#i am slamming my head against any and all flat surfaces available

[lakeeriesaltmine]

roommates. bad.

so bad.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Exile

Rowaelin Month, Day 29

A Work Based on a Song @rowaelinscourt

CW: language, minor NSFW

AN: Based on the Taylor Swift song

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//5747 words

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

There she was. Arm-in-arm with that man and standing tall and smiling.

She didn’t have any right to smile like that.

Not when it wasn’t because of him. Not when he wasn’t the one holding her, wasn’t the one telling her cheesy jokes and pressing heated kisses to her neck.

And that man had no right to lay his hands on her. She didn’t belong to him.

Rowan clenched his fingers so tightly he heard something snap. He glanced down to see the plastic lid of his coffee cup with a crack in it. He loosened his grip, then looked back up.

He shouldn’t be watching her. She had given up on him. She was the reason he was struggling, and she was the cause of his pain. Aelin didn’t deserve any attention from him.

But he just couldn’t tear his gaze away.

—

“Stop it,” Aelin complained halfheartedly, a laugh creeping into her voice. “You can’t pay for everything.”

Sam winked. “Who says?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly, a smile twitching at her lips all the while. “I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

A grin broke over Aelin’s face. Sam had said that for the first time last night, after a lovely dinner. There had been roses and candles and a gourmet (at least to Aelin’s uncultured taste buds) meal. Sam had really gone all out.

And he had been more than understanding about the fact that she wasn’t ready to reciprocate those three words. He’d insisted that she didn’t actually, knowing everything there was to know about the relationship she’d just gotten out of and having complete and utter respect and supportiveness for her.

But she would say it back soon. She was free, and she was with Sam, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Aelin may not love him yet, and she never was sure of when that extreme adoration crossed the line, but it had to be soon. It had to be because Sam was good to her. And if she could love people who weren’t good to her, Aelin must certainly be able to love the ones who were.

That’s how it worked, right?

Aelin smiled even as her thoughts raced back in time, to a different point in her life, when things had been much different. These things did not need to be analyzed. Aelin had done enough overthinking to last a lifetime, and she had promised herself to stop. To just stop thinking about him at all.

Aelin leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s cheek. “C’mon, our coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I bet I could find a way to warm things up.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Don’t you dare. That was the least sexy thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Sam pulled her closer. “I have plenty more up my sleeve. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aelin whacked him on the arm playfully. “You are the worst boyfriend ever,” she teased. “Let’s go, maybe I will let you warm things up.” She grinned, knowing that encouraging him only increased the number of ridiculous jokes and pick-up lines being sent her way and not caring one bit.

With one last smirk, Sam tugged Aelin toward the door of the coffee shop, arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked to the door, only slowing down as she reached over to adjust her purse strap over her shoulder… and something caught Aelin’s eye when she looked back.

Someone.

Aelin came to a complete standstill, eyes widening in shock.

It shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, this was a small town. But Aelin having to see him again, having to see him staring at her unashamedly, maintaining eye contact…

It was unnerving.

His eyes bore holes into Aelin, and she shivered. He hadn’t always looked at her like that. It had been happy, once. Once there had been love in gaze. Not possession. Not loathing. Not fury. Just pure, unadulterated love.

So much had changed. No, Aelin corrected herself. Nothing had changed other than her ability to notice what was really going on. This was how it had always been. Aelin had just been too blind to see it.

Distantly, Aelin realized Sam was asking her what was wrong. He was following her gaze. He was putting the pieces together.

And now he was asking her if that was him, but they both knew. They both knew it was.

Aelin spun around suddenly, a complete 180 degree turn, eradicating Rowan from her line of sight.

“Let’s go,” Aelin said. “Let’s just go.”

—

“See you tomorrow,” Aelin said, kissing Sam on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you, babe. Love you.”

Aelin smiled.

Sam smiled back, but the expression dimmed before he could leave, hesitating on the doorstep. “Are you sure…”

Aelin took a deep breath. “Sam, I love that you care about me, but there is nothing to be done. Rowan lives nearby; I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t get to do what he did to you and then walk around untouched, flaunting it.”

Aelin flashed a watery smile. “That’s the thing, Sam. He can do whatever he likes, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am with you and I am happy and anything he does is entirely inconsequential.”

Sam held Aelin’s gaze, then his eyes softened. He kissed her again and pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a whisper.

Aelin smiled, watching him leave.

She leaned against the doorway of her apartment, watching Sam walk away with a gentle expression on her face. He glanced back only once to toss a saucy grin her way as he took the turn and headed down the stairs, out of sight. But she didn’t go back inside quite yet, instead gazing in the direction he’d last been visible at, thinking. Thinking happy things.

And then thinking some not so happy things.

It wasn’t fair that Rowan could consume her thoughts so wholly. Yes, consume was the right word. He consumed her mind now, and before he had consumed every inch of her body, every aspect of her life. And it was a word with so many different connotations that for a long time, Aelin hadn’t thought that was so bad.

She knew better now.

Aelin normally would have willed a smile back to her face to reassure those around her, but she was alone now. No more pretending. Aelin frowned fully as she turned to renter the apartment.

And nearly ran smack into Rowan, who was standing on the opposite side of the doorway. Only a couple feet away, staring at her, breathing her air, and she hadn’t noticed.

Aelin regarded him silently, trying to decide if Rowan was real or not. This wouldn’t have been the first time she’d imagined him beside her.

“What exactly did I do to you, Aelin?” He was real then.

“You have no right.” Aelin’s voice was raspy and beyond furious.

“You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Aelin shook her head, her entire body shaking. “You have no right,” she repeated.

Rowan crossed his arms. The door was wide open, and Aelin stood on the side with the hinges. Which meant she had the disadvantage, unable to get in without Rowan stopping her.

“What do you want from me?”

Rowan shook his head, eyes simmering with something deceptively similar to hurt. “I want to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Aelin hissed.

“Why did you leave me?” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Aelin breathed hard through her nostrils, not bothering to put a leash on her temper. “Because you didn’t treat me right, Rowan. You ignored me. You used me.”

“I loved you!” Rowan shouted.

Aelin shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was something else.”

“What was it, Aelin?”

She bit her lip, and Rowan’s eyes snapped down to her mouth. He stepped forward. “What was it?” he demanded, voice far too gravelly for this conversation.

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Something bad. Something wrong.”

With that she kicked out her foot and caught Rowan on the inside of his leg. Thought likely uninjured, he was surprised enough by Aelin’s spite that he stepped back an inch. Just enough space for Aelin to shove past him and slam the door.

Angry tears streaming down her face in hateful torrents, Aelin flipped the lock, then slid the chain into place.

Then she released a muffled cry of anguish and leaned back against the door, swaying. She started crying in earnest, trying to keep her sobs relatively quiet in case Rowan was still at the door. He probably was.

Aelin slid down the door limply, falling into a pile on the floor. She reached around and placed a palm flat on the wooden surface. He was out there.

She knew he was.

Confirmation came in the form of a shadow, flitting across the crack under the door, and finally blocking the space considerably, accompanied by the a soft thump.

Rowan was sitting next to her. Without the door, he’d be touching her. Holding her.

Aelin pressed her face against the door, getting as close to him as she could while still being able to deny it. She’d slammed the door on him. No one could take that away from her.

But no one could take this away from her either, this moment.

—

Aelin was crying. He’d known she would be, but it still hurt to hear.

Rowan traced his fingers across the door delicately, imagining her own touch on the other side. They were almost holding hands.

Time passed. They kept sitting there, and Rowan knew Aelin well enough to know she’d be screaming at herself inside her head, trying to make herself get up, to no avail.

Rowan felt a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that she couldn’t leave him just yet.

It was two in the morning when Rowan finally heard Aelin stand. Faintly he heard her, still sniffling, shuffle off to somewhere else in their apartment.

For it was their apartment. Rowan’s just as much as Aelin’s. More even. He just wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

Rowan stood and walked away.

—

Aelin giggled. “You did not.”

Chaol flashed a smile. “I swear on all that is holy I did.”

Aelin shook her head, eyes dancing with mirth. “How does one even manage to do that without being—”

“May I cut in?”

Aelin turned, smile frozen in place, to find her boyfriend reaching over to place an arm around her side, fingers digging in a bit too much for her liking. “Of course. We were just talking about you, actually.”

Rowan smiled, but there was something in the expression that didn’t appeal to her. “Oh?”

Chaol joined in. “I told her about the day I met you, how I got so upset with you that I put your phone number in all the bathrooms and you got a bunch of calls asking for a hookup.”

Chaol laughed, clearly under the impression this was long since water under the bridge. Rowan’s returning smile was a bit tighter, and Aelin wondered if he still held a grudge. Or if he was upset about something else.

“As much as I would love to reminisce,” Rowan said, voice dripping with manners and camaraderie, “My girlfriend and I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, Westfall.”

Chaol smiled and waved. Aelin just took another sip of her champagne.

Rowan plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it somewhere off to the side, then pulled Aelin toward the exit, his hand still firmly around her waist.

Aelin didn’t say anything as they left the work party. Nor as Rowan opened the passenger door of his car and helped her inside, like he thought she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

The ride home was silent. As was the walk up the stairs leading to their apartment. Rowan unlocked the door with his keys and held it open, letting Aelin go first. Once again, she got the feeling it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

Aelin dropped her purse on the counter then spun around, anger finally spilling over the top. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan didn’t waver. “You were flirting with my coworker.”

Aelin gaped at him. “I was doing no such thing!”

Rowan just snorted.

“You asked me to make an effort with your friends,” Aelin said icily. “That’s all I was doing.”

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Aelin.”

“Excuse me? I was not flirting with anybody, Rowan. We were talking about you for fuck’s sake.”

“Chaol always has ulterior motives. I don’t trust him.”

“And what about me? Do you trust me?” Aelin barely managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Rowan’s face instantly softened. “Of course I trust you, baby.”

Aelin didn’t reply.

Rowan stepped forward and brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Aelin hesitated, then brought her gaze to meet his own.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. Forgive me.”

Aelin’s lower lip wavered. She still said nothing.

“I love you,” Rowan continued, softly tracing a line over her cheek. “Forgive me.”

“I love you too,” Aelin rasped. And it was true. She loved him more than anything in the world.

Rowan leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. She was tense as Rowan started to move his mouth down her neck, loving and demanding at the same time.

Rowan’s hand found its way to her shoulder, sliding the thin strap of her dress off. Aelin stayed still, breathing through her nose while Rowan started following the top of her dress down with his mouth, kissing her bare chest, Aelin’s breasts covered only barely.

“Rowan,” Aelin gasped as he finally freed a breast from the fabric and closed his mouth around it. She wasn’t sure if she was spurring him on or protesting.

Rowan pushed her back a step. Then another. Aelin felt the wall at her back. She let her head fall back against it.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated in a dark murmur, breath caressing her ear. His hand fell to her thigh and pushed up the dress, then he reached for his own buckle.

Aelin could only try to convince herself she wanted this as Rowan pulled her underwear to the side and—

Aelin jolted up in bed with a gasp.

Sweat soaked the sheets and dripped down Aelin’s face as she panted into the darkness. Aelin bent over and buried her face in the sheets, face already wet with tears.

—

Routine had long since become mechanical for Rowan. Get out of bed. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Dress and get out the door.

It helped keep his thoughts from straying.

It wasn’t just getting ready that Rowan approached with machine-like indifference. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Rowan was in a bar, sipping his first whiskey of the night.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the bar in front of him. Turning it on revealed Aelin’s smiling face, framed by her vibrant golden hair. A white sundress highlighted her curves subtly. The sun was high behind her, and the cloudless sky was the blue of her eyes. The whole picture was so Aelin.

Rowan entered his passcode and took in the home screen, another picture of Aelin, this one with him as well. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had taken the picture. They were sprawled across the grass, Aelin haphazardly lounging on top of Rowan, her mouth open in a laugh that he could almost hear, even now. And that beautiful hair, strewn across his chest.

She looked the happiest Rowan had ever seen her. There was no way someone could look that happy and just be pretending. It was utterly impossible.

Rowan searched for indications that he was treating her wrong, that his grip on her arm was too tight or his eyes were angry or mean.

They weren’t. He was gazing at her with adoration, just as he’d always done. He had loved her, and he still did, and Rowan had never hesitated to tell Aelin. So why had she left?

Rowan entered his photo app and started scrolling through them, though dozens upon dozens of photos of her smiling in the sun and laughing in the rain and eating on the couch.

He was a masochist to do this to himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He kept searching for any signs that something was wrong, that he wasn’t loving her right.

He couldn’t find any.

—

The echoing noises of the thumps on the bag were the only sounds in the room. Aelin struck with deadly capability, slamming her fist into the punching bag again and again.

She’d gotten into self-defense not long after the breakup with Rowan. Punching things, more specifically. And Aelin had gotten good, too.

She used to work out in the gym, but the closest gym was annoying to get to, all the way across town. So Aelin had invested some money into some basic equipment and set everything up in the only empty room in the apartment.

Well, it was only empty after Aelin had dumped all of Rowan’s things out on the curb. This was his former office. There was a picture of him on the wall where there used to be one of her. It was filled with holes from the various weapons Aelin had thrown at it, among them knives, darts, and a single fork.

Maybe Aelin needed to talk to a therapist.

Aelin twisted her body and pivoted her foot, landing a deadly roundhouse kick on the bag. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her about this miracle cure sooner?

Aelin was so busy taking out every ounce of fury within her body—which totaled up to a frighteningly large quantity—that she almost didn’t notice her phone ringing. She finally noticed the screen lit up out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin pulled out her earbuds and strode over to her phone.

It was from Sam. Aelin reached for her phone, then paused, breathing deeply. From the exercise, she told herself. Solely from the exercise.

The ringing stopped. Aelin was too late. She reached once more, intent on calling Sam back, but stopped again.

She’d been thinking a lot over the past few days. Trying. Trying so hard to love him. And every time she was with him and she opened her mouth to get it over with, she couldn’t. Because Aelin couldn’t do that to Sam. He deserved better.

And because she was thinking about somebody else.

Aelin spun around and executed a perfect boxing maneuver on the bag. Jab, dodge, duck, right hook to the body, left hook to the body, left hook to the head, slide back with a defensive jab. She repeated it, then moved onto a different maneuver.

Then Aelin stripped off her gloves and bolted for the door, off to do something she would most certainly regret.

—

Panting, Aelin knocked on the door before she could loose her resolve. Then she waited, hands on her hips and shoulders back.

Not even a minute passed before the lock clicked and the door was pulled inward.

Aelin took in Rowan’s tired eyes and haggard expression and knew she was the reason for that. And probably for the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He didn’t ask how she knew where he lived—Aelin had a depressing amount of free time; or why she looked like she’d run all the way here—she had; or why she was here—that one she didn’t know. He just opened the door wider.

“Come here.”

Aelin did. She wondered if her fate had been sealed from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Rowan Whitethorn was like a sinkhole, drawing you in farther and father no matter what you did, only tightening his grip when you struggled.

That gruesome description wasn’t enough to make Aelin turn back quite yet.

She stepped inside and pressed her lips against Rowan’s, hands twining in his hair instantly. His own hands came to her hips, pushing her tank top up slightly and tracing familiar patterns on her bare skin.

Aelin shoved Rowan backward in his apartment one step, then one more. She spun around so Rowan was against the wall. Aelin could feel his lips curve upward against hers, but she didn’t care what amusement he was deriving from her dominance. He wanted to take everything from her? Well, she would take right back.

Aelin parted Rowan’s lips with her tongue and the small groan that left the back of his throat had Aelin pulling his hair none-too-gently, melting into his giant frame even farther.

Nothing mattered anymore. It all evaporated into some space that Aelin couldn’t and didn’t want to access. Her brain was blissfully empty as she hooked a leg around his ankle, and as she nipped at his lip.

Rowan growled and started moving his hands upwards toward her breasts, thumbs brushing the undersides just enough that Aelin could feel it and lean into the sensation, ignoring his gleeful smirk against her mouth. Rowan finally broke the kiss and trailed his mouth along Aelin’s jawline, until his lips reached her ear.

“I love you,” Rowan whispered, voice dark and hoarse.

Aelin exhaled, her grip on him loosening. “I hate you.”

Rowan pulled back and frowned. “No, you don’t.”

Aelin chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right.” She stepped closer to the door. “But I hate that I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Rowan shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

Aelin started for the still-open door, only a couple feet away.

Rowan’s hand immediately took hold of her wrist. “You can’t leave again. Not like this.”

“How, then?” Aelin asked, shaking her wrist free of his grasp. “Was last time any better?”

“Don’t leave me at all.”

The desperation in Rowan’s voice would have provoked some sort of sympathy in Aelin any other time, but she only felt cold as she stared him down.

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she repeated. Then Aelin spun around and slipped out the door before he could stop her.

—

“Stop it.”

“I will not.”

“Yes you will.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”

“I’ll beat you up, that’s what.”

Aelin and Sam only managed maintain eye contact for a minute more before dissolving into laughter.

“I’m being serious,” Aelin said between laughs.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even understand what the issue is,” he replied, features filled with delight.

“The issue,” Aelin enunciated, “is that you can’t just be stupid like that. It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam scoffed in pretend hurt. “Excuse me, it’s not stupid to tickle my girlfriend.”

“It is,” Aelin insisted. “You’re an asshole for it.” She pouted.

Sam made an over-dramatic frown. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, babe.” He spread his arms wide and leaned over from the car seat.

Aelin could only involuntarily cackle as Sam moved his evil fingers over her again, his false hug turning into an ambush. “Stop it,” she cried between giggles. “This is mean. And foul. A foulable offense.”

“Is foulable even a word?”

“It is now,” Aelin hissed, elbowing him.

Sam grinned. “It’s not my fault. What else is a guy to do when he finds out his girlfriend’s ticklish?”

“You’re supposed to not bully them!”

Sam laughed into Aelin’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Aelin hugged him, for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn’t see her face at the words. Before she had been so happy to hear Sam say it, and now the only thought she could conjure upon hearing it was Rowan’s face.

Everything she’d ever had, everything she’d ever worked for, Rowan soured. It was a talent of his.

Aelin hadn’t told Sam about the kiss. Almost a week had passed already, and she hadn’t told him. Acknowledging it validated it, and Aelin didn’t want that. She just wanted to forget. Though it was hard to forget the one thing haunting her through all hours of the day and night.

“Let’s go inside,” Aelin said abruptly, pulling away. “I’m already forgetting what I wanted to get.”

Sam smiled, oblivious to Aelin’s internal struggles. “Sure.”

—

How dare she come to him, kiss him, make him think she was ready to invite him home? How dare she use him the way she claimed he used her?

The nerve of Aelin’s visit left Rowan seething. All he wanted was Aelin. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get her.

The bell dinged to signal a customer’s arrival and Rowan’s eyes snapped up. He relaxed once more as he saw it was only an elderly man, then tensed up all over again as he spotted a familiar car parked outside the shop.

Aelin came here every Tuesday without fail to buy a new book. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, and it was the only part of her routine she hadn’t changed after dumping him, and he’d been waiting in the mystery aisle for over an hour now.

And his waiting had paid off. Except, rather than leaving the car, Aelin and that man were talking and laughing and touching. He was tickling her, like a fucking loser.

Another five minutes passed and Rowan was debating going out there and knocking on the car window when the doors finally opened.

They walked hand-in-hand into the bookstore, and Aelin pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek as they neared a shelf.

His smile made Rowan smile. This poor, innocent man had no idea what had happened last week. He had no idea how unfaithful Aelin truly was.

Aelin murmured something to the man—Rowan refused to even think his name—and headed off to the romance section. Rowan followed her, creeping around shelves and not giving a fuck how bad it looked.

Aelin was reaching for some book or other when she noticed Rowan coming up behind her. Her face flushed, much to his delight, and her eyes widened.

“Go away,” was the first thing to come out of her mouth.

Rowan shook his head. “Not a chance, princess.”

Aelin’s face tightened visibly. “I’m not interested in doing this again, Rowan. We’re over.”

“Really? You haven’t seemed too sure about that lately.”

Aelin huffed. “Last week was a mistake. I know that now. I knew it when I did it. But that’s it. We’re done now. Get over yourself, Rowan.”

“I love you.”

“And I used to believe that,” Aelin snapped.

Rowan ground his jaw in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Aelin hissed, voice quiet but angry. “There is nothing to prove. You could started acting like the perfect boyfriend, the man I thought I loved, and it still wouldn’t matter. We’re not good together, Rowan. We’re broken. We. Are. Fucking. Broken.”

Rowan took a step forward, every molecule in his body freezing as Aelin flinched. “Are you scared of me, Aelin?”

She shook her head, but she’d always been a bad liar. Rowan could see right thought it.

“I have never laid a hand on you in my life,” Rowan stated, voice devoid of human emotion. “Never.”

Fire swirled behind Aelin’s eyes. “I know that. But you didn’t have to.”

Rowan shook his head vehemently. “What the hell does that mean?”

Aelin’s chest was heaving. “Think about it, Rowan. Think about us. Remember how you were with me.”

He did. Because he was a fair person who cared enough to listen to Aelin, he did.

—

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with Dorian,” Rowan commented.

It was a joke. It had just been a joke.

“What?” Aelin asked. She looked confused.

“I mean, whenever you two are together you’re smiling more than you smile with me. It’s a little difficult to watch.”

Rowan shrugged as his lips twitched. She was supposed to laugh now, amused at the joke.

Aelin didn’t laugh.

—

“You should really learn how to cook something,” Rowan said, watching in amusement as Aelin reached for the Chinese takeout menu, and not for the first time this week.

“Gods, Rowan, if you’re so sick of eating takeout then make something yourself.”

Aelin stormed off. And Rowan had clearly been the right one in that conversation, because after Aelin didn’t like his suggestion and decided to make a fuss about it and be a bitch, Rowan let her leave and didn’t bring it up again. Because he cared about her.

—

And finally, the day everything went up in flames:

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed. Rowan watched this little spectacle from afar. Until she got so loud that his boss’ boss looked over and that’s when Rowan had had it.

“Aelin, come with me,” Rowan said as he grabbed her hand. Gently. He had grabbed her hand gently.

Aelin frowned, but didn’t protest. She would have protested if she wasn’t okay with this. Rowan knew her.

They made it outside the building and both of them stopped. They weren’t waiting to go all the way back to the apartment this time.

“Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things,” Rowan said, running his hand through his hair.

Aelin frowned. “Why? Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, Aelin, of course you aren’t. But you are bothering my coworkers, and I don’t want them to look down on me because of my girlfriend.”

She snorted. “That’s the literal definition of embarrassment,” she slurred.

“No, there’s a difference between being embarrassed by someone and logically not wanting to have someone with you for strategic purposes.”

Aelin laughed incredulously, and Rowan wondered if she still didn’t understand. But the next thing that came out of her mouth made him the one who couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“We’re done.”

“What?”

Aelin smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing, it was twisted and sad and so many other emotions, some of which Rowan couldn’t even name. “I’m breaking up with you.”

A moment of shaky silence passed as Rowan held eye contact with Aelin. Finally, he said, “We’re going home now.”

Aelin scoffed. “Don’t you hear me?”

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

A tear slid down Aelin’s cheek and Rowan stepped forward to console her, for that’s what he’d always done when she was upset.

But Aelin stepped backward. “Go home. Get your things. Get out.”

Rowan sighed. “Aelin, seriously—”

“No!” she yelled, and Rowan glanced back at the party he’d just emerged from, worried someone might have heard her. “You don’t get to ignore me! Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now!”

“No,” Rowan snapped.

Aelin seethed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get your things out on my own.”

She snatched the keys from his hand and took off toward the car, but Rowan’s head was swimming enough that he could only stand there, frozen, for a solid thirty seconds as she climbed in the driver’s seat.

Then he started moving. “Aelin, stop this. Calm down. You’re overreacting and I need you to get out of the car.”

Aelin held the wheel tightly as she hastily locked the car. She didn’t bother buckling in before the car jerked backward. Rowan raced to the other side of it and blocked it from leaving the parking space.

Aelin must have had more to drink than Rowan originally noticed, for instead of stopping like the sensible woman he’d thought her to be, she slammed on the gas and went over the grass, swerving and turning back onto the pavement farther down. Aelin narrowly avoided a lamppost as she got onto the road and started speeding down the street.

Rowan could only watch, mouth agape and heart stopping altogether.

—

“I can’t think of a single thing I did to provoke something like that from you, Aelin.” Rowan’s hands were clenched into fists. “You just started acting out for no reason at all. I wasn’t the one behaving poorly.”

