#i accidentally kicked my water bottle under the couch in the lounge

[hyuuukais]

i think i may have lost my mind temporarily at work today (in a good way tho)

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Marmien - Let Us Have Tonight

So I accidentally landed in the Marmien tag while procrastinating in work earlier in the week. I got inspired by the idea of how Mark and Damien might officially begin a relationship if Damien were the sibling Mark fell in love with originally. 

It… Was supposed to be flirty. But then it went kinda sad. With that in mind, there’s a pretty strong focus on controlling parents so I’ve stuck it under a read-more.

Word Count: 1,694

-

It had been a wonderful night. Since gaining full ownership of the Manor, Mark had redecorated and brought it up to the full splendour it deserved. It was the location of many parties that would allow optimal chances to brush shoulders with the crème de la crème of the city. But tonight, it was a smaller, more important affair. Mark had invited his three closest friends over for dinner and drinks to celebrate William’s arrival home from an overseas expedition. The staff were given the night off so the four could fully unwind without the worries of anyone eavesdropping. Spirits were high as they swapped stories and snacks. William had been hired for a job that required him being security during a wildlife documentation trip. The meal was accompanied with tales of William’s adventures and mishaps. The conversation was briefly interrupted as the four partook in the chaos of attempting to clean the dishes. Bubbles were blown, Mark’s hair was soaked, but it was good times, something all of them needed.

One the kitchen was (hopefully) to the chef’s standards, they returned to the living room to lounge on the chairs and chat. They shared casual conversation, and all took it in turns to quiz Celine on the course she was taking. Her parents didn’t think it necessary that a woman get a qualification, but she decided otherwise. After all, they didn’t particularly care what she did if she did it herself. But as for her twin brother?

--

Oh, how Mark’s heart ached when he glanced at Damien. He was the youngest child, but the only son. That meant that he was the prime focus of the parents. He was left to burden the responsibilities of the family legacy, whether he wanted it or not. His life had been plotted for him with no room for discussion on the matter. Mark was sure that they would have encouraged Damien to distance himself from Mark and William because neither men were ‘suitable’ to their impossible standards, only that they had been friends since childhood. Mark was certainly thankful for that. Damien was already a lonely soul. He couldn’t bear to think about how worse it could be. He had already spent most of the evening quiet, unable to share his own tales with how restricted his life was.

It was why he jumped the gun and asked Damien to stay on when the others were getting ready to leave. Why force him back into his cage so soon? Maybe that was why Celine agreed, throwing her brother a sympathetic look, and suggested that she too would avoid going home so Damien wouldn’t face potential punishment. Damien was grateful for the support, giving a weak chuckle when William patted his friend on the shoulder and reminded him of the soldier’s promise to ‘pummel the daylights out of your old man’ if anything did happen.

When the door closed, Mark fetched Damien a glass of water. Alcohol would not help matters right now and he knew it. He didn’t want to bring the mood down any more, not when his heart was begging to do something.

A badly kept secret in the group was this: Mark had been in love with Damien for years. Not only that, it was reciprocated. 

When they were teenagers, Mark’s parents - well-known patrons of the arts with generations of money running through their veins - had hosted a party to celebrate the success of an operatic production that had been on that day. It was a rare time Damien had returned home while in university. With Celine sick at home and William in the army barracks, the pair stole away from the stuffy public spaces and hid in the library. Talk gradually shifted from the opera they had watched, to the idea of what love was and what importance it played in their families, to how they themselves viewed romance in their lives, to Mark admitting he thought Damien to be quite beautiful and that it might be the first time he’s fallen in love, to Damien quietly confessing he wants to be with Mark. Their first kiss hidden amongst the books was soft and tentative. Murmurs of love were shared with breathy whispers, but neither could do more about it beyond sharing kisses and compliments and promises to be true no matter what. Damien was caught under his parents’ thumb. If they chased this relationship further, he would have been forbidden to return to university out of the state, transferred to the local university they wanted him to attend… And would have forbidden him to see Mark again. Instead, they agreed to stay on ‘not yet’. No matter how impatient Mark was, he’d wait. No other person made him feel ‘complete’ as Damien did.

