonder how Suzy found it. Quaint little place atop a small body of water outside the patio. The tables were small, and round, and metal with a clear glass piece set perfectly within its melded edges. Condensation had begun to leave a small circle of wet around the bottom of his cup, filled halfway with iced tea before a waiter came over and refilled him for him. He was mostly done with his cinnamon roll, but Suzy was yet to touch her salad; this was funny, funny as in odd, considering it’d been her idea to come to her favorite little cafe.

She sat across from him, elbows on the table as she stabbed at salad with her fork. She’d been quiet, for a while now, and it wasn’t just for the duration of their meal. She’d been this way, or the opposite end (louder, more rambunctious, bossier than usual), for a good month now, or a little over. Collin scowled, leaning back in his chair because he knew some explanation was coming, probably. Sure enough, she turned her gaze to him, big eyes looking tired, and dull. Not her, not like her at all. Her lips parted, and he fixed his attention on her-- she had to have his full attention. Anything less, and he’d be sorry. He was sure of it. This was Suzy.

“Hey, Collin?”

“Hmm?” It was coming, the big reveal, the reason she’d been even bossier than normal--

“It’s been two weeks.” She frowned, and looked back to her salad, stabbing, perhaps with more vehemence, at a cherry tomato that’d earlier escaped the wrath of her fork’s pointed ends. “They still haven’t found him.”

Collin sighed. Guess he’d underestimated her tendency to project. Well, if nobody else is gonna sit her down and ask, guess it’s up to me… per usual. He leaned forward, crossing his arms over the table. With one hand, he set his plate and cup to the side. “Hey, Suzy? Ya wanna just tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

She blinked, and for a moment, when their eyes met, she looked scared. But in the next she had covered it up with that look of hers-- the nasty one, the one that scared anybody but him, him and Dimitri. He had a feeling that the salad would have cowered, had it been sentient. “That is what’s bothering me!”

“I mean, yeah, it’s one thing, but it’s not what’s bothering you the most.”

Her hand paused amidst the brutal stabbing of a helpless carrot, coming to a rest at the side of the plate. She was silent again, and that always unnerved him, more than anything. He kept an eye on her, watched the way her hair fell into her face, how she didn’t reach up to fold it behind her ear like always. She looked to him, and frowned, and set both her hands in her lap. The tips of her ears turned red, and though her face read serious, it wasn’t intentionally threatening. In fact, she looked almost… Collin leaned further in. “You are never to repeat what I’m about to say to anybody, do you understand me?”

He raised one hand. “Journalist’s integrity.” Suzy’s cheek blew up. He smiled. “My honor.”

The red of her ears spread to her nose, but she snorted, and smiled, and he knew he’d given her reassurance. Soon enough, she sobered up, she frowned again, and her eyes fell to the hands she’d clasped together in her lap. “It’s Dimitri. I… miss him.” He hummed, brows furrowing, but he nodded for her to go on. “Ever since we found out he was a spectral, it just feels like,” she grew quiet. “It just feels like we never really knew him, you know? Like our entire” she waved one hand around, realized she was stalling, and set it back in her lap “thing was a lie.”

He squinted. “Our friendship?”

“Yeah!”

Collin sighed, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Suzy.”

“I mean, the proof is in the pudding! He’s out having adventures with the activity club all the time now!” Her hands parted to wave around frantically; he might have been embarassed had he not been so used to being publicly humiliated-- by Suzy. “He never drops by alone, ya know? It’s like, I don’t know. It’s like he never really let us get to know him to begin with so,” her eyes grew dim again, fingers clutching and kneading one napkin that lay unused between them. “So how could I expect him to, ya know… remember us?”

Perhaps he was momentarily delirious, or maybe she’d simply driven him insane. He’d even entertained the idea that somebody slipped something into his always-dutifully-full iced tea when he wasn’t looking. Whatever happened, it was a lapse in sanity, and he’d do well to avoid another such situation.

He reached over and took her hand in his own, in surprise, she dropped the napkin. Her wide blue eyes were on him, watching him, he felt it, he knew it, so he glanced away, coughed into his free hand. Mayview wasn’t supposed to be getting hotter, was it? They were riding the tail end of fall! How funny that, right then, he felt he needed a fan. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Huh?” Her voice was so small right then, so innocent-sounding, so unlike her. It made his entire body shiver.