“There were signs,” Aelin breathed, voice riding the edge between stability and insanity. “There were so many warning signs.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Aelin’s so-called boyfriend walked up to her. She was at the corner of a shelf, and the men were on either side of it, meaning Sam hadn’t yet noticed him. Rowan wanted to step forward and beat some sense into the man, show him who Aelin really belonged to, but Aelin spoke before he could step forward.

“Hey, babe. I found my book. Ready to leave?”

The man grinned. It was a snarky little look, and Rowan knew he’d look better with a fist in his face.

“I am.”

Aelin stepped closer to him and farther from Rowan, then paused. Her tactic had originally seemed to be getting Sam away from Rowan as quickly as possible, but now she stance took on a different posture.

Rowan had never wished he could see inside her head more than he was now.

Aelin didn’t even look his way. “I love you, Sam.”

Rowan froze. He didn’t need to know anything about their relationship to know that was the first time Aelin had told Sam that. Not just from the delight on his face, but from the way Aelin spoke. Rowan could feel it in his bones.

She was spiting him. This could easily be discussed anywhere else, at any other time, but Aelin chose to say it now, with Rowan hovering in the background. It was a message to him, to stay away. It was hateful. It was cruel.

Something splintered in Rowan’s chest.

Sam was saying something, presumably a reciprocation of those three words, but Rowan didn’t hear it. His ears were buzzing.

Aelin took ahold of Sam’s arm and started for the checkout desk.

She didn’t look back.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 12

Wordcount: 3, 719 Rating: M for strong language and mature themes Warning: Implications of a panic attack and other sensitive/shocking content ahead. "See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?" Chapter synopsis: Alfred is dying from something unknown, and the weaker his body gets, the faster his sanity wanes. You can't do anything but ease his pain as he slowly deteriorates. Fortunately, a deus ex machina arrives to save the day. The reader is referred to as she/her

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): VIRUS, Devil’s At Your Door, Glassy sky, Within. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

VIRUS

12 - Like tears in rain

When Alfred left to do his business, you traced a finger over your leg and continued to look towards the bathroom. He was going to reappear any second now. That was what you told yourself as you waited, impatiently, but it never happened. Instead, you heard a loud slam and your heart jumped out of your chest.

It was the sound of glass. 

“... Alfred?” You called out, tone uncertain. Sliding yourself off the bed a few moments later, you walked to the door with a fearful kind of urgency. Without wasting another second, you knocked a few times. “Are you okay in there? I heard something. What happened?” He didn’t answer. There was only shuffling of feet--the rough scraping of the sole of a sandal against the tiled floor. 

It was almost as if he was struggling to stand. 

“Alfred, open the door!” You rose your voice in a distressed shout. Pounding your fists against the door, your pleads fell on deaf ears as he never made an effort to respond.

That alarmed you beyond compare and you resorted to thrusting your elbows against the cold and hard metal surface. “Alfred—” Your voice broke as his name fell from your lips. Bile never rose this quickly in your throat. 

When the door did open, you stared wide-eyed at the man through a flurry of tears. He was so confused, disoriented even, but he was safe and sound.

But when he saw the way you looked at him, crying, his face twisted with regret. “Fuck, (F/N)!” He breathed, catching you in his arms when you launched yourself at him. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m okay—I promise. See? Now please don’t cry anymore.” Pulling away to offer a smile of reassurance, it faltered when you shook your head profusely with bitter despondency. 

“I’m not stupid. I know what I heard.” A dark glare only lasted so long when your expression quickly morphed into despair. “Please just tell me what’s wrong.” Reaching out to grip onto the sleeves of his shirt, you clung onto him desperately, almost as if he’d disappear if you didn’t. Little did you know, it wasn’t far from the truth. 

As if Alfred already knew this, he hung his head with a tired grin. 

“To be honest, I don’t know any more about this than you do.” He shook his head, defeated. “My best guess is that I’m having particularly shitty side effects with this... Immortality thing. But that’s it. I can’t die. So I’ll be okay.” 

He didn’t pay much attention to the signs he’d been seeing for the past few days. At first, he only experienced a little bit of lagging in his interface, like whenever he’d use his trusty in-built Google maps. This minor issue escalated into occasional forgetfulness, and even then, he brushed it off. But now, this mutated into something alarming.

Finding yourself in his arms again, you squeezed him in a tight embrace and screwed your eyes shut.

“That means this won’t be forever... Right?"

You wanted to believe it with every fiber of your being. But fear returned like an old friend, ravaging your being until it left nothing but paranoia in your consciousness. "I still think there’s something wrong with you..." Shaking your head as you choked out your words, he squeezed you right back.

"This won’t happen again, I’m sure of it. So don’t be so worried, okay?" Pulling away to soften his gaze on your teary one, he wiped away any moisture with a swipe of his thumb. Then, he sighed, but a small smile appeared right after. “I’ll be fine. Otherwise, who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”

“Don’t say that.” You deadpanned.

The truth to his words was haunting, and you couldn’t deny it. That was precisely why you hated hearing it.

“Do you care about me that much now, (F/N)?” The other grinned, his cheeks pink with content.

“Don’t ask that as if you don’t already know the answer.”

Alfred closed his eyes with a look of satisfaction. To hear you snap at him like this only pointed to one reason, and one reason only.

He'd totally grown on you. Maybe more so the other way around, but this was how things have always been. So he wasn't surprised when he was the first to feel something beyond a platonic friendship. Ironically, he was made of more metal than flesh and blood like you. But did that even mean anything anymore?

“Just wanted to hear you say it. But that’s good enough for me.” He hummed, watching a blush spread over your cheeks he himself was responsible for.

You hit his shoulder. "... Take this a little more seriously, would you?"

The blonde laughed. "I am! I was just being honest."

Neither of you noticed that you both had taken the leisure to sit on the ground. But given the circumstances, how could you possibly focus on something else? The same could be said for Alfred as he continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression.

Even then, he was pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

"You say that and yet I really can't tell what you're thinking."

"... And what if I didn't want you to?"

Whatever it was that was between you both, it couldn't be ignored. You weren't on the same page as him, but that didn't mean you wouldn't do everything in your power to save him.

He was carefree about this, but you weren't taking your chances.

Not that you could do anything to help him as his symptoms spiraled out of control. What he said would only be a one-time thing became a daily ritual. His episodes were longer. More violent. If he wasn't freezing up in the middle of the street, he was having seizures left and right until he fried his own brain.

Devil's At Your Door

You would drag his heavy body to an alleyway to wait it out. This was one of those times, but the task proved more difficult during a thunderstorm, and when heavy was more of an understatement. Not only was he made mostly out of steel, but he was well over six feet to boot, so all it took was one small puddle to slip and drop him--right onto the concrete with a thump.

In the few seconds he laid flat on the ground, he looked dead.

But a few seconds was more than enough for tears to form. They streamed endlessly down your face as you watched his, motionless and peaceful as it lay half-submerged in a murky well of water. As dark as it was, it still reflected the bright neon of the city. But the lights were anything but beautiful.

"... Sorry for dropping you." You murmured, reaching up to rub your eyes. He remained quiet. A part of you wished he said something, maybe a soft laugh going, don't worry about it. But he never did.

Bending down to sit beside him, you pulled Alfred onto your body and rested his head on your shoulder. It wasn't the freezing puddle your legs were submerged in that bothered you. Nor was it the light drizzle of rain on your face, the rumbling of thunder, or your dirty clothes sticking to your skin.

It was the feeling of him twitching in your arms, the restlessness in his uneven breaths. Something inside him was killing him. And all you could do was ease his pain while he wasted away.

Sticking your hand into his pocket, you pulled out a metal pin before lifting his tank top. Then, you inserted it into a tiny hole in his chest. You felt a pop, and a plate opened up. At least he wasn't drenched on the inside. But the water was a bad sign nevertheless, especially when he wasn't filtering it out like he normally did.

With whatever areas of your clothes that were still dry, you rubbed the inside of his torso vigorously. Then, you carefully removed detachable parts to wipe them as well. So there you sat, and hoped, unscrewing plates and reattaching them with his trusty screwdriver for ten minutes before he began to stir.

It was easily the longest ten minutes of your life. When he laid there, unable to process a single coherent thought, you had to wonder if this would be the last time. What if he never woke up? What if your father's men found him out here, and did away with him while he was so vulnerable?

The fear for his dwindling life chipped away at your sanity faster than you could deal. But every time he woke up, he put a stopper on your waning senses. A cough was heard and you stopped your movements abruptly. "... Pervert." He cracked his eyes open into thin slits as a tired grin stretched at his lips.

But you couldn't humor his comment as bile rose in your throat.

"I thought you weren't gonna wake up again." Your lips trembled in a frown. Working quickly to put him together, you pulled his top down and leaned down to hug him. "Thank god... We need to get you out of the rain. I know that much."

You helped him up slowly and slung his arm around your shoulder. "Yeah. You know more about this dinosaur than me." He furrowed his brows together and managed a sheepish smile. "If you didn't dry me up, I could've shocked myself to death. That would've been kinda embarrassing."

"Oh, shush. You know I'd never let that happen." Taking slow and steady steps, you both moved out of the alleyway and onto the street. The downpour just got heavier, so you kept your head down and ran to the closest shelter available--the outside of an upgrade store.

And as you stood there, waiting, you heard him say something you would never forget.

"... Even if you didn't, I'm still... Probably gonna die anyway." He laughed dryly. Misery shook his voice, and it manifested in the form of tears that rolled down his face. When you saw them, you almost couldn't tell as droplets of rain had dotted his skin. But he gave you no chance to process the fact he was crying when he continued.

"I'm being killed by something inside. It's not a disease. It's like... A virus." He dug a hand through his hair, and his eyes widened with a manic kind of sadness. "Ha! I'm about to die the most unnatural death. And to think I used to believe I was still a human."

"But you are." You forced out, swallowing thickly as an intense wave of grief washed over you. Then, you shook your head at him. "What I said when I met you was stupid. I didn't know who you were. I was scared. You're scared. I can tell. But don't tell me you're not human after everything you've done."

He wanted to believe you with every damn fiber of his being. He did. He really did. But he just couldn't. Not while his vision glitched so that he could barely see your face. And not while his ears blared with static to render him deaf. "... I'm not what you think I am."

Gritting his teeth so hard, veins popped around his neck and his left eye shattered.

"Alfred, stop!"

What was left of it was a bright blue light in his eye socket.

"Look at me." He breathed shakily. "I'm not even a fucking cyborg. Nothing about me is natural. Can't you see?"

He forced his chest plate open, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop him from pulling it off its hinges. Landing on the wet sidewalk in a clatter, you struggled to keep his hand still as he tore away one part after the other. "I've opened myself up before. I pulled everything out. There's nothing inside but metal and plastic."

But it was true. It became apparent when he pulled himself apart and gutted himself. You stood no chance against his inhumane strength, so he ripped everything out until he was reduced to nothing but a hollow shell.

"See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" Alfred screamed with a face full of tears, but you were just as much of a mess as you sobbed wretchedly. "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?"

He emptied himself as he spoke through crazed laughs, tossing his insides onto the street without a single shred of care.

Glassy Sky

As people walked by, they stopped to stare at the unfolding altercation, but some couldn't bring themselves to give a shit. A few even stepped on his parts on accident as they brushed past. And the sight of them cracking under their feet left you more and more unstable until you stopped crying altogether.

Lowering yourself into a crouch, you covered your ears as an unpleasant concoction of panic and anxiety overwhelmed your senses. As if hot water rushed into your head, a thick mental fog slowed your thoughts to a standstill. In fact, it was so incapacitating, you never struggled when you were picked up from behind.

Even when you were placed into a stranger's car, you never made a move to get out.

Once you calmed down, you were in an entirely different location. Familiar, but different. As you studied your surroundings, you came to recognize it to be the same room you stayed in at Arthur's. And rather than laying down in bed, you were leaning against a warm body. Pressing your face into their chest, you were overwhelmed with the scent of cologne.

Allen's cologne.

Tilting your head back, a pair of striking red eyes stared down at you with the most tender gaze. "Hey. Did you miss me?" He'd said.

For the second time that day, you cried. You cried and cried until there was nothing to cry about anymore. But rather than on a fearful note, it was a happy one. You clung onto him like a lifeboat as he began to rock you gently from side to side, then whisper soft words of comfort into your ear. Allen was alive and well. And the tables had turned for him to save you.

He never thought he'd have the stroke of luck to find you and Alfred. But his sudden urge to go to the bathroom--which came from the heavy downpour--turned out to be the best damn thing that ever happened to him.

"... I gotta take a leak," Allen murmured, earning a slow nod from the man beside him. Climbing out of the vehicle, he jogged across the road. He had been mulling over going all the way to the mall a few blocks down to relieve himself, but he opted for the alleyway right across where their car was parked. When he left, he noticed a small gathering of people down the street.

"...?"

Then, someone screaming bloody murder. He would've turned away, having seen similar scenes unfold like a regular Tuesday, but it was the sobbing that followed he couldn't ignore.

The voice sounded just like yours.

In a heartbeat, he burst into a sprint and pushed his way through the crowd to the center. When he finally got to the middle, he managed to step on a random part--an enhancement of some kind--much to his confusion. Then, he lifted his head for some answers. He paled immediately at what he saw.

Alfred was standing there in all his glory, having disemboweled himself. You were presumably reacting to him doing it.

"... What in the hell?" Sweat amassed around his forehead as he processed the grotesque sight. But seeing you so distraught was more than enough to get him to spring into action. Without a moment's hesitation, he shoved all the curious onlookers away with a scowl. "Fuck off, all of you. Never seen a dude gut himself before?"

Once the group dispersed, he scooped you up with one arm while he used the other to drag Alfred away by his collar.

One frenzied car ride and nap later, you were here in Allen's arms. He had long forsaken the idea of leaving you by yourself. But that wasn't the right way to put it when he never considered it in the first place. "You're okay, (F/N). Everything's gonna be fine." He murmured, digging his hands into your hair to rub your scalp.

It was something he always did to calm you down, and like every other occasion, it worked like a miracle. Feeling his fingers massage your head was therapeutic, and you quickly settled into his chest.

"... I thought you died, you know." Tightening your grip on his white tank, your chest felt heavy as you revisited the memories. "Even if it was for a little while, I knew I went a little crazy afterward."

Allen closed his eyes and rested his chin on you. He usually would have cracked a joke on a topic like this, but he knew better. So there was no sign of mirth in his expression when he responded.

"And that's why I didn't die, sweetheart." Coiling his arms around your neck, he gave you a squeeze. Then, he opened his eyes and narrowed them into a frown. It didn't matter what he did in his life. If he somehow passed before you did, which was more likely than anything, he'd latch himself onto this world with the regret of unfinished business.

"If I died before you, I wouldn't ever forgive myself. I can't leave you alone in this... Shitty world." He pulled away just so he could press his forehead against yours. "It's just you and me. Everyone else is fucking crazy. We're the only sane ones alive."

You couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Allen always had a way with words, even if he was a bit heavy on the colorful vocabulary. In a way, he shared an affinity with Alfred who hated the world just as much as him. But rather than starting revolutions, he preferred to keep it on the down-low and make the most of what he had.

And you had to admit that you preferred the same. "... Maybe you're right. But at least we have each other."

Allen hummed.

"Uhhuh. And maybe I could take Arthur into consideration for the normal people club. He's got a good head on his shoulders."

Speaking of which, how was he going with Alfred, anyhow?

Within

As if he read your mind, he offered to take you to the medical bay. Leading you down the dimly lit halls, he pushed open the door to reveal a violent altercation taking place. Alfred, who had been sleeping off the operation, was up on his feet and causing a ruckus. He held medical scalpels in both hands as if to defend himself.

Darting his wide eyes between the two men, Arthur and another man you didn't recognize, he screamed his lungs out. "Don't come any closer! I'm armed!" Backing himself to the corner, he dropped one of the blades but kept the other firmly in his grip. And that he used to point at whoever that moved.

"Who the hell are you guys? What the fuck did you do to me?!"

What did he say?

Your face fell as you watched the scene unfold. Nothing but pure, unadulterated fear oozed from every action Alfred made. Like a caged animal, he kept his distance from everyone and everything because he simply couldn't understand what was going on.

And the longer the predicament dragged on, the clearer it became to you why he was acting up.

The Brit gave Allen a nervous side-eye.

"Allen, do something! Restrain him, I don't know! We don't have any enhancements, so one stab from that and we're done for!"

He shook his head as he made a weird look. "Wait, what dya' mean restrain him? He's just disoriented, just let him be! What if he dies?"

"Yeah, big guy! Tackle him while we try and sedate him!" The other man exclaimed, narrowly dodging a metal tray thrown his way. His copper brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail, and his eyes were almost as red as Allen's, but they were noticeably darker. "Fuck you! This is pretty much a hospital, you know? Just because we don't have uniforms doesn't mean we tried to sell your organs!"

"... Not that you even have any." He murmured that under his breath, but karma struck and another metal tray came flying his way to hit him square in the face. "Ow!"

Arthur muttered out a string of curses. "Goddammit, Allen! He's not disoriented, he has amnesia!" You tensed up all over as your suspicions were confirmed right then and there. "He doesn't know who any of us are, and he won't have any trouble killing us all when he figures out he can shoot rockets from his arms!"

"Wait, what the fu--I can do that?!"

"Uhh, no you can't!"

There was no way he couldn't remember you, right?

The thought deeply saddened you, but it was more reasonable than getting ahead of yourself. If he couldn't remember Arthur and Allen, what were the chances he'd remember you? Nevertheless, a part of you hoped he somehow did after everything you two went through.

There was only one way to find out.

"Alfred!"

Your shout echoed across the room and he turned to the source. When he saw you, he dropped his scalpel to the ground in a clatter.

His eyes went wider than dinner plates, but you had no way to gauge what he was feeling, let alone thinking. So you let him walk up to you, albeit slowly. When he managed to stand right in front of you, he attached two hands to your shoulders, the action prompting Allen to pull out his gun at light speed. Training that at the blonde's head, he curled his finger around the trigger.

But he never pulled it.

"... (F/N)?"

[frunbuns]

Of Hot Tempers and Cold Rivers

Read on Ao3

“What do you mean someone has been following you?”

Newt looks up from his food at an expasarated Theseus. Theseus sits down opposite him and pours him some water. Outside, the snow falls softly to the ground, melting into the puddles in the already icy street.

“Who would it even be? Grindelwald’s not in the UK according to our sources at the Ministry, and last time I checked you didn’t have any other enemies.”

Newt raises a brow. “Enemies?”

Theseus stares at him unamused. “Last time I checked ‘Do you think Dumbledore will mourn you’ is pretty damning evidence of an enemy, Newt.”

"Surely Grindelwald can't care about me enough to want to–"

Theseus sighs. "You've gotten in his way twice now,” he points out.

“It’s probably nothing,” Newt says.

Theseus points his fork at the younger Scamander. “It’s not nothing,” he says. “If you’re being followed then we need to look into it. You could be in danger! We’ll get the Ministry—”

“I can protect myself,” Newt says, brows furrowing into an expression of annoyance. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Theseus can’t help but scowl lightly at his younger brother, dinner forgotten by both of them. “I don’t doubt that Newt, but this could be Grindelwald! You of all people should know how dangerous he is!

“I don’t need you coddling me, I’m not— I’m not some precious thing you need to protect. I’m not going to break if you’re not there.”

“I’m not coddling you. I’m just looking out for my little brother, like any good older brother would do!”

“If you are such a good older brother then you’d trust me to take care of myself like any grown man.”

Theseus’ fork collides with the table with a loud clunk. “But you’re not any grown man, Newt! You’re different. You’re—”

“What? Weird? Odd?”

“Well— yes!”

Newt stares at him, with cold eyes and a clenched jaw. For a while the only sound in the flat is Theseus’ breathing and the pitter patter outside.The traffic passing by. Then Newt looks down, chair creaking as he pushes it back.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says coldly. “I think I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Theseus watches quietly as Newt takes his coat and disappears. He hears the door open, the cars driving outside becoming louder and clearer before the door is slammed shut, a shout dying on his lips.

Theseus sighs, placing his head in his hands.

“Brilliant, Scamander. Another successful family dinner.”

-

Newt pulls his coat tighter around himself as a particularly nasty breeze blows by. Keeping his head down, Newt walks the dark streets. He’s not sure exactly where he’s going, he had passed his street a while ago now. Even as the cold nipped at his cheeks and fingers, and the slush on the ground splashes at his feet, he has no desire to go home.

But he probably should go home. It’s getting rather late and he has to feed his creatures in the morning. He sighs, anger dissipating from his body. His shoulders slump. He’s tired. The warmth of his fireplace sounds especially inviting at the moment.

He turns right, towards the bridge. He just needs to find a secluded alleyway where he can disapparate home. As he walks over the bridge his foot slips on the ice and he stumbles for a second, but he’s able to catch himself before he falls. He looks around, pleased to see that no one was around to witness it.

He stops in the middle, gazing out over the river, and the sparkling London lights further down. It reminds him of New York, in a less grand and spectacular way. While New York had been bustling with lights and activity at every corner demanding your attention, London comes forward as a much calmer city. Quiet corners every now and again - and while not a city that ever quite falls asleep, it is certainly quieter. More magical, with hidden corners everywhere.

Tina would like London, Newt thinks. At least he likes to think she would. Then he could invite her to visit and show her around. She’d enjoy Diagon Alley, he’s sure. A place where you don’t have to hide. Maybe he could—

Newt’s neck prickles, his posture stiffening. Carefully, almost nonchalant, Newt looks over his shoulder. There’s no one there, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. He takes a deep breath, losing the tension in his shoulders and starts walking again.

He stops abruptly after only two steps, whipping around fast enough to give him whiplash, and deflects a spell headed straight for him.

Newt doesn't recognise the wizard standing before him, but he certainly recognises Newt. Newt does his best deflecting the spells being thrown at him. There’s almost no room for him to defend himself, and even then the wizard deflects his spells with ease. Whoever this man is, he is a better dueler than Newt.

Newt’s wand clatters to the ground a few metres away from him. He gasps, stumbling backwards. Frantically he looks between the mystery man and his wand and the realisation hits him; this man might kill him. Newt could die tonight.

Maybe Theseus had been right. Maybe—

“Newt!”

Newt looks to the source of the voice, eyes landing on Theseus. The older Scamander is running towards him, wand in his hand. Relief washes over him.

And then Newt stumbles over the edge and then the feeling of free-falling.

-

Theseus watches in horror as Newt falls over the edge.

“Newt!” he yells, running onto the bridge. A quick, wordless spell sends the wizard flying, landing in a heap on the cobbled street. Unmoving and unconscious.

There’s the telltale sound of a splash and then quiet. He peers over the edge, down towards the dark waters of the Thames river. Heart thundering behind his ribcage, he waits for Newt to resurface. To come back up and tell him everything’s okay. That he’s fine.

But it doesn’t come. For each second that passes Theseus’ breath catches in his throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. It’s so cold. The water must be freezing. Newt must be so coldI.

Newt doesn’t come back up. No matter how much Theseus wills him to.

He can’t take it anymore. He turns, picks up Newt’s wand, and apparates down to the banks of the river.

“Newt!” he tries, but to no avail.

With a quiet sigh and shaking hands, he throws off his coat and jumps into the water. The river is icy and Theseus has to take a second to get over the shock of the temperature change. He pulls himself together and starts swimming through the water with vigor. Navigating between rocks and sand and fighting with the current. The water is dark and murky. It is from pure desperation alone - as well as a lit wand between his teeth - that Theseus manages to find him at all.

He doesn’t see anything at first. Until he spots a dark figure slowly singink to the bottom. His fingers brush against the wool of Newt’s coat. With a few desperate reaches he manages to hook his fingers around the fabric and drags the unconscious man towards him.

Holding his brother against his chest with his right arm, he swims up. When he breaks the surface he gasps hungrily for air, his lungs feeling like they’re on fire. The cold air bites at his lungs for each breath, but Theseus can’t quite find it in himself to care.

Doing his best to keep Newt’s head above the water he swims towards the bank of the river. With great difficulty, and some minor magical help, he manages to drag Newt out of the water and onto land.

The air is chilly, but Theseus can’t find it in himself to care. His thoughts are only with Newt, who lies sprawled, motionless on the frozen ground.

“Newt,” Theseus says with chattering teeth, absolutely sopping wet. Frozen fingers tap against Newt’s cheek, but he earns no reaction. “Newt,” Theseus tries again, this time more desperation creeping into his voice. He brushes away the hair plastered to his forehead from the water and tries again.