(Oh, his parents had tried to encourage him to date Celine, but he refused. Sure, she was beautiful, but waiting for Damien was one promise he would keep)

Yet as the years went by, something always happened to result in Damien asking Mark to delay his advances no matter how he wanted the opposite. Every single time, the reason would lead to Damien’s suffocating parents being the root of the problem. At least now Mark, Celine and William were old enough to work together to try and give Damien a little more independence. Even now, Celine was willing to put her neck on the line so Damien could have some time alone with Mark with William as her accomplice. Which brings us back to the present. The pair sat in silence on the couch, Damien sipping the water as he was lost in thought. Mark barely needed to tilt his head to know that Damien was weighed down by the stories Celine and William had shared throughout the evening.

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re incredible.” Mark’s attempt to break the silence hit the nail on the head.

“Of course you would say that,” sighed Damien, not objecting when Mark draped an arm  over his shoulder and pulled him close. “You’d say that no matter what.”

“I say it because it’s true. You’re such a clever, charming, intelligent, handsome young man. I’d listen to you talk all night if you’d let me.” There was another sigh, but Mark lightly squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, no, don’t start that. I mean it. You’re so well-read, you always have something insightful to say about everything. You’ve been able to give me tips during my rehearsals for a play you’d never heard of, for pity’s sake. Those good days are coming. We’re all older and wiser, while your parents are old-fashioned farts.” Damien snorted, but he reluctantly moved back so he could look Mark in the eye. There was a smile Mark loved to see, but it was tinged with sadness.

“You always manage to face everything head-on like a wall you can easily climb. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“I’m sitting on that wall ready to pull you up whenever you want. Just say the word.”

“You know I can’t.” The conversation was spiralling back to one they’ve had several times over the years - whether or not now was the ‘right’ time to do anything with their feelings. “My parents won’t approve -”

“Your parents haven’t approved of me from the day I went into the acting profession. They haven’t scared me away, I won’t let them.”

“But -” Damien’s counter vanished into nothing as Mark cupped Damien’s chin with his hand.

“Do my advances make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

Mark leaned in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“So then why not be selfish, my love, just for tonight?”

They were close, so painfully close that all Mark needed to do was push forward a fraction more. But he couldn’t. He had sworn to himself that this relationship was on Damien’s terms. If Damien moved away, he would respect that. He always did. 

In that moment, Mark was sure that all his senses were amplified. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Damien was wearing the cologne Mark gifted him for his birthday and it made him feel giddy and light-headed. He let himself be mesmerised by Damien’s beautiful eyes.

He felt an arm snake around his neck. All he could taste was Damien on his lips.

Mark’s eyes fluttered closed as Damien indulged in selfishness and pressed against him. The kiss was quick to deepen as both men let the feelings they had bottled up spill out. Mark’s hands moved fast, wrapping around Damien’s waist and encouraging him to climb onto his lap. Damien broke the kiss to catch his breath.

“I love you. God, I - I need this. I need this so badly…” He trailed off with another kiss.

“Then stay. We can say you fell asleep on the couch and I hadn’t the heart to wake you. We can have tonight and then act like this never happened.” Mark was almost pleading. He would do anything if it meant he could have this moment.

“No… Fuck my parents. I love you and I’ve hidden that for too long. I don’t care what they think.” Damien’s stubbornness, at last, had kicked in; and both men knew it wasn’t the alcohol talking. Mark laughed and brushed a hand through Damien’s hair.

“I love you. And you know, I don’t think either the world nor history won’t care about us. Did you know they think a lot of the great historical figures in Ancient Greece were in same-sex relationships? If the world finds out, they’ll do whatever they can to pin us as close friends. I know I’ve read articles showing how wilfully oblivious the press can be if the couple travel in similar social circles” Tomorrow, Damien might decide to not be as open and bold about their relationship, but Mark would gleefully encourage it tonight as his hand pressed against the back of Damien’s head so they could kiss again.

Words weren’t needed now. They had each other. Without the world watching them, they could finally keep their promise from years ago as they broke apart and embraced.

For now, at least, they had tonight.

[yourfaceislikeabluemoon]

Astro Accidental Confession - MJ

You can find the other members confessions here: JinJin | Eunwoo | Moonbin | Rocky | Sanha

Words: 1007

Warning: Cuss words (shocker!) and very slight suggestive material.