“Spectral or no, Dimitri is Dimitri. I’m sure he’s just spending some time catching up with them, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

Why would he even say that. He had no clue. He’d thought the same thing, wondered how Dimitri was doing, how he was doing-- if he planned on ever coming back. They ran into each other often enough, but Isabel (and sometimes Max) were always close behind, like a clique. Suzy was right, he hardly ever came around anymore. Lunchtime (with Isabel and Max) was about the extent of their interactions. Who was he to tell her what was going on in Dimitri Danger’s head? Nobody! Nobody knew! The guy was a legend wrapped up in mystery, all laced together with a pretty bow tied in cryptic knots. He was lying to her! Straight up deceiving her! And for what?

Suzy squeezed his hand, then pulled back, setting the backs of her wrists at the edge of the table, fingers curling in. He hesitated to move his own, fingers twitching, then hiding in his palm.

“If that were true, wouldn’t he… try to stop by the clubroom once in awhile?”

What was he supposed to say? He agreed with her. She was right. For once in Suzy’s life, she was right, logic exceeded stubbornness, and it couldn’t have chosen a worse time.

He fell silent, words left him. All he could do was sit there and mourn with her.

Evening had fallen over the boarding school before he knew it, and sometimes, evenings meant laying back on the windowseat, feet splayed over Clara’s lap while Hardy’s head leaned against the side of his leg. He could hardly read a word of the book Miss Rose lent him (about mediums, mainly, and some other basics he hadn’t caught onto before) in the light of the setting sun, but it was relaxing-- he could fall asleep under an orange hue forever. Clara was taking a quiz, one of the bad ones from the preteen magazines she kept asking Miss Rose for when she went food-shopping. Hardy well--

Isaac winced as the bulky end of the yo-yo came around to smack him in the face. He hissed and glared over the side at Hardy, who was waving an apology and giving him the best sorry-looking face he could probably muster.

Yes. He was too content.

He had to remind himself-- he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this. And nobody around him knew what he had done. Sometimes he thought about telling them, and that daydream brought him fear, fear and somehow relief. He could never really understand that part. Maybe it was the burden of keeping a secret, not that he’d been trying, things just happened. Something told him that wasn’t it, though. Maybe he wanted to be outcased, punished, kicked out on the street like he’d planned all along.

He knew he deserved it.

But at the same time, why’d he have to tell them when he could just leave? What good would it do? They’d know they’d nursed a traitor back to health. They’d know they’d saved a person who should have been wiped from the world because he couldn’t tend to his own wounds-- natural selection. No, there really wasn’t a reason to tell them, no reason to burden them with that guilt. He’d just have to wait until his wounds were healed, sneak away in the dark. Teenagers did it all the time in the movies, how bad could it be?

“Ah! Hardy!”

“Sorry!” Clara raised her foot where his yo-yo had nailed her, right at the ball, and gave him a swift, scolding kick to the head. “Ow!”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better!”

“Okay, okay!”

Isaac exhaled through his nose and smiled. Well, maybe I’ll stick around a little longer.

Three knocks, solid and authoritative, came from the front door. Each of them perked up, heads twisting to the bedroom door, which sat ajar. Clara readjusted her glasses. “Well, that’s odd. Nobody visits us unless they’re, ya know, Cousinhood, and we have a secret knock.”

“Well,” Hardy shrugged, sticking his yo-yo in the back pocket of his jeans. “They might be new?”

No, I doubt it. If they’re as secretive as the Consortium was… Isaac frowned and leaned behind Clara, reaching to move the blinds she’d been snuggling under so he could see. “Hey! What the--?”

“Sorry.”

Just a little bit further, a little further, until-- there! He pressed his face to the class, hoping to catch a glimpse of the front door. Who could it be? Some guy who got lost in the woods, maybe? An angry squirrel throwing nuts? He finally got the right angle, could finally see just who was, quite angrily, pounding on the front door to what should have been a small private boarding school.

He wasn’t expecting to see Mister Spender.

He gasped and fell backwards, sliding from the windowseat with no grace. Hardy and Clara watched him with mild interest, mild concern, and he scurried away from the window, climbing to the bedroom door on all fours. Crap, crap, crap, crap! How? How was he here? He did he find him? No, calm down, Isaac. Maybe he’s not here for you. Maybe this is something entirely different. Still. There was a chance, a chance Mister Spender could see him, that he’d want to drag him home-- but he couldn’t go yet. He had to hide.