Despite Theseus’ attempts, Newt does not as much as stir. With terror gnawing at his insides, Theseus leans down and places his ear by Newt’s mouth and listens for breathing. He already knows the answer before he gets that far though. Newt should have woken already. The river is freezing. Newt was in the water for a while.

“You bastard,” he mutters, voice cracking slightly as he readies himself. Placing his hands on Newt’s chest he takes a shuddering breath. “You bloody bastard.” Then he pushes down.

Theseus has no idea how long he keeps doing the compressions. It feels like years. It feels like seconds. It’s as if he’s on autopilot. Breath hitching with each compression - the air setting fire to his lungs for each breath - and then breathing air into Newt’s lungs until his head starts swimming. At one point he’s pretty sure he can hear Newt’s ribs crack under the pressure of his weight. He certainly felt it at least, cringing on the inside. That will certainly need Skelegro.

No one seems to notice them. Theseus can’t tell if he’s pleased or not. The help would be helpful, but the risk of running into a muggle is too great, and Theseus is not sure how he would handle the situation then. How he would explain.

But Theseus isn’t sure Newt dying is something he’s willing to sacrifice for the secrecy of the wizarding world.

Theseus’ fingers are long gone numb by the time Newt finally stirrs. He sputters and coughs, body jerking awake in a motion that startles the older Scamander. He helps Newt onto his side as he coughs up the river water. He rubs Newt’s back comfortingly as he trembles under his hands.

Theseus feels like he could cry. The joy he feels - despite the freezing temperature and the fact that their hair has frozen stiff from the cold - is almost overwhelming.

Newt shudders in his hold and Theseus hugs him tightly. With one hand cradling the back of Newt’s head and his face tucked into the crook of his neck, Theseus allows himself to breathe.

“Bloody hell, Newt,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You scared me. Don’t do that again, ever. You hear me?” Newt doesn’t answer, but his ragged breathing is answer enough for Theseus.

Theseus isn’t sure if he’s crying or not, but he feels like he is. Especially with the pathetic sounds he lets out as he holds Newt against him. It’s like the shock of it all is finally setting in.

Newt could have died. Theseus’ little brother could have died tonight, and he wouldn’t have known if he didn’t come after him. How long would he have been in the water before anyone found him? Would the muggles have found him first? Who would tell him about it?

He’s not sure he can handle losing someone else right now. Especially not Newt.

If Newt notices Theseus holding him just a little bit tighter he doesn’t say anything about it.

A particularly cold breeze blows past them and Newt shivers in his arms as Theseus suppresses a tremor. With great effort from his frozen limbs Theseus gently rubs Newt’s back, hoping it will provide at least a little warmth.

“Are you alright?” he asks after a while.

Newt nods weakly against his collarbone and croaks a quiet, “Yeah.”

“That’s...that’s good.”

Theseus picks up his wand from the ground next to him. Then, making sure they’ve not left anything else laying around, he apparates them back to his flat.

-

They stumble into the flat, Newt’s legs weak as he leans most of his weight on Theseus. They both seem to sigh in relief when they get inside. It’s still warm, the fire crackling pleasantly in the sitting room.

Even inside, with his clothes dried, Newt continues to shiver. Theseus carefully lies him down on the guest room bed before he disappears into another room to get a blanket. Newt lies there in silence, except for his wheezing breaths. His ribs ache something terrible. He’s exhausted. He’s cold. Even just taking a deep breath is hard.

Theseus comes back in with a stack of blankets and a vial of Skelegro. He props Newt up with some pillows before he spreads the blankets over him.

“Better?” he asks, to which Newt nods tiredly. Theseus smiles faintly, mouth quirking upwards. He fumbles with the vial before passing it over to Newt. “You should take some.” Newt grimaces, all too familiar with the potion. Still, he takes it gingerly and tips the liquid into his mouth.

It tastes as horrible as he remembers. It burns on the way down. The taste stays in his mouth long after.

Theseus tucks the blankets tighter around him and walks to the door. “You should get some sleep,” he says. “You need it.”

Then he leaves and closes the door behind him. Newt falls asleep soon after.

-

When Newt wakes again Theseus is back in the room. He groans quietly and Theseus is at his side in an instant.

“Newt!” he exclaims. “How do you feel?”

“The’sus..?”

Theseus smiles. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Newt gazes up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Does it still hurt?”

Newt shakes his head. Theseus smiles again.

“I made some food. You should eat,” he says before helping Newt sit up against the headboard. He carefully hands him a bowl of soup and a spoon. “Eat up.”

Newt eats the soup slowly, finding that he is indeed hungry and that he very much appreciates the food. Even if he still feels weak and achy all over and his hand shakes just slightly when he lifts the spoon to his mouth.

“Thank you...for this. You really don’t have to do this.”

Theseus cocks his head at him, a soft look on his face that Newt can’t quite read. “Of course I do. You’re my little brother. It’s my job to look after you.”

Newt gazes down at his lap. He fiddles with his fingers, acutely aware of Theseus watching him. He’s sat here, in Theseus’s home. In Theseus’ guest bedroom. In Theseus’ bed. Eating his food and taking up his time. After arguing with him and storming out on their dinner.

“I’m— I’m sorry for how I behaved last night. I—”

Theseus interrupts him. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says. The bed dips as Theseus sits down by his legs. “You really scared me.”

Newt glances up at Theseus before returning his gaze down to his lap again. Shame and embarrassment burns in his belly. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he croaks. “I just wanted to go home.”

Theseus smiles. “I know. I’m sorry too. For the things I said to you last night. Truth is that you are different - and maybe a little odd - but it was never a bad thing. I’m sorry That I’ve made you feel that way. That mother and father and the world has made you feel like that. I’m sorry that they’ve never been able to see just how brilliant you are. I am proud to have you as my little brother, and of course you are capable of looking after yourself, but sometimes you worry me because I’m your big brother and that’s what big brothers do.”

You’ve been scaring me a lot lately, actually. You always have, but lately especially. With Grindelwald on the loose, and your creatures, and just everything, you know.”

When Theseus looks at Newt he is watching him intently. His head cocked, brows raised. There’s a look of fondness on his face, something Theseus has only ever really seen directed at his creatures. It makes something in his chest swell with warmth.

Theseus clears his throat and gets up. “Well I suppose you must still be tired,” he says. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Before Theseus can manage to close the door behind him Newt clears his throat. He stops, hand on the door handle, looking at him almost expectantly.

“Thank you,” he says. “Just— thank you.”

Theseus smiles warmly at him, eyes flicking to the corridor and back to him, as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t, however. Just flashes Newt another smile - hoping Newt understands, which he does - and Newt smiles back. And then he closes the door. Theseus’ footsteps echo from the corridor. Newt listens to them until it fades and he falls asleep once again.

[contagiousprincess]

i defy you, stars- Chapter 1

“From your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day”

Two households, both alike in dignity

(In fair Verona where we lay our scene)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;

Whose misadventurous piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

-William Shakespeare

The Whispering Woods were once tangled growth, full of creatures and plants alike waiting for their chance to claw to the surface. The soil was fertile and the air was sweet, but the area was crowded. The so called “whispering” was the noise of the wind pushing and squeezing it’s way through the brush and tightly woven tree trunks. Or, according to legend, it was the noise of the wildlife twisting, changing, moving to confuse lost travelers. 

No one was quite sure how the first people managed to make their stake along the banks of the river that ran through the heart of the forest and emptied into the ocean. But they imagined that they had to follow the forest's rules, because otherwise they would have been eaten up and spit out like the bugs that crawled along the skin of the ground. However they did it, those people weren’t alone for long.

Soon enough, another group came to compete, on the other bank of the river. The two different clans of people could have cooperated, learned to help each other, and survived to tell the tale to others. But just like the wildlife and fragrant trees before them, the two seemed determined to push the other down to reach the top, drawing lines in the silence that separated them. 

Where before, the forest was one giant, breathing body, a new word was introduced to the area: border. They fought for control of the harbor and the trade route along the river, but they were so evenly matched that no one ever won, instead locked forever in an endless stalemate.

So, the two groups began a bitter rivalry. One that continued for many, many, many years. Long after a bridge was built, connecting the two sides of the river for trade (though neither group would dare suggest it was necessary). Long after The Whispering Woods no longer whispered since the trees were gone and the wind had grown hot and stale. Long after the bugs and skin of the earth was replaced with cobblestone streets and alleys. So much long after, that now when asked what they were fighting over, the groups could not even remember, only that if the Horde and the Alliance ran into each other on the streets, someone would walk away badly hurt or worse. 

And this was how on a particularly sweltering hot day, six people almost died.

“Did you just flip us off?” Though most of her thick hair was pulled into a band beside her face, Mermista brushed the remaining pieces of hair out of her eyes, as if to make sure she was seeing clearly, but her dark eyes and thick eyebrows were dangerous, daring anyone to mess with her.

“And what if I did?” Lonnie catcalled, the sound ringing through the street. She was shorter, but stood tall, her boots planted firmly on the street with her hands on her hips. The braids on her head framed her face and softened the defined lines, but there was nothing soft about the way her mouth curled as she taunted the other girl.

“I’d tell you that if you apologize for it, we won’t beat you into a stain on the street.” Mermista stood shoulder to shoulder with Sea Hawk, who might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, but could fight just as well as the next guy. His dorky mustache and dumb boot and bandana combo seemed harmless enough, but he had a tendency to burn down anything in his path. Literally.

Lonnie considered this, and turned to Rogelio, who was broad and as mean as nails, visually and physically intimidating. “Do you think we would get arrested if I flipped them off again?”

“Yes,” Rogelio said simply. A man of few words, so when he used them, it was prudent to listen.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Lonnie looked Mermista up and down and called, “I didn’t flip you off, but I was flipping someone off! Now, why are you still here?”

“You picking a fight?” Rogelio said. 

“Me? Pick a fight? Never,” Mermista said, eyes flashing.

“Watch it,” Rogelio grunted. 

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because Shadow Weaver is behind you!” yelled Lonnie, suddenly. She pointed, fear flashing across her face. Mermista and Sea Hawk spun around wildly, craning their necks, but they were only met with the normal hustle and bustle of the harbor. 

Lonnie busted out into laughter, doubling over and eventually having to sit on the ground to catch her balance and breath. She held her stomach, tears running down her face as her laughs echoed through the street. 

Mermista and Sea Hawk turned around, faces red and now so furious, sparks practically flew off of them. Sea Hawk unsheathed his sword and started towards them, but his friend grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, but he still strained against her.

“Oh, we got ourselves a comedian, huh?” Mermista drew her sword and faced them. “Personally, my favorite joke is the one where we pummeled the two Horde scrum into dust and they got washed down the river. The punchline always gets me.” 

Lonnie finally started to rise from the ground, and pulled out a dagger. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rogelio turned toward her, drawing his sword, and quietly said “Don’t forget that parry maneuver we’ve been working on. It’s all in the footwork.”

“Not the time, Rogelio! We have bigger problems, like a princess and her big fat mouth!”

At that, Mermista released Sea Hawk, and the four lunged towards each other. As soon as the clang of metal swords started to echo through the city, a young male voice could be heard yelling for them to stop. 

After a minute passed with no avail, an arrow careened over the group's heads, making a horrible screeching noise and catching their attention for a moment. Taking advantage of the opening, Bow pushed his way into the center, driving them apart. A top notch archer, the dark-skinned teen was well respected in the Alliance. He wasn’t necessarily the strongest, but agility and cleverness kept him on his toes, as well as alive. 

“Everybody back up! Do you have any clue what you’re doing?!” he screeched, desperately holding his hands up in a feeble attempt to keep them from colliding again. He finally managed to wrest Mermista’s sword out of her hand and pushed her and Sea Hawk away from the Horde teens. 

“We stand on thin ice as it is,” he said to the two of them. “Whatever the Horde trash did to provoke you isn’t worth it.” Raising his voice, he called, “They aren’t worth any of your time.” He gestured to Lonnie and Rogelio with Mermista’s sword, glaring as he did.

Lonnie opened her mouth to defend herself, but she was interrupted by another member of the Horde. 

Scorpia was tall and extremely buff, making Rogelio look like a prepubescent boy. Her shock of white hair on top was cropped close to her head and her eyes, normally kind and warm, were furious and focused. Scorpia, drawn by the sounds of fighting, had started running over seconds ago but now was faced with the sight of Bow pointing a sword at her two friends. 

She stormed in front of the two and stared down Bow, who paled upon seeing her. 

“Threatening my friends, Bow?” She towered over the other boy, and he craned his neck to see her. “Hope you had fun, because I won’t let it happen again.”

“I was trying to get them to stop fighting, Scorpia!” Despite their difference in size, he set his jaw and didn’t back down.

“With your sword drawn?” She scoffed.  “A likely story! You Alliance brats are always so high up on your horse, yelling about peace, complaining about the fighting but then you come into our territory and attack us when we mind our own business, and I, for one, am sick of it.” 

Bow began to speak very slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something simple to a child. “I. am. not. attacking. anyone. But if I was, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he smirked. 

Scorpia, enraged, drew herself up to her full height, and faced him, head on. “Lets have at it then,” she said, voice deadly even. 

Bow hesitated, and then knocked an arrow and drew it. “Fine with me”

Scorpia charged at him, leaping towards his head with her bare hands. Bow quickly ducked and rolled underneath her, coming up behind Scorpia on one knee. Just as her feet hit the pavement, he released his arrow. The arrowhead fractured in midair and split, shooting out a web, the delicate filaments of wire and carefully placed weights searching for a target to ensnare. 

The web slammed into Scorpia’s shoulder, biting into her skin and pulling her down, but only managed to wrap itself around her arm, fortunately for her. Unfortunately for Bow, Scorpia grabbed hold of the web and began to swing it, transforming her trap into a weapon. 

She advanced on him, taking the weighted net with her. Bow tried to back up and pull another arrow, but she closed in on him, taking advantage of his lack of close range weapons. She swung the web at him, and he ducked the first time, narrowly avoided the second, but on the third she feinted towards his head, changed course and then used her net to sweep his feet out from underneath him. 

Bow fell flat on his back, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud, and Scorpia towered above him. She raised the heavy weights above her and started to bring them down on him, but a shout stopped her cold in her tracks. 

A small crowd of citizens had gathered, circling the group, but they during the fight began to chant something that completely baffled the six enemies. 

“Down with the fight! Down with the Horde! Down with the Alliance!”

The racket grew and grew, gathering almost all of the citizens not affiliated with either the Horde or the Alliance. The cacophony reached its peak when a horn call sounded and the crowd cleared a walkway and silenced. They stared up in awe as the 3 most powerful people in Whispering Woods strolled in front of them: Hordak, Shadow Weaver, and Angella. 

Hordak was muscular but not overly so. He walked with an odd gait, and his greasy black hair and beady eyes that were almost red were disquieting. But he radiated power, and as he walked the citizens bowed. Hordak was the Prince of the Whispering Woods, and he would be obeyed. 

Shadow Weaver was the leader of the Horde, one of the feuding groups, and Angella was the leader of the Alliance, the other. The two were both tall, but the similarities ended there. Shadow Weaver was lanky, and had long dark hair. She was clothed in deep red, and wore a mask covering her face. Even though her eyes couldn’t be seen, anyone who felt her stare grew anxious. Angella, on the other hand, was willowy, with long, bright hair. Her face was kind, but sharp. This along with the circlet inlaid with a pearl that sat on her forehead, immediately gave the impression that this was someone who was to be listened to and obeyed without question. 

The Prince strode in front of the other two, but they stood as far apart as possible, shooting each other with dark looks that made the citizens uneasy. Hordak, commanding the attention of every person in the street, sauntered up to where Scorpia still stood over Bow. Without saying a word, he flicked his wrist and Shadow Weaver and Angella untangled the two and dragged them as well as the other four to opposite sides of the circle that the crowd had formed. 

“Citizens!” Hordak boomed. “I have heard countless complaints about the feud which has led to this incident.” He sneered as he said it, making the fact that the enemies had almost killed each other seem as insignificant as childhood tomfoolery, and in a way, it was. “This ancient grudge has interrupted trade, caused countless injuries, and endlessly fosters riots and unrest amongst my people. It is high time for it to break.”

Angella and Shadow Weaver began to stammer, no doubt trying to pin the blame on the other, but Hordak simply held up his hand and they fell quiet. 

“I recognize that I cannot control the… feelings of my citizens.” His lip curled. “However, something still must be done. The city cannot stand with its people constantly fighting in the streets. So, my decision is this: whichever of you causes any more disturbance in my city will pay for it with their life.”

The crowd broke out into anxious murmurings, and the feuding groups began to protest, but Hordak held firm.

“I have made my decision. Now all of you go before I regret not ending you all here and now.” He leveled a glare at both groups and the citizens, who hesitated but began to disperse. Hordak turned his gaze to the women who led both groups and called out to them. “Shadow Weaver, follow me. Angella, I will speak with you later.”

The Horde and Alliance members all hesitated for a moment. 

“Was I unclear? GO!” roared Hordak.

With one final glare at each other, the two groups broke apart. Shadow Weaver fell into step behind Hordak, Angella led her Alliance towards the other side of the river, and Scorpia took the Horde members in the direction of their manor.

None of them noticed what was left behind. As they all meandered away, muttering darkly about their respective foes, a clear mark of the fight remained. Though no one could say exactly who it belonged to, it didn’t really matter in the end. 

A singular smear of sticky, scarlet-red blood stained the cobblestone street, seeping into the cracks in the mortar, already beginning to dry in the sweltering hot sun. 

notes: hiya! im katie and the idea for this fic basically mugged me in the middle of the night and i had to do something about it. this is just a teaser i think theres like a part two of chapter one but it was bulky and i wanted to post something bc why not. im not quite sure what im doing with this fic but i dont care im having fun lmfao. ive never written any fic before so be nice or i will block you i dont give a shit! this will probably go up on ao3 as soon as i can get an invite so for now this will live on tumblr yee haw! anyways lmk what yall think but only if its nice kk byeeee xoxoxo

[the-borhap-boys]

Bruises Fade: chapter four

 Slow Burn Ben!Roger Taylor X OC

Summary: Amelia Mcallen, an old friend of Freddie Mercury’s tries to fit in with his friends while still living her own life. Her only issue. One blond asshole

Warning: Language, mention of abuse

Word count: 4673

Note: sorry it took so long but here’s a nice long chapter and i’ve already started working on the next one!

“I love you no matter what you do,” Louis said as he climbed off the bed he and Millie were curled on and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Love you too,” she murmured, a stiff smile plastered painfully on as she watched him button his shirt and leave the room.

When she heard the door slam behind him, she climbed off the bed gingerly, being careful not to put too much pressure on her right leg. She pulled off her joggers and glanced down at the slowly fading bruise. It had been a few days since he had pushed her into the coffee table and the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been but the bruise was terribly ugly.

She gingerly pressed her fingers into her thigh, a soft groan slipping out as she touched the purple and blue mottled skin. She pulled on a strappy sundress hoping the light fabric would keep her legs from aching any more than they already did. As she placed a few bangles on her wrist she prayed they would distract from the ugly purple fingerprints from where he had yanked her off the floor. At least this time he was mindful of her face and there were no obvious bruises above her chin. The few on her neck she could pass off as hickeys hopefully.

At least these bruises weren’t as bad the ones she had after quitting. She hadn’t been able to leave the house for nearly two weeks for fear someone would know what happened to her. The boys had called her every day checking on her and the lies she had to tell had been almost more painful then the bruises littering her body.  Now she could at least go into the studio and do the job she had been hired to do.

_

As she pulled up to the studio a few hours later, Brian rushed out the door and stopped her from walking inside.

“Hello Love,” he said with a huge smile, wrapping her in a tight hug. She relished in the feeling of security, her cheek pressed tight against his chest, the cotton of his shirt rubbing comfortingly against her face, until he let her go.  “Listen, I know you and Rog aren’t on exactly the best terms but we’re behind schedule and he isn’t answering his phone. Could you run over to his flat and check on him?”

His smile dropped slightly as she sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over her face.

“What is an assistant for,” she groaned before trying to walk back to her car. He scooped her into another hug lifting her off the ground as she squirmed at the pain that ran through her ribs.

“You are an absolute darling,” he said dropping her back to the sidewalk. She stumbled slightly as pain shot through her leg, her jaw clenched tightly, trying to hold back a groan.

As she drove towards his apartment, she muttered to herself, clenching her fists on the wheel tightly.

“Of course, he can’t show up on time to one thing. Honestly, it’s almost two. How drunk did he get last night? That little self-centered prick. Uggh I’m so sick of him”

As she spoke to herself her anger dissipated slightly but she was still prepared to give the little blond shit as she so affectionately called him a piece of her mind.

_

After knocking three times on his door she pulled out the key Freddie had given her a few weeks ago. As she stepped in her nose wrinkled at the dirty dishes and empty liquour bottles scattered across every available surface. Womens clothes were tossed throughout the living room, leading down the hallway, showing evidence of whatever happened the night before.

She stepped into the hallway and was met with a leggy brunette clad in a pair of boxers and a button down shirt stepping out of Rogers room. The two girls stared each other down for a moment before the brunette began stumbling towards Millie angrily. “Who are you and what are you doing in Roger’s flat?” the girl hissed.

“I’m the girlfriend of the boy you slept with last night,” Millie lied. She stared into the girls face expressionlessly, her arms crossed over her chest as the other girls jaw dropped.

“That bastard! Boys are the worst! He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend,” she cried, yanking Millie off her feet and into a hug. The putrid scent of vomit and day old alcohol invaded Millie’s nose before she pushed the girl back gently. “I’m so sorry! I really am,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Millie mumbled, shaking her head and steadying the taller girl gently. As she helped the girl gather her clothes which were spread all across the living room she continued berating Roger inside her own mind and letting out little huffs of anger.

As the door slammed behind the girl, Millie filled a glass with water and grabbed some pain killers before stepping into Roger’s room. He laid on the bed shirtless, eyes open, smirking at her, his hair splayed in a halo around his head.

“So, girlfriend?”

“I just wanted her to get out without having to deal with whining,” she grumbled slamming the cup on his bedside table and thrusting the pills into his hand. A few droplets of water splashed onto his chest and goosepimples arose across his skin. He sat up, resting on his elbows. “Take your medicine. You were supposed to be at the studio an hour ago,”

He stared after her as she stormed out of the room and back into the kitchen. His arms flopped back onto the pillows surrounding him as he fell backwards, closing his eyes for a few moments.

After putting the kettle on the stove, she plopped onto a chair at the kitchen table. Her head rested in her hands and her feet drummed the floor impatiently. When he stepped into the kitchen, he leaned against the door frame, watching her for a moment. The sun shone through the open window onto her face, hitting her eyelashes so they left tiny shadows across her freckled cheeks.

“Are you pissed at me?” he questioned softly.

She turned quickly to look at him in surprise. The bags under his eyes showed evidence of little sleep the past couple nights and his hands barely peeked out of the sleeves of the sweatshirt he had tugged on. She rolled her eyes at his pitiful expression and stood up to get two mugs.

“No, I’m not pissed.” She sighed. “But that doesn’t mean the boys aren’t,”

“Fuck em. You are mad.” He stepped forwards and leaned his back against the counter, staring at her quizzically. “Why are you always mad at me?”

She felt his eyes boring into her back and couldn’t face him. Her hands clasped the edge of the stove as she stared down at the kettle. Her head seemed to whirl as she tried to respond.

“I’m just said I’m not mad at you,”

“prove it,”

She turned around, mimicking his position on the opposite counter.

“How do I prove I’m not mad?”

He stepped forwards slowly and grabbing her hands in his. “Have a full conversation with me,”

The callouses on his palm scratched against her smooth skin and she yanked back roughly, bumping her elbow against the hot kettle. She jumped forwards slamming into his chest and cradling her elbow.

“shit! Did you burn yourself? ’m sorry!” he hissed, grabbing her wrist and yanking her to the sink. He turned on the faucet and she quickly stuck her arm under the running water, her teeth clenched in pain.

“I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to! Shit shit! I’m so sorry Millie!” he babbled on and on.

“Just shut up for two seconds,” she said calmly. The pain from the burn was slowly fading but his crowding over her was not helping her.

He stepped back and watched carefully as she took a deep breath.  Her eyes closed for a moment and her fists unclenched.

“Why are you like this?” she questioned, taking her arm out from under the faucet and turning to face him, her hand cradling her elbow

“Like what?”

“One second you’re an asshole and you’re trashing me to any person you can and the next you’re all soft and flirty. It’s confusing and I hate it.” She stated emotionlessly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Either be my friend or be an asshole. You don’t get to be both,”

He blinked a few times and his breath caught in his throat as he tried to think of a response. She watched him quizzically, her head cocked to one side as he stumbled over his words.