A/N: Ngl, I’m kinda proud of this one. I think it’s pretty damn cute! I hope y’all like it too!

~~~~~

You were lounging on your couch, clutching a pillow to your chest as the TV played softly in the background. Myungjun was sprawled out in some strange position next to you, staring at the ceiling and tossing his empty water bottle up and catching it distractedly.

“It’s your turn, ya know?” you prodded his leg with your foot to try to get his attention.

He grunted, “I know. I’m thinking.”

You sighed dramatically, “Oh god, that’s gonna take all day!”

Myungjun made a noise of protest but stayed silent. You were playing a game of sorts, one you played when the both of you became bored with whatever you were paying attention to previously. One of you would come up with a word or phrase and the other person would explain whatever it brought to mind. The game had caused you to find out some pretty interesting things about each other throughout your friendship. For example, you had discovered that if Myungjun could switch lives with anyone in Astro, he’d switch with Dongmin because he wanted to be incredibly handsome and be able to act well. You kept your mouth shut when you thought about the fact that you found him handsome enough as he was. Myungjun found out that you would rather jump out an airplane than have to have a tarantula sit in your hand for a single minute.

Myungjun made a weird noise, an indication that he’d finally thought of something, “September afternoon walk.”

You let a rush of air out of your nose and snuggled further into the pillow in your arms. “Alright. I’d be walking with someone I’m interested in. It would be a little chilly so my sweatshirt sleeves would be down over my hands to keep them warm. The person next to me would lift one of the sleeves to hold my hand and keep it warm instead. We’d talk about anything and everything. They’d be watching the sidewalk and kicking rocks out of their path and the leaves would be falling like rain around us and it would just be really nice. Maybe when they drop me back off at home, they’d kiss me sweetly. Something like that.”

Myungjun groaned, “Sappy much? You’re turn.”

Laughing, you kicked your foot in his direction again and he cowered slightly. “Then, speaking of kisses, thinking about the last person you thought about kissing, how would you want that kiss to go?”

You noticed a cute pink tinge appear on Myungjun’s face and neck as he tried to formulate his words. “Umm, it’d start out soft and gentle, probably. I’d wrap my arms around their waist and hopefully they’d wrap their’s around my neck to pull closer to each other. And I’d probably be pretty hesitant but I’d try to take charge of the kiss, and knowing me I’d fail miserably. We’d get impossibly closer and they’d slide their hand under my shirt and it would get a little more heated. Holy shit, why is this so embarrassing?” He tossed the crumpled water bottle to the side and you shoved him for littering and also in an effort to get him to continue. Myungjun’s breathing had become a little more ragged, “I’d probably reach up to tangle my fingers through their hair and knowing graceful me, my fingers would get caught in your hair and you’d break the kiss to laugh at me and complain-” The realization hit him and his hands flew up to cover his face in shame. You couldn’t help the small smile threatening to spread across your face but you kept quiet.

Silence loomed and Myungjun was still hiding behind his hands, “On a scale of one to burning down the library at Alexandria, how badly did I just fuck up?”

You ignored his question purely because you were in shock as well, “I was the last person you thought about kissing?” He let out a nervous laugh and hummed in response. “You didn’t fuck up, it’s fine. It’s your turn again.”

Myungjun sighed deeply, hands sliding down to cross over his chest, still staring at the ceiling. “OK, since it’s kinda the topic of current conversation, us, together, you know, dating. How do you feel about that?” He immediately seemed to regret asking that particular question when he felt you tense up slightly next to him. “Forget about it if it’s not something you’ve thought about.”

You could almost see the thoughts running through his head and you were afraid he was going to grab his stuff and run away and not talk to you ever again. “No, it’s not that,” you reassured him hesitantly, trying to sift through your own thoughts and formulate your words. You sat up straighter to look at him and shoved your pillow off to the side. “I would hope it wouldn’t be much different from our friendship now. Comfy, easy, a lot of laughing, normal. Just with a lot more making out. And you’re clingy so the cuddling level might go up, I’m not sure. You already have to always be touching me in some way at all times so I can only imagine how much closer you’d be to me.”

You watched as Myungjun turned beet-red and squirmed, gaze still trained on the ceiling. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously surprised at your response. “You look like a carp, you idiot. Just say what you want to say.”

He stuttered and mumbled, “Uhh, yeah?”

You hummed. “Yeah. I’d actually like to find out what it’s like,” you admitted.

Myungjun sat up slowly and you could see the gears turning in his head as he processed your words. “What exactly does that mean?” he asked hesitantly.

“What do you think it means?” you grinned as he visibly relaxed.

“Does it mean that if I asked you out right now, you’d say yes?” Myungjun raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Humming again in response, you leaned forward instinctively. “The depends on if our first kiss goes how you want it to.”

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

Stay Close To Me