He came to sit at the top of the staircase, back pressed to the wall just before the second floor ended and the walk to the first floor began. Hopefully Mister Spender couldn’t see the top of the staircase from the front door…

“Isaac?”

“AH!”

He jumped, then covered his mouth with both hands. Clara tilted her head at him, and Hardy moved closer. They’d taken to huddling beside him, pressing their hands to the wall to keep them steady in their crouched positions. Hardy’s nose brushed his hands where they covered his big, unhelpful mouth, so he inched back. “What’s going on?”

He gestured for them to be quiet, and lay low, so they copied him and took to wall-clinging. Isaac glanced around the corner to find see Miss Rose looking out through the peephole, where she undoubtedly was seeing his old history teacher. Isaac swallowed hard. “That guy knocking on the door is Mister Spender, somebody from the Consortium!”

“And why is that a problem?” Clara kept her voice low, even if she didn’t understand, and right then, he couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Because,” he squeezed his hands tight and grinded his teeth. “If he sees me, if Miss Rose tells him I’m here, he’s gonna take me back to Mayview, and--and--!” From down below, he could hear the sound of the door opening, and the high-pitch of a woman’s greeting voice.

To say Rose was surprised to see a Consortium agent behind the door was inaccurate. To say she was surprised to see one so soon, on the other hand…

With the way the kid had been talking, for how long he’d been away from home with no Consortium interference, she hadn’t anticipated a visit for another five months, a year if she was pushing it. For a moment she doubted he was one, an agent. After all, they were in a home in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, perhaps he’d gotten himself lost and was in need of assistance? Well, it hadn’t happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

She glanced him over again; no, this man was different. He was nervous, lips drawn between his teeth, not relieved, not smiling to find someone else. His clothes were too clean, shirt too tucked in the waist of his pants, shoes and pants unmuddied from the slip and fall terrain. No, he’d entered the woods and known exactly where he was going.

Rose cocked an eyebrow, set her hands at her hips, like he was an old friend, like she didn’t know why he was here. “Hello!”

He was glaring at her, but she could tell he was keeping himself level, struggling to, anyway. She could expect a civil conversation, but beneath that was an anger, a righteous anger she’d known scarcely. She straightened up; it was unsettling, but she was no wallflower.

He took a deep breath, but she watched his fists clench at his sides. “Good evening, my name is Richard Spender.” He either didn’t think the Cousinhood knew who he was, or was playing dumb to avoid immediate conflict. She knew who him by name, but by name alone. He was Mayview’s Defender, its own stubborn hero. Anything else, well, anyone in her line of friends had yet to meet him. As always, she’d be the first, she might have felt honored had she taken a moment to let that sink in. Something was important enough that the legend had come to her directly, important enough he’d willingly left his beloved city. Perhaps this visit wasn’t what she thought it’d be. He paused a moment, probably just nervous. Rose didn’t blame him, relations were tight. She crossed her arms, showed him she was listening, so he continued. “A few months ago, one of my students went missing.”

His students? I don’t recall Richard Spender being named a spectral master. Oh. Oh, of course. That made so much sense! That’s why Isaac knew him by name! That’s why he was here, personally. Her eyes widened, but she rid her face of it. Letting an opposing agent read you, it was a mistake, one she couldn’t help but notice he was still making. Either way, the focus of the visit was exactly what she thought it would be.

“My, how unfortunate.”

His eyes narrowed behind his shades, and she gave him a smile. “Yes… you see, the authorities tracked him to the Michitan City area, where he left a trail.” Yeah. Of blood. “But soon after, he somehow disappeared.”

“Get to the point. We both know there’s something you’re not saying.”

Spender blinked, seemingly taken aback. He was an odd man; for someone with so much power, he was gentle, and came off weak. He recovered in a moment, shook himself straight, and she watched him grow stiffer than before. “My… colleagues and I, we traced him to Catriona Barrett’s old residence, which I am aware was confiscated after your people recovered an artifact on the premises.” She straightened up, well aware of where this was going. “If my assumptions are correct, and my student wandered onto Cousinhood property…”

“You think we have your kid.”

His voice lowered, dangerously; the real Richard Spender stood before her. “And he needs to come back home.”