“I tried to be your friend but I fucked that up so I don’t know what to do around you. You get so pissed with me and then you’re so sweet with Brian and John and I just wa-“

“You’re jealous?” she questioned a smirk playing on her lips.

“No! I just want you to like me and I don’t know how to make you like me,”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes before throwing her hands in the air.

“You could start by not trash talking me to all your little leggy friends who come prancing through the studio,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Oh yes I’m so jealous!” she threw her head back, laughing exaggeratedly. Her brunette curls bounced around her face and he couldn’t seem to rip his eyes away from the way they brushed against the hickeys on her neck “I wish I could come out of your room in your dirty boxers and sweaty shirt. The epitome of romance,”

He chuckled leaning back against the counter. They were both grateful for the easy banter instead of ripping each others throats out.

“Alright, alright. Neither of us is jealous. I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole. Can we be friends and put all the childish fights behind us?”

The kettle began to whistle and she reached to take it off the stove. As she poured the steaming water into the mugs her dress rode up her thighs. His eyes traveled up her leg to the creamy skin just below the hem of her dress and he couldn’t seem to tear himself away.

She passed him a mug of tea, tearing him out of his thoughts.

“I forgive you,” she smiled softly, her fingers wrapping tightly around the mug. “Now do you want something to eat before we go to the studio?”

“Are you going to make me something?” he smirked, his fingers reaching up to fiddle with the strings of his sweatshirt. “You going to put on a little maid costume and everything?”

“I was but just for that I’m not,” she said with a sly smile, placing the mug on the counter before striding out of the kitchen. His face broke into a wide smile and he wrapped his arms around her waist swinging her around to face him.

“Come on Millie,” he whined. “I’m starving and I’m just far too dumb to know how to cook,”

She flicked his forehead and pushed off his chest, spinning around so her dress flared out around her.

“Fine, you spoiled brat, what do you want?”

“First, I would like you to apologize for calling me spoiled because I am not,” he said, yanking one of her curls. She glanced back at him in shock before quirking an eyebrow

“Oh really? Then what is it called when you get whatever you want because you whine?”

He threw his head back in shock and placed his hand on his chest. “Excuse you, I do not whine,”

She pinched the bridge of her nose in faux exasperation and glanced over her shoulder at him. He had stepped a bit closer and a few tendrils of his hair were brushing against her bare shoulder. Their noses were nearly touching and she had to turn around abruptly so they didn’t bump into each other.

“I’ll make you some toast, Roger,”

“That is Mister Taylor to you and I did not ask for toast. I would like some-“ he mused, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Want to know something?” she asked with a mock serious expression. “I don’t care what you want, you’ll eat what I give you or you’ll starve,”

They continued teasing each other as he ate his toast and packed his things. When they finally climbed into her car, he reclined the passenger seat back and crossed his arms over his chest, placing his feet on the dash.

“Hey, hey, hey! Get your feet down!” she squealed, batting at his ankles.

He shifted his legs over slightly and raised his eyebrows. “Make me,” His fingers tapped a beat against his arm as he watched her for a reaction.

“Roger! Get your feet off my dash! Feet are gross!” she whined, trying to make him bend his knees.

He laughed at her pathetic attempts and stretched out even further before shifting to put his feet in her lap. “Are these feet gross?”

She pinched the tops of his ankles making him wince and kick his heels against the top of her thighs.

“Roger Taylor! Get your nasty, sweaty feet off my legs this instant!”

“Ooh, you pulled out the last name,” he chuckled, rubbing his heels harder against her thighs.

One heel brushed against her bruise and she hissed in pain and shoved one leg off. His leg hung awkwardly over the console as he stared at her in confusion. They both sat in uncomfortable silence for a few long seconds.

“sorry,” she mumbled halfheartedly. “I don’t like feet,”

He pulled both his legs back onto his side of the console and tapped his fingers anxiously against his jeans. “yeah, I figured,”

The rest of the ride to the studio was filled with tense silence. His fingers tapped a continuous beat against his leg and hers were clenched tightly on the wheel as she never took her eyes off the road, afraid to look over at him.

When they pulled up Roger grabbed Millie’s arm before she could open the door. She glanced down at his fingers clenched tightly on her forearm before looking at his face, her eyebrows pinched together nervously.

“I’m sorry if I upset you. I really didn’t realize my teasing would hurt you,” a light blush covered his cheeks and neck as he ducked his head, his hair shielding his face.

“Is the great Roger Taylor apologizing to little ole me?” she asked with a smirk.

He lifted his head quickly at her teasing, furrowing his brows.

“Hey, I’m pouring my heart and soul out here and you’re making fun of me. How is that fair.”

“all’s fair in love and war baby” she said, patting his cheek and hopping out of the car. She straightened her skirt and flipped her hair over her shoulder confidently before walking towards the front door.

He stared after her as she sauntered into the studio, her dress swaying back in forth in time with her hips.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” he whispered to himself.

_

A few weeks later the band was back in the studio, Millie alongside them like usual. She was stretched out in her usual spot on the floor, reviewing a few show contracts as Brian recorded the guitar for Seven Seas of Rhye. Roger was flopped in a chair by her head, nudging her every so often with his foot, trying to tease a reaction out of her. Deaky was on the couch dozing off as Freddie hunched over the control panel, correcting Brian over and over.

“I have no inspiration here,” Freddie finally groaned turning around and stretching his arms towards Millie. She glanced up from where she had been nodding off on the floor and placed her hands in his letting him pull her to her feet. “We should go on a picnic,”

“Fred, we have a gig tonight and we need to finish this song,” Brian piped up as he stepped into the control room.

Millie nodded as she let go of Freddies hands and gathered her papers off the floor.

“But if we get out of this stuffy studio we would be inspired and could finish this song,” Freddie whined

“He’s right,” John chimed in, pointing towards Freddie.

“Yeah, I agree with Fred,” Roger said, standing up and stretching slowly.

“You only agree with him cause you’re pissed at me,” Brian grumbled, placing the red special down and rifling his fingers through his curls angrily.

“That’s not true. I agree with him beca-“

“Because you’re mad at Brian,” Millie mumbled, her back turned to them as she continued cleaning up her papers.

“Oi! You shut your mouth or I’m going to stick one of these in your ear,” Roger threatened, waving a single drumstick around.

“Do it, I dare you,” Millie said calmly, turning back around and arching an eyebrow.

Roger surged towards her playfully and she shrieked, jumping behind Brian and grabbing his shoulders as protection. He rolled his eyes but let her use him as a shield against the blond.

“if this tree wasn’t in the way you know I would,” Roger snarled, gesturing towards Brian.

“Come at me Blondie!” Millie giggled, jumping out from behind Brian and lunging towards Roger. He wrapped his arms around her torso, spinning her around. Her feet grazed the floor and she threw her head back on his shoulder as she laughed. Her curls tickled against his neck and her hands were clenched tightly over his, pressed against her tummy.

“Put me down you big lug,” she giggled, batting at his hands.

“You attacked me first,” he accused, setting her gently down and steadying her as she stumbled.

“You threatened me first,”

“Alright children, calm down,” Freddie said placing his hands on their shoulders. “What do you say Millie? Shall we go have a picnic? I can invite Mary so it isn’t only a boys club,”

“I think that would be lovely,”

The boys packed up their things and Freddie called Mary, asking her if she would bring some lunch for everyone. They all piled in Roger’s van in a tangle of sweaty limbs, loud music and laughter. When they pulled up Millie was the first out of the car. She was racing across the grass towards the waters edge before Roger had even put the van in park.

“That child is going to get herself killed,” Brian muttered as they all stared after her fondly.

The men followed behind her slowly, finding a spot on the grass and settling down to wait for Mary and their lunches. Freddie stretched out, arms behind his head, basking in the sun as Brian leaned against a tree, reading, his long legs crossed with his elbows resting on his knees. John and Roger decided to take a walk through the park, discussing the gig that night.

When Millie came skipping back over to Freddie and Brian her face was flushed and her curls were windblown. She plopped down on the grass beside Brian, watching his face as he read. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the way he would mouth the words every now and then or how his eyebrows furrowed when he got to an interesting paragraph. She bit her lips gently as she stared into his face.

“Like what you see, Love?” he questioned, not taking his eyes off the book but surprising her from her reverie.

She glanced down at her jeans and began picking at the fraying hem. “Sorry, you just seemed so interested. What are you reading?”

He placed the book in his lap and gave her his full attention. “Death On the Nile, Agatha Christie.” Millie gasped excitedly snatching his hand up. “Isn’t she so talented? I wish I could write the way she does!”

Brian cocked his head to the side slightly as she spoke. “Since when do you write?”

A faint blush covered her cheeks and ears as she dropped his hand slowly. “Oh…. It’s just a hobby. I’m not very good.”

“well I guess I’ll have to read some for myself,” he said with a shrug, placing a bookmark between the pages and closing the book.

“No really it’s not good at all. Its just for fun.”

“I will expect some of your writing the next time I see you, Miss Mcallen,” he said mocking seriousness, grabbing her hands in his.

She shrugged and squinted her eyes. “I’m very sorry Mr May, you will be sorely disappointed.”

He shook his head as he laughed, making his curls bounce wildly.

“Millie! I’m here!” Mary’s voice rang across the grass and Millie whirled around wildly before leaping to her feet and sprinting towards her friend.

Mary opened her arms wide, bags in either hand and Millie ran straight into her, wrapping her own arms around the blonde’s middle. The girls fell to the ground giggling, in a tangle of limbs and bags of food.

“Someone rescue the food, please!” Roger yelled as he watched the fiasco from afar.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Millie gushed, standing up and brushing off her jeans, before gathering up one of the bags.

“I know! Freddie invites me to recording sessions but I’m just so busy at Biba now.” Mary said as the girls began to walk over to where the boys were lolled out. “I’ve been trying to pick up a few extra shifts here and there. Fred wants to move in together but we’d have to get a new apartment and he isn’t really making much at the moment,”

Millie could tell from the tone in her voice this wasn’t berating Freddie, she was just worried about her boyfriend and how they were going to survive.

“It’s Freddie, he’ll figure out someway to make it work,”

“What will I make work darling?” Freddie questioned as he sat up. The girls glanced at each other suspiciously before looking back at him.

“It’s nothing dearest. Just girl things,” she said sweetly, patting his cheek before she began to lay out a picnic blanket.

“Sex, they were talking about sex. Mary was definitely telling Mils what a great shag Fred is,” Roger stated matter of factly from where he was seated beside John.

Mary’s face burned bright pink as her eyes widened. She tried to ignore his crude joke and began setting out the sandwiches she had made. John snickered and Brian rolled his eyes as Freddie smirked.

“How would you know about Freddie’s shagging skills unless you had experienced them Rog?” Millie countered quickly, resting her chin in her hands.

“Maybe I have,”

Millie threw her head back in an over exaggerated laugh before staring him dead in the eyes. “Freddie has higher standards than you,”

Brian choked on the sip of beer he had taken and John smacked him on the back as his own smile crept on his face at Millie’s comeback.

“Alright darlings, can we stop talking about my magnificent shagging skills and eat the delicious sandwiches Mary made us,” Freddie interrupted, wrapping his arms around Mary’s waist and pulling her into his lap.

She giggled softly, kissing his cheek as he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, we can eat. If you two can stop being so bloody cute and making us all want to vomit,” Roger groaned, reaching for a sandwich. Millie grabbed two sandwiches and settled in beside Brian.

After finishing their lunches all six of them stretched across the grass staring into the blue sky, pointing out clouds. They were quite the motley crew. Mary and Freddie were intertwined in each others arms and Millie couldn’t help but feel jealous. She rested her head against Brian’s chest and his fingers carded through her curls gently, lulling her almost to sleep.

It was comforting to have someone be so gentle with her even if it was just a friend.

Roger kept glancing over at her and how her hand rested on Brian’s stomach, playing absentmindedly with the button of his silk shirt. A hot burning grew in the pit of his stomach every time Brian would make a stupid joke and she would burst into a fit of giggles.

“That one looks like a dick,” Roger chuckled pointing towards one cloud.

“You say every one looks like a dick,” Millie groaned, before whispering something to Brian. He snorted and whispered something back before glancing over at Roger.

“You’re right, he can be a bit -,” Brian mumbled the rest against Millie’s ear.

She giggled loudly and smacked his chest lightly. “Don’t say that,”

The fire in Roger’s chest grew hotter and hotter and it seemed to be creeping up his throat. His jaw clenched tightly as he sat up and glared at them, even as they continued staring into the cloudy sky obliviously.

“Could your laugh be any more annoying, Millie,” he growled.

She sat up quickly and stared at him with huge eyes. The pain in her face was obvious and everyone grew silent as she blinked slowly. She tore at the dry skin on her lips as she continued staring at him with those doe eyes. Before she could say anything, he jumped up and stormed away.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Brian asked softly, his hand rubbing against her back softly.

“No, it’s fine. Just leave him be,”

She settled back on Brian’s chest and his fingers tangled in her hair gently tugging and playing until she closed her eyes and sighed softly. They could hear Roger muttering to himself as he kicked at clods of dirt and bushes as he began to walk to the van.

“He’s going to leave without us,” John muttered as he began picking up trash and folding the picnic blanket.

“Damn him,” Freddie growled, pulling Mary closer, kissing along her neck. “Why must that bloody git ruin our lovely day?”

Millie sat up, blinking in the sun, her skin felt warm and a smile played blissfully on her face as she attempted to forget Rogers comment.

As they walked to the car, Brian’s arm looped lazily over Millie’s shoulders, his hand playing with the collar of her shirt. They all bid their goodbyes to Mary and piled back into the van. Roger sat in the driver seat, face sullen as one arm dangled out the open window, a cigarette balanced between two fingers.

Millie tried to ignore the pouty blond and continued laughing and teasing Brian and John as Freddie climbed in the passenger seat.

“Doesn’t all this hair get hot?” she questioned, flicking gently at Brians curls.

He batted her hands away, rolling his eyes. “I have no more hair than you do, just because mine looks better is no reason to be spiteful,”

“Since when is looking like an ungroomed poodle a good look?” she raised her eyebrows, shrugging with a slight smirk.

Brian wrinkled his nose and poked at her side, forcing her to squirm into John on the other side. He snickered at their antics.

“Well you look like a-“

“Goddess?” she supplied quickly.

“I was going to say-“ “I’m sure whatever you were going to say wasn’t too important,” she interrupted again, raising her eyebrows and smiling at him innocently.

“She’s probably right,” john jumped in.

Their giggles and jibes faded in Rogers head as he glared at the road ahead of him, clenching the wheel tightly in one fist. Her tear filled eyes were plastered in his brain and he couldn’t seem to get them out no matter what he did. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to produce those tears, he was supposed to wipe them away.

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[zxanthe]

Maka and Soul are best friends and have been since they were infants, but they both have huge crushes on each other and have for a while. Neither one of them knows, but senior prom is coming around and both are looking for dates. More like each other

another late prompt! kinda flubbed it on the “best friends” bit and turned it into more of a “best hatefriends” type of thing - in any case, this is a bit experimental - hope yall enjoy lmao

(also available on ao3)

–

“Broooo,” Starleers, and his teeth glitter too brightly under the lights, “you got a date tothe prom yet?”

Jealousy, irrational and sudden, starts buzzing in ahigh-pitched whine by his ear before he squashes it flat with a snort. “Spend afuckload of money to get trapped in some hotel ballroom with a bunch of peopleI hate for three hours? C’mon, dude, there are way better ways to spend yourtime.”

“Okay, but, consider: Tsubaki Nakatsukasa.” He shoots a grinand a wink over Soul’s shoulder. The girl in question smiles and waves backsheepishly. She’s standing a ways down the hall with Liz Thompson and – oh God.Soul’s heart skips a beat. He swivels his head back frontways, cool as can be.

“She actually said yes?”

“Of course! It’s not like I thought she wouldn’t or anything,I mean have you seen these guns?”

Throbbing, gently glistening muscles are thrust under hisnose. “Should make you a sandwich with all that jelly you got there,” Star sayswith a smirk.

Soul makes a show of rolling his eyes and shoves him away.“Bro, c’mon.”

“No bro, you c’mon.It’s our senior year. Think of all the people we can make fun of!”

“Like we don’t do that every day.”

“But they’ll be thinking they’re even hotter shit thanthey’re usually not so it’ll be twice as funny.”

“Still no.”

“Brah. Whatever, let’s hit the gym. Not much time left tofit in those gains, ya dig?”

“Unbelievable,” Soul grumbles. He grabs his bag and slamshis locker shut.

Across the hall, Maka grabs her bag and slams her lockershut. “Who, Evans?”

“Yeah!” says Liz, smacking her gum. “Tsu’s already goingwith Blockhead over there, might as well go along for moral support. ‘Sides,didn’t you two used to be like BFFs up till like middle school?”

She very determinedly doesn’t look back. She can feel herears heating up. “Okay, one, that was a long time ago and we don’t really talkanymore because he turned into a jerk, and two, Tsu, really?!”

“Black Star has such nice deltoids, Maka,” Tsubaki saysmournfully. “They’re sculpted. Andhe’s actually not all that bad, once you get to know him.”

“You’re too nice for your own good.”

“Maybe so. But you know, he’s kind of charming, in his ownspecial way.”

“Oh my God.”

Liz cackles. “Look, I’d ask Evans myself cause mmm, grungerocker boy with a sexy-ass glare? I’d be all over that, baby, but Kid alreadyasked me, so my hands are kinda tied.”

Maka huffs. Her ears must be totally red by now, ugh, shereally hopes Liz isn’t in an observant mood. It’s not like she expressly needsa date to go to the prom; going stag is very much a thing. Having one wouldn’tnecessarily make the undoubtedly agonizing experience any better, much lessSoul Evans of all people. She imagines, though, for a brief, blinding instant,what he’d look like in a suit – oh no, Liz is looking at her and she doesn’t likethe glint in her eye. Maka clears her throat and fumbles at the threads ofconversation. “That rich boy transfer student? No way.”

“Yes way,” Liz says, smugness creeping into her voice, “andif – “

“ – you don’t go I will be fuckin’ hurt.”

Soul rolls his eyes. “Would you quit it already, it’s beenlike a week now. Th’ fuck you even need me there for anyway, dumbass, you’vefinally got a date with the chick you’ve been talking about nonstop for likethis entire semester.”

“Uh, yeah, and I need my most loyal follower and favoritewingman there to bask in the combined force of our blinding hotness.”

“Jesus, you’re so weird,why do I even talk to you?”

“The words I speaketh are ambrosia on thine ears, my goodbro. Hey, why don’t you ask out Tsubaki’s friend? That short flat-chested onewith the pigtails, I forgot her name. That way you don’t have to worry aboutthird-wheeling us.”

Soul chokes on his protein shake. Black Star pounds himvigorously on the back. “Breathe, brother. I know, I know. But take one for theteam, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Soul gasps. “You’re the worst.”

“Shh. No tears, only dreams now.”

“Maka Albarn,” Soul begins, “is the nerdiest, most uptight –“

“ – idiotic slacker in the entire school!” Her ears aresteaming, she’s sure of it. “I can’t be seenwith a guy like that, the act alone will drop my GPA by a full lettergrade!”

“GPA-shmeePA,” Liz says with a dismissive wave of herfreshly-painted nails. “Listen, you won’t flunk out of college or whatever justbecause you go party for one night. Besides, what if things go south withBlockhead and Tsu needs backup? Who’ll look after our girl?”

“I know taekwondo, you know,” Tsu says from on top of herbed.

“Not the point. C’mon, Maka!”

“A triangle has three sides,” Tsu says. “Senior prom wouldn’tbe right without you. You don’t even have to ask anyone if you don’t want to.”

I do, though, mumblesa little voice in the back of her head, and an image of Soul surfaces in herbrain. She bites her lip. “Well…”

“Uh,” says Soul.

In front of him, Maka puts a hand on her hip. “Uhhh,” she mimics. “Are you just goingto stare at me like an idiot all day or was there something you had to say?”

His stomach’s doing backflips and it’s making it very hardto concentrate. The bell just rang, they’re huddled awkwardly against the walljust outside the classroom to avoid getting swept up in the crowd, and herealizes, belatedly, that he doesn’t have to do this. He could just go byhimself, and be the awkward third wheel, but. Ugh. This is stupid – why’s he sonervous? (He knows exactly why.) He plays it off as lofty annoyance. “Do you,”he begins.

“Do I.”

“Do you. Wanna go to prom?”

Maka gapes. She was thinking he’d be asking to copy hercalculus homework for the billionth time, or maybe help on a biology problem –they have entirely too many classes together and it’s bullshit, it really is –but not this. She’d been agonizing ona dignified way to ask him for the past three days, and then this just dropsinto her lap –

“Hello in there,” Soul says. “Wow, am I really thatoffensive? I’m hurt.”

Her heart’s beating too fast, ugh, God, she can’t think – wait,he asked her, does this mean – could it be that –

“Yes,” she blurts.

Disappointment skewers his stomach mid-somersault. “Well,that settles that, I guess.”

Mortification consumes her as she realizes what she justsaid. “No!” she cries, too passionately. Soul turns around and quirks aneyebrow. Her ears are flaming. “Imean, yes! I mean, you’re – palatable! I’ll go to prom with you!”

“Oh. Oh. Hella.Rad. Guess I’ll uh. See you then. You have my number already, right?”

“Y-yeah!”

Fuck me, Soulthinks as he escapes, hoping she didn’t catch him blushing like a motherfucker,hella rad –

- you’re palatable – Maka wants to die –

REALLY?!

“Really?” Maka asks.

They made it intact to the dance floor. Some sappy countrysong is playing. The floor is packed with sweaty, inept teenage dancers; itreeks accordingly. He’s wearing a rental and she’s got on this knee-lengthpurple number that really highlights her lack of any womanly curves whatsoever.Her hair’s half-down half bizarre corkscrew pigtails. Liz and Tsubaki must havedone her makeup, there’s no way she could get it to look that polished on herown. She looks gawky. She looks ridiculous. There’s something funny happeningin his chest at the sight of her.

She feels the light, hesitant pressure of his hand in hersand on her hip like nothing she’s ever felt. His palm’s a little clammy. He’sso tall. When did he get so tall? Her heart’s beating a million miles an hour.She wants – she wants – she takes a deep breath. “Do you even know how todance?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh, figures.”

“Hey, you were theone who wanted to get out here, not me. Don’t you dare complain.”

She steps on his toe and feels gratified at the little yelpof pain he gives. “Ugh, you’re so…it’s a freaking dance, dummy, not a sit-at-the-table-like-a-weirdo!” Her heartleaps into her throat as a terrible thought occurs to her. “If you didn’t wannacome,” she says, a shade quieter, “why’d you even ask me?”

Soul swallows. “I, uh. Star, he.”

Oh no. Oh no, she’s a world-class idiot. “Don’t,” she says thickly,beginning to pull away. “Ha ha, very funny, ask the ugly one out for shits and giggles – “

“No!” Soul’s grip tightens. “It wasn’t – I wouldn’t – do youactually think I’d – “

“Yes!” she says,trying to escape in earnest now, and Soul flinches, stung. He doesn’t let go,though.

“Listen to me, itwasn’t a dare, okay, I – “

“Then why!”

“Because – it’s uncool to go to prom without a date and – “

“Oh, so it’s about your image, is it! God, men, you’re all so – “

“Let me finish!” hegrowls, and tries to pull her back to him, but he pulls too hard and of courseshe fucking trips and suddenly it is taking all of Soul’s considerablebalancing skills, honed from years spent studying the ways of the skateboard,to keep them from eating shit like a couple of goddamn morons. They performseveral very silly and energetic twirls instead, earning them some dirty looksfrom neighboring couples.

“Holy shit,” says Black Star from their table, elbowingTsubaki. “This is going way better than we thought.”

“It’s beautiful,” she sighs, smiling a little.

“Jesus,” Soulsays. He’s dipped her. This final move was necessary to prevent them fromfalling, and also to make everything look totally awesome and intentional.Their faces are very close together. She’s got really, really pretty eyes, henotes, a little dazedly. “Because I wantedto,” he blurts out.

Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her mouth is suddenly verydry. “You…what?”

“I mean, like, Star was like, ask Maka, because she’s Tsu’sfriend and all and it would just make sense and I wouldn’t go otherwise but I actuallywanted to, also, I mean, ask you.”

“Oh,” she says. She’s dizzy from all the spinning they justdid and kinda breathless. This close she can smell his cologne. The lights aretoo dim to properly tell but – her heart stops – is that a blush on his face? Oh. Oh.