hello @maitimel!! i realize now, as i’m reading this over, that i didn’t quite write what you had asked for, though i tried my best and had a lot of fun with this. i’m used to writing angst, so writing fluff was a bit difficult for me, though it was a welcome change from the monotonous sadness of my other works. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it~ happy valentine’s day!!

Stay Close To Me

Part I

The sounds of skating fill his ears.

His gold bladed skates scratch on the ice.

He pants softly from the physical exertion of his quad flips, of the mental pressure to get it right the first time, every time.

He hears phantom cheers of the audience.

The flow of the music, spilling over the ice and wrapping him up in an embrace of strings and woodwinds.

The sights of the rink fill his line of vision.

Harsh lights reflect off the ice, making his eyes flutter shut in pain.

The stares of the audience that… isn’t there.

Viktor collapses to the ice, shaking from the judgemental words of others echoing in his mind. If only they knew… He gets to his feet again, and skates away his insecurities. He glides across the ice, letting his skates take him away from the world as his mind wanders. What am I skating for?

Other skaters speak of the feelings and emotions they are filled with as they skate: passion, determination, happiness, freedom, peace. Viktor searches his mind for something, anything close to a positive feeling. But under all the waves of fear, incompetence, and worthlessness, he finds nothing. Viktor knows he’s missing something incredibly important, emotion, but he doesn’t know where to look for it. He reaches into his heart in search of passion, only to feel his perfectly manicured nails click on ice. The ice froze his heart.

—–

Viktor scrolls through the tracks available for him to skate to in the upcoming Grand Prix Finals, without finding anything intriguing or inspiring. He doesn’t feel like using classical music this season. He wants to tell a story.

“Stanmi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare,” Viktor mutters. “Stay close to me… hmm.”

A dialogue that tells the story of someone who doesn’t believe in love. Rage and sadness blend to form the fear of losing love. Viktor laughs mirthlessly; it’s nearly the opposite of himself, being someone who lives for the idea of love, and yet the lyrics still seem to sing his life. Viktor smiles bitterly. It’ll work perfectly for the last free skate of his career.

Part II

The Japanese figure skater, Yuuri (is that his name?), with sparkling eyes, sidles up to Viktor, clearly drunk. Viktor can’t help but play along, laughing and dancing with Yuuri. He struggles to remember the last time, if ever, he has enjoyed himself this much. Something about Yuuri Katsuki warms Viktor’s heart, melting the ice that had remained frozen around it for so long. Maybe it was the raw passion and determination in Yuuri’s eyes as he skated, or maybe something more scandalous, like the roll of his hips while pole dancing.

Ever since the banquet, Viktor has kept his eyes on Yuuri. Enthralled by the skater, Viktor does  a bit (okay, more like a lot, of research). He stumbles across a YouTube video of Yuuri skating Viktor’s free skate routine from the last Grand Prix Finals. Viktor clicks on the video, readjusts his posture, sitting up attentively on his couch, and anxiously waits for it to load after pressing play. The familiar, melancholy tune of “Stay Close To Me” filters through the speakers of Viktor’s phone. He watches in awe as Yuuri moes with a soft, fluid grace that makes Viktor’s eyes water. His jumps are near perfect and Viktor is drawn even deeper into his love for Yuuri. Yes, love for a man he barely knows, and only talked to after god knows how many bottles of champagne. But Viktor has always been one to believe in love, even though he’s spent the last several years of his life blatantly denying any feelings. That, he decides, will be the theme for this year’s skating, though he won’t be competing. Love.

Viktor sits by the window of his apartment, chin resting on his  palm. “Agape,” Viktor whispers to himself, daydreaming about love he has never experienced in its truest form. “Unconditional love…”

A faint smile graces Viktor’s features as his thoughts wander to that of his naive seventeen year old self. He’s seventeen again, passionately dreaming about one day finding true love, a soulmate.

But years have gone by, life has passed him, left him behind, as he desperately tried to hold onto his wishes for someone to love him, not for his gold medals, or his money, or his pretty face. Viktor just wanted someone to love him for who he was, imperfections and shortcomings and all.

“Eros,” Viktor whispers, the slight curl of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, an expression he loathes and yet has become accustomed to. Viktor is much more familiar with eros, or “sexual love,” from fooling around with fellow figure skater, Christophe Giacometti during his mid-twenties. They started their whole “friends-with-benefits” thing after spending a night together following their first competition together. However, Viktor hasn’t really talked to him in a while, not after Chris decided to end their arrangement for his current fiancé.

Viktor sighs. How could he ever learn to love when everyone always ended up leaving him?

Part III

“Yuuri, the rink is under construction for the next month or two; why don’t we travel somewhere in the meantime?” Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder as his husband prepares dinner. Yuuri raises his head and turns to Viktor.

“Where do you want to go?”

Viktor hums in content. “Mm… When I was younger, during the off seasons, Yakov would sometimes take us to a ski resort in Russia. Some of my fondest memories are of learning to snowboard there. We should go there, Yuuri. It’ll be fun.”

