#i do well the entire semester but then during the exam i get cold feet

[rosepetalgold]

indigo skies above us (smile down upon us)

Summary: After the rest of the group bails on an evening out, Roman and Logan set off to find something to do and quickly find themselves in the middle of a night they won’t soon forget.

Relationships: Logince

Warnings: Brief sexual language courtesy of Remus

Word count: 5879

Notes: Day 4 of Logince Week 2022 for the free day slot. Takes place during spring semester of junior year (3rd year) of college. Remus uses xe/xem/xyr pronouns; Janus uses they/he/she pronouns; all other sides use he/him pronouns at this point.

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Masterpost

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Shades of Blue and Red

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Roman had a good feeling about tonight. He couldn’t describe it other than that, really, just that there was something else fluttering in his chest beyond the usual excitement of an evening out with his friends. He might call it a sense of destiny, if he was feeling particularly fanciful and didn’t mind being immediately teased by everyone except Patton.

Nights out with the whole group had become much rarer now that they were all juniors and busy with higher-level courses, and this particular evening had been planned well in advance, the date painstakingly set around exams and work schedules and theater practices and everything else they had going on.

So of course, given Roman’s good mood and the scheduling gymnastics it had taken to arrange this outing, fate had seen fit to intervene.

Patton had dropped out first that afternoon with a text to the group chat, over-apologizing for not feeling well and insisting that everyone else go out without him. Virgil had done the same about an hour before they were supposed to meet, albeit with a much less emotional text, having been called in to cover a shift at his job since half the other student workers were out with the same cold Patton had.

It was down to four of them, then, and Roman had a sneaking suspicion – scratch that, a raging certainty – that he and Logan were going to feel like third wheels to Janus and Remus. But it felt like forever since he’d gotten to go out with his friends, even if they were down two members of the group, so Roman was still in good spirits.

He shifts his weight between his feet where he’s waiting at their regular meet-up spot just off campus, fiddling the zipper of his jacket up and down and up again just to have something to do with his hands. He’s actually gotten here early for once, thanks to a plethora of reminders on his phone, too excited about the night to risk losing track of time and being late like he normally was, and now he has nothing else to do while he waits for the others.

His phone chimes and he digs it out of his pocket to see a text from Remus:

trash rat man: sry bro cant come arson beckons

Roman huffs, typing out a quick reply.

Princey: you suck

Then, because he isn’t entirely sure if Remus is joking or not,

Princey: please don’t get arrested, I don’t have the money to bail you out

Remus just shoots back a string of grinning emojis that don’t do a single thing to assuage Roman’s apprehension.

trash rat man: yes i do suck and im excellent at it

trash rat man: just ask jan

trash rat man: u wish u could suck like me

Roman gags aloud at that mental image, sure to fuel his nightmares for weeks. He did not need to hear about his brother’s sex life. He’d been unfortunate to witness it plenty before he’d finally had enough and instituted a non-negotiable No Sex rule in their suite.

“Is everything okay?”

He glances up to find that Logan has appeared in front of him and is casting him a questionable look.

“Remus just bailed,” Roman informs him, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “And that means Janus is out too, since those two are practically joined at the hip.”

“So it’s just … you and me?”

There’s something off in Logan’s voice, an undertone to it that Roman can’t quite read, but he doubts it’s anything good, and his stomach twists. Of course Logan wouldn’t want to hang out with just him, of course he has better things to do with his time. He tries his best to keep the disappointment in his voice hidden under a veneer of breeziness.

“I guess so,” he says. “We can just call it off if you want; I know you probably have lots of studying to do–”

“No!” Logan cuts him off, then bites his lip like he wants to take the word back, dropping his gaze to his shoes as he toes at the ground. “I mean, I would enjoy having the evening off and spending it with you, if such a thing isn’t objectionable to you.”

Roman pauses, a bit taken aback at the vehemence of Logan’s answer. It’s just because he wants a night away from his books, Roman reminds himself. He’s living in his very own little fantasy world if he thinks it has anything to do with Logan wanting to spend time specifically with him; he’s sure Logan would be just as happy to share a free evening with Virgil or Remus or anyone else in their friend group.

And surely that hint of a flush rising on the tops of Logan’s cheekbones is from the wind or something. No other reason. Roman needs to snap back to reality and stop looking for desperate signs that Logan might return his feelings.

“Well, there is one benefit to everyone else bailing,” he admits. Logan raises a curious eyebrow and Roman grins. “We get to do whatever we want. No one else arguing about where to go or how long to stay or when the night is over. So tell me, Lo, what kind of metaphorical trouble do you want to get into tonight?”

Logan considers for a moment.

“I don’t know about getting into trouble, metaphorical or otherwise, but the science and natural history museum is offering discounted admission to students.”

Roman can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the thought of spending his precious free time being quiet and sedate, wandering through endless galleries of things that all started to look the same after about five minutes. Some days he could enjoy museums. Definitely not tonight.

“Veto.”

“Veto? You didn’t say anything about veto rules.”

“Just decided,” he declares. “I can veto your suggestions and you can veto mine until we find something we both want to do.”

Logan most definitely does not look enthusiastic about this development and Roman fondly resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Come on, Lo. This is your first night out and away from your textbooks in, like, forever! Live a little! The whole city is at your fingertips!”

On impulse, he grabs Logan’s hand and pulls it up over his head, leading him into a spin like they’re dancing.

“Roman!” Logan exclaims as he stumbles in the unexpected movement, but he doesn’t pull his fingers free, blush deepening across his cheeks. “What on earth are you doing?”

Roman grins, entirely too pleased at his own antics.

“Trying to shake loose some good ideas. Come on, kick that big brain of yours into action. Every subpar idea earns you a spin until you come up with something fun for us to do.”

Logan stares at him like he’s declared he’s trying to grow a second head.

“I fail to see how that will further the production of ‘good ideas,’ as you put it, but, um, the library? They have a new-”

“Nope,” Roman sing-songs, giving him a twirl. “You spend like eighty percent of your life in libraries. Try again.”

“There’s a public lecture by–”

“You can do better than that.”

“I – just – what about – hey!” he protests as Roman turns him in yet another spin, but he’s smiling slightly and he still hasn’t pulled his fingers free, so Roman figures he can’t be too upset with his shenanigans. “I hadn’t even said anything!”

“Too slow. You gotta speed up those ideas.”

He gives Logan’s hand a little tug for emphasis and he shakes his head emphatically.

“Food!”

Roman pauses, definitely because of Logan’s exclamation and not because he’s just realized how Logan looks right now, face flushed and hair falling slightly into his eyes from all the impromptu dancing. Nope. Definitely not because of any of that.

“Food,” Logan repeats, seizing on Roman’s silence, cautiously pulling their joined hands down like he’s waiting for Roman to reject this idea as well. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. Let’s go get some food somewhere.”

“Do you want to spin me to make things even?” Roman blurts, suddenly afraid that he may have annoyed Logan with his hijinks, but his friend just shakes his head. “Are you sure?” he presses. “I’m an excellent dancer, you know.”

Logan casts him a sidelong look that says he very much doubts that, but it’s teasing rather than critical.

“No,” he decides after a moment of consideration. “I’ll make things even some other way.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Logan just grins, and Roman’s breath catches because fuck, who gave him permission to look like that, all sharp smile and sparkling eyes, he’s so pretty it should be illegal, he wants to pull him close right then and there and kiss that smile right off his face–

“Who says it can’t be both?” Logan asks, thankfully interrupting Roman’s internal crisis before he can say or do something stupid like actually kiss him. He gives Roman’s hand a tug. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

-

They find a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant after a bit of searching and keep up a steady conversation as they eat, lingering until the waitstaff begins shooting Roman dirty looks for singing along to the radio. Logan waves off his offer to split the bill and pays the tab in full, and Roman’s heart leaps treacherously because that’s exactly the kind of thing that happens on a date.

But that’s ridiculous. This clearly isn’t a date. Logan hasn’t ever shown any indication that he likes him as more than a friend. Surely they’ve paid for each other plenty of times before and Roman just can’t remember. He needs to get his head out of the clouds and stop reading into things before he ruins what is shaping up to be a perfectly pleasant evening.

Logan, who is clearly having no such dilemmas, is in a noticeably better mood now that he’s had some food and seems much more open to doing something more exciting than visiting museums and libraries. Logan and Roman’s Fantastically Grand Adventure Around The City, Roman coins it as they set off to find something to entertain themselves with, and Logan just sighs and tells him that when he’s done coming up with ridiculous names, it’s his turn to suggest an idea for what to do next.

It does turn out to be a grand adventure, if Roman does say so himself.

He takes Logan on a tour through one of the local neighborhoods known for its street art, the two of them keeping up a running commentary on the murals decorating the walls and buildings before visiting the space open for graffiti artists to tag and trying to find anything done by Remus.

(They pick their favorite pieces and engage in a light-hearted debate about which is the best until their arguments get so preposterous that neither of them can keep a straight face and they declare a draw.)

For his next turn, Logan chooses to wander until they find a food truck he deems suitable and they order dessert to satisfy his craving for something sweet.

(Roman sticks churros in his lip like tusks and pretends he’s a walrus and it’s ridiculous even to him, but it makes Logan laugh, so it’s worth every second of looking like an idiot.)

Roman drags Logan on a wild hunt around the city searching for a fountain that he knows exists somewhere but can’t find, and they make a game of seeing if they can locate it without using their phones.

(They do. They toss coins in and make wishes and for once Roman doesn’t even have anything to wish for, because what could be better than this?)

Logan detours them to take a walk down by the river and peoplewatch, Logan making characteristically blunt observations about others and Roman making up increasingly fantastical stories about any stranger who catches his eye.

(At some point, Logan grabs his hand, maybe to lead him across a crosswalk or pull him out of someone’s way, and the press of their palms against each other and the way their fingers loosely intertwine feels so natural that Roman doesn’t even realize they’re still holding hands until some time later.)

By the time they end up back at their meet-up spot, Roman feels giddy, almost drunk on the feeling of the night, on Logan’s smile and his laugh and the way his eyes light up when he has a particularly clever quip to something Roman has said as they banter back and forth, and he doesn’t want the evening to end.

“Let’s go one more place,” he blurts as they stop beside his car. He can sense Logan getting ready to ask where, or maybe to glance at his watch and say it’s late and that he should be going, so he doesn’t let him get the chance to do either.

“A surprise. And I know, I know you hate surprises, but you’ll like this one, I promise. No crowds or bright lights or noise or anything. Please? For your favorite Prince?”

He expects a protest, or even an outright refusal, but Logan just shrugs and nods, stepping up to the passenger side door.

“Alright.”

Roman fumbles to unlock the car, a little incredulous at his easy acquiescence and sure that at any moment Logan is going to change his mind and decide he needs to go back to his apartment and recharge away from people and the commotion of the city, but he just slips into the car and primly buckles his seatbelt, ready to go.

Well, if Logan doesn’t want the night to come to an end either, Roman isn’t about to question it.

He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, flipping the radio onto a low volume as he navigates out of the city, but he needn’t have worried; even after talking all night, the conversation flows easily between them, everything from the antics in Roman’s theater class to current events to the melanistic squirrel Logan had seen on campus the other day, and the drive passes quickly. About halfway through, Roman turns off the highway and onto progressively more rural side roads, and they’re only a few minutes from their destination when Logan seems to realize how far they’ve gone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been out this way,” he comments, peering out the window, and Roman winces as he glances at the time on the dash. Good thing it isn’t a weeknight.

“I know, sorry, I should have asked if it was okay with you to go this far. I know you like to go to bed early.”

He sees Logan shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t mind. Being up late one night shouldn’t do too much harm to my circadian rhythm. And I was promised a surprise I would like by my favorite Prince, after all.”

My favorite Prince. Nerves are suddenly battering Roman’s insides and part of him wants to just pull a u-turn and head back to the city right now, because what if this is a stupid idea? What if Logan doesn’t like it? What if he’s just wasting both of their time and they’ll have to suffer through a painfully awkward drive back?

Those thoughts would just have to go fuck right off, he decides, steeling his resolve. He knows Logan. He knows he’ll like this, and even if he doesn’t, it’s not like they haven’t worked through approximately four thousand disagreements before. Everything will be fine.

A few minutes and one painfully potholey road later and they arrive at their destination.

“We’re here!” Roman announces, too loud in an attempt to squash any nerves that might creep into his voice. Logan stares out the window at the empty pasture at the end of the dead-end road where they’ve parked, the surroundings dark except for the moonlight.

“And where, exactly, is here?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just scrambles out of the car and around to Logan’s side, pulling him out of the car and out across the fallow field, lighting the way with his phone flashlight so they don’t trip too badly. Logan stops after a few dozen feet, tugging his hand out of Roman’s grip and refusing to go any farther, his expression souring for the first time all evening.

“Come on, Roman. Tell me why we’re here. If you wanted to play some kind of prank on me–”

“No!” Roman protests immediately, surging towards him in an attempt to reassure him, only to catch himself and pull back from touching Logan without a sign that it’s okay to do so at the moment. “This isn’t a prank; I wouldn’t do that to you. And I know it still isn’t perfect, not like it would be if we drove further, but at least there’s less light from the city here–”

Logan is shaking his head, clearly confused, and Roman cuts off his own rambling.

“Look up.”

Logan does, and a soft gasp falls from his lips as he gazes up at the myriad of stars glimmering above them. Roman briefly sends a thank you to any higher power listening that it’s a clear night, because he hadn’t even bothered to check if it was overcast before starting their drive and he has a sneaking suspicion that Logan would not be impressed if Roman had kidnapped him and driven him nearly an hour away just to look at some clouds while standing in a field in the middle of nowhere.

Just a guess.

“Look,” Logan says, pointing. “There’s Polaris, colloquially known as the North Star, although other stars have been known as the North Star throughout history due to the wobble in the earth’s axis of rotation. It’s part of Ursa Minor, or the Little Dipper, and of course there’s Ursa Major, or the Big Dipper, and over there is Orion…”

He’s still going, drawing various shapes in the air with his finger, but for all the world Roman can’t tear his eyes away from Logan, features cast in gentle moonlight, so excited as he spills an endless stream of knowledge, bouncing on the balls of his feet with unrestrained happiness.

He’s more captivating than any star could ever be.