Oh. She’s looking at him with something very much likedisgust, or shock, or something – fucking hell, he blew it, this is it, shereally does hate him now. He straights back up. The song is still fuckingplaying. He knew this was a bad idea, the entire night, all of it – this danceis just the rotten cherry on the shit sundae of the entire liquid fart of hisentire high school career. He swallows hard, and wonders how much more she’dhate him if he bolted right here and now –

Her brain has short-circuited, as it tends to do around thisstupid, stupid boy. “Are you even going to college?” she blurts nonsensically.

He looks visibly startled. “What? No. No. Fuck the police,”he mumbles.

One beat. Two. Then she busts out laughing. Okay, now he’sdefinitely blushing, she can see it, it’s confirmed. Silly, silly coolguys.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles. “I hate you.”

She’s feeling very brave, or maybe very stupid. Maybethey’re the same thing. She tightens her grip on his shoulder and steps incloser. “Do you?” she asks him. “Well I hate you more. I’ve always hated you.”

“Oh, sick. Even when we were kids?”

“Especially then.”

His eyes get a strange, blazing look. It makes butterfliesexplode in the pit of her stomach. He jerks her through a turn round thecorner. “Well I’ve hated you since I first saw your stupid face,” he growls.“Every time you smile I get so fuckin’ pissed, I wanna just, just kiss it right off you.”

“Holy shit,” Maka blurts, and now her whole face is probablythe color of a fire engine, “son of a,” and she goes for it, loops her armsround his neck and presses close like she’s wanted to all night.

“You’re awful,” Soul rumbles, and hugs her tighter, “fuckingterrible – “

“Uncouth, moronic – “

“Why don’t we cut the crap,” he says suddenly, “and blowthis joint. Let’s go to The Creek and stargaze, like we used to.”

“The Creek?”

“Oh yeah. Our one. Bet our fort’s still there andeverything.”

“Bet.”

“You’re on. Loser’s gotta pay up with – ” and she feels hisbreathing hitch “ –  a kiss.”

She pulls away and looks at him. There are spots of color inhis cheeks, and when he meets her eyes they deepen and he looks away. Ice cold,yeah right. She takes a deep breath. They have a lot of catching up to do.

“Deal,” she says, and smiles.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

The Witches of Los Angeles, Chapter 1: I am apparently not wasting any time starting in on the next installment of this saga!

[ao3] [Seelie of Kurain masterlist]

“But what if, even after all of this, I make it to the end, and nobody will hire me? That nobody’s willing to work with a teenage attorney and I just – can’t do anything because I don’t have anywhere to go?”

“That’s a lot of ‘ifs’ there, kiddo. But if – if – you get your badge, do your searching, can’t find a single office in the LA area willing to take on a prodigy – then there’s always my office. It’s sure as hell not a law office right now, but it’d give you a space to work out of.”

-

It’s a bad time for the phone to ring. Even if Edgeworth was still in Europe, he’s always been good at working around the time difference (and he knew that at the odd hours of the night, even if Phoenix was awake, he’d be in the basement of the club with no reception) and never just called at a time that would make Phoenix panic. And it can’t be Maya or Pearls, with no sense of time, because he worked with Iris (the only one of them who understood human needs for sleep) to put an enchantment on his phone that stopped them from calling him about things that weren’t life-threatening at 2 am.

In the time it takes him to fumble for his phone, he has gone through the options: Trucy snuck out and got arrested for underage drinking or trespassing or arson or whatever teen girls do to have fun in the small hours of the morning. Edgeworth got murdered staying too late at his office. Apollo got into some sort of trouble, though Phoenix’s imagination has never been able to figure out what Apollo would be doing out and in trouble at this hour (though if he really considers possibilities, Klavier is probably also involved). Or Thalassa had something happen to her, or she found out what lost, forbidden knowledge he and Maya have been chasing for the sake of her soul and with no regard for time wants to yell at him.

Bleary-eyed, he doesn’t check the caller ID and simply answers. “Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Mr Wright! Mr Wright! I passed! I passed!”

Or, the option he hadn’t considered. “Time zones, please,” he groans, resting his face back against his pillow. “It’s two am and – wait.” He sits back up, blinking at the dark room like written somewhere in it will be something to help him replay the words she just said. “You passed?”

“The Bar results came today! I passed! Athena Cykes, barred and badged attorney at the ready! I’ve got a flight booked tomorrow and stuff packing now! Vámonos!”

Oh, god. Athena never lets him forget that she lives her entire life in a frantic rush. “Slow down, kiddo,” he says, knowing that she absolutely will not but feeling obligated to try to make her do so anyway. “Do you have somewhere you’re working? A place to live?”

“No to the second, yes to the first.”

“Well, that’s probably something you should do before you come back. I can give you a hand, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a place.” There are always cheap available apartments in a city built this close to faery hills – or mountains, as it is. The unpredictable, not-typical-SoCal weather would probably be enough to send people running, but Phoenix also has a theory that the city itself has enough of a life force that it decides what people it doesn’t want and gives them little mental nudges to make them leave. (To the people it does want, it gives cheap rent and depression.)

“So where are you working?” he adds. He doesn’t know every defense attorney in the city, but he knows of most of them. (Athena’s a sharp, emotionally intelligent kid. He doesn’t need to vet her entire career for her. She’d figure out quick enough if she was working for someone nasty.)

“Uh, have you forgotten, and isn’t it obvious – Boss?”

Phoenix manages not to swear out loud, which he thinks is rather impressive of him, all things considered. His mind racing, he tries to remember if he ever directly offered Athena a job or simply positioned himself as the backup-backup plan, the last resort, because he isn’t a boss or a mentor and all he knows how to be is the shelter that collects stray kids fucked up and fucked over by fae magic where he can’t do much worse to them than has already been done. And Athena isn’t one of them.

(Isn’t she?)

No, Athena shouldn’t be here.

And then what he says is, “Ah. Right,” as his mouth once again keeps going ahead of his brain. “You know,” he adds, knowing that it’s probably too late but needing to try, “you don’t have to just charge in like this. You can look for other places instead of just coming with me because I was the first option. You’ve got time. It’s not like there’s some kind of door that’s about to slam in your face.”

Midlife crisis before she’s out of her teens, that’s the impression that she gives him. Like she thinks her entire life will be useless if she doesn’t have a badge and a certain number of cases under her belt before she turns nineteen. Like there’s an end line she’s afraid of tripping over that no one else can see, but because she’s a damn kid Phoenix is terrified she’s going to get chewed up like Franziska and Klavier and Sebastian all were, ripped apart and rearranged by the heartless, manipulative people who stood behind them.

(And Athena doesn’t have one of those, not now, not yet, but Phoenix doesn’t have any reservations about what he is, what even more he could be.)

“I can do stuff now, so I’m gonna do it! Also the plane ticket can only be canceled 24 hours in advance, and the flight is closer than that, so I really can’t stop now.”

Knowing that she can’t see him, Phoenix still shakes his head. “And where are you planning on staying until you find housing?” he asks.

He might be able to guess the answer to this one, too. And that is its own can of worms for him to lie in, but if she’s working at the Agency, then – well, he can keep an eye on her but still distance himself, and she’ll have Apollo to show her the ropes. She could learn a lot from him, and he from her. It might – scratch that, it would definitely – be good for Apollo to have another lawyer to work with. And he knows that Apollo, unlike most others, shouldn’t be too freaked out by Athena’s powers. No one’s normal at the WAA. Maybe it is the best place for Athena, in spite of himself.

(No, he’s going to need to repeat that to himself a few hundred more times before he believes it.)

“So Trucy kinda said that maybe I could crash on your couch? Or her bedroom floor. Or the fire escape! I mean, all I really need is a shower and a flat surface, and I guess I’m gonna get a gym membership and they’ll have showers, so I could sleep at the office too!”

“I am not going to make you sleep at the office,” Phoenix says. Mia wouldn’t allow him to do that. “I’m not sure where you would hang your clothes, anyway.”

“Is that – is that you being cool with Trucy’s floor?”

Is it? He’s lost on everything else so far he’s tried to bargain with Athena on. “Living room couch. She’s got school, and you’ve got a law career, and I know you’ll be talking to the middle of the night like it’s a sleepover if you stay in the same room.”

“Thank you! Thanks so much!”

“And you’re gonna be looking for apartments from the start, but I think that goes without saying.”

“Definitely. I wasn’t planning on couchsurfing forever. I mean, mostly because you’re the only option I have.”

“What, you haven’t asked Edgeworth?” He at least would have a spare bedroom, though Athena would probably eat him out of the house in a day.

“Wait, I could? Unless there’s like – there’s not any rules against a defense attorney bunking with a prosecutor, right?”

If there are rules like that, then Phoenix and Edgeworth have already broken most of them. There are very few actual rules, and Phoenix has broken most of those too. “No, though you’d be bunking with the Chief Prosecutor now, you know.”

“Oh man, really? I keep thinking about how I’ve come so far since I met you two, but I guess you’ve both come a long ways too!”

“The two of you have.” And Phoenix stuck as always, as ever. He’s what he’s made of himself and nothing more.

“Don’t say that, Mr Wright! I’ve been reading about what you’ve been doing. And you could take the Bar again, I’m sure! You definitely should. I passed! You would too! You did before!”

Phoenix snorts. “Thanks, but I’m not so sure. I’m a little less lucky than I was when I first passed.” Does he owe Iris and her blessing for passing the Bar on the first try? Probably, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that much.

“Still. I think you should. Then we’d have three lawyers, me and what did Trucy say his name was, Apollo! And you. We’d be an unbeatable team!”

It would be nice to have her optimism. He has no way of responding that she won’t hear his doubt, so he goes for the redirect. “You should let Edgeworth know you got your badge, even if you don’t ask him if you can crash at his place. He’d like to know how you’ve been doing, and I’m not sure if you’d see him in person any time soon. Chief Prosecutor stuff is keeping him really busy.” Worryingly busy, in fact. There’s a lot of corruption to clean up, Phoenix knows, but more and more he wonders if there’s something else, something on top of the base level of corruption that’s eating up all of Edgeworth’s time.

“I’ll email him. And then I’ll see you soon! This week! Two days! One plane ride away, Boss! And then it’s gonna be awesome, I just know it!”

After she hangs up, he stares at the dark floor, at the thin lines of the city lights seeping in around the window shades, for a long time. It would be nice, unfathomably so, if she was right. If the the constant expectation gnawing at the back of Phoenix’s skull was wrong. Let her be right, and for once, let everything – or even just something – turn out all right.

-

Edgeworth calls in the morning, causing Phoenix to realize something: he both worries when he doesn’t hear from Edgeworth, and when he does. He didn’t sleep well after Athena’s call, worrying about that too, and her, and this realization that he feels responsible for her like a father and that’s the last goddamn thing he wanted. “What’s up?” he asks through a yawn, and there is silence on the other end of the line, Edgeworth clearly reassessing whether Phoenix is the best person for whatever the problem is. Or maybe he still thinks Phoenix is the right person, but Saturday morning not the right time to have a serious conversation.

Then he sighs and says, “Wright, I have a… a favor to ask. A special request.”

“Ominous. So how can I help?” It’s not the way he would respond to anyone else; it’s a rule he’s had since he met Mia and started tangling with the fae, to never agree to any request without knowing the terms. But it’s Edgeworth. Phoenix sets different rules for him.

“I want you to clear one of my subordinates of suspicion.”

“Edgeworth, that’s like, the one thing I can’t do for you. I’m not a lawyer, remember? Haven’t been for longer than I ever was.”

“And you aren’t at all eager to return?”

“Eh.” Is he? What does he want to do? He doesn’t know anymore, hasn’t had time to ever figure it out. Who is he when he’s not trying to keep Kristoph from doing more harm, when not flailing to keep himself and Trucy afloat and alive?

(He’s the person that Edgeworth asks for help on investigations, an invitation extended again and again even when Phoenix thought for sure he would give up in the face of “not now”s and “someday”s, that he wouldn’t wait like he did for the now and the someday. And he’d liked those investigations, more than getting to show Trucy more of the world, more than spending time with Edgeworth. And for everything else there was, he had enjoyed jumping behind the defense’s bench with Apollo, for more reason than finally getting to tear Kristoph down.)

(Maybe he does know, and maybe what he knows is that he misses being an attorney.)

“With everything cleared up, you would be able to, and I can’t imagine you just continuing to delegate everything to others.”

Does Edgeworth know him too well? Maybe, but as long as he doesn’t point out that the reason he can’t imagine Phoenix leaving things to other people is because Phoenix is paranoid, suspicious, and laden with trust issues, Phoenix can live with it. “Athena called last night and was saying I should retake the Bar, too.”

“I received an email from her, as well. I’m inclined to agree with her in regards to you.”

“I’ll think about it. But who exactly is it that you’d be asking me to – defend?” There hasn’t been any news this week of prosecutors arrested for crimes. If something happened recently, it’s been on tight lockdown. And if it wasn’t recently, then what?

“You’ll recall the Blackquill case?”

“Oh,” Phoenix says.

That was a case on tight lockdown, details unknown to Phoenix, but whatever happened was damning for Prosecutor Blackquill, who pled guilty and was convicted in barely a few hours. And even if more information had been released, Phoenix probably wouldn’t have looked that far into it; even a year and a half after his disbarment, he was still struggling to keep from drowning, too preoccupied with himself and Trucy and Kristoph and no room to consider yet another murdering prosecutor. (How many of those have there been?)

“Yes. He will…” Edgeworth sighs. “He will be standing in court again, very soon. I want you to keep an eye on him.”

If it was anyone but Edgeworth speaking, Phoenix would assume that he was asking Phoenix whether Blackquill was human or fae, to look with the Sight and get answers. But it’s Edgeworth, and he probably doesn’t mean that. “So if he’s standing in court, do you mean his conviction was overturned – but if you’re asking me to clear him, then that means he hasn’t been…?”

“He will be standing in court, prosecuting, as a convict.”

Phoenix closes his eyes and considers flinging himself face-first into the couch. He heads for the kitchen instead. “Well,” he says. “That’s still not the worst or weirdest thing a chief prosecutor has done.”

Silence. He probably shouldn’t have said that. He definitely shouldn’t have said that. “I thought I was getting good at the piano thing,” Phoenix adds, and Edgeworth snorts, “but I mean, I guess this is a job I could do. Is there anything more you can tell me about Blackquill? Like if Apollo and Athena were to end up facing him in court.”

“Or if you were, should you get your badge back.” The silence stands for a few more seconds, Phoenix not wanting to agree to that, not wanting to get Edgeworth’s hopes up until he himself is sure, and Edgeworth adds, “He isn’t… pleasant, exactly.”

“That could mean a lot of things. Some people might say that about you, y’know.”

“Hmph. I’m sure some people might also say that about you. But I might compare him to Franziska: tolerates very little nonsense, does not suffer fools lightly, and has a very broad definition of what counts for foolishness. He’s studied psychology as a tactic for the courtroom and when he isn’t threatening, he’s manipulative. And if you were to defend him, he still insists quite stringently that he is in fact a murderer, though I know you have had clients of that sort before.”

And you were one of them, Phoenix thinks. “So, tough client, and tough prosecutor.” Sounds like someone else Phoenix knows. “Apollo could use some experience going up against a hostile prosecutor.” The most hostility he’s had to deal with has been witnesses – not to discount the ordeals that Crescend and Gavin made of those trials – but Klavier is far too fond of him. (Which Phoenix can’t complain about because that’s worked out for his purposes and also for the Jurist System trial case.) “And psychology, huh. You’ve got him, and I’ll have Athena.”

Edgeworth hums a noncommittal acknowledgement.

“You don’t paint a flattering picture of the guy you want defended, though.”

“You deserve to know as much as I can tell you. I didn’t know him well when he first joined the office, but it’s my understanding that six and a half years in jail has sharpened anything that was ever tempered about him.”

That sounds achingly familiar, but not because of any of the prosecutors that Phoenix knows. Seven years is a long time to ferment and grow painfully bitter. “I suppose that makes sense,” he says. “I’ll keep that all under advisement. Anything else?”

“There is…” Edgeworth sighs and clicks his tongue. “There are a number of absurd rumors I’ve collected about him from other inmates and guards. It’s nothing I would pay heed to, but…” He sighs again.

“But?”

“They call him a witch.”

“Edgeworth, one of these days you’re going to have to accept the truth staring you in the face that these things are way more likely than you think.”

“Actually, I believe they are much less likely than you think, and your life is not accurate to the demographics of this city.”

“You met Kay, Lang, that shapeshifter lady, Sebastian, his bastard of a father, Judge Courtney, and whatever else was happening there, all within one month.”

The silence stretches for so long that Phoenix has to check to make sure Edgeworth hasn’t hung up on him. He goes to the pantry and finds that Trucy ate the last of the cereal. “Fine,” Edgeworth says at last. “People with magic have a tendency to move in packs. I will give you that. But Blackquill is… very much a loner, and I’ve spoken with him a number of times and seen nothing to suggest that he isn’t normal.”

“I guess I’ll have to meet him and see for myself.” It’s funny, really; Edgeworth’s disdain for cries of magic at anyone or anything that breaks a narrow mold nearly stopped him from mentioning the thing that has the best guarantee at bringing Phoenix in on this venture.

“I’m hoping to find a case for him in the next few days. I’ll let you know once I do. And the next exams are being administered in May, so you should get to studying for that.”

“Did I say that I was retaking it?”

“You’re already signed up and paid for, so I would really prefer you don’t let that go to waste.”

Phoenix nearly drops the phone. “Edgeworth. Edgeworth, tell me you’re joking—”

“I would never.”

“Didn’t you need my signature? Are we really starting my new career with more falsified—”

“Speaking of, I’ve meant to let you know that your daughter is worryingly good at forging your signature, and you should probably have a talk with her about that sort of thing.”

“You used my daughter for crimes—!”

“I also considered buying Miss Maya dinner for it, though I didn’t know which of those options you would have preferred less.”

Oh. Oh, Edgeworth is serious about it, about Phoenix getting his badge back, if he had considered making a deal with Maya over it. “You could’ve at least warned me and given me more than I don’t know, two weeks, to study!”

“And would you have used that extra time effectively?”

Phoenix drops his head against the refrigerator. He doesn’t know why he thought he would win against Edgeworth. He’s not even sure why he bothered to fight. “Okay, first of all, fuck you, and secondly – fuck you!”

Edgeworth chuckles. “Prosecutor Blackquill and I will see you in court, Wright.”

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 18 (new edit)

This is not a new chapter, instead a highly edited version of what came before, taking into consideration the notes given to me by a certain someone (you know who you are, thank you!) I did a crappy job initially because my head wasn’t in the game. Fast forward to now, after an absurdly busy spring work-wise, and I’m back to taking a crack at it all. I had to push this out to move forward, but the first draft of the next chapter is written and in edit mode so that’s proof the wheels are turning. And I am confident where this is now heading - so many twists and turns, so many little details to add, it’s never-ending. Quick recap: Helena revealed that she’s been working with Bonnie to keep Mrs. Frederic from framing Myka. A police interrogation ensued and Myka has no idea where it’s all heading. Typos are all mine, I’m sorry my mistakes are beyond what robots can correct. When that day comes we should all probably run for the hills. (see reply for link to previous chapters.)

/////////////////////

"Hey Claud, I'm coming up." Myka pushes through the front doors but pauses in the lobby. “If you're there, text me or something, ok?” She smiles at the front desk guy as she ends the call.

“Hey Doug, you seen Claudia today?"

"Uh-uh. Just started my shift. Want me to ask Tony?" He picks up his walkie-talkie.

“That’s ok." Myka hurries past him as the elevator doors open. Two people step out as she steps in. She taps Claudia's floor and checks her phone, no reply, but she's not surprised. Every message she's left this week has gone unanswered.

Claudia should be home as it's late for a school night, but, no wait, it's already Friday. Maybe they're eating out or watching a movie really loudly. Or maybe Claudia's so miffed she won't pick up the phone.

Claudia's antics at the police station are still a conundrum to her, they could have been for show or totally sincere. After the harrowing group interview, she didn't see Claudia or Helena again, so she has no idea how clued in Claudia is. She'd feel more confident moving forward if she had talked to at least one of them. This holding pattern she’s in is making her paranoid.

The doorbell rings and rings, so she waits a beat, then knocks twice and inserts her key card. When she opens the door, Dewy whooshes out immediately.

"You don't want to go down there," she calls, dropping her bag and following him down the hall. She scoops him up near the stairs and walks back, holding on tightly as he squirms. She wedges her foot in the door and swings it open then crouches down to pick up her bag. Dewy wriggles free, but she blocks his second escape with her bag.

"Claudia? Christina?" she calls from the entryway. No reply, so she checks the bedrooms and terrace.

"Where's your moms?" she says to Dewy as he rubs up against her leg. He's purring so loudly she can hear him clearly from the floor. This level of affection must mean he wants something. She glances his bowl, it's completely empty.

"Let's get you some dinner, mister," she says and walks into the kitchen. Its surfaces are oddly clean, but the cat food cabinet is its usual mess. She sets the food on the counter then grabs Dewy's bowl. It could use a good cleaning before filling.

The sink is unusually devoid of dishes as they often linger for days. She checks the fridge, also sparse, but maybe Claudia hasn't gone shopping yet. An empty fridge is not as uncommon as a clean sink.

Dewy mews plaintively and Myka snaps back to her task. She opens the food bag and he hops up on the counter. "Dewy, chill!" she says and swipes him to the floor. He's way more anxious than she remembers.

As he eats, she strokes his head and rubs behind his ears, his purrs vibrating vigorously up her fingers. Such good cat, she thinks, so good-natured, and mostly well behaved. We're lucky to have him, even if he is a little dumb.

She looks towards her corner, then traipses through the living room, into her space. There's far too much stuff to take in one go so she'll have to divide it in two. She starts plucking out what she needs and laying it on the bed.

A picture of Helena hangs on the wall with one loose corner flopping forward. She drags a finger over Helena's likeness then peels it off. She studies the curve of Helena's lips as she sits on the bed.

"Would it be bad for you if I see them? I want to know they're ok. But I don't want mess this up for any of us." Second guessing her movements has already been difficult. Subterfuge isn't her strong point.

Dewy bounds into the room and jumps on the bed. He sits on his hindquarters and mews insistently.

"What's up?" Myka asks as he smushes his head against her, then drags his body in long strokes along her side. She rubs his head again, then swings her legs up and reclines fully, lying down. Dewy obviously wants the company, so she really should stay, if only for a few minutes longer than needed.

"You're lucky, Dewy. You can't fall in love. At least not the way humans do." She holds the photo of Helena at arm's-length and smiles. What a lovely day that was, laughing and lounging at the beach, with Helena beaming with positive energy. It’d be nice to get back to that happy place someday.

Dewy headbutts her cheek then flops on his side. She lays the photo on her chest and turns to look at him.

"She did this all for me, you know, but you don't know that means. I should be thankful, but…" She reaches over and scratches Dewy's belly. "I can't stop thinking about Bonnie."

Dewy claws at her wrist, lightly, as a warning. Myka yanks her hand away.

"Exactly! I don't know if I can trust her. But she's helping me, I guess. She's supposed to be an ally." She looks at the photo again, remembering the undercurrent: they were only pretending everything was ok. But if Helena knew that Mrs. Frederic planned to frame her then, was she already in cahoots with Bonnie? And was Bonnie's price a roll in the hay or is that the jealous girlfriend talking?

Dewy stands and turns, then lowers himself down, smooshing his back into Myka's middle. She scratches under his chin and turns on her side, pulling her knees up and hunching over to spoon him.

"She wouldn't do that to us, would she?" Dewy's purrs soar as she rubs behind his ears again. What lengths would Helena have gone to spare her? She skims a hand over Helena's pillow, smoothing a non-existent head print. She closes her eyes and summons Helena's form.

Helena often laid awake as the clock ticked toward her deportation. On those days, Myka would nudge her on her onto her side and spoon her from behind. She'd bury her nose into the bend of her neck, letting her warm breath graze over Helena's skin. When Helena would let out a whimper, she'd press kisses into her shoulder until Helena rolled over and kissed her back. And then quickly, but quietly, their bodies would meet, instinctively quelling each others lingering anxieties.

In comparison to now, those times seem simple; if only being deported was the worst of their fears. It's not fair their last night together was fraught resentment. She'd wasted precious time and energy being angry in Poland.

Dewy rises and blinks as she shifts to lie flat. He then settles into her armpit after a few turns. He lets out a huge yawn as Myka slips an arm around him. She yawns reflexively, then scratches his head.