~~~

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. “I’m cold.” “Viktor, it was your idea to come here. You knew how cold it would be,” Yuuri deadpans. “You’ll be fine. Let’s just have fun snowboarding for now, as you said before.” “But Yuuri, my hands are frozen and my fingers are so icy they’re about to fall off. And you’re just going to let it happen.” Viktor tugs at Yuuri’s hand. “Let’s go back to the lodge. We can snuggle and cuddle with Makkachin and tons of blankets in front of the fire. Come on, Yuuri, we’ve been out on the slopes for hours and I’m tired, cold, and unhappy.” Yuuri sighs. Viktor holds his breath, hopeful that after his incessant complaining, Yuuri will give in. “Let’s go to the lounge near the slopes and get warmed up a bit and then we’ll get back on the slopes. It’s only two in the afternoon; we can leave at three or four,” Yuuri compromises. Viktor sulks and glares at Yuuri, who has no intent of giving in to Viktor’s ridiculous needs. Yuuri leans over to kiss the tip of Viktor’s nose, which really is quite cold. “Why did I ever marry you,” Viktor mutters.

“Because you love me and I love you.”

After trudging through the snow, tired and spent, Viktor and Yuuri arrive at the small restaurant and lounge near the slopes. As they open the door, they are greeted with the warmth of the hearth. Making their way to the lounge, they settle in, and curl up next to each other on a couch in front of the fire. Yuuri takes off his gloves and takes Viktor’s ice cold hands in his own to help warm them up. Viktor sighs in content once the perpetual warmth from Yuuri’s hands seeps into his own, warming his hands and melting his heart of ice. Yuuri brings his hands wrapped around Viktor’s to his lips to kiss Viktor’s hands. To which, Viktor hums in approval, and, wondering how he ever managed to become married to someone like Yuuri, kisses the edge of Yuuri’s jaw (the only thing he can reach from where he’s slumped against Yuuri’s warm body).

Eventually, Yuuri tries to drag Viktor back to the slopes, but by that time, even Yuuri doesn’t really feel like snowboarding any more that day. He’d much rather spend the rest of daylight snuggling with Viktor and Makkachin back at the lodge before the activities of their colorful night life.

Of course, Viktor has no complaints when they pack up everything in their car. He takes Yuuri’s face in his hands, now much warmer, and kisses Yuuri full on the lips.

“That’s love, ending the day early just for me.”

“Anything for you, Vitya.”

Viktor parks their car in the closest space he can find to their room, though that isn’t enough for Yuuri who complains about how he has to carry all the gear to their room so Viktor should at least park closer. To which Viktor begins to whine (again) about his cold fingers, eliciting a heated response from an irritable Yuuri.

“I offered to drive so you could warm your hands, Viktor, you’re the one who refused,” Yuuri retorts, annoyed.