Eventually he comes to a natural pause in his catalogue of constellations and Roman seizes the opportunity to coax him back to the car long enough for them to find a fleece blanket in the emergency breakdown kit Patton had gifted him last Christmas. Roman shakes it out and lays it on the ground so they don’t have to sit in the damp grass, and after assuring Logan that yes, he knew the person who owned this land and no, they wouldn’t get in trouble for being here, they settle onto the blanket.

The allure of stargazing must win out over any lingering trepidation about potentially trespassing, because Logan is already back to talking a mile a minute as he lays down, something about the lifecycle of stars, and for a moment Roman can just stare at him, utterly transfixed by the gleam of happiness in his eyes, until Logan complains he’s blocking the view and tugs his arm, telling him to lay down in a way that Roman would normally tease is bossy but right now is just hopelessly endearing.

He situates himself down on the blanket, careful to leave space between them as Logan continues to speak rapidly. Now that he’s looking up at the stars and not at Logan, he’s able to actually focus on what he’s saying, and he tries to understand it, he does, because this is clearly important to Logan and he wants him to feel listened to, but the science of all of it is going right over his head, so he settles for making the appropriate ahhs and mmm-hmms at regular intervals.

Logan pauses after some time, sitting up to dig something pokey out from underneath him.

“Roman,” he scolds lightly, and Roman starts, wracking his brain for what he could have possibly done, what breach of stargazing etiquette he has unwittingly committed. “You’re barely even on the blanket. You’re going to get wet from the dew on the grass. You should scoot over. I’m not Remus; I don’t bite.”

Roman obligingly shifts a little more onto the blanket, although it’s a bit of a moot point since dampness has already crept through the back of his jacket. There’s a moment of silence as Logan takes advantage of his upright position to stretch out his shoulders and neck, and there’s no pressure to fill the quiet, but Roman figures since Logan has shared so much of his knowledge the least Roman can do is return the favor a little.

Nervously clearing his throat, he points at one of the constellations he actually knows and begins recounting the Greek mythology associated with it. He’s sure Logan probably already knows most of it, if not all of it, but Logan just nods along enthusiastically, occasionally interjecting with an additional tidbit of information, so apparently he isn't too put out by Roman derailing his more scientific lecturing.

And then Logan lays down again and Roman stutters mid-tale, mind going absolutely blank for a moment, because Logan is pressed against him from shoulder to hip, the warmth of his body almost shocking compared to the cool night air even through several layers of clothing.

It doesn’t mean anything, Roman reminds himself as he fumbles to pick up his story again. Friends were physically close like this all the time – hell, he was physically close with his other friends like this on movie nights and whatnot all the time – and it didn’t imply any sort of more-than-platonic feelings. And even if Logan was typically more reserved, he had gotten more comfortable with physical displays of affection from everyone in their friend group in the last year or two. That’s all this was. It was a small blanket and Logan didn’t want to give up his spot so obviously when Roman moved over they were going to touch. Nothing more to it.

(Even if it really, really feels like there’s something more to it.)

He somehow manages to get through the rest of the mythology he’s narrating, even though his heart is racing so fast he’s surprised Logan can’t feel it where their arms are pressed together, the closeness of him an exquisite kind of torture, but Roman can’t even imagine shifting away.

“You talk more,” he croaks artfully when he finishes, because if he has to channel any more brain power into trying to tell a coherent story he might just implode. “I like hearing you talk about space.”

Logan is silent for a moment, clearly hesitant.

“Are you sure? I know that I often get carried away talking about such interests and that it can sometimes be boring or annoying.”

“I’m positive,” Roman assures him. “You never bore me, Lo. You could talk about whatever you want until the sun comes up and I wouldn’t care.”

“Alright,” Logan says after a long pause. “Just tell me if you change your mind.”

He starts in again, still a little timid at first, but it’s barely a minute before his enthusiasm is back in full force and he’s gesturing excitedly as he talks about some kind of new theoretical subatomic particle and its role in the universe.

It’s a long time that they just lay there, Logan talking and Roman occasionally interrupting with a comment or question while the stars slowly shift above them, but Roman doesn’t mind. He meant what he’d said; he could stay here listening to Logan discuss astronomy until dawn without a single complaint, even if it means slowly going insane trying not to overanalyze every time Logan moves and his arm presses against Roman’s a little more.

Some things were worth going crazy for, after all.

“Look!” Logan interrupts himself suddenly, pointing. “A meteor!”

It is, a brilliant white shooting star streaking across the sky, there and gone in an instant, and for the second time tonight Roman finds himself in a position to make a wish and yet he still can’t think of anything he could want that would make the night better.

“Most meteors are actually quite small, about the size of a pebble or even a grain of sand,” Logan informs him. “They are quite tiny and seemingly insignificant, and yet they leave such a remarkable impression. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Yeah,” Roman says quietly, his eyes shifting away from the stars, and he can’t help the way he sounds almost reverent as he gazes at Logan’s profile in the moonlight. “It’s stunning.”

Logan turns his head to meet his gaze and there’s nothing but a breath between them as they stare at each other for a long moment, and then something shifts ever so slightly in Logan’s expression, eyes darkening, and his gaze shifts down to Roman’s mouth, his own lips parting slightly, and yes, this is everything Roman wants and he’s not ready and this is perfect and it’s too much and he wants it so badly and he can’t–

He turns back to look at the sky, heart racing so fast he almost feels sick.

He’s such a damn coward.

“Tell me more about the space in between the stars,” he says hoarsely, trying for some semblance of normal and failing miserably. All that acting training wasted, apparently. There’s a long pause before Logan starts in about the vastness of space, more subdued than he’s been all night, and guilt wrenches through Roman’s chest because no, Logan feeling bad or being anything less than radiantly excited about space is absolutely not permitted.

He shifts his hand, letting it brush against the back of Logan’s, and when that doesn’t elicit any negative response, he skims his thumb along the top of Logan’s, a silent apology. For a moment, there’s nothing, and Roman is about to draw away when Logan’s fingertips brush back against his, dancing against Roman’s for a moment before he turns his hand and fully laces their fingers together, giving a little squeeze.

All while never missing a beat in his explanation of dark matter. Roman feels like he’s about to have a heart attack and here Logan is delivering a full dissertation on the mysteries of the universe. It’s wildly unfair.

Eventually, after what could have been five minutes or five hours for all Roman can tell, Logan falls quiet and a comfortable silence settles between them, nothing but the hum of the night insects and the occasional hooting of an owl off in the distance.

“It’s getting late,” Logan finally says after another indeterminable amount of time. “We should head back.”

Roman murmurs an agreement and they pick themselves up off the ground, Roman trying to ignore the way the absence of Logan’s hand in his feels like a loss as he attempts to stretch some feeling back into his stiff body. Turns out laying on the ground for hours on end with only a thin blanket for cushioning was not as comfortable as it looked.

“So, this was a good surprise?” he asks, pretty sure he knows the answer but feeling the sudden urge to double-check that Logan hasn’t just gone along with it for Roman’s sake.

“Yes,” Logan replies distractedly, still craning his head back to gaze up at the sky as if he hasn’t just spent the whole night looking at it, and Roman’s heart squeezes with affection. Then he seems to actually register Roman’s question and drags his eyes away from the heavens.

“Yes. Yes! This was a good surprise,” he laughs, and before Roman can process what’s happening, he’s grabbing Roman’s hand and pulling him into a spin like Roman had done with him at the very beginning of the night.

A laugh of pure delight spills out of Roman’s mouth and he seizes Logan’s other hand, sweeping him into an impromptu dance, leading him through unchoreographed steps in the damp grass and vocalizing music in between laughs, and Logan is laughing right back, the sound bright and clear in the still night air. Roman has so rarely ever seen him like this, entirely open and carefree and happy, so blindingly happy as he spins away from Roman and then right back again, and that familiar warmth that Roman always associates with Logan has been blooming in his chest all night but now it’s spreading to his head, his stomach, his fingertips until it’s all he can feel.

They slow after a few minutes, movements getting smaller and smaller until Logan is only a breath away, one hand still held in Roman’s grip and the other resting lightly on his back as they sway gently back and forth. And then he blows out a contented sigh and closes the few inches between them, practically melting into Roman’s chest as he tucks his head onto his shoulder.

And maybe Roman shouldn’t, maybe he’s misreading the signals because he wants them to be something they’re not, maybe he should bite back his words and go on pining for Logan from afar, but there’s something about the evening that makes him feel bold and invincible, as if no bad can come to either of them while Logan is wrapped in his arms, warm and trusting and bathed in starlight.

“Logan,” he says, voice barely above a whisper in the still of the night. “You can say no, of course you can always say no, but – can I kiss you?”

Logan pulls back abruptly to stare at him, although he stops short of breaking free of Roman’s loose grip, and the surprise written across his face makes Roman’s stomach turn with butterflies and he almost backtracks right then and there, almost laughs it off as some kind of joke, but he steels himself, waiting with his breath caught in his throat for Logan’s reply because if he doesn’t hear the answer then he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering what it might have been.

Then Logan’s lips twitch up into a tiny smirk and jesus fucking christ, Roman can’t even breathe–

“I don’t know, Roman, can you?”

All of Roman’s breath huffs out in an incredulous laugh at the breathtaking, maddening, perfect man in front of him.

“You–”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as Logan tips forward and presses his mouth to his.

Logan’s lips are cold and chapped and his glasses dig slightly into Roman’s face and the angle isn’t the greatest and it is by far, without a doubt, the singular best thing that has ever happened to Roman.

It’s nothing more than a press of their lips, really, and Roman has kissed others far less chastely than this, but none of them has ever made him feel this way, like all his thoughts have gone silent and all the breath has been stolen right out of his lungs and all the world has disappeared except for him and Logan and the stars above them.

They break apart after a moment and Roman can’t help but laugh as something occurs to him, tightening his grip slightly on Logan as he pulls back, hurt clear on his face.

“No, not you, Lo, that was amazing and wonderful and I would very much like to do it again,” he rushes to reassure him, and his face relaxes. “But I just realized that we have a whole observatory on campus and you’re an astrophysics major and you’ve seen the stars with a very expensive telescope, like, a billion times before, and I thought it was a great idea to take you to a field in the middle of nowhere to go stargazing.”

“Well,” Logan says quietly, smiling softly as he rests their foreheads together and gently squeezes Roman’s hand. “I would much rather watch the stars with you.”

And really, when he says things like that, what can Roman do but kiss him again?

-

Logan dozes off on the car ride back to campus, head leaned against the window and fingers loose where they’re laced with Roman’s on the center console, and given how late – or early? – it is, Roman doesn’t blame him.

Roman, on the other hand, has never felt more awake.

He’d kissed Logan. He’d kissed Logan. Or, actually, Logan had kissed him first, but still. He’d kissed Logan.

He can’t stop grinning the whole drive, and he’s glad that there’s hardly any other cars out because his mind is more than a bit preoccupied with reliving the memory of Logan’s lips on his and not focused on trivial little things like speed limits and stop signs.

But they make it back to Logan’s apartment building without any accidents, so Roman can’t feel too bad about not being the best driver in the world. He gently shakes Logan awake, which merits him an adorable look of sleepy confusion before Logan remembers where he is, and Roman walks him up to the door of the complex.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he says, which is the understatement of the century, but he doesn’t know quite what else to say, considering he never thought this was how the evening would end or that he’d even ever get this far with Logan. He’s half-convinced he’ll wake up at any moment and discover this has all been a dream.

Logan nods through a yawn, expression open and unguarded as he blinks sleepily.

“I also had a very enjoyable time.”

“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep,” Roman says a bit awkwardly. “I’ll text you tomorrow?” he asks, and Logan nods again. “Okay. Sweet dreams, Logan.”

He steps back to leave, but Logan’s hand catches his and he stills, casting him a questioning look. Logan plays with his fingers, not quite meeting his gaze.

“I believe a goodnight kiss is a traditional way to end such an evening?”

His voice trails up into an uncharacteristically unsure question and Roman can’t help the smile that spreads across his face even though Remus would call it disgustingly besotted and sappy.

“Alright, since you ask so nicely.”

Logan starts to backpedal, eyes widening, and Roman shushes him quietly.

“I’m just teasing, Lo,” he whispers. He raises one hand slowly, giving Logan plenty of time to pull away if he wants to, and gently cups his cheek, brushing his thumb featherlight across Logan’s cheekbone. Logan presses into the touch as his eyes flutter closed, chin tipping up expectantly, and Roman kisses him, soft and sweet and slow as if they have all the time in the world.

Tomorrow, he knows, they’ll have to talk about this new chapter of their relationship, work out what it means and how they’re going to define it and who, if anyone, they’re going to tell and a thousand other details.

But for now, as he kisses Logan, the stars above still continuing their slow wheel in the sky even underneath the light from the city, he doesn’t have words. All he has is the warm, sure feeling that this night is nothing if not a promise of good things to come.

[foster-the-world]

May, already?

I have a space heater at my feet. It's May 1st. That sentence should not be written on May 1st. It was nice today but somehow still cold in my apartment.

Great weekend. The month off between semesters is so dreamy. Feeling accomplished but not having to actually doing any work. The kids had three Bday parties. Pizza and cupcakes galore. One of them was my husband's cousin's kids. The girls spent the night at the inlaws last night. Hanging out with only baby boy is always a treat/break. We ate outside with him. We give him an entire container of puffs to keep him quiet while we enjoy a cocktail. The kid can eat his weight in puffs. If we time it right we get to actually enjoy dinner - even though he's not a great age for eating out.

I took yesterday morning with all three kids so I got to sleep in. Again = dreamy. Then we met the girls at the mini golf party. All the kids played at the public playground while talking with my husbands family. One of the cousin's teenagers started on anti-depressants because Covid quarantines got him down. They are paying out of pocket for good therapy. Luckily, he seems on the upswing. Fingers cross it continues that way. Must be so tough for everyone.

Came back to the city to eat soul food with someone I went to high school with. She has a tween daughter. The daughter was perfectly lovely to us but I can't say it made that age look appealing. The eye rolls every time her Mom said perfectly normal things, staring at the phone, short answers, etc. She also looks so much older/more grownup than my nephew who is the same age. Trying to have adult interactions while making sure baby boy doesn't disturb anyone is not particularly enjoyable. The puffs trick works but he's embarrassingly messy and still demanding. The girls are well behaved but we do need to manage them somewhat. Overall, nice to see her and meet her family but next time I'll say no to bringing the kids.

The girls have a day off school tmrw. Baby boy has his first OT appointment. The girls will stay at daycare while I take him. Then will do something fun while he's at daycare.