"I wish I could stay and nap with you," she says as Dewy lays his head on his paws. "But I don't want to scare your moms when they get home. And, well, I probably shouldn't be here anyway." Myka turns to leave, but Dewy lays a paw on her arm. She slips it free. "Sorry, little dude. Say hi to them for me."

"I hope you're ok," she says to Helena's likeness as she plucks it off of the bed. She tucks it neatly into a bag and continues packing.

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

Myka's phone rings as she waits on the sidewalk for her Uber.

"Steve, hey!" She'd called earlier to ask about Claudia.

"You're back!"

"Yeah."

"Claudia's back, too?"

"She should be."

"Great! Then we don't have to feed Dewy anymore?"

"You're still feeding him?" A car pulls up to the curb with an Uber logo in its window. "Hang on a sec." Myka waves and points toward the trunk. After it pops, she throws in several overfilled tote bags and a garment bag. She slams the trunk closed and climbs into the back seat.

"Ok, back," she says to Steve, but gets no reply. "Steve?" She pulls the door shut and checks her screen; no service. The driver drives away as she waves the phone left and right.

"No use, dead zone," the driver says.

"There're no dead zones in New York," Myka snips. She scrolls through her settings and taps buttons, but to no avail. She glances at the driver, her voice is familiar, but her fair hair bunched up under a baseball cap doesn't give many clues. "Hey, your not..." She consults her app, but the phone won't connect. "I thought my driver was a dude."

"Change of plan," the woman answers. At a red light, she turns toward Myka. "You and I need to talk."

There's a thunk as Myka's phone drops. "B-B-Bonnie?” Bonnie's tone is deeper than she remembers. Plus the American accent threw her off.

"Morgana Kurlansky, Interpol," Morgana says, extending a hand over the seat. "Though apparently, you know that already."

"I, um..." Myka takes her hand and shakes it, limply.

"You should know, this whole business has gotten way out of hand. We're doing our best, but there are many loose ends."

"Am I a loose end?”

Myka jumps as a horn blares. Morgana turns back to the wheel and drives away.

Myka looks out the window to orient herself, is theist way to her apartment She feels trapped, too close to Bonn— Morgana, who is driving her who knows where. She yanks on the door handle as if to escape but the door doesn't budge.

"Child locks," Morgana says, then the locking lever clicks open. "Be my guest, jump out on the bridge." She motions forward toward the ramp they’re about to enter. “But I am taking you home."

Myka grimaces. Morgana knows where she lives, but then again, she probably has this whole time. To avoid Morgana’s smug gaze, she looks out the window, watching Coop Village fly by. It occurs to her that’s where Giselle lives, and if had she bailed, although it would have been complicated, she could have possibly run to her for help.

"Is Helena in jail?” If she’s stuck in this car then Morgana better pony up information.

"No. She's being monitored, held for questioning."

"Have you seen her?"

"I can't. Not as Bonnie Belski. But Helena's not alone, her daughter and friend are with her at home. Both are under our protection."

"They're in danger?"

"Potentially. MacPherson's a threat, but Mrs. Frederic's our main concern. We're worried she'll use Christina to force Helena's hand."

"She wouldn't do that," Myka says, "that's just wrong." Christina shouldn't be a pawn in this, ever.

"There's no limit to what she might do." Morgana glances at Myka in the rearview mirror. The sincerity in her eyes takes Myka aback.

"You and Helena…did you, really? You said you had proof.” Myka slumps back in her seat.

"What do you think?"

"I…I don't know," Myka says, narrowing her eyes.

Morgana mirrors the action. "Everything Helena's done has been to keep you in the clear. Do you think really she'd go that far?"

"No.” Myka looks down at her hands.

"She loves you, Myka. Remember that. Use your doubt wisely."

"What does that mean?"

"Go with your gut."

Myka groans. More cryptic bullshit. Great.

Blocks whiz by as Myka stews in silence. Too many questions swirl in her head.

"We have eyes on you, but stay on your toes. Has anyone at work asked about your trip?"

Myka mulls over her idle conversations. "Just normal stuff, like my show and Thanksgiving."

"Even Vanessa?"

"I've barely seen her."

"Steering clear until there's a verdict, hm. None of this is public yet."

"I know, I've looked." Myka stares at the back of Morgana's head as if that will force Morgana to divulge all. "How long will this last?” she asks when Morgana doesn’t continue.

Morgana drives on until a red light then turns to meet Myka's eyes. "There's no timeline I can give you. But if things go further south—"

"They could get worse?"

“—there's a contingency plan."

Myka scoots forward. "What is it?"

Morgana glances at the light then drives on.

"What about Christina's school? And Kenpo? And drum lessons?"

“All will be handled."

"Steve and Liam? Claudia's neighbors?"

"Claudia will be in touch."

"And if Steve asks what happened? What do I say?"

"You already know."

"I have to tell everyone Helena cheated on me?"

“That's the protocol.”

“There’s no other way?”

“This is the plan. How everyone stays safe."

Acting like a scorned lover is going to be difficult, but if it keeps Helena and Christina safe, she’ll have to do her best. "Do you really work or Interpol?" Myka asks as the car pulls up to the curb.

Morgana nods.

"And the other stuff Claudia dug up on you, is it true?"

"Don't forget your phone," Morgana says peering at the floor over the back of her seat.

Myka grabs it up then looks up at Morgana. Morgana's expression offers no answers, and while Myka could push, she’s unsure she wants an answer.

"Remember what I've said. And be mindful about what you say," Morgana warns. "This is a critical time and we all need to play our parts. Everyone's looking for faults, especially Mrs. Frederic. Be extra careful if she contacts you."

The remark stings like a slap in the face. It's still foreign Mrs. Frederic wants to hurt her and the ones she loves. "They're ok, right? All of them?"

“They’re fine, as far as I know," Morgana says. Her lips lift into a small smile, the first glint of hope Myka's gleaned this whole trip. "I'll be in touch when I can."

"Thank you," Myka says. She exits the car takes a few steps toward her building.

"Forget something?" Morgana calls.

Myka looks down at her hands, she has no bags. She walks back, shaking her head, cursing under her breath. The trunk pops open but the mass of stuff inside no longer seems as pressing. She unloads everything onto the sidewalk and Morgana drives away.

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

There’s no new news as December crawls to a close, exacerbating the dull, constant worry lodged in Myka’s gut. Lying to friends has left her questioning her every move, especially with Abigail, who innately knows when she's bending the truth. She's dreading meeting up with her after the holidays, worried she'll break down and divulge everything.

While she’s home for the holidays, there's little mention of Helena, except for her sister, who begs for details. Unable to stomach the tale in full, she babbles about visas and compromise, until Tracy seems appeased.

On Christmas afternoon, she hides upstairs, sifting through boxes her mom said to "take back with her." Nothing strikes her worth keeping, though lukewarm memories abound, displacing thoughts of Helena's whereabouts momentarily.

She’s weighing a vacation-related trinket’s worth when her phone buzzes, startling her into the present. The number on her screen's oddly long but her gut tells her to answer anyway.

"Hello?"

"Happy Christmas! Did you know they say that instead of Merry Christmas?"

"Christina?" Myka's heart leaps.

"It's Nadolaig Llawen in Welsh. Mom's been teaching me."

"Nadolay…huh?" The last word sounded like a phlemy version of "lawn."

"But on TV, everyone says Happy Christmas, and the Queen gave a speech to address 'her royal subjects!' Mom said I'm one of them, but Aunt Claudia's not because she's American."

"There was a war, back in the day. A revolutionary one. So she's right." Myka sags against the wall. They're ok; they're all ok. This is the best present ever.

"We opened Christmas crackers and mine had a hat, a bracelet, and a joke. Wanna hear the joke?"

"Sure!"

"Who delivers presents to baby sharks at Christmas?"

"I don't know."

"Santa Jaws!" Christina laughs like she doesn't have a care in the world. "Oh, oh, and we made fruitcake! Mom said the store-bought ones were gross but the one we made was kinda gross, too."

"I've never had fruitcake."

"Don't, ever, yuck!"

A mumbly voice sounds in the background. Christina says "Ok."

"Mom wants to talk to you."

"I want to talk to her, too."

"I wish you were here."

"So do I, honey."

"Merrrrry Christmaaaaas!" Christina says, words fading as the phone is passed on.

"Hello, Myka."

Those two words, spoken in that rich, velvety voice, make Myka's knees wobble. She swallows back a sob, pulling herself together, at least enough to reply. "D-Does this mean that you're..."

"Unfortunately not. There's been little movement since we last spoke. All that fanfare for such little gain."

"How are you calling?

"Many strings were pulled. A tantrum may have occurred. One in front of several key officers and not by Christina."

"Oh my." Myka pictures a distraught Helena pleading with suits with Claudia concocting a covert communication scheme in the background.

"You're at your parents, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You shouldn't be alone."

"Where are you—"

"How are you coping?"

"I'm…" Should she tell her how lying's been eating away at her soul and waking up without them every day is torture? "I'm managing ok, I guess. But it sucks, not knowing where you are or how you are."

"I apologize."

"It's not your…this is my fault. You did this for me.” And the weight of that's still sinking in. "It's just hard being here without you."

"As it is for us."

Myka tears up; bottling up the truth's taking its toll on her resolve. "I, um…I got that residency, in LA. I'm going in February. Unless you think I shouldn't."

Helena sniffs once then clears her throat, she must be affected, too. "Go on. Focus on your work. Move us into the background if possible."

"What if you come back while I'm gone?"

"That's highly unlikely."

"But it's already been a month. How long will this take?"

"As long as it needs to, so we all may be safe."

"I get it, it's just..." Myka pushes a box of out of the way and sits on the bed. "I'm being encouraged, 'for appearances,' to move to LA."

"By whom?"

"By Morgana."

"You've spoken?"

"Briefly. Twice."

“Good. I asked her to watch over you."

"I guess she is. Do you think I should go?"

"If she thinks it's best, perhaps consider it. I know it's a lot to ask."

"I have to move anyway because Charlotte and Bennett are leaving for London. And Vanessa introduced me to a museum there that has a job opening."

"Clever move. If she hands you off, you're no longer her problem. I imagine she's keeping her distance, riddled with guilt."

"Maybe, yeah. I don't know. It's been weird at work in general." Everyone keeps giving her these sad, concerned looks, and she's worried they know more than they're letting on. "A fresh start might be good, but I've never been to LA. I might hate it."

"It's awfully showy."

"You really think I should go? I want to be in New York when you get back, not on the other side of the country."

"Claudia will be back eminently, but Christina and I…"

"'Christina and I' what?"

"Christina and I will be moving on after the holidays."

"Moving on? Where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"You're not safe now?"

"We need somewhere permanent."

"You'll call me when you get there, right?"

"There'll be strict rules once we're settled."

“Settled.” Myka’s stomach sinks. "You mean witness protection."

"Myka—"

"For how long?" Myka yelps. "God, I sound like a broken record."

"We'll miss you terribly if that helps."

“Not really.” Myka drops her head into a hand. "This is bad, Helena. Really bad. What if I never see you again!"

"I won't let that happen."

"How?"

"Let's get through these next few months first."

“Months. Months!" Myka's hand curls into a fist. She looks around for something to hit, but nothing satisfying presents itself. "Does Christina know what's going on?"

"In as much detail as a highly intelligent eight-year-old can."

"She's almost nine, Helena. Nine! I'll miss her birthday. I don't want to miss her birthday."

"Nor do we want you to. You'll be there in spirit, I promise."

"What if—"

"Hold on."

There's mumbling in the background again.

"Please, not yet," Helena says.

More mumbling.

"They're saying I must go. The line's unstable."

As if on cue, the line crackles.

"Helena?"

"I'm here, love."

"Merry Christmas."

"Happy Christma—"

"Helena. Helena!" There's a click, then dead air, but Myka stays on the line. "I love you," she whispers as if the phrase will reach Helena anyway.

"Who ya talking to, sis?" Tracy says from the door.

“Tracy. Hi!" Myka swings around. "How long have you been there?"

"Just ran up. Mom's having a coronary because you haven't come down yet."

"Has she been calling?"

"Like a zillion times."

"Oh."

Tracy eyes Myka's phone. "What was that about?"

"Um..." Myka looks at the phone and lays it face down on the bed. “Abigail’s family's driving her nuts."

"Join the club." Tracy rolls her eyes.

Myka chuckles once, but it borders on a sob, her belly caving too sharply for mirth.

Tracy walks into the room and sits next to Myka. "This is a big one, huh? Got your heart broken, didn't you?"

Myka hangs her head.

"You'll get over it. You always do. I bet there's tons of hot girls in New York." Tracy punches Myka lightly on the arm.

"I might be moving to LA."

“LA? Oooh, that’s new."

“Myka! Tracy! Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Ted are here!" Myka's mom calls.

“Coming!” Tracy yells. “I’ll help you make it through dinner in one piece if you tell me everything after."

Myka answers with a shaky half-smile. “Ok. Deal."

-TBC-

[calamitynight]

Yatori week 2018 - Remember Me {Day 6}

@yatori-week-2018

Words: 3660

Notes: It’s funny how I got this idea. My friend and I were having a conversation while we were discussing cosplays... She happened to have had a dream about this a long time ago. So I thought it would be perfect to write it into a story.....Time has passed since Hiyori had forgotten about Yato. He was now busy with Yukine trying to become a god of fortune, spending what seemed to be less time with Hiyori. With great fear she would forget about him again, she slowly starts taking his clothes bit by bit. This was her way of remembering him.

It was a hot summer day, one of those whose heat paralyzed people into staying indoors. The sun was blazing above and the guys were laying on the floor in front of the fans. Their bodies showcased them covered in sweat. They whined, groaned and complained about the hellish heat. No matter what they did nothing seemed to calm down the rays shinning from the sky. Hiyori sat in the corner with a fan hitting her as well. She had draped her body onto the table, her face slammed against the cold surface. She had began to spend every waking moment with the boys, but the weather was killing her. What she would give to be in an air conditioned house. Yet as she turned to look at both Yato and Yukine, she feared leaving their side. Yato had managed to pick himself up and throw his face onto the table. He showed an expression of satisfaction towards the cold surface. She watched and took in every detail of his. How long has it been? Weeks maybe...since she's forgotten about them. She didn't want to be reminded of those times. Yato had gone missing for weeks and she hated that in that small amount of time she had managed to forget about them. She wasn't different at all, she couldn't bare to let them know. They twist and turned in aggravation as if any of that was going to make things better. Then to many surprise Yato's cellphone began to ring. He lifted his arm above his head to read the incoming number. He hesitated but soon put the phone over his ear. He pushed himself up from the table, giving it a little smack as he slammed down his hand. In his palm he held his so called scarf, he could no longer bare it wrapped around his neck. He moved slightly to kick Yukine. The face he received was full of anger, irritation and hate. He seemed to have backed up a little from his response. 

"We have a job to do" He said with all of his might.

"Seriously?" Yukine pushed himself off of the floor. "Let's just hope the place has air conditioning" They both stood up from the floor and stretched. "You know you don't have to be here Hiyori"

"Oh, no it's okay"

"That's right! you have a house with great air conditioning. How about we rest there some time" Yato said happily. That was the first smiled he's let out since she's shown up.

"Don't use her for your comfort, Yato"

"It's not just for me you know!"

         Hiyori watched as they argued while they walked away to their new job. Usually she always went with them on jobs, but she couldn't bring herself to do this heat today. She pushed her face off of the flat table top as something caught her eye. It was that vibrant blue color, so hard to miss. She moved her gaze towards the other side of the table. There it was, his bright blue colored rag. He seemed to have left it behind, and she didn't blame him. She sat there for a moment with a knot in her gut. She didn't understand this urge that was suddenly building up inside of her. For some reason she couldn't take her eyes off it, she couldn't get herself to ignore it. She couldn't fight off the feeling, she had to take it.

The next day had arrived, it was just as hot as the last. It was noon when Yato finally realized that his fluffy fluff scarf was missing. He was ravaging through everything in his line of sight. No matter where he looked he couldn't find it. Finally irritated with him, Yukine began to look too.

"Where could it have gone? I left it on the table" Yato questioned. He scratched the top of his head in means to remembering, it was to no avail.

"If you ask me I think good riddance. The thing was atrocious"

"No! I feel naked without it" He began to tear up.

"Maybe Kofuku took it and put it in the wash or something. She probably smelled how much it stunk when you left it behind"

"That's right! I'll go ask her"

"Her and Diakoku left a couple of minutes ago. They couldn't take it in this heat"

"Ahhh! why why why!? I need my scarf!"

"It's only a rag, it's to hot to have it wrapped around anyway. I'm leaving, this is getting annoying"

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Up to see Kazuma" He began to walk away from his crying god. Leaving him behind as he zapped up to Takamagahara.

         Hiyori walked along side her friends without a care in the world. The school was cool from the heat waves outside as they walked down the hallway. School was almost over and she watched as everyone around dreaded leaving the safety of the a.c. unit. She drifted away from their conversation as she always did. She watched outside the tall windows at the poor people forced to be outside right now. She didn't noticed her friends had stopped until she walked right into them.

"Earth to Hiyori" Yama waved her hand in front of her face.

"Hm? What's up"

"Oh nothing, just that you were spacing out again"

"I was afraid you might have one of your narcoleptic events" Ami admitted.

"You know since you're finally back into the conversation" Hiyori nervously laughed at Yama's comment. "What's with the rag tied onto your bag strap?"

"Oh, ah..." She looked down at Yato's scarf. Honestly she didn't know what to say. She had taken it without thinking and tied up to her school bag this morning. "you see..." She couldn't think of an excuse. "My mom has been complaining lately how I don't really clean, yeah! I don't do much chores, so this is a reminder that I have to start once I get home from school" She wanted to smack herself for telling such an awful lie.

"Could it be, has our Hiyori been slacking at home?"

"Uh, yeah..." She couldn't believe it, did they buy into that?

"That's hard to believe" Ami commented. "Why such a bright color?"

"I don't know, I guess something about this color caught my eye"

"Well we should get going back to class before the bell rings"

        Hiyori has never been so thankful that class was almost starting. She looked down at the rag and flushed in embarrassment. Why did she take this in the first place? As they walked away, she calmly untied it from her strapped and put the rag in her bag. As she grabbed it and folded it neatly, she let out a blush. Just one piece of fabric held onto his smell so strongly. It smelled so good to her, she dreaded putting it into her bag. Still she couldn't wait to see Yato again. She walked into Kofuku's house as she always had. She didn't see Yato downstairs and saw Yukine thrown in front of the fan in the corner. That was the one she was using yesterday, she was certain that it worked better than the others. She smiled as it appeared that Yukine had also figured that out. She took off her shoes and jacket, it was getting way too hot to wear it. She should really change into her spring uniform she thought to herself. Yukine appeared to be in some sort of bliss in front of this fan. It looked like he was asleep, but as she sat down he opened his eyes.

"Hey, Hiyori" he said in a low dried voice. He leaned over to grab the glass of water before him. "You really shouldn't come when it's hot like this"

"I want to hang around you guys, I find it better than being by myself" He had stood up and walked over to the kitchen as she spoke. Seconds later he came back with another cup of water. He set it down in front of her and went back to the fan. "You guys can come over to my place, you know"

"That's true, but with Yato being the way he is right now, well....I think that'll have to wait"

"What do you mean?" 

Steps pounded at the wooden floor as they ran down the stairs. Yato stopped at the entrance and turned to Hiyori. She grabbed a hold of her shoulders and looked at her with worried eyes. Tears soon filled them just as quickly.

"I can't find my fluffy fluff scarf" He cried out. "I looked everywhere, I teared our room apart" snot slowly fell from his nose. She turned back at her bag and then at him. "You don't happen to know what happened to it, do you Hiyori?"

"What? No, not at all" Why did she lie? it just came out before she could think of anything else.

"Kofuku has been really busy with the shop, so we haven't had any time to ask her" Yukine sounded irritated.

"Oh that's right, with it getting warmer more people walk by. Then this heat ended up being good for someone" She laughed nervously.

"Yeah, but with more people out that means more phantoms" Yato responded. "And I can't go out without my fluffy fluff scarf. It's my identity, it's who I am!"

"Oh shut up, you've been stalling all day. We have to go work now Yato. I'm sorry Hiyori, I know you just got here, but he's been slacking off for hours" He pulled on Yato's shirt. "Come on, I don't want Lady Bishamon picking up your slack, don't you know she has better things to do"

As she watched them walk away she took out her planner and wrote down her small note of the day. Both of them are sure starting to keep themselves busy. She was happy to see them, even if it was just for a little while, but was it enough? Something had began to feel off, like everyone was heading forward and she was stuck there. She was afraid if she kept moving she would forget again. Hiyori heard movement towards the kitchen and headed over to check it out. Kofuku seemed to be carrying a box out to the shop. She stopped as she noticed her right away and gave her a smile.

"Hey yori" She greeted happily. "Did Yato and Yukine just leave?"

"Yeah, they left just a second ago"

"Well that sucks. I know it's hot in this house, so I made Daikoku order some extra ice cream. I just put it in the fridge for them"

"That's very considerate, I will let them know" She grabbed a hold of the box in her hand, taking it from her. "Let me help you with that"

"Thanks Hiyori, you're always so nice to me"

"Not at all, it's the least I can do"

As she put the box down at its destination, she felt eyes on her. She turned back to meet with a smiling Kofuku. This smile was different than her usual smile, but it's a smile she's seen before. A smile that show cased that she knew something. Something Hiyori didn't want them knowing about.

"I chose to ignore it, but I heard Yato crying about how his scarf went missing" She commented. "You don't know anything about that?"

"No I don't"

"Then that's really strange, that's the first time anything has gone missing from our house. Well it's not like it belongs to us, but still Yato seemed very upset about it"

"I'll to look for it"

"That's very sweet of you, although you might not have to look very far"

"Oh really?"

"Mhmm, well I have to get to work now before Diakoku scolds me again. Thanks for the help, Hiyori" She pranced away without a care in the world.

        Hiyori stood there in disbelief as she held onto her chest. She knew Kofuku was cunning and she always seemed to know everything, but sometimes she truly could appear scary. Hiyori walked up to the attic where Yato and Yukine slept. As she stood at the door she was surprised how Yato really did destroy the room. The futons were thrown around with their sheets and pillows. Their one table was flipped upside down. Yukine's many outfits were thrown around the room. She let out a sigh as she began to clean up his mess. After picking up the beds and the table she proceeded to fold their clothing. She was preoccupied with Yukine's at first, but it didn't take her long to notice the black track suit on the floor. As she began to fold it, she let her hold on it linger. His smell was stronger coming from the jacket. It crinkled in her hands as she pulled it up to her chest. It took her a minute, but she did notice something off from before. Yato wasn't wearing his jacket when he came downstairs. She refused to let go of the track suit. Shaking her head in disbelief at herself she put the jacket down on the table. It was getting hotter by the day and Yato had began to leave his clothes off more and more. Hiyori had originally come upstairs to put his scarf back. She had failed terribly on that afternoon. 

"YUKINE!" Yato yelled out to his regalia. It was early in the morning, and all he wanted to do was beat the life out of his god. "I can't find my jacket" Yukine was amazed at how Yato continued without a care. "I've looked everywhere"

"What do you need that thing for? It's too hot for that" Yukine finally responded with death glare added to his expression.

"I can't find my scarf and now my jacket, what is happening!?"

"Maybe Kofuku  put that in the wash too. The room was clean when we came back yesterday, she must have picked it up"

"Yeah, that's true, but she's too busy for me to ask" He draped himself in defeat. "Wait! if that's true, wouldn't she had washed them together? And why wouldn't she tell me that she's doing it?"

"Look I really don't care Yato...Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Help me find them Yukine!"

It was a lovely Saturday morning, Hiyori was dressed in her comfortable home attire. She was thinking about giving the guys some space, and spending a day alone to herself. She ate breakfast with her parents, as she did ever morning. She walked them out as they left to head to work. The house was quiet and empty. Something about it made her feel a bit uneasy. Yet she sat down on the couch and watched a morning show. She figured this would distract her for the time being, but it didn't do that at all. She walked up the stairs, it sounded so hollow as her feet walked on their wooden floor. It was nice and cool inside, and she wondered how the guys were doing. Shaking her head she got the thought out of it, she was suppose to give them some space. They were working really hard, and she didn't want to get in the way. For some reason that left an aching feeling in her chest. She was afraid that if she didn't see them everyday she would forget, but that was too much of a burden on them, wasn't it? She headed to her bedroom and jumped on her bed. Her room was filled with a strong smell, her favorite smell. She calmly hummed in satisfaction of it, it was a lovely smell that only she could enjoy. Holding the rag tightly in between her fingers, she thought about the trouble she had caused for Yukine. Thinking back at this, she felt even worst for what she had done. He looked so tired and definitely annoyed with having to deal with Yato. What would say if he found out it was all her fault. She grabbed hold of the fabric beside her, it was thinner than she had imagined, and felt more comfortable than she thought it would. She sat down on her bed and used it as a blanket to put over her knees. She played on her phone for a little while, it was early in the morning, to believe she was already this bored. She hugged at it and wondered if she should just go over to Kofuku's house already. She voted against it, Hiyori stood up to go back downstairs. She draped the thing over her shoulders and as she started to slide her arms in, she heard her door creek. It wasn't long after till the door was fully opened and Yukine was staring right at her. With a panic she dropped everything that was in her hands.