Viktor runs a hand through his hair and sighs, realizing they shouldn’t be arguing over something so inconsequential.  “I’m sorry, Yuuri, let’s just get inside, it’s cold.”

Viktor fumbles for the room key and unlocks the door to their room, stepping aside for Yuuri, who’s carrying their boards and gear, to enter first. Yuuri dumps everything in a pile by the door with a groan followed by a sigh once the weight is off his shoulders.

Viktor puts the leftovers from their lunch and dinner in the fridge, cranks up the heat, and searches their room for Makkachin, whom he finds curled up next to the fireplace, fast asleep. Meanwhile, Yuuri strips off all his layers so when he finally collapses in exhaustion on their bed, he’s only wearing a t-shirt and his boxers. Viktor climbs onto the bed, in similar clothes, with Makkachin and arms full of blankets, to snuggle with Yuuri. He flops over his husband who lets out a noise of discontent and buries his face in Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri shifts from under Viktor in attempt to find a more comfortable position where he isn’t completely squished. In the process, however, he accidentally kicks Makkachin who squeaks and Viktor admonishes Yuuri for hurting his poor baby.

Feeling playful, Yuuri teasingly wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck and whines, “But I thought I was your baby?”

“You’re my sweetheart, my darling, and the love of my life.”

“But I’m also your baby. You call me that in bed and in the mornings when I make breakfast, don’t you remember?” Yuuri pouts.

Viktor sighs in defeat. “Then what is Makkachin?”

“Your dog.”

Yuuri lets out an embarrassingly high pitched squeak, which Viktor finds adorable, when he smacks Yuuri’s arm in retaliation.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I love you, don’t be mad at me”

Viktor smiles and laughs softly. “I forgive you for being so rude to my precious Makkachin because I love you too.”

They fall asleep in each other’s arms later that night, to the sound of each other’s breathing and heartbeat. Once again, Viktor thanks his lucky stars for finding Yuuri, who brightens his world on a daily basis, in the simplest of ways. They’re soulmates, Viktor supposes.

“Let’s choreograph new routines for this season while the rink is under renovation,” Viktor calls to Yuuri, pulling his socks on.

“Where are we going to do that? Minako-sensei is with family for the holidays so we can’t use the ballet studio,” Yuuri says as he walks onto the living room where Viktor is lounging.

“Here, Yuuri, sweetie, just pull your socks on and we’ll do it in the kitchen,” Viktor says, tossing a pair of Yuuri’s socks at him. Yuuri smiles at Viktor’s antics and puts his socks on.

They spend the next few hours jumping and sliding around on the kitchen floor, giggling constantly, especially when they crash into each other.

While Viktor leans against the counter, breathing hard, Yuuri takes advantage and snatches a cookie from Viktor’s stash before mercilessly tickling Viktor.

Viktor lets out a shrill squeak and shoves Yuuri away, suddenly full of energy. They engage in a violent tickle fight that involves a little too much sexual tension.

Yuuri laughs and offers his right hand, adorned with a gold ring to Viktor in a truce. Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand in his, with an identical gold ring, and kisses both their rings.

“I love you,” Yuuri breathes.

“I would say the same, except for the fact that you just brutally attacked me and tickled me while I was vulnerable. And don’t think I didn’t see you take a cookie.”  

Yuuri pouts and stands up on his toes to steal a kiss on Viktor’s lips.  Viktor looks down at Yuuri and smiles before returning the kiss and saying, “Fine, I love you too. But I expect a gold medal this year. If you don’t win gold at the Grand Prix Finals, you’re on dishes and laundry duty for a month and I get to pick all the shows we binge watch on Netflix.”

Yuuri laughs and says cheekily, “With you getting old like this, out of breath and everything, of course I’ll win gold.”

Viktor smiles in spite of Yuuri’s tease, warmth coursing through him, filling him with an adoration unlike anything for Yuuri. This time when Viktor reaches into his heart in search of emotion, he finds it overflowing with love.

the end.

thank you for reading <3 

[excxt]

they can’t hear us - part one.

“I’ve got piss on my hands, give me a second.”

 The joke was that they handled the clients’ entire digestive process, from taking the food out of brown paper take-out bags and arranging it on the table to wiping down the toilets they used later that night. They ran down the lists written on lined yellow paper pads, names and orders, special instructions bolded and underlined.