During the summer semester I have two afternoons a week without class or clinical. I'll use one to take him to OT. It's only a half hour but by the time we commute, etc it's 2-3 hours total. It's nice to have the afternoons available but it's really the time I should be doing schoolwork/studying for exams. My husband can do some weeks but he also needs to go to work. It will work itself out.

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: Caution to the Wind: PART 3

For Part 1 Click Here and For Part 2 Click Here

Pairing: yoongi x reader ft. Namjoon (brief)

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, a lot of first times, Solo (m), Oral (m) (f) receiving, hand job, triggering themes (anxiety attack), 

Rating: 18 and over

Permanent Tag: @mochilicious-yoongi @heyimtavia​ @loveyoongles​ 

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS PART IS SOLELY FROM YOONGI’S PERSPECTIVE. HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Yoongi:

Yoongi sat there, outside of the music room, his leg shaking frantically, waiting to be called so he could submit his entry exam. He had been working on this beat for months and it was finally perfect. It was a requirement for this music program to pass an entry exam in order to use their studios during the semester. To say Yoongi was nervous was an understatement. He cleared his throat for what felt like the hundredth time. He scratched at his neck, yanked on his ear, and picked at his calloused hand. “Come on.” He groaned under his breath. He had already been waiting an hour, an hour he could've spent with Y/N. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking back to last night. How sexy she sounded when she moaned his name, her glistening core, and her gorgeous body under the flowing shower. “Calm down Yoongi.” He whispers to himself when he feels his cock twitch.  

He looks at the music room door, wondering what was taking so long with the student before him. He picked at his hand again, grumbling to himself, flashes of Y/N's pert nipples dancing in his head. He groaned, angry with himself that he was unable to shake her from his mind. He closed his eyes again, thinking back to the shower, her body on full display. She didn’t bother to hide herself the way he did, ashamed that he was once again hard after having just cum. Would she blame me though? Watching her wash her body was probably the second hottest thing he’s ever seen. He was sure to stand sideways, hiding himself as much as possible. “Aren’t you gonna wash up?” She giggled. “Yeah, you just take up so much space.” He teased, hoping she didn’t notice how much she affected him.

“Alright then, I’ll give you your space.” She smirks, rinsing off and ducking out of the shower. Yoongi was sure to peek from behind the curtain to be sure she was fully gone from the restroom before he began to stroke his aching cock. “Fuck.” He whispered, moving his hand quickly over his thick shaft. He couldn’t believe what just happened in that bedroom, couldn’t believe he had just showered with Y/N. Watching her play with herself was probably the highlight of his life. He was sure she would tell him no to his proposition. She was gorgeous, such a catch and he was... well.... him. They had been best friends for years, since they were kids, but that friendship had blossomed into so much more for him. She was his rock, his everything. The literal highlight of his day. How would she react if she found out that he had a growing crush on her? Maybe she felt the same way or maybe he was just fooling himself, either way he was honored she let him see her so intimately.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so gorgeous. I want you so bad. Sss- So fucking hot.” Yoongi whispers under his breath, tugging at his balls. He bites his lip, feeling his body tense, that delicious tug in his scrotum. He moans as silently as he can, his hand working his tip furiously. His mouth falls open when that familiar feeling raptures his body, his balls jumping up right before he turns his cock up to unload his seed onto his stomach. He’s a panting mess, still slowly working his length, moving forward into the water to rinse off.

“Min? Is your name Min?” Another student calls from across Yoongi, snapping him out of his fantasy. Yoongi’s eyes widen, and he looks over to the student confused. “Are you Min Yoongi?” The kid asks again. Yoongi nods. “Okay then, you're up. The professor stuck his head out to call you.” Yoongi nods again, his cheeks reddening, the feel of his erection against his thigh keeping him from moving from his seat. Suddenly the professor sticks his head out from the music room, “I don't have all day! Is Min here or do I need to move on?” Yoongi throws his hand in the air, grabbing his backpack from the floor and using it to cover his lap as he walks into the music room.  

“Major?” The professor asks blandly. “Music Production.” Yoongi grumbles, feeling his face heat. The professor nods, taking a seat and nodding towards the open laptop. Yoongi looks over blankly. “Should I play my track?” He asks. “Well, I surely don’t want you to rap Mr. Min.” Yoongi clears his throat, moving towards the laptop and sticking his thumb drive in. He scrolls through the files, locating his track and playing it for the professor. He begins to nod his head to the beat, calming a bit when he sees the professor do the same. “Should I explain my method?” Yoongi asks. “Assuming I don’t understand music theory?” The professor counters. “No, I didn’t mean....” “You can turn it off.” He snaps, sitting up and scribbling on his notepad. Yoongi swallows hard, turning the track off. He feels his heart racing, waiting for the professor to give him his grade. “I like your work Min. Your mouth not so much. B+. You can expect an email with details on where to pick up a studio scan card on the day of move in. Have a good one.”  

“With all due respect sir. I feel like the track is worth more than a B+.” Yoongi scoffs, nervously. The professor nods, leaning back in his seat, “Play it again.” Yoongi moves to play the track again. The professor nods to the beat, leaning forward to scribble down more notes. “Turn it off.” He demands. Yoongi stops the track, staring at the professor. “B-.” The Professor declares. “What! Are you insane? Do you know how long I worked on this? I could sell this right now and make millions.” Yoongi word vomits. The professor smirks. “Like I said Mr. Min. I like your work but your mouth not so much. I like the beat, but it isn't perfect. If it were, you wouldn’t be here trying to get your degree would you. You’d be out there making said millions. Now can I assume that you still want that B+ or are we settling for a B-.”  

“What an asshole!!” Y/N shouts when you meet up with her and describe what transpired. “It’s fine. I took the B+. At least I passed the entry exam.” “That’s fucked up Yoon. You should report him.” Yoongi sighs deeply, holding open the door to the burger joint you both decided to eat at. “It’s fine really. I met a cool kid after. We exchanged numbers.” “Oh?” She stops suddenly. “Yeah.” “A girl or....” Her voice trails off and Yoongi’s eyes pop open at the realization of her assumption. “No! A guy,” Yoongi laughs nervously, “Namjoon. He’s taking Music as well. Passed the entry exam also, so we talked about possibly working together in the studio. I got good vibes from him.” “Well look at you making college friends already.” She teased, walking to the line to order. Yoongi shook his head, digging his hands into his pocket for his card to pay for the meal.

“You think I should go home tonight? Talk to my parents.” He asks, the pangs of guilt gripping him. “Finally ready to say sorry. Do you want me to come with?” “I didn’t say all that. I was just thinking maybe I’d try again to get them to see things differently.” “I feel like that’s a great idea Yoongi. If it feels right, then you should go for it.” Yoongi smiles watching Y/N order for the both of them. She was so supportive and knowing he could count on her made him feel confident. So confident, he moved towards her, waiting for just the right moment to plant a soft kiss on her lips. She giggles when he pulls away. “What’s that for?” She asks. “Being amazing.” He shrugs, moving forward to give his card to the cashier. “Sorry sir your card has been declined.” “Excuse me? That’s a mistake, can you please try again.” Yoongi swallows hard, shoving the card back at her. She swipes again and the machine beeps. She looks up at him and shakes her head. “It’s ok. I got it. Maybe the machine is messed up.” Y/N offers, pulling out cash.  

You both take a seat and wait for your number to be called. “Hey, you ok?” Y/N asks but you are too busy reading and re-reading the text from your mother. ‘Yoongi, until further notice, you have been CUT OFF.’ “Yoongi! Hey!” Yoongi finally looks up at Y/N, swallowing hard and turning his phone to her. “They cut me off. Its why my card didn’t work.” He mumbles, staring down at his feet. “Holy shit! What the hell?!? How could they!!” “I knew they were pissed but.... it's fine. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change anything. I’ll just get a job and work nights to pay for myself this semester and then apply for a scholarship next year. I can do this! I’m fine. It’s fine.” Yoongi assures her, even though it's really himself he’s trying to assure. His heart begins beating rapidly, the throws of anxiety slamming his entire body. “Can we walk?” He blurts out suddenly, a cold sweat hitting him. “Yeah of course.” Y/N jumps up just as they call your number. Yoongi runs out the restaurant, Y/N running to catch up with the bag of food in her hand.  

“Talk to me Yoons, you look sick.” “I can't breathe.” Yoongi confesses, his lungs feeling heavy with every breath he takes. “I just need to sit.” He says suddenly, plopping down on the side of the street, gasping for air. Y/N begins to wipe away the sweaty hair his forehead, but it only annoys him. “Please don’t touch me ok.” Yoongi shouts. “I’m sorry. Of course. Yoongi, please, take a deep breath. I think you're having a panic attack.” Yoongi feels sick, his stomach turning and heart racing. He drops his head between his knees, gasping for air. “I’m ok. This is ok. I can do this.” He whispers to himself. “Yoongi, you need to go talk to them.” Y/N whispers and with that Yoongi yells out to the universe. Everything inside him boiling over, tears flowing in succession with his struggled breathing. “I knew they were mad but fuck!” He throws himself into Y/N’s lap, who immediately rubs his back, rocking him back and forth. “It’s ok Yoongi. I’ll help you through this semester and we can come up with a game plan for next year. I promise you're not alone. This is a minor hiccup in what is going to be the best four years of your life.” Yoongi hears everything she’s saying but all he wanted to do right now was feel sorry for himself, he had no use for logic, logic he can use tomorrow. Today, right now, he wanted to hate them and himself.  

“You ready for this?” Y/N asked, the both of you standing outside of your parents' home. Yoongi only nods. “Let’s get this over with.” Yoongi puts his key in the door and attempts to turn it, but it doesn't move. “They changed the fucking locks!” He shouts. “Calm down. Remember what we talked about. You get more bees with honey than vinegar.” “Sure. Honey.” Yoongi responds, slamming his fist on the door. “Jesus Yoongi!” “Fuck them!” He snaps, slamming his fist on the door again. They don’t get nice, not after the stunt they pulled. “Hey! Open up. It's your son! The one you disowned but an hour ago!” The door swings open and Yoongi’s father is standing before you both. “Son.” “Father.” “We have much to discuss, perhaps better without Y/N here.” “She stays or I go.” Yoongi was not up for negotiating. “Fine. Come in.” Yoongi nods to Y/N to follow him in. “You can have these back.” Yoongi declares, giving his father the old keys. “Yoongi, please understand that we wish it didn’t come to this. You still have time to change things. A simple major switch.” “I don’t want to switch majors.” “Maybe study Medicine and minor in music. Compromise.” “I don’t want to be a doctor.”  

“Son. We want what's best for you.” “By cutting me off and leaving me to sleep in the streets?” Yoongi shouts. “You’re always at Y/N’s house!” Yoongi’s mother shouts from the kitchen. “You never make it, so I want to be here! Always pressuring me to be someone I am not! Why can't you just love me as I am?” Yoongi shouts at her. “We do love you as you are son, but music is not a future.” Yoongi’s father inserts. “I’m good at it. You just need to believe in me.” Yoongi all but pleads. Yoongi’s father sighs and Yoongi can see the ice chipping away. He drops to his knees before his father. “Appa, Jebal.” Yoongi feels his father's hand on the back of his head. “NO,” his mother screams, “You have one week to get out! You can go stay with Y/N until you move to the dorms. No compromise.” “Mrs. Min, please. He’s your son.” “Yes Y/N he is, and he has brought me no greater dishonor than this. Now, no more talk. Please leave.” Yoongi feels his heart break into a million pieces, and he makes his last plea to his father. “I’m so sorry Yoongi. Here, take this.” He digs in his pocket, handing Yoongi cash, and kissing him on the forehead. “You must go. Your mother will have it no other way.” Yoongi nods, standing up, tears burning to unleash. “May I gather some things?” He asks his father. “Of course.” His father replies. Yoongi bows and quickly moves towards his room.  

“Help me grab some of this stuff.” He tells Y/N. “Yoongi, wait a minute ok. Maybe we can talk to them some more.” Yoongi gives a pained chuckle, knowing she means well. “It’s over Y/N, I can give your mom this cash for letting me stay with you guys for a bit or maybe I can ask for an early move in date with the school, but this isn't an option anymore. So, please, grab the keyboard and the laptop. Let me get a bag.” Yoongi packs as much of his equipment as he can along with clothing and he and Y/N make their leave. “Son!” Yoongi hears from behind him. “Wait!” His father runs up to him. “Please, here, I like to put away extra cash just in case. You know we love you, but we have bigger dreams for you than you may have for yourself. If things get to be too much trouble, call me. I love you.” Yoongi’s father hugs him and hands him a rolled-up wad of cash, running off back into the house. “Let’s get a cab. This is too much to lug around on a bus.” Y/N offers. Yoongi doesn’t respond, instead looks back at his home, hoping to see someone in the window. I’ll prove them wrong; He thinks. I’ll make them proud of my decision. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” Y/N cuts into his train of thought. “Don't be. Just, thanks for being here with me.” He isn't sure if he could've been as strong if she weren't with him. “I’m always here with you Yoons. Let’s get to my place. We can eat and talk to my mom.”  

“Okay, so turns out my mom is pulling an all nighter at the law firm working on this huge case so she won't be home tonight, but we can talk to her tomorrow.” Y/N explains, tossing her phone on her side table. “No problem. Thanks for calling her, maybe it's better to just talk tomorrow. We can sleep on everything that happened today. I’ve been looking up information on emergency housing and early move in dates for the school ever since we got here.” “Why?” Y/N snaps. “Well maybe because I'm currently homeless.” “Yeah, but not really. My mom isn't going to say no to taking you in Yoongi.” Yoongi can't help but laugh. “It’s one thing to spend a couple of nights but not to live. Besides what happens when you get a boyfriend, or I get a girlfriend. I don’t think either will be happy with us sharing a bed.” Yoongi scoffs. The idea sounding stupid as it leaves his lips but still something he should bring up. Their arraignment was just temporary, and knowing this, he felt the need to remind himself often to keep his feelings at bay. “Yeah, well we don’t have either of those things right now so who cares about that,” She rolls her eyes, unabashedly changing into her pajamas in front of Yoongi, while continuing her rant, “For right now let's talk about you staying here at least until we move into the dorms. Now, I’m going to crash because it has been an eventful day. Try to get some sleep at some point.” Yoongi nods, watching her crawl into bed, ass on display in her red thong, his mouth open. “I'm just going to work on some music and then I'll come crash.” He assures her, wondering if this was the new normal. Seeing each other nude, changing in front of each other, soft kisses just because. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the idea from his head to focus on music.  