"Hiyori-" He averted his eyes to the floor and back at her. "Those are..." He rubbed his head in disbelief and confusion. "Yato's jacket and his scarf, those are really it?" He said questionably. "But what are you doing with them?"

"I can explain!" she yelled out in a panic, exactly how was she suppose to explain this. "I was going to tell Yato, really"

"But why would you?" he picked the jacket and rag from the floor. 

"I-I don't know" he raised his eyebrow at her. 

"It's not like I don't find this weird or anything, but if there's something bothering you, you can talk to us" Hiyori let out a deep sigh and sat back down on her bed. "You know, I came here to escape from Yato, he was driving me insane looking for these"

"I'm so sorry"

"I didn't expect to find them with you, but maybe now he'll stop waking me up so early in the morning for a stupid track suit and wash cloth" now it was him letting out a sigh. "Why did you take them?"

"You two...you're working so hard and I feel like I barely get to see you"

"Has that been bothering you?"

"No! not at all, I'm happy Yato is working so hard...It's just ever since I forgot about you and Yato that one time, well I've been scared that it'll happen again"

"Why didn't you tell us?" his eyes softened as he looked at her. It gave her comfort, but made her feel worse about forgetting them. "That you forgot about us"

"I thought I as different, I always thought I would never forget. There was just no way I would ever forget you two, but I did. So I visit you everyday, but it hasn't been enough"

"What does this have to do with you taking these?"

"So I won't forget-I took them so I wouldn't forget"

        Yukine was shocked, but pulled her into a hug. It wasn't normal for him to do that, and he still blushed from embarrassment as he did, but he felt like she needed it. Yato sat outside of the window, he had planned to have just hoped in like he always did, but he decided against it. He was just as shocked to have heard where his belonging had ended up. He wanted to go in there, but something told him not to interfere. He didn't want to believe that Hiyori had forgotten about him, but he knew he had put too much pressure on her. He wasn't mad and after a while he wasn't upset either. He had bought a new track suit that day with the same color scarf, and he acted as if none of this ever happened. Hiyori had found comfort in his clothing and who was he to judge her for it. In all honestly a part of that fact made him very happy. 

It was almost Sunday afternoon when Yato decided to drop by her house. He walked in as usual without a care in the world. Hiyori's parents were at the hospital for work as always. So he found Yukine sitting on the couch watching t.v.. 

"Yu-ki-ne" He said in his regalias ear. Yukine jumped as he wasn't expecting it.

"Yato" He called his name angrily. "Don't do that, you idiot"

"Did I scare you?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Hehe, I totally did" Yato snickered out as he bullied him. He heard the sound of footsteps coming down from upstairs. He turned around to watch as Hiyori reached the bottom of the stairs. "Hiyori" He said happily. She looked at him confused as he had the blue rag tied around his neck. She was certain she still had it in her room. He walked up to her and smiled. "I could't find my things, so I just bought myself some new ones"

"O-oh" She obviously looked disturbed. "Actually Yato-" she was taken aback as Yato softly landed his hand on her head.

"Shh" He said softly. Her face flushed red as she blushed at him. "I hope whoever or whatever took my things is happy with them" He commented.

"But..."

"I'll work hard, that way everyone will remember me"

"What?"

"I'll work hard for you" He winked at her like he always did. "Don't you forget that" His teeth shined bright as he smiled at her. 

"Yeah" she responded with a nod of her head and a warm smile. "I won't forget"

She didn't question him as to how he found out. Hiyori didn't mind either, as she kept his scarf on her bed side and his jacket hanging by the door. It seemed strange at first to them all, but what a better way to remember him, than to have a piece of him always with her. Her room had become more peaceful and she had become more confident. She wouldn't forget him, she was certain of that, He was her god of fortune after all.

[esandcasg]

Chapter Thirteen – Overly Suspicious Mechanical Man

I opened my eyes. The dull, far-off thumping sound I’d heard in my dreams continued as I slowly awoke, a slow, rhythmic sound from nowhere close. As my eyes got used to the low light I began to focus on my surroundings. I was in a featureless cell; a mid-sized blank room with roughly hewn stone walls. I lay on a thin bare mattress on the floor. A bucket stood in the corner opposite me. Near the end of my bed was a doorway with an iron gate, bolted shut, behind which was a corridor leading away, curving round to the left.

There was nothing else in the room. I didn’t know where I was or how I’d got here, but I could tell from the cold and the damp I was somewhere in the middle of a mountain. The room looked similar to the passages I’d walked through with Ifan inside the remains of Kangleong.

The thumping sound continued. I held my hands to my head. There was another sound now, accompanied by pain, a loud, scratching, squeaking sound, like the voices of a thousand unborn chicks calling for food.

“Please,” I said, murmuring quietly. “Please could you stop the noise?”

I lay back down from my half sitting position, my hands on my head, trying to get some rest. I could blot out the thumping from deep in the mountain but not the noises inside my own head.  

I couldn’t remember anything other than standing with Ifan and Adam on The Sill. I knew that something had happened to me, knew that I had been taken, but aside from the knowledge of an event, I had no recollection of it. But there was pain. The pain was everywhere, coursing through my body, pounding inside my limbs.

I tried sitting up again, opening my eyes. The room had not changed. I had no idea how long I’d been here for. Hours? Months? There was no sense of how much time had passed since the last clear memory I had. I looked down at myself; I was still dressed in the same clothes I remembered, although my belay jacket was tattered and torn, synthetic fibres spilling out from prominent rips in the outer membrane.

What was that?

There was something, some movement somewhere. I looked at the gate but no-one was there. The room had not changed. The sound was still thudding. I was still in pain. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

But there had been something, I was sure. I lay back down.

Images swam through my thoughts. I was on The Sill, with Adam and Ifan, but I couldn’t tell when. Memories of ten years ago intertwined with the present day. They were talking, but it was muffled, out of focus, and I couldn’t hear them properly.  Then a grey fog covered the image and I remembered searing pain.

I opened my eyes. I might be paranoid, but I wasn’t going to lie there like some compliant robot waiting to be told what to do.

Gingerly I sat up again. It felt like my whole body groaned. I tasted dried blood on my lips. I drew my legs around so the soles of my double boots (plastic outer, foam-lined inner) rested on the cold hard rock floor. I waited until the dizziness subsided. Again, I felt – rather than saw – a movement, something changing, not too far but not too close.

What was that?

I may be paranoid, I thought again, but look where I am. Holding my hand steady against the wall I stood. My legs screamed with pain.

There was something moving underneath the gate. Like stage smoke, it crept slowly into the room, filling the space, blocking everything out until it was all that was there. A grey fog, covering all. It seemed to take a form, but that of no earthly shape. I could see it out of the corner of my eye, but every time I turned to look the shape vanished.

When it spoke, the voice reverberated all through the room, and, I felt, through me. It filled my mind. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, other than that it was coming from everywhere. It was everything.

“You will not find the sixth tunnel,” it said. “I will prevent you, as I have prevented all that have come before you. The tunnel will remain secret forever, known only to me, and me alone.”

“What about everyone else that uses it?”

There was a pause.

“Them too.”

I sat in a small crumpled heap, hugging my knees close to my chest.

“I was invited here”, I said.

“It is my mountain. It has been mine for centuries.”

“Mountains don’t belong to individuals. Certainly not to smugglers.”

Craven laughed. A deep, booming laugh which filled the room with darkness.

“Smuggling! Is that the limit of your vision? There are things that happen here beyond your comprehension. You cannot find something you do not understand. Go now, and I will give you safe passage from my land.”

I stood up, giving a mocking bow to the shape I knew now I shouldn’t look at directly.

“I have heard your warning, majesty. But my fate is bound to Kangleong. It is my path to follow.”

“Go now,” Craven said again, “Or face destruction.”

“No,” I said in response. “I am of the light. You cannot destroy me.”

“It will not differ greatly from destruction,” he said, the voice softer, more sibilant. “Come now, Old One. You know this. I have more power than you can possibly imagine. As you yourself acknowledged, I am King here.”

I laughed, mustering up as much bravado as I could, despite the pain coursing through my body.

“It’s not who you are that counts. It’s what you do that defines you. And when I am king, you can guarantee you’ll be first against the wall.”

“You will never escape—“

“I don’t care what your opinion is,” I interrupted, growing in confidence. “It doesn’t matter to me. It’s of no consequence. At all.” I knew this was not Craven, not really. This was simply a projection of him. There would be no way he would risk exposure in this way, so direct a confrontation.

Something caught my eye again. What was that? I had assumed that what I’d seen before was the approach of this spectral form, but there was something else. Some other movement, almost imperceptible. What was it?

Then I saw. The gate was swinging very slightly. It was open. When Craven’s fog had seeped into the room he’d forgotten to lock it behind him. Here was my chance.

“Look, an Eddie Stobart lorry!”

Craven’s ghostly form turned and I ran for it.

The gate slammed into the rock wall as I pushed it in front of me; I was dimly aware of a cry of rage and a small fart behind me as I ran headlong down the tunnel, ignoring the pain that I might have mentioned once or twice in this chapter already. I had no idea where I was going, but knew I needed to put as much distance between myself and what had been my prison as I could. Finally, after a few minutes exertion, I stopped, leaning against the wall and breathing hard. I looked behind me at the tunnel leading back to that room. Nothing.

The thudding sound I’d heard before was louder now. It was as if I was closer to the heart of the mountain. I edged forward cautiously. I knew I had had to escape that room but that didn’t mean I was somehow safe. I had no idea where I was; presumably somewhere inside a mountain, but which one?

In a sense it didn’t matter. I didn’t know these tunnels, hadn’t spent the time mapping them out like Adam and Ifan had, so there was no point my trying to rely on some sort of memory to find my way. Instead I had to rely on my instinct; to find water and head for higher ground. I had to find a way up. The further up I went, the narrower the mountain would become, and the easier in theory it would be to find a way out.

I headed up the first escalator I found, a renewed sense of determination and a toffee flapjack providing fresh energy in my tired legs. I had hope, and a certain smugness having fooled old Craven with the classic Eddie Stobart trick.

Then the elevator doors opened.

I caught a flash of a reflective surface and saw myself, haggard, standing in the doorway, before mist rolled into the lift and I knew any illusion of escape had gone. The ambition of my plan had made me look, if I was being honest, pretty ugly.

The fog enveloped me. Soon I could see nothing but grey. It bound my arms and legs, gripping tighter until I was trussed like a pig. I kicked out, screaming, but to no avail, despite the flexibility of my premium mountain warehouse outfit (not Gucci, but fashionable and practical). I couldn’t move. The fog made me lose all sense of direction. A low voice, a whisper, reverberated in my head, wordless but cold.

***

I was awake.

I didn’t know how long I had been lying there, half-buried by the snow. I raised my head, ice crystals falling from my Jublo Montebianco sunglasses that I’d decided I needed due to all the extensive mountaineering I was obviously doing. I was lying on a wide ice field, somewhere high up on a mountain. Above me, behind the rise to the summit, the sky was thick with ominously grey clouds. Heavy flakes on snow fell lazily all around me.

A hand shook my shoulder.

“You okay?”

I looked up. It was Ifan, standing in full mountaineering gear, a prominent rip across the chest of his downsuit and dried blood on his left cheek.

“What happened?” I said.

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t remember.” It was a statement rather than a question the second time around. Ifan looked up to the sky. “Storm is coming. We need to get down.”

“Where’s Adam?”

Ifan ignored my question. He was scanning the icefield, looking for something.

“Come on,” he said, “get up.”

I rose unsteadily to my feet. It felt as if I had dumped on the mountainside. I had no sense of how I got there. As I stood I noticed rips in my own down suit. Had there been an avalanche? Or a fall of some sort? And if so, where was the debris? The icefield was serene and flat.

I followed Ifan across the icefield, through the deep snow. We made slow progress, Ifan breaking trail whilst I struggled to keep up. All around us the snow began to fall heavier. The cloud had moved downward, enveloping the top of the mountain, pursuing us as we walked.

Ifan stopped at the edge of the icefield. Three routes led away from us, three prominent ridges. I could only see ten or so feet down each ridge before the route was obscured by cloud. Ifan took off his pack and took out a thirty metre length of rope. Wordlessly he hammered in an ice screw to anchor the rope at the point where the three ridges met. He then threw the other end down the central ridge.

I waited. Ifan looked down, as if he was expecting movement, then turned and headed back across the icefield.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t respond. The wind had picked up and the snow was making it difficult to see. I followed him, moving as quickly as I could. Ahead of me he had reached the centre of the icefield and stopped.

“What’s going on?” I was yelling now.

“I can’t find it,” he replied.

“Find what?”

Ifan shook his head. “Our camp. It should be here.”

I looked around. It was difficult to see anything, but there was no sign of any camp.

“Why don’t you remember my name?”

“What?”

Ifan looked down at the ground and then back up at me.

“Adam’s on the west ridge. Somewhere. He radioed me two hours ago. I don’t have enough rope to get down to him. He need o’s. And water. I had spare canisters in the tent but the tent has gone.”

“Can we not downclimb to him?”

Ifan shook his head. “I can’t. I’m going snowblind. I need to find dig a snow cave and wait.”

“But…”

“Find the camp,” he said. “And find it quickly.” Then he turned and started digging in the snow.

Find the camp. But where? Where to even start? I took a few steps away, and when I turned I could no longer see Ifan. In truth, I could no longer see anything. We were caught in a whiteout. The snow was so thick it had become impossible to know where I was. Three more steps forward. Two more. I could have been heading in any direction.

Suddenly the ground lurched and I was falling. I lashed out with my ice axe, trying desperately to catch onto anything, but I only hit thing air. I fell for what felt like seconds before I could see an outcrop of rock next to me. I swung my axe again and it caught, but I knew that the hold was precarious. Quickly I slammed home a piton into a crack and tied on my emergency rope. The weight held, but my ice axe didn’t and soon I was falling again before the rope caught my weight with a painful lurch.

I hung there in space, catching my breath as the snow fell all around me.

Gradually it cleared, and I found myself in a location that ties me in nicely with the prologue. I won’t repeat myself here, despite the temptation to fill the word count for the chapter, but basically I flailed about a bit before one of my crampons getting purchase on the rock face.

The crampon held. I breathed out slowly, trying to lower my heart rate and keep myself calm. Keeping the crampon points on the rock I pushed my weight back on the rope then swung forward again, this time reaching out with my ice axe towards a tiny crack I had seen in the rock face. The very tip of the axe bit, tenuously holding firm. Delicately I reached out and slid in a knifeblade piton pushing it as far as I could into the crack and trusting the rock was stable enough to take another belay point. I tied my rope in; finally I was standing against the rock face.

As I prepared to climb however far it was back up to the icefield I was suddenly, furiously angry with Ifan. What wasn’t he telling me? What had happened up there? I’d take his head off, I thought. Off with his head, man. Off with his head man, I chanted to myself as I inched my way upwards, my hands holding on to small cracks in the smooth rock. What had he been talking about. ‘Why don’t you remember my name’ he’d said. What was that all about? Does he even know what he was talking about?

I guess he does I thought.

Slowly I clawed my way up the rock face. It had stopped snowing now but the air was still heavy with thick cloud that blotted everything else out. It was almost as if a mist had decended; everything was still and quiet. All I could hear was my own breathing and the sound of metal scraping against rock.

Abruptly the rock face ended. I could see the top of the icefield ahead of me and the broken remains of the serac I had unwittingly walked onto that had disintegrated beneath my feet. I hauled myself up onto the icefield and crawled a few metres until I was off the serac.

I stared up at the clouds before getting back up on my feet. There was no sign of Ifan. The icefield lay flat and empty ahead of me, untouched as if I was the first person ever to venture there. I looked back up at the sky and wished, madly, that it would rain, a rain to wash the snow off the mountain and reveal the way home.

“Rain down,” I said. “Rain down. Come on! Rain down on me!”

And something did come down. From a great height there was a rumble of thunder, or what sounded like an explosion. I looked up at the summit of the mountain, a black pyramid of rock. From a great height an avalanche burst slowly out of the clouds, rumbling down the mountainside. I stood still, arms outstretched, waiting for the wave of snow and ice to englulf me. As the cloud hit me, a flash of images and sounds swept before me as a voice told me this was it; that I was leaving now. I heard the crackle of pig’s skin, saw the dust of the mountain and heard far off screaming. As the avalanche swept me down the mountainside I passed a collection of small subsidiary peaks, rock and ice, black and white, looking like yuppies networking. A wave of panic coursed through me, knowing this was the end. I tasted vomit in my mouth. Never mind, I thought. Never mind.

It would soon be over, I thought. I’d be somewhere better. God loves his children.

God loves his children.

Yeah.

 ***

From the mountainside, Ifan took his eye away from the telescope.

“He’s there,” he said. “He’s trapped in some sort of room. Rolling around on the floor wearing a VR headset. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else there. But I can only see into the room.”

Adam nodded. “Let’s go.”

[iluvu3k]

Roommates: Part One

Summary: Reader is a ghost that lives in Tom Holland apartment and Tom doesn’t believe in ghosts. Or does he? Let’s play with a Ouija board like all stupid 21 year olds do and find out. 

Warning: Rape mentions, swearing, death, spooky shit, dont play with ouija boards (especially while drunk)

Words: 2k

Special thank you to @axolotlnerd for betareading this for me. <3

Tom couldn’t say he hated his apartment, it was a little small but it had everything he needed. A fridge, a place to sleep, even a laundry unit he would never use. Plus it was only a few blocks away from his parents on nights where making food just wasn’t an option. Tessa loved it too, there was a dog park behind the building where she had already met a German Shepherd that had looked at her one too many times for Toms liking.

All and all, he could make it home.

You on the other hand hated every single thing about this place. Every little crack in the walls, every stray carpet hair, the way that the fridge buzzed at 2:09 every morning. Every little thing that you had noticed the past few months of being stuck in this god forsaken apartment.

What you hated most though was the way Tom saw through you, literally. You thought maybe that this would be the one who would take a second glance in the mirror and see you standing there but he was just like all of the others, waving off the cool breeze as a draft and the movies fallen off the shelves as an accident.

“Hey, darling.” You ran your hand over the blue staffy while pacing the front room, waiting for Tom to wake up. Tessa followed you around, wagging her tail furiously at the attention. At least there was something that could see you. She wasn’t one for conversation, though she tried with small yaps and deep barks. This morning she was particularly talkative begging for you to play, eventually waking up her owner.

“Tessa!” He hissed, walking into the front room, eyes still half closed. She looked from you to him, always curious why her dad never paid any attention to the other resident.

He wondered into the kitchen, grabbing a coffee cup you spent all day yesterday moving a couple inches. Of course in his sleepy state he would never notice such a trivial detail, but that was just like men, to never notice a woman’s effort.

You walked beside him, watching him poor his steaming coffee, longing for a taste. Goosebumps spread from his arm to his naked torso making all his small hairs stand up. His body gave a small shake as the tingling sensation made its way to the back of his neck.

“I really need to get the AC fixed.” He mumbled to himself, looking down at Tessa who stood between the two of you.

“You can try, but I imagine you’ll have the same luck as the past two tenants.” You leaned against the counter, your head in your palm. You admired the way he ignored every little thing you did, usually after a couple weeks people would start to get worried but he was stubborn.

The rest of the day he lounged around reading a script that his friend Harrison, a cute blonde that frequented the apartment, sent over. You played with Tessa, distracting Tom from time to time making you smile at the way his brows would furrow and his hand would run through his curly hair. You had many roommates in the past but he was for sure the cutest and closest to your age, or what was your age.

He had the repairman stop by just before sun down and as you predicted there was nothing wrong with the unit.

“Yeah, I get calls about this apartment all the time. Drafts, creaking walls, uneven flooring. I’m surprised this is my first call out here since you moved in.” The man said, packing up his tools. Tom watched him, arms crossed loosely, behind him you sat on the couch smirking.

“It hasn’t been much trouble for me at all, thanks for looking at it.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Well I’m glad that the ghost hasn’t given you too much trouble.” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for Tom’s reaction.

“Ghost?” He laughed.

“Oh yeah, a young woman died a few years back In this apartment, they didn’t tell you that when you moved in? Yeah, she likes to cause problems, or so they say. I’m just the repairman.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, really, it’s just a draft.” Tom opened the door and the man made his way out, nodding to Tom.

“Well, I’m glad at least someone is sensible. Have a goodnight, sir.”

“You too.” He closed the door and walked back into the living room letting out a deep sigh. He didn’t believe in ghosts, or spirits, or anything in that realm. He was an actor, he knew how people made those videos online that claimed the paranormal was real. But he couldn’t ignore that small feeling in the pit of his stomach, which is why he grabbed his laptop and plopped down on the couch causing you to move before getting sat through.

He opened up his internet and typed in his apartment building before pausing, asking himself if he really wanted to know.

‘Brookshire Flat Death’ resulted in many articles from four years ago, all describing the unsolved murder of twenty year old college student, (Y/N) (L/N), taken too soon. A smiling photo of you sat on his screen, his eyes fixated on yours.

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” You whispered into his ear, causing the small hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

He slammed the laptop closed before tossing it aside and taking out his phone. You watched him dial Harrison’s number before standing and pacing around the living room, mimicking your actions from this morning.

“Hey mate.” He replied to the voice that answered, “Do you want to hang out tonight? Have a few drinks, watch a few movies? Yeah, everything is fine. Just bored. I do not sound ‘a bit off’. Whatever man, just come over. Okay, see you in a bit.”

He hung up and looked over at Tessa who was concentrated on you. He called her but you held her focus. He swallowed down that feeling that was now rising closer and closer to the surface.

Maybe his apartment was haunted.

Harrison had arrived with a case of beer in hand but Tom had a different idea. They left for a good while, leaving you alone to chase Tessa around the apartment. They returned  just before nine with another boy you knew as Harry a black bag that was tossed on the couch with a loud thud.

“Oh, Hot Topic, edgy.” You smiled, watching the boys open a few beers before they grabbed some candles that Tom kept for blackout emergencies from the junk drawer. “Romantic dinner, maybe? I knew you and Harrison were more than just mates.”

Harrison worked on lighting them while Tom sat on the couch, digging in the bag. He pulled out a dark colored box with weird marking all over it, it also looked to be discounted from Halloween.

“You have got to be fucking with me.” He placed the contents of the box on the floor revealing a cheap Ouija board and on top of it, a plastic planchette. Harrison set the candles around the room and turned off the lights leaving a soft glow. Tom grabbed his beer from the counter and swallowed the contents, filling his stomach with the warming liquid.

“Alright boys, let’s talk to some spirits.” Harrison laughed before sitting down on the floor. The other two boys followed not as amused. Harry read the instructions out loud, his words beginning to slur as the group began on their third beer. They sloppily read some made up words the book called an opening ritual and hesitantly placed their fingers on the heart shaped piece.

When the candles flickered you were convinced it was just a coincidence but the air grew heavier and heavier, pushing you towards the board, as if it was pulling you in.

“There is no way this thing can work.” You muttered to yourself, throwing caution into the wind, after all you were dead, what was the worst that could happen? You placed your hand on the plancheete causing the lights to flicker once again. The boys eyes darted around the room, unsure of what to do next. Harry looked back at the instructions, visibly uncomfortable.

“Ask it a question.” He looked at Tom who answered with a confused stare.

“Why me?” He tried to cover his voice cracking with a cough but you could tell that everyone in the room expected just as much as you, nothing. But here you were, surrounded by a bunch of idiots opening a ‘portal to the spirit world’ and shit was definitely happening.

“It’s your bloody apartment. Just ask a damn question.” Harrison grabbed his next beer, the scent of alcohol radiating off him. Either he would scare himself sober or not remember tonight when he woke up tomorrow.

“Fine, er, Is there a ghost here?” Tom asked, hoping there would be no answer.