 “ONIONS ON THE SIDE, SEVEN GRAIN INSTEAD OF ASIAGO FOCACCIA”

“ONE SMOOTHIE SHOULD HAVE KALE INSTEAD OF SPINACH”

“GET ENOUGH BBQ SAUCE TO BATHE A BABY ELEPHANT IN”

“GOD HELP YOU IF THE BALSAMIC VINAIGRETTE ISN’T LIGHT”

“EXTRA WELL DONE. IF IT’S NOT EXTRA WELL DONE YOU WILL BE GOING BACK”

 Names were scribbled in Sharpie across the tops of Thai food containers. Receipts were highlighted and stacked in the middle of the table. For ten minutes after the food was laid out, they answered their cell phones with foreboding, expecting to hear, “Someone’s food was wrong. You need to take it back.” Then there was the shameful walk into the lounge where band members and producers were draped across leather couches, poking at salads and stir fry, and the session assistant all but took you by the wrist and dragged you out into the hall with the disgraced bag of food.

 “There’s tomato on this. He tried to just take it off, but you know how the juice gets on the bread and ruins everything. You’ll have to take it back.”

 Then he glared at you while you nodded for half a minute, watching for a spark of understanding in your eye to tell him that you now knew what the “no” in “no tomato” meant.

 “If he can’t wait two seconds, he’s gonna have piss in his coffee.” Ariel stuffed his phone back in his pocket. His full moon dodger blue eyes lifted toward the high ceiling and then closed while he regained composure. He blinked and turned to put his hands under the sink faucet.

 “Can you finish this? Coffee machine in the front kitchen is broken.”

 Hannah nodded. “Sure.”

 A storm cloud of dark curly hair bounced on Ariel’s head as he bounded out the door and along side the wall of the building, wildly shaking drops of water from his fingers. Hannah watched him go and turned back to the mirror. Her face peeked back at her through cloudy streaks of Windex. Choppy dark hair was cropped close to her head and she raised her delicate eyebrows just to see the arch they pulled. She blinked and spritzed the reflection with a burst of icy blue chemical, briskly wiping the glass clear. Then she bent over the toilet, examining the porcelain bowl for missed specks of dirty yellow or clean streaks left from inadequate wipe-down of disinfectant. “No streaks,” Oliver had told her on her first run-through, “even clean streaks. Not one hint that this toilet has ever been used by another human.”

 She huffed out a sigh at a smattering of apple juice amber flecks near the hinge of the toilet seat. A tiny black hair curled against the splatter, stuck in the dried drops. THWAP went the wet disinfectant wipe as it slapped down and curled over the smooth edge of the bowl. Hannah stared at it for a moment, letting the stain break up under its antibacterial weight, imagining little germ fighters marching out of the porous fibers to lift the curled hair up and carry it away. She gathered the wipe and swabbed the bowl, then quickly ran a paper towel over it to prevent streaking. She stood back and ducked and tilted her head this way and that to scrutinize the sparkling white surface from every angle that light happened to hit it, then hurled the crumpled paper towel mess into a garbage bag and let her arms drop.

 “I don’t care,” she said out loud. It echoed off the faux marble floor.

 She tied the trash bag and kicked up the door stop, then grabbed the brass knob at the very last moment before the slam. She knew Paul was mixing in C, right on the other side of the wall. She liked Paul. He picked off accidental tomatoes and didn’t complain about the juice.

 The dumpster sat against the fence in the parking lot and made a horrible screech when the side door slid open. The air was dense and biting and smelled of dead sodden leaves. Trees on the other side of the fence whipped bare branches against the power lines, shaking the length of the thick black rope like a frightened snake. Hannah tossed her bag and didn’t bother dragging the door closed. Ryan came scrambling across the parking lot with bags full of take-out containers, soiled napkins, and small plastic cups leaking bright red sauces from under their lids. He held the trash at arms length, which was quite a distance considering his lanky limbs, and came up next to Hannah, beaming.

 “So G doesn’t look too bad now,” he announced cheerfully. “Just some dishes.” He lifted the bags up and over and let them fall with a thud. “Anyone leave yet?”