Two hours later, Yoongi rubs his eyes, shifting uncomfortably in just his boxer briefs. He really should get some sleep, he thought, seeing it was already 2am. He stretches his body, looking over to the bed at Y/N fast asleep, cuddling a pillow, her lips slightly parted. Why is she so pretty? He groaned, sliding his hand over his face. He released a sigh, opening a private window on his laptop. He looks over at Y/N again, still fast asleep. He clears his throat gently, typing in his favorite porn site. His cheeks heat with slight embarrassment. He shouldn’t feel as dirty as he does. After all the things they’ve done together, he should feel confident enough to wake her up and tell her he’s feeling needy, that after the day he’s had, he just wanted to cum. Unfortunately, he isn't, he’s still so shy, not to mention the fact that her taking control and talking dirty to him was such a turn on he thinks he may have a kink for her dominating him. He groans again at the thought, his cock slowing coming to life. He clicks on the sites search bar, typing in blow jobs. He looks over at his sleeping friend again. Coast is still clear. He begins scrolling through the recommendations, trying to find the perfect video. He needed someone who looked just like his sleeping Y/N.  

He scrolled and scrolled, the anticipation building inside him, until finally he found a video that was close to perfect. He clicks it immediately, no longer able to contain himself. He bites his lip watching the girl on the screen bob up and down with ease, never losing eye contact with the camera. Yoongi felt his body heat, his cock fully hard now and peeking out the thigh of his underwear. He leans forward, covering his mouth to keep from moaning at the sight of this woman work. She soon removes herself from her boyfriend's cock, stroking it gently. “You like that baby?” She asks and Yoongi can’t help but nod in response. “God.” Yoongi whispers when the girl quickly bobs on her boyfriend's cock again, faster than before. He has never had a blow job in his life but just imagining what it felt like had Yoongi’s blood on fire. “Ready to swallow my cum baby?” Her boyfriend asks. “Shit.” Yoongi whispers, palming at his warm erection against his thigh. The feeling so amazing he could swear he feels it riding up the back of his head. He moans a bit, rocking his hips, his headphones sliding forward. “Shit.” He whispers, going to grab them when he realizes, they aren't falling off but being removed from his head by Y/N.  

His mouth drops open and he scrambles to close his laptop. “I.... uh.... I'm sorry.” He panics. “Why?” She asks, lowering herself down to her knees. Yoongi’s eyes slowly widen. “I.... uh.... because.... wha- what are you doing Y/N?” He asks a little whinier than he’d have liked. “Trying something new.” She whispers, leaning forward to lick at the precum that has collected onto his thigh. Yoongi can't help but jump a bit, taken back by her actions. She’s so confident and forward. He wonders if she knows how much it turns him on. “Y/N, you're so sexy.” He whispers, moaning when she wraps her lips around his drooling tip. She suckles a bit before letting go the feeling jolting through Yoongi’s entire body. “Take off your underwear.” She instructs. He jumps up quickly, tugging down his underwear, his cock spring out. “Such a gorgeous cock.” She teases, licking her lips. “Ohhh, fuck.” Yoongi mewls, desperate for her. She smirks, moving forward, wrapping a hand around his length, stroking gently. “Oh God! Just like that.” He pants, his head rolling back. “Ask me.” She whispers with a flick of her wrist. “Wh-what?” “Ask me to suck your cock.” Yoongi’s breath hitches in his throat and he whines a bit at her command. “Please.” “Please what Yoongi?” “Please Y/N, suck my cock.” He begs, his cock twitching in her hand, lust flooding his vision. She smirks up at him, positioning herself between his thighs. She once again wraps her mouth around his sensitive tip, suckling on it softly. “Ah, fuck. That’s so fucking good.” He pants.

Yoongi grips the arms of the chair, trying to keep from losing his shit further. This was real and fuck it felt so good. He couldn’t help but stare at her work. How focused her movements were, how her hand held the base of his cock steady while her wet mouth worked his length, drool dribbling down to his pelvis. He was so happy her mother wasn’t home to hear the desperate, needy moans that fell from his lips. The same moans that seemingly fueled her to bob up and down on his length, taking more of him into her warm mouth. She was so fucking wet, hollowing out her cheeks and then relaxing her jaw as she worked his manhood. Yoongi moaned as softly as he could, gripping the chair, sure he would rip them off at this rate. He desperately wanted to hitch his hips upwards, the feel of her uncontrollable drool pooling under his balls had him wanting to grab her hair and guide her further down but he didn’t want to push things. She soon removes her mouth from around him, a soft whine escaping his throat when the cool air touches his hot cock. “Do you like this? Am I doing it well?” She asks. “Yes. It’s so good. So fucking good.” She smiles at his response, licking a long stripe from the base of his cock up to his tip. The blatant teasing driving him wild, he just can't help but hitch his hips forward when she licks another stripe up his reddened member. She chuckles softly, looking up at him with lust in her eyes. “Can I touch you here?” Her free hand tucking under his scrotum, massaging at his balls. Yoongi’s head falls back, this was something he loved to do to himself but to have her do it to him was something that he never imagined happening.  

She wasted no time waiting for his response, instead, gobbling his cock up again, bobbing quickly up and down all the while massaging his balls. “Fuck! Y/N, this feels so fucking good. You’re amazing! Tug on them. It feels good when you tug on them.” He instructs, so overcome and no longer worried of what she will think of his neediness. His body felt so warm, and his cock was harder than it had ever been. She gently tugs at his sack, and he cries out, not caring how loud he is. Something flips in her and she relaxes her throat a bit, allowing for more of Yoongi’s dick to slide into her throat. His legs falling apart a bit to aid her. Was she really trying to deep throat him? The thought sending him into overdrive, feeling a tug deep in his balls. “Fuck, Y/N, if you keep this up, I won't last.” He groans, sucking a breath in through his teeth. She comes up for air, unable to take all of him. She shakes it off, not taking much of a break, bobbing again on as much of him as she can, using her hand to stroke the parts of him she can't reach. Yoongi gasps, the feeling so overpowering, he can't help but thrust up into her working mouth. “Just like that, ohhhh fuck! I’m really not going to last. Ohhh God. Fuck. Y/N, please. I need to cum.” He grips at the arms till his knuckles are white. She shakes her head at him, and his eyes widen at the realization that she's EDGING HIM!!?!  

He drops his head back with a long-drawn-out groan, trying to think of anything but the burning need to cum. His mind goes to water and how much he hates getting wet. That one time in middle school when he came home early and his parents where fucking on the couch. He grimaces at the image. His need to blow his load slowly dissipating. He looks down at Y/N diligently working and the need to cum comes back with full force when she locks eyes with him, sucking and stroking like her life depended on it. “Ohhhh, no no! Water, ice cold water.” He groans, closing his eyes tightly. She stops what she's doing, drawing Yoongi’s attention back to her. She removes her sleep shirt, her perfect tits on display. Yoongi can't help but reach down and touch them, rolling her perky nipples between his fingers. “You’re so sexy Yoongi. So good for me. You wanna cum baby? You can cum now, just let me know when you're going to cum ok.” She instructs. He nods, panting like a dog in heat. She takes his length in her mouth again, bobbing and stroking so fast, it doesn’t take long for Yoongi’s orgasm to build up. He moans her name over and over, his abdomen tensing, his balls tightening. “Now, now baby. I’m gonna fucking cum right now.”  

She takes a moment to just suckle on his tip, sending surges of electricity throughout his body. “Shit baby, I can't hold on.” He pleads. She moves away, stroking his cock with one hand, and lifting her tits up with the other. “Cum on my tits. I want you to so bad baby.” She pants. “Fuuuuuck!” He exclaims, placing his hand over hers to stroke his cock, aiming at her gorgeous breasts. He growls at the amazing feeling that surges through him when his prostate begins to pump, that first spurt shooting out of his tip and onto her waiting bosom. She gasps when his warm seed hits her chest. Yoongi pants desperately, moving his cock around to fully cover her in his climax. They both stop moving their hands and she leans in to suckle at the final beads of cum that accumulate at the tip of his cock. Yoongi sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, overstimulation stinging. “Ah it's too much.” He moans. She unlatches and begins to rub his cum into her mounds. Yoongi is so turned on by her display that he reaches down, lifting her off the ground and carrying her over to the bed.

Yoongi lies her back on the bed, panting hard as he pulls her red thong off her body. “Yoongi.” She moans out when he drops between her thighs. He’s never done this before, but he’s never wanted to do something more in his life. In this moment, as he buried his nose in Y/N’s sex, if he had to choose between music and tasting her, he would pick tasting her hands down. “Yoongi, please, make me cum.” She begged causing Yoongi to take a deep inhale of her delicious intoxicating scent before his tongue darts out of his mouth, collecting her nectar on his tongue. He moans into her cunt, her taste a swirl of tangy and sweet. “So fucking good.” He breaths against her, resting his body flush against the bed, gripping the flesh of her thighs. She hungrily spreads her legs for him, gripping his locks, and pulling him close to her dripping folds. “Eat my pussy!” She growls, yanking at his hair. “Yes baby, anything for you.” He coos, diving into her wetness. He licks at her gorgeous folds first, swallowing back her juices with deep hungry moans. His mind begins to race. Am I doing this right? Is she enjoying this? Should I use my hands like in porn? “Lick here,” She pants, yanking him away by his hair to point at her swollen bud, “my clit.” He nods, licking her juices from his lips.  

He lowers his head between her thighs, gliding his tongue over her clit. A sharp gasp escaping her lips, her back arching. Yoongi’s skin gooses at her response and a surge of excitement courses through him. He begins to roll his tongue in quick flicks over her sensitive bud, the sweet sounds she’s making his reward. “Oh Yoongi. This is so good. Faster. G-go faster.” She gasps, thrusting her hips into his face. He groans into her sex, the feeling of her gyrating against him causing his cock to come back to life. He starts swinging his tongue side to side as fast as he possibly can, his appendage soon growing tired. “Can I use my fingers?” He pops his head up to ask. She’s completely out of breath but nods. “Just don’t put them inside me. I’m not ready for that yet.” INSIDE!! Yoongi’s brain screams. “I... No.... I won't.” He stutters, lowering back down. He brings a hand up, wrapping his mouth around her clit and slurping. “SHIT! Yoongi, oh fuck!” She cries out, bucking forward. Yoongi places his first two fingers on either side of her hardened nub and begins to slide them up and down quickly. The combination of his saliva and her juices aiding his moving fingers. She pants frantically, tugging at his now sensitive scalp, bucking into his face. Yoongi switches between suckling and rolling his tongue against her clit, moving his fingers in succession with his greedy appendage. “Yoongi! Fuck! Oh, Fuck! I’m going to cum.” She cries out, her walls beginning to quake causing her entrance to pulse against Yoongi’s chin.

He hums in approval at the feeling of her fresh juices leaking out on his face, her body tensing with one final tug on his scalp before relaxing. Yoongi finally pulls away when he feels her body relax, lifting off the bed, his massive erection on display. “Come here. Kiss me.” She gasps, arms outstretched. He gently falls into her arms, latching onto her soft lips and swirling his tongue around hers. He moans into her mouth when she grabs onto his cock, quickly stroking it against her abdomen. He tries to pull away, tell her she doesn’t have to, but she wraps her free hand around his neck to keep him latched to her lips. Her hand moves with ease, he’s so turned on, his cock is freely spilling pre-cum. He mewls and moans desperately into her commanding mouth. Her wrist twisting, hand twirling over his tip just how he likes it. He whines now, the only wat he knows how to warn her of his impending climax. His body tenses and his core tightens like it never has before. Before long, he’s grunting against her lips, his cock shooting the best climax he’s ever experienced between their bodies.

She finally releases his swollen pout, kissing him once more softly. “You didn’t have to.” He whispers against her lips. “I know. I really really wanted to though.” She smiles wide, leaning in to kiss him again. “Y/N?” “Yeah?” Yoongi doesn’t want to play games anymore. He just wants to be with her. He smiles softly, fighting against his shyness, the words on the tip of his tongue when he swears, he hears her door close. They both look up frantically at the door. “Shit! Was that your mom?” He whispers. “I don’t know. Shh. Let me listen.” She whispers, arm still wrapped around Yoongi’s neck. “I should get dressed. We both should.” “It’s ok. Don’t freak out. I’m sure she’s not home. She said she wouldn’t be home till the morning.” “Technically its morning.” Yoongi snaps, his heart thumping against his chest. “Just relax.” “Fuck. If she finds out about us. She’s going to freak.” Yoongi groans. “There is no us Yoongi. Just two friends hugging. Even if she walked in, she can't be sure what she saw.” Yoongi scoffs, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “No, yeah, you’re right.” “Exactly. So, what did you want to say before?” “Uh, nothing. I’m gonna shower.” “Ok.” She says, leaning forward to kiss Yoongi again. He closes his eyes even though he shouldn’t. His heart betraying him with a flutter when he knows this is just temporary. He gets up and moves towards the bathroom. “Hey!” She calls his attention. He looks over to her and she winks at him, throwing herself back into the plush bedding.  

[sleeperswakewriting]

After Class

For @himebee-5's prompt!

Summary: Petra is Professor Ackerman's star student and yet, she keeps meeting him for office hours every Monday afternoon.

Rated: E

CWs: teacher/student relationship, age gap, praise kink

Word count: 3.2k

Surprise! I queued up another fic for smutty Saturday since I'll be out for most of the day--enjoy! 😉

She was distracting.

Levi prided himself in his stellar concentration, his perfunctory work, and despite his cold and callous demeanor, he was an excellent professor. Always receiving high remarks from his students and colleagues, and managing to churn out at least two research papers a year, there was little that compromised his neat routine.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he faced the chalkboard, clearing his throat. Levi Ackerman didn’t make mistakes, but after one look at her, his mind went elsewhere as he absently completed the calculus equation and one student shakily raised his hand and said, “E-excuse me sir, but I think you forgot to take the derivative in the fifth step.”

Taking a step back, realizing that his glasses slipped from its usual position since he took a double take at her, he merely nodded and erased the step in which he made the error and redid the equation. He thanked the student and a flurry of pencils hit paper as they recorded the problem, and Levi glanced at his watch, giving them a few minutes before he moved on.