Now was your chance, you had been so alone for four years and this was your chance to actually talk to someone, make someone know you were here. But what if he moved out afterwards? What if he thought you wanted to hurt him? What if he would leave like all the others and take Tessa with him? You loved her so much.

You shoved your hand towards the yes, the plancheete proving to be heavier than it looked. You shoved again to no avail. You could feel all of your energy fading with every attempt but the stupid piece of plastic wouldn’t move.

“Please, please, please” You begged, putting both hands on it now, pushing with all your strength. When it didn’t move the boys let out a thankful sigh, taking their hands away, instantly breaking the force that has called you too the board not even five minutes ago.

“No, please. Don’t give up.” You could feel tears forming in your eyes, you were desperate for communication. You wanted to be heard.

“That was a stupid idea,” Tom laughed, standing up and stretching. “I can’t believe we thought it would work. Ghosts aren’t bloody real.” The other boys followed, a sense of relief filled the air but dread clung to you like wet clothes.

“I am real.” You cried, you felt like you could just crumble into pieces and never get up again. You were so weak, so lonely. “I’m here.” You watched them banter about their silly idea, crushing your spirit more and more with each word.

“I’m here.” You just wanted someone to hear you.

“I’m here.” It had been such a long four years without your parents, your siblings, your pets.

“I’m here.” You weren’t even supposed to be home that night, you were supposed to be at your friends. But she decided to leave the club with a man instead, so you stumbled home, half drunk in a dress way too short for the weather.

“I’m here.” You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone if he just let you go, if he just let you live. He could have your money, your valuables, after all, he had already taken your virginity.

“I’M HERE!” You screamed, all of your energy leaving your body, blowing the lights you and sending empty beer cans crashing against the walls. Tessa, who had been cautiously watching the event sprinted to the next room leaving the boys alone in shock.

Tom rushed to the light switch, revealing a destroyed living room, mirroring the destruction caused that night four years ago. Picture frames shattered, papers littered the floor, the lamp busted on the floor. All that was missing was your body and the blood stains that they had bleached out.

“What the fuck.” Harrison whispered, wide eyed.                                                                    

You watched as the boys collected their things and ran out the door, calling for Tessa before slamming it shut, leaving you completely alone. A soft whimper left your lips as you stood in your old living room, relieving the loneliness you felt on that cold December night you felt the life leave your body.

A/N: So it’s going to get a lot less serious, I never intended it to be this serious. Next chapter Tom’s cousin will be bringing over a real Ouija board and tom learns to live with a ghost. Let’s just say bringing home ladies doesn’t turn out too well. 

[glare-gryphon]

Horizon Light - Part 4

~2500 Words

Chapter Tags: Strong Language, References to Substance Abuse/Alcoholism

I modeled Obi-Wan’s quarters kind of after what we see Raleigh & Yanesy sharing in their introductory sequence at the Anchorage Shatterdone. Raleigh & Mako have quarters with a different layout in Hong Kong, but I like the apartment-style layout better.

By the time Obi-Wan is released back to his quarters, having been forced through another medical and psychological evaluation following his and Skywalker’s successful drift, he is not altogether surprised to find Quinlan Vos already waiting. The other ranger leans casually against the cool, metal door to Obi-Wan’s quarters, a pile of empty cardboard boxes at his feet and a bottle of something in his hands. Whatever Quinlan has brought in offering is probably alcoholic and definitely prohibited on base, which is the only reason Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately turn him away and lick his wounds in peace. He has a feeling that he’s going to need to get wasted if he’s going to deal with how drastically his life has changed over the last two days.

“Hey there, Kenobi,” Vos greets. “Word on the grapevine is that we’ve got some celebrating to do. Your reign of terror over defenseless cadets has finally been brought to an end!”

"And how much money did you make off the betting pools with the end of my... What was it? 'Reign of terror'?"

Quinlan's smile turns from teasing to smug. "Enough that I can afford a few more bottles of this," he replies, shaking the drink in his hand meaningfully. "Now are you going to let me in before we get caught with prohibited liquor, or should I just head to Windu's office now and save myself the trouble?"

Obi-Wan huffs, but pushes past him to stuff his key into the lock and open the door. When he does, Quin passes him the bottle, freeing up his hands so that he can collect the stack of cardboard boxes on the floor. "Still had these laying around from when they moved me in with Aayla," he explains. "Figured I'd help you pack your shit up, if you want. The brass give you and Skywalker your room assignments yet?"

"No," Obi-Wan replies, shutting the door behind the other man and cutting off the chatter of passersby in the hall. "They're going to move us tomorrow; there is apparently some debate over where we should be moved to. Half the brass think we need space to get to know each other; the other half think we need close supervision lest we kill each other in the process."

Quinlan barks a sharp laugh, weaving his way through the room to settle in the chair at Obi-Wan's desk. His quarters, at the moment, are hardly fit for decent company. Cleanliness tends to get pushed to the wayside when it's a struggle to simply get out of bed in the morning.

There are clothes strewn across the floor, mugs of half-finished tea resting across any available flat surfaces. Qui-Gon's things are still packed in a stack of boxes beside the desk, with the exception of a small potted plant that rests on the desk's surface among a collection of orange prescription bottles, varyingly full. He hasn't worked up the will to go through it all, yet. If anyone else had seen this place, Obi-Wan would be embarrassed. Quinlan Vos does not classify as decent company, however, so he simply makes his way to the cot, dropping onto it while his friend searches out something to drink from.

Vos pulls two empty, questionably clean mugs from the refuse littered about, blowing into them to clear them of dirt before pouring them both a healthy portion of the liquor. "I hope they aren't intending on monitoring you too closely," he says. "You know what they say about jaeger pilots: if they aren't family, they're fucking."

"You and Miss Secura are not related, nor are you engaged in sexual congress," Obi-Wan points out. "If you were, you wouldn't be here sharing your liquor with me."

"Give it time," Quin replies in a salacious purr. Obi-Wan makes to grab for one of the cups, but Quinlan yanks it out of reach at the last moment. "You aren't on any pain meds or anything, are you? For what Skywalker did to your face?"

"You know Che won't let them give me anything anymore, Quin," Obi-Wan huffs, snatching the cup from him and taking a deep drag from it. The alcohol burns as it goes down, making him grimace, but settles fairly well in his stomach. "Substance abuse problem my ass," he mutters, and pointedly ignores Quin's glance at the pill bottles on the desk; at the empty bottles stuffed in a corner. Instead he glances around the room, taking in the destruction he's wrought these past few weeks. It'd been impeccably clean before, to the point of infuriating Qui. Now it’s starting to look like Quin’s quarters. "This place is a wreck. We're going to be here all night." "Good thing I brought plenty of booze, then," Quin replies, leaning forward to top off Obi-Wan’s drink.

They’re both good and plastered by the time they decide to start packing up Obi-Wan’s things. The liquor is potent, doing its job before they’ve managed to down even half the bottle. Quin takes one of the boxes and starts emptying the wardrobe while Obi-Wan collects the dirty clothes off the floor in his own. Both are appropriately marked, and Obi-Wan can’t help but note that the latter is far fuller than the first. He can’t actually remember the last time he took his things to the laundry; it’s a small miracle he managed to last this long without having to resort to reusing outfits. Trash is stuffed in the can, dishes piled in the sink. They will have to deal with those things in the morning, as they don’t have the patience for it now.

There is something almost soothing in the mindless work of cleaning up. Obi-Wan used to enjoy it, before Qui’s death, and finds himself easily slipping back into that feeling as he wipes a rag over the desk and other flat surfaces to clear away the settled dust. The smell of disinfectant and clean is a pleasant change of pace from the must that’d settled over the space.

“What are you gonna do with this stuff?” Vos asks, nudging the boxes of Qui’s things to draw Obi-Wan’s attention to them. “I know you probably don’t want to go through them, but are you taking all this crap with you?”

“It’s not crap,” Obi-Wan mutters, batting Quinlan’s hands away when he makes to open the top container. They’re moved carefully to over by the door, where the rest of the filled boxes have been stacked for easy transport in the morning.

“Now, you see, I knew Qui-Gon Jinn,” Quin presses, trailing behind Obi-Wan as he works. “The man hoarded junk like an old lady hoards cats, so I am almost positive that most of the stuff in those boxes is, actually—”

“Shut up, Quinlan!” Obi-Wan snaps, dropping the last box on the pile with more force than necessary and rounding on the man. “I won’t have you talking about him like that in my own damn quarters!”

Vos raises his hands in a placating gesture, trying to calm Obi-Wan’s ire. Considering the amount they’ve both had to drink, it’s not particularly successful. “I’m just trying to help, man.”

"I do not need your help, Quinlan."

"Yes you do; this isn't healthy, Obi-Wan."

"And you're just the epitome of mental health, are you?" Kenobi sneers. “Getting drunk every night and hooking up with anyone who’ll spread their legs for you?”

"At least I can get more than fucking ibuprofen when my copilot nearly caves my skull in," Vos shoots back. "You're never going to move forward with Skywalker if you're still clinging to the past like this!"

"There is no 'moving forward' with Skywalker! We're conn-pod partners, that's it! One drift hasn't made me care for him. I’m never going to care for him, just as he’s never going to care for me."

Vos’ lips twitch triumphantly, and Obi-Wan knows what’s about to come out of his mouth before it does. "That's not what they saw down in medical, after you got out of the pod."

"They don't know what they saw," Obi-Wan hisses. "Now if you're quite done making an ass of yourself, I would like you to leave."

A wounded expression crosses Quin's face, but it's wiped away almost as quickly as it came. "Whatever, man," Quin mutters, pressing past him and out the door. "Keep up your damn shit-show. See if I care."

The door slams shut behind him, and Obi-Wan’s anger drains as abruptly as it swelled. It leaves him weary—even more so than the extended drift he’d taken with Skywalker earlier had. He shouldn’t have snapped at Quinlan like that, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. There is nothing between him and Skywalker, nor will there ever be. What happened in medical was… a fluke. A side effect of spending too much time tied too each other’s mind too soon.

There are always side effects of long drifts. Ghost Drifting is the most common: a period of time after the completion of a drift where the pilot’s minds seem to somehow remain connected. It’s never as intense as a true drift—there is never transference of thought or memory—but there is the occasional tingle of phantom sensation, or an ability to predict your copilot’s decisions and movements before they make them. Drift specialists chalk it up to their brains still operating on the same wavelength once the bond of the drift is severed, slowly returning to their usual thought patterns as they spend time apart. This, however, is only speculation as studies of Ghost Drifting have been wholly inconclusive.

Despite their strangeness, Ghost Drifts are regarded as one of the more innocent side effects of the drift. More dangerous consequences have been recorded, from codependency between pilots to a total loss of identity. Obi-Wan suspects that these are more what he and Skywalker experienced when they were finally separated. There is no other explanation—not for their behavior. Not for the way Skywalker had clung to him while they set through their medical examinations, the line of his body pressed into Obi-Wan’s side as if that point of contact were the only thing keeping him from simply fading away to nothing. Not for the way Obi-Wan had allowed that touch, soothing the man who had beaten him senseless only a day ago when the nurses had to poke and prod at Skywalker’s cracked ribs and—

The mug of Quinlan’s half-finished drink, which Obi-Wan had collected under the intention of returning it to the sink with its brethren, shatters against the wall. It makes a racket, all those little pieces of ceramic falling to patter onto the tile floor, but there is no one to hear. No one to care. The quarters next to his have been empty for weeks, since they brought him Qui-Gon’s things in a neat stack of cardboard boxes and gave him their deepest condolences for the death of his partner. Like that would make him feel better. Like that would patch the psychic wound gouged into the back of his mind as Qui-Gon bled to death in the conn-pod of their jaeger.

Obi-Wan does not care for Anakin Skywalker. One drift can’t change that—can’t plant feeling in his mind. No matter what the medical staff think they saw. They’d been in the drift too long, too soon. That’s all.

Turning from the spattering of alcohol that’s slowly tricking its way down the wall, Obi-Wan chugs the rest of his own portion before dumping the mug in the sink. He can’t deal with any more of this tonight. The rest of the bottle of liquor, which Quinlan had forgotten in his abrupt departure, is tucked safely away among his clothes in one of the boxes. If he’s caught with alcohol by anyone other than Quin or a handful of others, it’ll certainly be taken away and he’ll be back in the medical bay under observation. Now, with Quin pissed at him and no guarantee of reconciliation anytime soon, he’d rather not take any more risks than necessary.

Dropping onto the familiar, lumpy mattress of his cot, Obi-Wan allows the drink to drag him down into unconsciousness.

It feels like he’s only just fallen asleep when he’s startled awake by the sound of someone pounding at his door. Obi-Wan groans, grasping at his head as though the pressure will stop the throbbing in his skull. His mouth tastes like something curled up and died inside it overnight, and his stomach is twisting itself in knots. Of all the things he missed about alcohol during his forced reprieve, hangovers certainly weren’t one of them.

“Kenobi?” A familiar voice calls through the metal of the door, starting into another round of banging as though it will get him to answer faster. “Kenobi are you in there?”

“One moment, Aayla,” he calls out as he attempts to sit up, if only to make her stop her insistent pounding. The world spins around him in an unpleasant sensation as he fumbles for the shirt he must have stripped off overnight. When he’s presentable, the patterned burn scars his circuitry suit left behind hidden safely away beneath fabric, he somehow manages to make it across the room to throw open the door.

Waiting just outside, arms crossed in impatience, is Aayla Secura. Quinlan’s copilot is just a few years younger than him, built strong and sturdy. Today she’s got her turquoise-dyed hair pulled back into two braids and tucked beneath a brown bandana that matches the color of her leather bomber jacket. “You look like shit, Obi-Wan,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replies, squinting against the fluorescents in hall—too much for his sensitive eyes to handle at the moment. “What brings you to my door at this hour?”

Aayla uncrosses her arms, waving a strip of paper that’s clamped between her fingers. “Got your new room assignment. Quin said he was coming over here to help you pack last night, then came back in a tiff. Figured you’d need some help getting your things to your new place, since I’m doubting Skywalker’s going to come around to offer his assistance.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says with a weak chuckle. He isn’t sure why that thought makes his heart contract painfully in his chest. “No, I’d imagine he isn’t.”

Even with the hindrance of his hangover, it’s easy to finish collecting his things with Aayla’s aid. Before he knows it they’re loading all his boxes onto a dolly that’s waiting in the hall, and Obi-Wan is hit with the starting revelation that he’s leaving these quarters. Sure he’d thought about it before—he’d packed all his things!—but the full extent of what that means doesn’t seem to have registered until now. He’s going to be moving out of these quarters. He’s leaving this chapter of his life behind. He’d going to spend the rest of this war, or the rest of his life, at Anakin Skywalker’s side—whichever comes first.

The only thing he can think as he follows Aayla through the halls of the shatterdome to his new quarters, is that it should have been Qui-Gon.

[love-in-nature]

My Neighbor, Fen’harel Chapter 6: Hate and Love, Both Make You Burn

Full story on my AO3.

Emmy yawned and stretched her arms over her head.  The last of the paperwork was finally done and she’d set it aside with a triumphant cheer.  A little chime came from somewhere in the room.  In her legal document haze it took her a moment to realize it was her cell.

With a sigh, her eyes did a cursory glance over the surface of her desk but didn’t see it.  It chimed again.  She started to lift the various piles of paperwork with little luck.  Then she started opening drawers and shuffling through them.  Finally, she looked through her purse but still nothing.

Another chime, this time she swore it was annoyed with her.  As if an electronic device could be annoyed.  With a frown she started on her desk again.  Then again the chime and her frown deepened but this time she swore it came from behind her.  

“Where are you hiding you stupid thing.”

 It was like she had yelled the words with how quiet the space around her was.  She winced a bit but then realized that no one was still here so she was fine.  The crazy archivist could continue to masquerade as a normal person for now. 

She swiveled her chair so the back was to the desk and stood.  Chime.  This time, she saw the little light of the screen reflecting off the ceiling.  The stupid thing had made it’s way up on top of one of the filing cabinets by the door.  When she went over to grab it, she looked at it accusingly before checking the string of messages on her lock screen.

Dorian

Where in blazes are you?

Dorian

We came by to steal you away.  I can only hope you’re on a date.

Sera

DRINKS! Y R U NOT HERE???

Dorian

We are headed to the Singing Maiden, meet us.  Unless you are on a date in which case I expect a full report.

Emmy checked the time on the top of her phone.  It was just a little after 7.  She had been here way later than she had hoped, but at least she got all the initial paperwork done so she could get to the fun stuff tomorrow.  

She unlocked her phone and typed a response.

Emmy

I had first day paperwork to finish.  Headed home, Darcy and my couch are calling to me.  Seriously I can hear them all the way here.

Dorian

Please come.  I need a designated driver.

Emmy rolled her eyes and typed.

Emmy

First off, it isn’t my fault you’re too fancy to live within walking distance of everything and had to pick a house out in the hills.  Secondly, I’m wounded that you only want me for my car.  

She walked back over to her desk, sitting her phone down as she started to pack up her stuff.  Just as she was pulling on her coat the phone chimed again.

Dorian

I love you for so much more my dearest Emmy.  Like helping me to deal with Sera who has been shouting in my ear that I need to get you here for the past 20 minutes.

Emmy

Sorry, love.  You’re gonna have to deal.  If you need, walk to my place and you can crash on my couch when your done.

Dorian

You’re enjoying this.  Fine.  Tomorrow I’ll come by your shiny new office and see what makes it so much better than us.   But you owe me.  I took Sera’s phone so she can’t text you.  You’re welcome.

Emmy

You sure know how to make my heart soar Dorian, see you tomorrow <3

With a smile she dropped her phone in her purse.  Her eyes went to the, now empty, tea mug sitting on her desk.  There was a moment of debate before she decided it would be better to just take it and wash it out tonight so it was ready in the morning.  She picked it up and headed to her door.  

Just as her hand reached for the doorknob she heard sounds on the other side.  Her brows furrowed and her heart beat an unsteady rhythm in her throat.  Merrill had left a while ago.  She knew this because the woman had come to cheerily ask if Emmy needed any help before she went.  There shouldn’t be anyone else in here.

Her stomach turned to rock and she had to work to fight all the scenarios that were playing through her head.  She took in a deep quiet breath while she worked through her options.  She wasn’t entirely helpless after all.  If she got the element of surprise she knew basic hand to hand fighting.  She also had… well she had a mug.  That could be smashed on the intruder’s head giving her enough time to get away and call security.

Yes, good this is good.  I will vanquish my foe with my cat mug.  Cat… Darcy is going to be mad I’m so late.  Ugh focus you idiot.

At least the door was secured.  No one could get in so she’d be able to—

Click.

The fuck!?

The doorknob turned, and she moved her feet shoulder width apart while she lifted the mug.  The moment she saw the shape of someone start to enter, she swung.  In a flash her wrist was caught, quick breathing gently stirring the hair on the top of her head as her wrist was held firmly in place above her.

Even if she had been unable to see him, even if she had been unable to smell him, she would have known the moment his fingers touched her skin.  The touch was electric.  It was lighting going through her veins and it pissed her the fuck off.

Her pulse sped as she growled out, “Let. Me. Go.”

Then his voice, still like honey to her senses, “Are you going to bash my head in?”

“If I say no will you let me go?”

“Only if you mean it.  I am not particularly fond of dying tonight, much less death by,”  There was a pause as he looked at the object being wielded against him, “cat mug.”

Emmy ground her teeth together before saying in a flat tone, “If I’m going to take you out, it won’t be in my new office.  Maybe in some dark tunnel or under a bridge somewhere.  Someplace where I wouldn’t get blood all over my desk.”

Solas released her wrist.  She moved to quickly put space between them as she glared at him.  

“You sound as though you have thought this through.”

“On occasion.”  As her traitorous body allowed her mind to catch up with the situation, her eyes narrowed, “Why were you coming into my office?”

“I thought I had left a book in here.  I was not aware the new head archivist would be here, I apologize for startling you.”

“You–”  She took a deep breath the hand that didn’t hold the mug clenched and unclenched, “Why would your book be in here in the first place?”

“I was given permission to use this office on occasion until they filled the position.”  He shifted and his hands went behind his back, “It should not surprise you that I spend a great deal of my time utilizing the resources available here.”

Emmy’s hand tightened on the coffee mug as she worked to resist the overwhelming urge to chuck it at his head.  Instead, she took another deep breath, counting down, “Well, the book isn’t here.  So you can go now.  Out.”

He paused, shifting once again, “If you would not mind I–”

“I do mind.”

The first hint of emotion showed on his face as he frowned, “I would—”

“Listen, it isn’t here, but if I am wrong, which I’m not, but if I am, I’ll have it brought to you.”  Then she walked over to the door and held it open with her free hand as she made a sweeping gesture with the arm that held the mug, “Now, out.”

Solas cleared his throat before he moved past her to leave.  Too close again.   He was too close.  His scent was filling her nostrils and it would be so easy to grab his shirt, go on tip-toes, and just—

Stop! What’s wrong with you??

She felt a headache starting to form.  She reached out to shut off the light before leaving the room herself.  With much more force than was strictly necessary, she shut the door behind her listening for the click of the automatic lock.  That was another thing; she’d need to find out what asshole decided giving him an access key to this area was a good idea.

He stood outside the room waiting for her.  His face stoic, shoulders pulled back, he had always looked so regal despite whatever he put on his body.  He chose clothes to conceal him and help him blend into the crowd.  It might have worked for some but it never had for her.  Even less so after she had seen what was under those clothes.  The height and strength they hide.  The lean muscles she had run her fingers along, her mouth, lost herself in until—

Damnit.

She snapped at him, “How’d you get a key anyways?”

One fine brow raised, “I told you, I use the resou—”

“Fine.”  She waved her hand at him, “Just stay out of my office in the future.”

And away from me.  Stay far away with your idiotic mind numbing pheromones or whatever it is that makes me such an idiot.  Ass.

With a huff, that was much more childlike than she intended, she straightened her shoulders and headed towards the small staff room to wash out her mug.  When she got there he had followed her.  She’d heard him behind her but expected him to veer off when they’d gotten to the lounge.  Instead, he had walked right in behind her.

She turned on the water and slammed the mug down into the sink under the flow.  Then she turned to him eyes blazing, “Was there something else?”

Still no emotion on his face as he stood in front of her, hands tucked neatly into his pant pockets, “It is dark.  The area is fairly safe, but since I am here, I would walk you to your car.”

The reaction in her was immediate.  She felt twitchy and blood began to pound in her ears.  When she spoke her voice was a low growl, “No.”

He frowned, “No?”

Her hands were shaking as she turned to shut off the faucet.  Then she gripped the edge of the sink till her knuckles turned white.  “Who do you think you are?”

“Pardon?”

In a flash she turned on him, her nostrils flaring, “You don’t get to fucking do this!  You don’t get to just show up after two years and pretend you give a shit!”

He winced, “Emmy, I–”

“No.  Stop.”  She didn’t care what he had to say and she hoped her words hurt.  She hoped they fucking cut till he felt a fraction of the pain she had.  

She moved closer to him till she was so near she had to tilt her face up to look at him, “Where were you!?  Where were you when I was afraid and hurting, when I felt like was screaming till I was raw but no one could hear me and all I wanted… what I needed more than anything was—”  Anything from you.  A word.  An e-mail.  To know you were alive and that you cared even a little.  To know that I wasn’t just someplace to stick your dick, a passing entertainment.

She felt a familiar stinging in the corner of her eyes.  She fought hard to push it back, he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing her break.  

She hated him.   Hated him with a desperate passion that burned her.  The problem was hating him was disturbingly similar to loving him.  Every moment with him spiked her blood with adrenaline, twisted her stomach into knots, and made her feel like her heart was pounding so hard her chest couldn’t contain it.  It consumed her till she felt her own body was barely under control.  It terrified her.  

One of his hands came up towards her face, “Emmy…”

Her hand came up and slapped his away, “Don’t touch me.”  She took a step back, “We work on the same campus and you use my archives.  We are,” She swallowed before spitting out the word, “neighbors.  We will have to see each other but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it.  I’ll be professional and I expect the same.  I don’t need you to do stuff like walking me to my car.  I’ve taken care of myself fine for the past two years.”  Her eyes came up to look into his, “I don’t need or want you.  I will tolerate you.  Do you understand me?”

His face was completely expressionless again as he straightened with his hands clasped behind his back, “Yes.”

“Good.”  She pushed past him.

Before she could turn to go down the hall he spoke from behind her, “Say it.  If it will make you feel better, say it.”

I hate you because I still…

Without turning to look at him she said, “Good night, Dr. Evans.”