 “Don’t think so.” They started walking towards the front office. Oliver was standing on the step outside the door with a cigarette at the corner of his mouth. The neighborhood behind the office rolled down a slight hill so they could see the sky’s heavy gray clouds turning violet over rooftops.

 “B just got here.” Oliver’s voice was tense like a thread held taut between strong fingers. His lips thinned as they pulled smoke from the end of the cigarette. He released it in a lingering stream above their heads.

 “Just now?” Ryan’s face danced with disbelief. “It’s seven.”

 “You are now on a schedule opposite the entire fucking rest of the world.” Oliver dropped a burning stub to the ground, flattened it under his shoe, and bent to pick it up and drop it in the bucket next to the door marked “Butts.” A gaining wind gathered beneath the low clouds and rushed down on them, whipping Oliver’s yellow hair in front of his face. The office door squealed in protest as someone pushed it out against the current.

 “If I wanted to deal with rappers, I would have gone to L.A.” Ariel stopped on the step and towered over them. His hair flounced about in the wind. A muffled thump of beating bass pumped from somewhere inside the walls Oliver leaned back against.

 “He’s nice enough,” Ryan offered. It was Ryan’s first night shift.

 “See how you feel about ‘nice’ in nine hours,” said Hannah.

 “All right.” Oliver swiped a distracted finger across the screen of his phone then slid it in his pocket. “All right. Get out of here. Go do something.”

 They broke off, Oliver disappearing through the office door and the other three heading back up the side of the building. The walls were a dark blue puckered plaster trimmed with black gutters. At its tallest points, with the southern sky breaking up between dusky clouds above it, it reminded Hannah of a fairy tale castle. Then the wall cut in to their right and left again, and they could see the glittering chandelier and the gentle tumble of velvet drapes in dim light through the vast window. They fought through another gust of wind to a door marked “F” as the wall jutted out again to meet them, and Ariel punched in four digits on the pad, its square little numbers glowing an eerie green. The bolt sucked itself in like a kid taking a quick breath before diving underwater, and they pushed through into a long hallway. They turned almost immediately to the right and through another door, up a staircase of darkly polished wood, another sharp corner, and the space opened up into a room, once meant as an artist lounge but now piled with packs of bottled water and rolls of paper towels. An old pinball machine stood in one corner, a layer of dust coating its glass surface and pale purple paint chipping off its legs. A sofa ran the length of the wall under the window and a low table, scratched and scuffed by feet resting on it, sat in front of it. A few chairs surrounded the table’s other three sides.

 If you looked out the window above the sofa you could see over the parking lot fence and across rooftops of houses and restaurants, all the way down the street to where the neighborhood turned to hills and, if you caught it right, the setting sun turned the grassy mounds to peaches and tangerines. Hannah liked to claim the seat directly across from the window and prop her feet up on the table. If someone was mixing loudly enough downstairs, she could feel the rhythmic strum of guitars in the cushion of the seat. People fell asleep almost daily in the nook of that room, but Hannah never did. She couldn’t sleep somewhere that cost so much money.

 “No one was in A today,” Ryan suggested, as though trying to cheer the place up. “So it’s clean.”

 “They should let us in there.” Ariel stretched his long legs over the cushions of the sofa and reclined with his fingers laced behind his head. “Just with a guitar or something. That’s what it should be like.”

 “Would they?” Ryan sat forward in his chair.

 “Ha. Interns recording? Then who would feed the animals and clean the cages?”

 They heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and someone’s ascending footsteps. Ariel quietly sat up and Hannah lowered her feet to the floor. They glanced at each other. Della’s blonde head appeared.

 “E’s gone. If ya’ll can grab some water. Oliver said they were running low.”

 As they ran along the building and waited for Ryan to punch in the code next to the door, Hannah felt the first few sharp pellets of rain begin to pepper her bare neck and trickle down to soak into her shirt. As she filed into the room behind the others and turned to pull the door closed, she heard a sound like a bag of sugar tearing in half and spilling on to a tile floor; a burst as the sky ripped open and a hiss as the rain showered down in solid sheets. The blue of the buildings went blurry through the water. Someone was running across the parking lot with a jacket pulled up over his head. Hannah tugged at the massive soundproof door and turned into the warmth.