It’s wasn’t just the plaid mini skirt and thigh high stockings that did it--he knew he was enough of a perverted old man that he at least acknowledged that turned him on, but the way she sat in the front row, prim and studious as she eyed him for the hour and a half lecture made him feel stupidly special. Most students’ eyes glazed over, and he didn’t give a shit if they were on their phones, it was their time and money after all, but the way her amber orbs never left him was almost damn unsettling if she didn’t have such a coquettish look.

Her short ginger hair was pulled back with a red head band today, and as he was giving back the first test of the semester, he paused at her seat and said, “Good work, Ms. Ral,” while sliding the test face down onto her desk. She beamed, looking at the paper, and her face fell at the grade. Levi frowned slightly, wondering what she could possibly be upset about since she received an 88, the third highest in the class. Calculus wasn’t an easy subject, and it was usually the class where students on the science and math track chose to drop out and choose a different major.

After passing out the tests, he returned to the desk at the front of the classroom to collect his things and head back to his office for his office hours for the day. As most of the students filtered out of the classroom, Petra sat stark still at her desk, eyes running over her exam, and eyebrows contorted in confusion.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Ral?” he asked, slinging his messenger bag over his grey dress shirt, adjusting his tie, and she looked up, eyes aglow. Levi pretended not to notice the way her tight long sleeved shirt hugged her curves, and the v-neck emphasized her breasts when she brought her arms together in anguish.

“I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong, Professor. I’m really disappointed in myself, I thought I aced this test.”

Levi cocked his head. “You should be proud of yourself, you have one of the highest marks in the class.”

Petra shook her head in disbelief. “Even so, I think I made far too many silly mistakes.” She sighed, shoulders slumping in clear disappointment. “I guess I’ll try harder next time. Sorry professor, you probably have to go--”

“My office hours are now,” he said, the words leaving his lips without even thinking. His glasses shone from the ceiling lights of the high lecture hall, and he swallowed. “We can go over the test if you’d like.”

And she smiled brilliantly at him again, collecting her things and swinging her fashionable book bag over her shoulder as she followed him to the math building. Levi kept at least three feet ahead of her, not wanting to give her the impression they had to make small talk since the math building was on the opposite side of the quad, and he breathed a sigh of relief when they entered his office. It was at the end of the hall of the third floor, a quiet place since it was around lunch time and most students were at the dining hall.

Levi closed the old wooden door and gestured for her to sit at the front of his desk while he deposited his bag and thumbed through the manila folder for the answer key. Petra set her things down and unfurled her own test, using his desk as she tapped her pencil at the corner of her lips.

“So which problems were giving you trouble?” He asked, loose leaf paper at the ready, and Petra motioned to problem number three.

“I get tripped up when there’s a double integral, I think.” She was already making the amendments in her head and she asked him for a piece of paper as well. Levi withdrew another from his desk cadenza and his breath hitched as their fingers touched. Stop acting like a teenage boy, he scolded himself, wondering when the last time he went on a date or had gotten laid because this was ridiculous. She was at least ten years his junior, his student no less, and she was just asking her math professor for help, even though she clearly didn’t need it.

She crossed her legs cutely, emphasizing her thighs between the space between her skirt and socks, and Levi averted his gaze as he forced himself to concentrate on her bright tone, going over her process as she circled and made the adjustments from her previous attempt.

“Yes, that’s correct. You want to integrate x and treat y as the constant. It’s like in the partial example, which you completed correctly in problem one.”

Petra smiled, nodding as understanding entered her field of vision and she completed the problem with ease. “Thank you Professor! Can you give me a harder problem just to make sure I understood the concept?”

And as Levi did his best to not pay attention to the way she said harder, he opened up the math textbook and selected an exercise, scratching it onto the paper between them and slid it towards her.

The mahogany desk was slightly too tall for Petra to comfortably lean against from the chair, so she sat up and leaned over to solve the problem, orange hair falling from her tucked ears. This time, Levi didn’t even bother looking away since Petra was fully invested in solving the equation, and he felt his pants tighten as he noted the white lace bra she had on underneath, and her round mounds spilling from her top.

“Is this right?” She asked, finally finishing, sitting back down in her seat and Levi coughed as he fought down the flush on his face.

He stared at the problem, willing himself to concentrate on the numbers in her neat handwriting, but he was finding it difficult to focus as he noticed her licking her lips after reapplying some chapstick. He took it line by line until he finally nodded and said, “Good work.”

Petra returned the paper to her folder and touched his hand gently from across the desk. “Thank you Professor Ackerman, it really means a lot to me that you went out of your way to help me. I guess the reviews were right after all.” His eyebrows rose since he didn’t usually make a habit to read his class reviews but relied on the report that the school gave him at the end of each term.

“Oh really? What do the reviews say?”

Petra giggled, and Levi felt his heart stop at the beautiful sound. “Well for one, they say you’re the sexiest teacher on campus, but more importantly, students who take your class are set up for success for linear algebra, which is my goal. I’m an astronomy major.”

He didn’t know why he found that to be a turn on since he worked at a university where there were literally hundreds of majors, but before he had a chance to think, Petra had collected her things and waved as she made for the brass knob of his office door.

“See you next week, Professor!”

And the door clicked shut. Levi’s head was spinning, and if he didn’t know any better, Petra was outright flirting with him, and he was having a difficult time processing that. He moved to lock the office door and he double checked to make sure that he didn’t have any upcoming meetings. Sinfully, he laid back in his chair and closed his eyes while he unbuckled his pants.

She’s your student, you filthy fuck. But her shiny lips, her sweet voice, and her intellect…

He stroked himself, thinking of her, and he came quickly, her name on his lips as he imagined himself taking her between her plaid skirt and thigh high socks.

---

Monday afternoons became a ritual for them, and while Levi attempted to muster up every ounce of professional courage, he found himself unable to say no to her. Every day, after class, she would sweetly ask if she could go over the day’s lecture, and he would say yes and they would wordlessly walk to his office and repeat the same routine.

It was always strictly professional, but he could have sworn that she was intentionally taking off her jacket or sweatshirt in front of him, sometimes leaving her in only a crop top. He decided then that she was purposely trying to kill him because the blood rushed faster to his groin than he could will himself to stop. He had to keep himself firmly behind his desk, not wanting to scare her from his raging hard-on as she pattered on about her misunderstandings for the day, and he would mutely nod, watching her the entire time.

She stopped the week during finals, only visiting him after his final lecture and he missed her presence during the two week absence. He eagerly awaited the day of the final exam, just to pathetically see her again, and there she was, front and center, pencil at the ready.

“This is my last test,” she whispered to him excitedly as he handed her the exam and he gave a thin smile and muttered a ‘good luck’ to her row, but looked at her the entire time.

She was the last to leave, and she heaved a sigh of relief as she handed him her packet, looking joyful.

“How did you find the test, Ms. Ral?” he asked, sparing her a last glance before she left his classroom for the final time. His heart ached at that, but he supposed it was for the best since dreams and visions of her had plagued him since the beginning of the semester.

“I think I aced it, thanks to my excellent teacher.” And she gave him a dazzling smile as she walked away and Levi trailed her form until she disappeared.

--

It was a routine message that Levi sent out to all of his students, that if they wanted to go over their final exam that they could set up office hours. He didn’t allow for debating for points--he had no time for that, and his grading procedure was precise and calculated, but he set up time slots for ease of the students.

So when he saw Petra Ral in his email, requesting for the last time slot before the last day of the grading period, he hurriedly clicked accept even though she received a perfect score on her test.

It was spring, and the promise of a new future hung in the air when Petra entered his office, wearing a similar ensemble to when she first came in, a red plaid skirt, thigh high stockings, and this time, a white knit t-shirt that unbuttoned just at her cleavage. She poked her head in, and he noticed that she didn’t carry a book bag, but opted for a small purse that slung over one shoulder.

“Hi Professor!” she chirped happily, hands clasped behind her back. Levi allowed himself a smile as he took her in.

“What can I do for you Ms. Ral? Surely you don’t have any complaints about this test--congratulations on ruining the curve, by the way. Your classmates are furious.”

Petra laughed, feeling satisfied with herself as she gazed at him--sleeves rolled up to his forearms and he opted for a vest and tie set that complimented his eyes nicely. “I wanted to let you know that I’m taking Professor Hange’s class next semester for linear algebra.”

His heart fell; he was also teaching that class, but maybe it didn’t fit into her schedule. He didn’t meet her eyes as he said, “She’s a tough teacher, but she’s good at what she does. Don’t expect to be let go early, the woman can and will go on for hours.”

Petra smiled. “I’ll be sure to make a note of it.” And she shuffled between her feet as a light blush came to her cheeks. “I wanted to give you a thank you gift, for all the office hours you’ve given to me the past semester.”

Levi raised a thin eyebrow between his glasses. “You don’t have to do that, Ms. Ral. It’s part of my job. You’re an excellent student, you made my job very easy.”

She batted her eyelashes as she stepped closer to him. He was seated in his leather office chair, arms crossed and she took a deep breath as she stood a foot apart from him, hands still playing with each other behind her back. “It’s nothing expensive. And you can call me Petra, Professor, the semester is over.”

And before Levi could question her words, she leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. Levi’s heart pounded in his chest, noticing that Petra was visibly shy despite the bold gesture she had just committed and he stared at her, slack jawed.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Levi’s eyes widened, and the hungry need he had for her over the past three months took over. Before he knew it, he was tugging at her wrist and she was straddling his lap, skirt pooling between them as he devoured her into a kiss, lips furiously nipping and biting as she let out an animated moan. Her hands went for his tie, pulling it from his vest and then around his neck where she buried her fingers into his undercut. A shiver of pleasure went down Levi’s spine as he settled his hands at her waist, then her back, and then at the fabric at the end of her shirt.

Panting, Petra raised her arms, signalling for him to take it off, and Levi let out a groan and a fucking hell at her lacy push up bra. Arms wrapped around each other again, Petra leaned into his chest, pressing her tits against him while she grinded against his lap, smiling as she devilishly noticed his hard-on between their clothing. Her breath was hot against his as she moved to unbutton his vest, and he raised himself to take it off, but let out a hiss as their centers made contact.

Not being able to help himself, Levi trailed his fingers up and down her legs, groaning that he was finally able to touch her, and the way the spandex hugged her skin was driving him crazy. He dove between her skirt, reaching for her panties and he played at her apex, noticing that she was incredibly wet, which only turned him on more.

Petra keened and threw her head back in pleasure as he began lavishing her neck with kisses and suckled at her jawline, happy that she tasted as beautiful as she looked. A light floral perfume danced across her flesh, and he inhaled her as he undid the headband from her hair, freeing the locks so he could bury his nose between them.

“Professor, ah, can you please touch me?” She asked weakly, eyes clenched shut from Levi’s ministrations and he chuckled.

“Only because you’ve been such a good student,” he whispered into her ear, and she nodded as he slipped a finger in, and pleasured sighs escaped both of their lips.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. Were you planning on this before you came in?” Levi asked, using his other hand to unbuckle his pants and slid down his zipper.

Petra was finding it harder and harder to think as Levi pumped into her, alternating between two and three fingers, teasing her clit and taking his hands away before she could go any higher. Vision going blurry, she reached for the back of her bra and undid the hook, letting it fall between them and Levi ripped it off, freeing her breasts.

He took a nipple between his teeth and bit down hard, earning a cry from Petra as she begged him to keep touching her while he buried his face into her chest. Petra moved to play with both of her nipples, all while riding against his hand and she felt like her heart was about to explode from Levi’s touch.

She slid her tongue against his lips, drinking him in as she asked him to help slide her panties down, and he obliged, but not before pocketing them into his pants. She shot him a questioning look, and he smirked, “This is my thank-you gift.”

Bashfully, Petra smiled and pawed him between his underwear, stroking his length up and down with her hand and she pulled his waist down just far enough to free his member. She gasped at his size, and Levi let out a hum of satisfaction while she took a moment to gaze at it, providing him with light touches.

“Levi, can I ride you?” She asked demurely, eyes fixated on his dick and he gripped her by the ass to guide her close.

Leaning over, he whispered into her ear, “That’s Professor Ackerman to you.”

Petra keened at his husky voice, and lowered herself onto him, moaning loudly as he breached her, dick hot against her tight entrance.

“That’s a good girl,” he encouraged, holding her close as she steadily bobbed up and down, her wetness providing enough slickness between them. His balls smacked against his legs, and her tits bounced each time she reached his hilt and she cried out.

Wild with lust, Levi toyed with her clit as she continued to ride him, fingers dancing and shaking as she paused to catch her breath. Their eyes met, and with equal fervor, they kissed as Petra braced her hands against his shoulders, pace increasing and then reaching her climax in a frenzy as she bobbed up and down.

“Professor,” she whined, releasing her hands and crying into his collar as she rode out her orgasm.

Levi’s eyes were clenched shut as her walls fluttered around him, her tightness becoming too much for him as he also met his own pleasure, and he pumped into her in short pulses. Breaths panting, he looked up to meet Petra, who was smiling between breaths.

Still sitting comfortably inside her, Levi laughed warily, unsure of where to go from here. Petra, still wrapping her body around his, licked the lobe of his ear as she said sultrily into his ear, “Did that count as extra credit?”

[starryse]

Hot & Cold

13 Days of SVT Christmas- Day 3

Jeonghan x Reader

Fluff, Christmas au, friends?enemies? to lovers au

2.2k

Snow was a given on Christmas, that, anyone knew. It wasn’t odd for inches of snow to cover the ground, and for the sky to be a bright white instead of its normal shades of blue. However, when it comes to Christmas plans, everyone seems to forget about the same snow they had been squealing about days prior.

You weren’t an exception.

Your breath fogged the window in front of you, the dew forming blurring the outside view. Groaning, you dropped your head down, forehead resting on the cold glass.

You didn’t mind staying cooped up inside when the roads were too dangerous to drive on, in fact, you loved it. It was a nice change of pace when you had to stay home; rather than having thousands of plans a day with only 24 hours to do them, your only option was to relax and work around the house. But when your roommate's annoying friend was also going to be snowed in with you, you couldn’t dread it anymore.

“Aww what’s wrong y/n? Hot date get canceled cause of the snow?”

You backed away from the window, a slight red mark left on your forehead. “Actually no, I’m just so excited to be stuck with you,” you scoffed.

Jeonghan’s smug smile grew, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he plopped onto the couch, “ah ditto, beautiful. I can’t wait to spend Christmas with you.”

“Please can you stop arguing for just 5 minutes? We’re snowed in for God knows how long, try and get along”

You and Jeonghan turned your heads towards the scruff voice belonging to your friend. His hand rubbed his creased forehead, eyes squinting shut. You sighed, nodding your head as you walked over to the male, “I’ll do my best, just keep your little devil in check and we’ll be fine”

Jeonghan cackled, leaning over the couch, white-sleeve cladded arms resting on the back, “does that mean you’re my angel?”

You groaned as you walked away from the smirking dark haired man on the couch, “Oh my God I’m going to my room”

“Can I join?!”

You flipped off the laughing male, quickly shutting your door right after.

The sun had begun to set, the snow just barely letting up from earlier. The sunset outside shown through the sheer curtains in your room, soft orange hues reflecting onto your walls. You had been in your room for a few hours, most of which were spent groaning and whining about the crazy amount of work you had to complete before next semester (which was in a week). The other good chunk of the time was you lounging on your bed, fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone as you mentally prepared yourself to be in the presence of Jeonghan for what could be days.

Yours and Jeonghan’s relationship was a complicated one. Simple really to your shared close friends (which happened to be all of your friends), to them it was mere sexual tension, convinced you both had to big of egos to fuck one out. Meanwhile, to outsiders it may seem as if you truly hated one another, that the pure existence of each other was the bane of your lives. But for you, you didn’t know what it was. You didn’t hate Jeonghan, God no. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his remarks from time to time. And maybe you found him incredibly attractive. Also you 100% daydreamed about him more than you’d like to admit.

No. No no. He annoyed you. Constantly antagonizing everything you did, whether it was when you tripped over nothing and landed on a pile of Mingyu’s dogs shit, or when you were rejected by the waiter you had tried flirting with. Jeonghan always had some remark that made your blood boil.

But he was also the same guy who knew how hard you had studied for your exam, only for you to fail it, and proceed to comfort you and order you takeout. And there were all the times where Coups couldn’t come home and Jeonghan offered to stay with you (he knew how much you hated being alone at night.) He’s confusing. But then again you could only guess you were too.

“Hello my angel, dinners readyyy”

Jeonghan stood at your door, his body leaning against the frame. His dark hair casted over his eyebrows, hair parting to reveal his forehead and the small scar above his eyebrow (you may or may not have accidentally did that when you first met).

You rolled over from your previous position facing your window. Sitting up, you stretched your arms as you twisted your back. Jeonghan couldn’t help but shamelessly watch as your shirt clung to your skin as you moved, he was a simple guy. His eyes quickly darted up towards yours when you gazed over at him.

“Sooo why are you still standing there?”

Your question seemed to snap him out of his haze, his mouth stuttering out random words before he flipped you off and “ran” back out the door. That seems to be a common occurrence in the house. You snorted, standing up from your bed to go eat dinner.

“They say that the snow isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Don’t be surprised if we’re snowed in the next 2 days” Seungcheol leaned back on the couch, his elbow propped on the arm rest, head in his hand as he flipped through the Netflix shows.

You sat between the boys, feet propped on the coffee table in front of you,“can’t we watch a Christmas movie, Christmas is literally tomorrow?” Your answer was quickly given when Cheol kicked your legs off the table, causing them to fall onto the ground with a thud. You muttered a few curse words under your breath, bringing your legs up to sick criss cross on the couch.

Jeonghan laughed as he watched the two of you banter over something as little as a Christmas movie, though he wasn’t entirely surprised- you were both immensely stubborn.

Waiting for the perfect timing, Jeonghan slyly reached behind your back, grabbing the remote from the crack of the couch between you and Cheol. His eyes darted from the tv to you two as he sneakily flicked on a movie.

The sound of Christmas bells and people talking caught both yours and the pouty man on your lefts attention, your mouths shutting as you turned to the tv screen.

A loud screech erupted from your mouth, your legs quickly bouncing on the floor as you pointed a finger at the pouting man, “YES! In your face, Cheol! Christmas wins again!” Said man slunk down in his seat, half of his body towards the floor as he groaned in annoyance, “Jeonghan really? I thought you were on my side man”

Jeonghan merely laughed, his arm patting Seungcheol’s shoulder, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for Christmas movies,” his eyes drifted over at you, watching as yours lit up in delight as you watched the movie in front of you, “and maybe I like seeing others happy.”

Seungcheol only sighed, knowing fair well why the dark haired boy betrayed him. Oh how he had looked forward to being a third wheel.

It was close to midnight now, the first movie had been done for a few hours as the 3rd one ran. The small living room was lit up by the lights strung on the tree in the corner and the strands along the archway. You may have fallen asleep halfway during the 2nd movie, leaving just Coups as Jeonghan fell asleep in the beginning of the 3rd.

Seungcheol looked over towards your two huddled figures. You were stuck to Jeonghan’s side like glue, his arm drapes around your side, hand pressed against your hip. The blanket previously wrapped around you was now discarded on the floor, the only thing keeping you from freezing was whatever body heat Jeonghan was radiating without a blanket himself. The eldest sighed, muttering an idiots under his breath as he stood up, tossing the blanket over the two of you before switching off the tv and heading to bed.

“MERRRRYY CHRISTMAS!!”

You moaned, leaning your body away from the sound, stuffing your head into the closest thing next to you. The feeling of hair in your mouth caused you to spew, your eyes peeling open as you lifted your head. The view of Jeonghan’s head right next to yours made you gasp, your eyes widening in shock. You glared over at Seungcheol who stood in front of you with a smug grin, similar to the one the sleeping boy always wore, “Seungcheol. What am I doing?”

The boy tilted his head in mock confusion, “well it seems to me you’re sleeping with Jeonghan?” You scrambled up, grabbing the pillow next to you before wacking the manically laughing man as he ran to sit next to the tree. The sudden movement caused said boy to stir, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You halted your movement, turning to look at Jeonghan who was now sitting half awake beside you on the couch.

“Merry Christmas”

You quickly answered back, a slight pink rising to your cheeks at his deeper than normal voice. God bless mornings.

Seungcheol clapped his hands, a grin etching across his face as he leaned his body over to grab one of the presents underneath the tree, “y/nnn, this ones for you!”

You smiled back, standing up from your seat, dropping the blanket on the floor in the process as you walked over to sit next to Cheol. You grabbed the present from him as he waved one of his hands at Jeonghan, the dark haired boy getting the hint as he tiredly walked over next to you. You waited for Seungcheols cue to open it, his head nodding. You greedily tore the wrapping paper off, the scraps falling onto the floor as well as Jeonghan’s legs that were sprawled in front of him. The boy looked at you, eyes squinting, “in a hurry much are we Y/n?”

You ignored his comment, instead gasping at the camera you’ve been wanting that sat in your hands. Your eyes widened, body immediately flinging into Coups’ already open arms, “you’re the bestest best friend ever, thank you Cheol.”

Seungcheol squeezed you one more time before you leaned back onto your knees in front of the tree. You passed one of the presents from you to Seungcheol, placing it in his hands that were held out flat in front of him. For a 25 y/o, he sure was giddy like a child when it came to presents.

The man cackled at the sight of the sushi boxers in front of him, the hidden meaning of the gift a fond memory, “thanks Y/n, I will cherish these beautes forever.” You smiled, patting his head. You sat back next to Jeonghan, waiting for more presents to be passed about.

Seungcheol smirked at the small, light blue wrapped present in the back of the tree, “ah, I almost forgot about this one. Y/n, this last one is yours”

You narrowed your eyes at the smug man, wondering why he was smirking at you because of a gift. Hesitantly grabbing the gift, you began slowly unwrapping it (much much slower compared to the first few presents you had torn open.) As you focused on the present, you didn’t notice the nervous man next to you, his fingers fiddling together as he gnawed on his bruising lip. He watched you through the hair that crowded his sight, cheeks the color of the lights that decorated the tree.

Your heart slowed at the now un-wrapped present, hands gently lifting the silver chain. You glanced up, eyes meeting Seungcheols. He shook his head, pointing a finger towards Jeonghan as he pretended to stretch his arms out. Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth forming a small O. You looked down at the necklace, fingers tracing the jeweled heart as you opened the locket. Your breath hitched at the engraved letters- a J for Jeonghan and your own first initial as well.

Jeonghan jumped at the sudden contact, his heart beating rapidly at the weight of your body against his. Snapping out of the shock, he softly wrapped his arms around you, his hand placed on the back of your neck as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head. He was on fire, maybe not literally, but he sure felt as if he were in flames.

You pulled back, hands gently cupping his cheeks, “why?”

Jeonghan smiled, and not the usual devilish smirk he did- no, this was different. Was it adoration? Happiness? “Because I'm maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure in love with you”

You melted at his words, a light laugh sounding before pressing your lips on his cheek, “Well maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure am I in love with you too”

The man's eyes lit up at that, a large grin spreading across his face. Pulling you back against him, he squeezed your body as he fell against the ground, a loud cheer leaving his mouth. Your laughs filled the air, a sound you were sure your neighbors could hear 2 doors down.

Seunghceol sighed at the sight, though a fond smile was hidden behind that, “let the 3rd wheeling begin.”

[mariposamagazine]

Manic Pixie Swamp Thing

a short story by Laura Garnica

Leo Torres looked at his Apple watch again, his left foot tapping restlessly on the pavement. He ran a large, clumsy hand through his wavy black hair and glanced up at the rising moon. It gets dark so early now.

6:06.

Should I send a text? He wondered. Nah, I’ll give it another five minutes. She’ll be here.

He fidgeted with the straps of his blue face mask. It took some getting used to, even after seven months of living through a pandemic. Leo worked from home, so he rarely went into public spaces, rarely had to bother with putting one on. He still couldn’t get over the discomfort– it made him think of the face-huggers from Alien.

6:07.

He hoped the other café patrons weren’t getting creeped out. Tall brown kid with a backpack lurking on the street corner, practically sweating with nerves despite the chill October air… and this café was in one of the nicer parts of the city, on top of that. An elderly white lady stared him down and clutched her Chanel purse a little tighter as she passed him on the sidewalk. “Maldita vieja bruja,” he muttered with an eye roll. But Leo didn’t want to get a table without his date; it seemed more polite to wait so that they could go to the hostess together. Or am I just overthinking it?

6:08.

Was this even a good idea? Asking out a girl whose face you’ve never seen? Leo’s friends had given him so much shit when they found out she didn’t have social media.

“How do even you know if she’s cute or not?” Sammy had demanded. “It’s practically a blind date– and she’s already deaf.”

Leo bristled. “First of all, she’s just mute, not deaf. And second, there’s more important things than appearance, dick.”

Sammy and their other roommate, Josh, had crept into Leo’s bedroom during his ASL class yesterday to catch a glimpse of their friend’s mysterious crush. Leo had almost burst a vein when he spotted them in the corner of his screen, their goofy faces peering over his shoulder like a couple of kids, barely containing their snickering. The minute class was over, he stormed into the kitchen to glare at them.

Sammy nudged him with a grin. “Bro, she was the only one wearing a mask in her video. You’re telling me she shows up to virtual class like that, every time?”

Leo shrugged, turning pink.

“I mean, she’s always zooming from this café in uptown, so she kinda has to.”

“What, like she hasn’t had internet at home the whole semester?”

Josh looked up from his phone to add “…it’s a little sus, dude.”

“And her name is… Lilin? Is that some crunchy-granola white girl name? Like did they forget to add the ‘a’ for Lilian?”

Leo couldn’t help but crack a smile at this. It was kind of a weird name.

Josh started laughing– “Ey, maybe that’s the answer, Sam. Maybe her family is the hardcore hippy type– you know, like the ones who believe in chemtrails and don’t even own a microwave or a tv.”

Whatever. She was nice, and she was really sweet when they got paired up in class last week. Besides, she was way better at ASL than him, and she didn’t seem to mind helping him out. She was a good listener, too… although she didn’t offer up much information about herself, so it was a pretty one sided conversation. Have to remedy that today, he thought.

6:10.

A slender girl with silky white-blonde hair that fell to her hips emerged from the crowded crosswalk. Her dark eyes sparked with recognition when she spotted Leo, who began enthusiastically waving an arm in the air in front of Cafe Étude. She wore a burgundy sundress over a black turtleneck and tights, with a black mask made of some kind of silky material. Leo adjusted the collar of his button down nervously.

Hi, he signed.

Hi, Leo. Nice to finally meet you in person, she replied, her spidery hands moving far more deftly than his.

He nodded towards the podium by the entrance of the café, and they walked up to the bored-looking hostess together.

“Table for two?” she drawled. “Sit anywhere you like,” gesturing to the recently expanded outdoor seating, each metal table placed a careful six feet apart from the next, spilling over the sidewalk into the street.

“Thanks,” Leo replied. They found an empty table in the corner of the outdoor seating area nearest to the café itself. Leo slung his backpack off his shoulders and leaned it against one of the table legs, rummaging around for his school binder and lecture notes. He felt her dark eyes watching him even before he resurfaced, arms full of papers and notebooks and his beat up laptop. She had such a curious presence about her… Or I’m just not used to being around new people anymore, he thought sheepishly. Still, Leo found himself reluctant to meet those strange eyes.

I’m glad you asked me to study with you. It’s better signing in person than over Zoom, she relayed. She bent down to gather her own laptop out of her satchel, white-blonde hair falling in a curtain over her face. It was sort of absurd, how long it was. Leo hadn’t seen a girl with hair that long since elementary school days. As she tucked it behind her ear, he got a glimpse of the edges of her mask– it was definitely one of those fancy ones, because it covered every inch of her face below the eyes, and tied behind her ears instead of relying on the usual cheap elastic bands.

What is it? she signed.

Leo felt his face flush in embarrassment.

Your hair. It’s really long.

She didn’t blink. Leo’s hands stuttered.

In a good way! It’s pretty, I mean.

Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly– the barest hint of a smile. She popped open her laptop– an old PC, no stickers– and the blue-aproned waiter returned, hovering over them with a notepad. Leo quickly asked Lilin what she wanted.

“One latte and one iced earl grey tea, please. And uh, some toast, too.” The waiter scurried away, and Leo smiled at Lilin under his mask, before realizing she probably couldn’t tell if he was smiling, either.

He remembered she had mentioned moving to the city recently, and asked her how it had been, transitioning during a pandemic.

It was… okay, she replied, her hands moving much more slowly now. It’s just me, so… there wasn’t much to move.

Oh. Where are you from, anyways? Sorry, I feel like I should know that.

At this she paused, dark eyes boring into him, unblinking.

Very far from here. You wouldn’t know it.

A tense silence formed and began to stretch between them– Leo unsure of how to reply when she so clearly didn’t want to open up.

Thankfully their waiter returned before the awkwardness became unbearable, balancing a plate of toast and their two drinks in small ceramic cups.

“Ah, thank you so much,” Leo called to the waiter as she left their table.

“You mind if I…?” he gestured to his face.

I promise I’m good, I just took a test on Monday (it was negative) and I took my temperature before I came here, he signed.

Lilin nodded, the strange look in her eyes gone. Leo sighed with relief as he removed his cloth mask, folding it neatly in his lap. He smiled nervously. Why was she so cagey when I asked about where she moved from? he thought. He grabbed a slice of toast from the plate and started nibbling on it, flipping through yesterday’s lecture notes. He looked up at the sound of her grabbing her glass of tea, and tried to hide his excitement. Leo tried not to stare as she carefully adjusted the cup a few inches to the right of her laptop. No reveal. She caught him staring and he fixed his face so his disappointment wasn’t so palpable. Lilin said nothing, but he felt like she was smirking at him.

Their study session passed by quickly, Lilin often stopping to ask if he needed help, or creating conversation. He found himself telling her about his siblings back home, his longtime interest in languages, his love of animals. She had very little to say when he asked the same questions of her, but that seemed to be her MO so he quickly gave up on pushing her.

You raised pigs yourself? she asked, her eyes incredulous.

Damn, this really is a good way to practice, he thought as he struggled to convey that the agriculture program was a big deal in a small, rural town like his. Not to mention he grew up on a ranch for half his childhood.

Did you feel bad for them? She asked.

Who, the pigs? Yes. Worst part.

Her eyes narrowed in what was either a concerned frown, or a strange half smile, he couldn’t be sure.

She never took off her mask once, not even to try the toast. By nine, they had covered the entire midterm practice exam.

Cafe Étude began closing up shop, so Leo and Lilin began to pack up their things as well.

How are you feeling about the midterm next week? Lilin signed.

Do you think you still need more practice? If you want to keep going tonight, I don’t mind. She slung her satchel over her shoulders and stared at him expectantly. Leo chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I definitely feel better about it, but knowing myself, that probably doesn’t mean much. I don’t wanna put you out though, Lilin! It was really nice of you to even meet up with me to study in the first place.”

She stepped closer to him, and the scent of seaweed and ocean brine tickled his nostrils. The city was thirty miles from the nearest beach, but suddenly that didn’t seem to matter in the moment.

It’s okay, Leo, I’m happy to help. You’re very nice. This was a nice study… date.

Leo felt his face burning under his mask. I mean, this was going pretty well but I didn’t think it was going THAT well, he thought incredulously.

He started when he felt a cold hand enveloping his, Lilin trailing her long fingers across his palm. Her eyes, so dark and deep, unblinking on his. It felt like his head was leaving his shoulders, like those strange, lovely eyes were hypnotizing him. He slowly reached towards her ear, hands trembling as he brushed the edge of her mask with his fingertips. Then her hand was around his wrist like a vice, pulling it away from her face with barely restrained force. She let go to sign, her hands moving quickly, urgently.

No, not here. Let’s finish studying at my place? I live alone.

Everything felt so far away, like Leo was watching the scene unfold from the comfort and distance of a movie theater seat. Getting his hands to reply felt like having to wade through deep water.

Okay.

Her cold hand was on his again, and before he knew it the café was far behind, as well as the bustling streets of mid-city. The streetlights became infrequent, their light a dull orange on quiet sidewalks where rows of identical, impassive houses loomed over the couple. Leo didn’t recognize this part of town, it seemed strangely empty. He found that he couldn’t even remember what streets they had taken to get there. Lilin hadn’t let go of his hand since they had started walking, so they walked in silence. That odd scent continued to waft behind her, that briny, seaweed smell. Her hand was so cold and clammy, and even though his was like a radiator it hadn’t warmed in the slightest. Yet still, Leo couldn’t find it in himself to be worried. Her white-blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, those dark, dark eyes. It was enough just to see her, be near her. There was something special about her, he felt.

At last Lilin came to a halt, and let go of his hand to sign we’re here.

It was a bland house similar in style to its neighbors on that long, endless street, converted into apartments, all of which looked empty. Leo realized that there hadn’t seemed to be any places with their lights on since they’d turned on this street.

Lilin rummaged around in her bag for keys, then led him up the porch stairs to the red door on the left. Leo took out his phone to offer some light as she fumbled with the lock in the dark. A harsh scraping sound and then the click of the door being opened– strange, Leo thought. No service out here. He gently tapped her shoulder.

Hey, Lilin, does your phone have service? he signed. She simply stared at him for a moment before stepping into the pitch-black hallway. Leo waited for lights to come on, but they never did– instead, the rusty scrape of a match could be heard, and there was Lilin lighting a candle wall sconce as if it was the most normal thing in the world. But still… something in him told him it was just part of her nature, not to worry. Candle light seemed to suit her better, somehow. Yes, this was how it was supposed to be. He stepped through the doorway into the velvety darkness.

It was cold. The air felt stagnant, like the place hadn’t seen fresh air in weeks.

Lilin blew out the lit match and took the candle she had lit from its sconce, using it to light the other candles scattered throughout the hallway. The flames seemed to duplicate each time one was lit, until he realized that there were mirrors of all different sizes covering the drab walls. It was a rather small foyer with a single doorway at the end. Whatever was beyond that doorway was a mystery; the darkness was a door of its own, obscuring whatever lay beyond their little circle of candlelight. She dropped her satchel to the floor with a thunk, not even giving it a second glance. Once the hall candles were lit, she walked back to Leo and placed the candle in his hand, gently wrapping his fingers around its base.

I want to show you something, Leo, she signed. He swallowed thickly, a nervous smile spreading slowly under his mask. It was cold, but he felt lucky. She chose me, he thought sluggishly.

Lilin reached for the bottom of her skirt and pulled her dress over her head in a quick fluid motion. She tossed the garment into the dark, unlit room adjacent to the foyer. In shock, all Leo could do was continue to stand there holding the candle, staring like an idiot. Lilin moved on to her boots, her tights, and then before he could process any of it, she was naked, save for her mask. Her body was thin, so thin her ribs protruded from her abdomen. Her skin was the same uniform milky paleness, almost translucent in areas that it stretched thinly over her bones. Not a single freckle or mole or distinguishing mark, just that smooth white glow. Almost like the belly of a fish, a thought came to him from far, far away. Her long hair gleamed in the candlelight, sections covering her nakedness like a Renaissance painting.

She walked slowly, deliberately around him till he felt cold, slender arms tenderly wrapping around his waist from behind. Her skin was even colder than the air in the room– it made him shiver, and yet, seeing their reflection in the mirrors around them gave him that strange sense of belonging again– she chose him. He was lucky, wasn’t he? Her hands ran over the front of his jacket, unzipping it, and he felt her chin rest gently on his shoulder.

Leo barely felt the heat of the candle wax that was now dripping down his hand. Somewhere, some small part of him wondered what the fuck was going on. And still, he could do nothing, say nothing… He wanted to leave, but he had to see her face. He had to. Then things would make sense, then he could leave.

“Lilin…”

And then her spidery fingers were reaching behind her ears, the whisper soft sound of the silk ties running through her hair as she loosened the mask. Through the mirror before them, her eyes did not leave his, did not blink. It was so cold, he realized, so cold in that hallway. The flickering candlelight cast strange shadows on the walls and floors, whose spaces between the mirrors he saw were blank and dingy. No photos, no decorations, no windows, either. The wax burning his flesh felt so far away now.

Lilin slowly pulled her mask from her face, the ties trailing against his shoulder, and Leo watched through the mirror with absurd fascination as she revealed an empty black hole where her nose should have been. The skin of her face was drawn tight, like plastic stretched over a skull. A mouth that was like a fresh gash on her face, her lips raw and red and far too long– her smile nearly stretched from ear to ear.

Lilin let her mask fall softly to the floor before wrapping her arms around him again, tighter. Leo found that he could not move. Maybe he hadn’t been able to move this whole time. He couldn’t even move his head to look back at the door. Was there a door to begin with? The memory of the keys and the flashlight and the sound of the lock scraping open felt like memories from another lifetime.

What time is it? Their faces next to one another in the mirror looked almost comical; a study in opposites. His own face, still somehow so calm and relaxed. But there wasn’t anything to worry about, anymore, really.

Lilin’s strange, awful mouth began to move. Those red, raw lips parting to reveal a crimson mouth lined with row upon row of long, thin, glittering teeth.

Teeth like an anglerfish, he thought to himself from far away, with strange amusement.

A voice like a scream, a song like a dirge filled the dark corners of the room.

[james-stark-the-writer-wips]

A Year At The Opera - An Excerpt

WC: 2500 words.

This is still mostly a first draft and I might add more stuff to it later as I need to but this is a pretty complete piece :)

Chapter 14, Part 1: Thea

Thea arrived home around 4pm. Like every day before, she unlocked the doors, stepped in and headed straight for the kitchen. She opened the fridge and grabbed the triple chocolate ice cream cake sitting right in front.

She’d eaten half of it last night and she intended to finish the rest today. She opened one of the drawers, grabbed a spoon and took a bite.

As it slowly dissolved in her mouth, she wandered into the living room and waltzed over to the thermostat. She lowered the temperature to 50F and took a seat on the couch. She stretched out her feet on the center table and let herself drown in the cold comfort of the couch as she took another bite of the cake.

As Theadora continued to reminisce on her day today, the door opened and her mother stepped in.

Ah, Haley Rockwell, retired actress now turned real estate agent, married her co-star Nicolas Belfry about ten years ago and had since then been the bane of Thea’s existence. Haley Rockwell had everything Thea hated in a person: her holier-than-thou attitude, her complete lack of self awareness, her perfect figure, her ‘love’ for Thea’s dad. Most of all, Thea hated that her dad seemed to love Haley more.

Thea swore Haley had just married her father for the money but Nicolas refused to hear it.

“Eating again, are we?” Haley remarked coldly as she slipped out of her trench coat and gently placed her St. Louis purse on the couch.

Haley loved that purse more than her own life. On occasion Thea had considered burning it or trashing it as payback for ruining her life but had stayed her hand for the appropriate time. She didn’t want to waste the opportunity if she could avoid it.

“What do you care, anyway?” Thea replied just as coldly, barely bothering to turn her attention away from the plate of cake in her hand.

She took another bite and faked a moan. She held the cake out to Haley. “Want some?” Thea asked, putting on her best baby voice and puppy dog eyes.

Haley scowled, walked over and slapped Thea. Thea barely flinched. This was nothing new. No, in fact this was practically routine.

Haley turned around and grabbed her phone from her coat.

“Guess that’s a no, then.” Thea smiled cheekily.

She knew Haley couldn’t have the cake anyway. Poor little lactose intolerant Haley.

“I’ve had an incredibly stressful day, I do not need your fucking sass, Thea.”

“Oh, why don’t you ask dad to buy you something then?” Thea replied.

Another slap. This one hit harder. Blood pooled under Thea’s cheeks and her skin felt warm.

“Well, at least you’re getting better at something in life.” Thea said, taking another bite of her cake.

Haley groaned angrily. “Is this the fucking antartic? Why is it freezing in here?” She walked over to the thermostat.

“It’s hot out.” Thea replied.

“Do you want me to get frostbite?”

“It’s 50 fahrenheit. You literally can’t get frostbite.”

“Oh, you’re so smart, aren’t you?” Haley grit her teeth.

“I like to think so, yes.” Thea remarked.

Haley exhaled sharply, shook her head in frustration, turned the corner and fucked off to her room.

Thea smiled contentedly, taking another bite of her cake. She grabbed the remote and flipped the TV on, finding a boring reality show to distract her. No matter how bad life got, she could at least remind herself she wasn’t like the pathetic bitches of rando city.

All the whining and bitching and crying. Thea almost felt bad for them. They’d never learned what true power felt like, locked in their terrible marriage in their stupid town.

Thea was determined to be better. She was determined to be smarter. She’d sworn to never let a man affect her and yet, last summer, she’d slipped. Thea was not the kind of person to get angry. No, she just got even.

But last summer, as the news dropped, Thea distinctly remembered feeling rage inside her and letting just a little bit out. Thankfully no one had seen her or figured out that the messed up classroom and the shattered green-board was her doing. Her reputation was still intact, even after last summer’s events. And she planned on getting revenge.

As the TV droned on in the background and the hours passed by, Thea spent her time planning out how things would go when she would finally get her revenge. There had to be some weak link in their relationship she could exploit.

Her interactions today with Mason practically spelled it out for her: they were having relationship issues. What she couldn’t figure out though was the best way to do it. She could make them turn on each other or turn the class against them (she figured that would be the easiest given how everyone pretty much already considered them freaks) or perhaps the situation would need a gentler, subtler approach. She couldn’t let anyone figure out she played a part in it or they would just get back together again. No, whatever needed to happen needed to be public and damning. She wanted to make Ingram the outcast. So much so even the losers wouldn’t associate with him.

She played all the scenarios over in her head, wondering which one would do the most damage. She imagined herself standing in the cafeteria, watching Ingram and Mason confront each other about something and then breaking out into a fight. Embarrass themselves publicly, certainly at least as humiliating and public as it was for her.

It was so vivid in her head it was practically a movie. The people would surround them, like they had on the first day of the semester, during the fight. They would publicly breakup and in his lowest moment, separated from everyone who even thought of loving him, Ingram would crawl his way back – wait that didn’t sound right. What she meant was: he’d feel completely and utterly destroyed and feel just like she did. Hurt and angry… Thea’s eyes widened as if she’d had an epiphany. It was not the first time she had thought about Ingram hurting like she had but it was the first time the thought had struck her in a different way. Why had a man made her feel weak, hurt? Almost jealous?

It reminded her of how she felt around her father: ignored, betrayed. Perhaps it was precisely why she was so angry. What Ingram did to her was what her father had done to–

“Are you gonna lay there all day?” Haley’s voice yanked Thea out of her stream of consciousness and back to reality.

Haley stood in the hallway, arms crossed, glaring Thea down. “What do you want?”

“Theadora, get off the damn couch and go do your homework or something.” Haley chided. “Your father doesn’t need to worry about you anymore than he already does, you waste of skin.” Haley spat from her crimson lips.

Thea groaned as she stood up. Her ass felt numb and she hadn’t even realized how long it had been. Probably over six hours, as the TV had switched off. She stretched her arms and let out a yawn. “I’m just gonna go sleep.”

Haley turned around and sauntered back to her room.

Thea sulked her way up the stairs and into her room. She pulled back her chair and opened her laptop.

She’d closed the laptop last night while shopping for the Halloween dance party next month. She’d had her eyes set on a gorgeous lavender silk dress with an intricate see-through lace front, although the price tag had made her hesitate. She loved Halloween and she wanted to be the best dressed but, even for a hand sewn dress, thirty thousand dollars was a lot of money. Which meant she would have to ask her dad.

Thea immediately rolled her eyes at the thought. She rarely found him alone; all the time that he was actually home and not at work or out golfing with some client he spent by Haley’s side. Thea couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen him crack a smile. Even on his birthday last February, he’d come home an hour early from work, downed half a bottle of whiskey and gone straight to bed. Not a single word to anyone. He was always the stoic, quiet man for as long as she could remember. And the thought of asking him to buy something for her, especially something that expensive, in front of Haley was a lecture Thea didn’t need.

Haley would play the naïve fool whenever Nicolas was around. Thea would point the slightest bit of criticism at Haley and Nicolas’s mood would automatically sour.

And so, putting aside the thought of buying the dress, Thea scrolled through the website, looking for more stuff she could actually get.

And as she scrolled through the countless dresses, Thea found her thought’s wandering…

It was suddenly last March – the day of the final exam and Thea had just handed in her exam. She grabbed her stuff and placed her hand on the door handle.

Just outside, the cacophony of inescapable and unintelligible chattering filled the entire sound space. Thea turned the door handle and stepped out. A sudden wave of dread passed over her. She could feel the wind change, as it were.

But she didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling like that. It couldn’t have been the exam; she’d done excellently and she was pretty much guaranteed an A+. As she took a few more steps, turning to walk to her locker, she noticed people’s subtle glances. She was used to being looked at in awe, in pure deification even – but these were very different glances. Just quick looks here and there, thinking she wouldn’t notice. These were curious glances. These were almost malevolent glances. She even thought she heard a few people whispering about her as she passed by.

No, it had to be her imagination. These low-lifes would never dare talk about her, certainly not like this.

Thea turned the corner and disappeared into the crowd as she walked to her locker. She opened her locker and grabbed her phone from inside. She reached to unlock it.

“Stop!” Thea heard a familiar voice and turned around.

The lean figure of Chrissy sprinted over and caught her breath. “Stop.” She bent down and caught her thighs.

“What is it?” Thea asked.

“Don’t open your phone.” She said.

“Why not?”

“You deserve better.”

Thea scrunched her face. “Better what, exactly?”

“Look, let’s just go somewhere a little private and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Tell me what, Chrissy? You’re scaring me, you know?”

“Just put your phone down and come with me. Please.” She pleaded.

“Fine.” Thea groaned.

“Come on, over here.” She grabbed Thea’s hand and gently led her away.

As they continued to drift past people, Thea noticed even more people staring at her.

“What are you all looking at?” Thea shouted and everyone turned away.

“What the fuck is going on, Chrissy?”

“There’s a big problem.” She stopped outside an empty classroom. “In here.”

She opened the door and led Thea in.

“Will you just tell me already?” Thea asked, annoyed.

She closed the door. “Okay, I want you to try not to freak out but Sarah Schulman–” She gulped.

“Spit it out already!” Thea yelled.

“Sarah Schulman saw Ingram making out with a guy in the bathroom!” She covered her mouth like she wanted to stop speaking.

Thea’s jaw dropped. She could feel the blood rushing out of her brain and into her balled fists. “She what?!”

“She told everyone.” She said calmly.

Thea couldn’t even process the thought. Thea felt lightheaded and stumbled backwards. Chrissy outstretched her hand to grab Thea but Thea brushed her away and leaned against the table. “Leave me alone.” Thea whispered through gritted teeth.

Chrissy’s legs shook uncontrollably as she nodded and sprinted out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Thea looked up at the ceiling, trying to get the thought through her brain.

Ingram Shaw. Kissing a boy. And everyone at school knew. Before she did. Maybe if he’d told her himself, she could’ve broken up with him, saved herself… but now all she could think was to break something.

She grabbed one of the chairs in front of her and threw it at the green-board – it shattered like a mirror and the chair clattered to the floor. Thea put her arm up to her mouth and let out a scream.

All she felt was betrayed and hurt and angry and all she could think about was what everyone would say about her. She would have to control the situation before it spread anymore. A tear streaked down her cheek and she wiped it off. She couldn’t afford to lose her head right now. She had to fix this.

She took out her phone and walked out of the classroom.

Thea shook her head and just like that she was back in her room, scrolling through dresses again. She scrolled for a while more, found some she liked and closed her laptop. She quickly finished up some schoolwork, answered some texts from Kitty about going out shopping and then climbed into bed. Tomorrow could not come soon enough, and Thea couldn’t wait to get to scheming.

-

It was September the 12th and a warm noon on a Wednesday, aka the next day, when Thea finally found an opportunity to get more information. There she was, grabbing her stuff from her locker at the end of school when everyone was shuffling out and Mason Carmichael was standing outside the gym.

She cleared her throat, checked her breath and quickly caught up to him.

“Mason!” She placed a hand on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Oh, Thea. It’s you.” Mason said, taking a deep breath. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Why so jumpy?” She asked.

“Nah, just nervous.” He leaned forward and looked down the hallway. “You know, first real session of the year.”

“Come on. now. What’s there to be nervous about? You’re like our Kobe.” Thea took a step back. Even with her heels, Thea had to look up to talk to Mason.

“It’s nothing.” Mason said, leaning against the wall.

“Well, you know if it is something, you can talk to me, right?” She said innocently.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Mason took out his phone.

“Well, good luck, then. With the game.” Thea said, turning around.

Well that was fucking useless. She would just have to try again later.

*

AYATO taglist: @inexorableblob @hell-yeah-fantasy @lilac-written @aurumni-writes @vviciously @the-real-rg @three-seas-writes @cawolters @emilymustwrite @westviews @ashestoashesdusttodust @berryspaceship @mariahwritesstuff @rcvolutions @noxcomic @death-over-coffee @ohlooksheswriting @your-art-is-gay @grimmwrites @leo-november @vhum @mendeled @adventurebeneaththewords @shamelesslypoetic @bettsican

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 25: Between Worlds

My eyes opened to brilliant sunshine. A quick check of the phone revealed that I’d slept two hours later than usual. There was a message from Johann saying that he would meet me pretty much an hour from now.

“Great,” I responded back, “Because I just woke up!” Laughing emoji.

“That’s good.” came the response. I watched the typing icon at the bottom of the screen, a fond smile on my face. “I’ve noticed that when it comes to academics, you’re excelling. But in physical aptitudes you’re still lagging behind. After what happened last night, it’s apparent that you need to excel there too.”

My phone blinked up an attachment. Johann texted.  “Here’s your modified schedule. It’s going to be tough, but we’re running out of time.”

When I saw just how much I was going to be working on combat, my eyes flew open. Academics only occupied three hours of my day now. 

And my number one trainer for each session was Johann himself. 

An hour later I met him at the gym.

Master List

“Lancelot told me that you have done well with the fundamentals. So we’ll be focusing on techniques now.” He was visibly strong, not in a bodybuilder sort of way, but like a farmer’s son, sculpted by hard work every day.

“We’ll be going very fast through this."

“What’s the hurry?” I asked.

“After the three months is over, there will only be one week left before you’ll be taking your finals. I have no doubt you’ll do fine on the written test. But the physical test… I worry. And that’s a third of your grade. You can’t fail it and then move to the next semester.” Johann explained.

“The physical test is composed of three parts, agility, arms and combat.” He ticked each off his fingers. “Combat is your weakest link. If we can get that up to speed you’ll have a better chance of passing.”

It wasn’t like I was soft. Lancelot marveled at my core strength, balance and practiced awareness of what my body was doing at any given time. But if you hit me, I crumbled like tissue paper, and I was just as ineffective hitting others.

I was surprised he was so concerned. I thought I was doing well with agility, at least, and I was practicing shooting every day!

“So, we’ll start with holds and breaking them. We’ll all be wearing protective equipment during the test and no one will be hurting anyone else. But if they can pin you, or drag you, you’re pretty much done.”

I let out a little quiet moan of despair.

Johann actually chuckled a bit. “Don’t take it so hard. It’ll be fine. I won’t let you fail it.”

I nodded twice. I could feel my pulse racing at the idea of him so close.  

He walked over to stand behind me. “We’ll start with the most common one. Wrapping the arm behind the neck.”

I flinched.

“Don’t be nervous, I’m just showing you.”

My body wasn’t listening. The weight of his arm was barely there and my heart was slamming in my chest. This wasn’t the pitter-pat of a little crush like I’d assumed it was to start. This was actual fear, the cold, clinching terror.

I suddenly realized this is why he was training me himself. There was no way I would be able to tolerate this from anyone else.

His voice was close to my ear  “Panic is what kills people. Not lack of training. I’m not here to tell you not to be scared. I’m just telling you… put it away long enough to learn… the rest will take care of itself.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by 'take care of itself', but I didn’t want to let him down. I forced my thoughts away from the way I was feeling and instead focus on what he was doing, and what he was telling me to do.

Using my meager strength wasn’t going to break any hold on me. What I needed to do was use my knowledge of how a body could and could not move and my own weight to drag my opponent into a position where he would stop focusing on holding on. 

Once we practiced for real, I was able to break his hold on the first try by counterattacking him with a hold of my own and using my entire weight to bring him down.

He rolled, immediately back on his feet before I could finish backing away. “Good. Now do that ten times faster.”

We practiced for about fifteen more minutes before he called a break and got some water for us. While he was gone, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. 

I took the water offered by Johann. “You know… when I first came here, I met someone who… put his arm around me like that so I couldn’t get away from him. It looked friendly… but it was really a hold I didn’t know how to escape from. That’s why I… got upset.”

“Oh...”

 “Funny, I forgot about it until now. But I guess my body didn’t.”

“Oh.” He turned his eyes away from me.

“Don’t feel bad. In fact… that was the person I was running from when I first met you right?” 

He cringed. “And then I… grabbed your wrist…”

“And I almost broke it, trying to get away!” I started to laugh again. “I thought you were one of his goons!” 

“That explains a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Oh uh… I thought my eyes were what made you nervous. I was wondering why you weren’t afraid of them afterwards.”

“They’re unusual but very pretty!” I took a long drink and screwed the cap back on, mumbling.  “Now I understand why you’re worried about my exam. I’m a little brown bag of issues.”

I noticed his cheeks were a little red. Was he really that embarrassed about something that happened months ago? “Ready for another round?” He asked, changing the subject.

 “Yep!”

Despite my efforts to maintain a cheery disposition, the training lasted far too long for my mood to hold up. The longer it lasted, the tougher he was on me. He was pushing me to fight harder and faster.  While I tried my best, it was obvious that, if he wanted to, he could have his way with me. It was just a matter of his changing his mind and deciding not to be nice. The fear was like dangling off a precipice with only a narrow guardrail of trust between us. The trust was there, but so was the dizzying, terrifying feeling of what could happen if it was suddenly broken.

 By the end of day I was a wreck in every sense of the word. I didn’t want to talk to him any more, look at him any more.

The training  not only reminded me of Isaac, but that I’d been dragged through the grass, strangled near to death, had a gun to my head, been strapped to a chair, sedated, carried, hit... 

This training dredged up every feeling of being lost, trapped, terrorized and manipulated.

When Johann teleconferenced me for the evening review exam that evening, I wasn't as pleasant as I had been. It didn't feel like my own emotions, but some half physical, half mental entity that resented Johann for pushing past a carefully crafted and indicated line. It didn't matter if I gave him permission and it was necessary. It still felt like an invasion. He'd opened this box of awful memories after I'd stuffed them in and locked the lid.

The next day, I had a definite chip on my shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked me.

"No  Let's just get started." I said, not smiling.

That brought him up short. "Alright."

I was more than eager to apply what I learned. When breaking out of a wrist grapple, I turned Johann's arm too far and he hissed, "Hey, take it easy."

He reached around to get behind my head but I broke that too, backing away.

"Good… very good." His expression had changed to one of quiet approval. We circled a moment. "Keep an eye on your footing…" He reminded me.

Taking out my feelings on Johann had had the opposite effect!  Something in me got so annoyed! Didn't he see that I didn't like this?

He straightened. "I'd like to see more of that… faster."

That annoyed devil inside me interpreted faster as more ferocious. I didn't want him touching me for a millisecond longer than he had to. By lunch, we'd moved on to maintaining distance after a grapple. By the end of the afternoon, we'd started on incorporating offense with defense.

By hour four, my tolerance reached its breaking point. I slammed the heel of my hand into his collarbone. “Stop!”

Johann backed away, rubbing it furiously for a second before he paused. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I … I’m done. I don’t want to do this any more.” I stood stiff, arms at my side.

“Could have just said so…” His eyebrows rose.

Guilt washed over me. “I’m sorry…”

He shrugged. “You worked hard today. Only thirty minutes left.” I must have still looked stricken, because he continued.  “I’ve been hit harder. If it makes you feel better for our next session, we’ll use padding.”

I went back home to study, exhausted and feeling guilty. Ielia burst out of my necklace spinning around in ecstasy. She gave me two thumbs up. I rolled my eyes at her and walked away but she stayed, floating ahead of me. She put her hand up to stop me and then pointed to the wall where my rune was.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Alright.” I carefully traced with my pen where her finger indicated. When the rune was done it sprouted a dark star from its center, a Nibelungen gate. A door to the outside. 

She immediately floated through. I followed and was transported to a wide open stone work cavern. My heart thudded. It was the place. The same place where I met Isaac for the last time. “How did you do this?” I asked, my voice echoing off the walls.

She just spun around in the air, looking smug. Then she closed her eyes and a bright spear of light appeared in her hand. 

I could only stare. “We’re not on campus...I can… use my dragon gift.”

I could go. I could go anywhere. 

“We’re going to get in so much trouble if they find out.” I stood there, eyes wide.

She shrugged and put her finger to her lips. Then she pointed the spear at me. She wanted to train me. That’s what it was. I shook my head. “I’m already worn out.”

She let her hand down and put them behind her back. The spear swam through the air around us and alighted on its tip in front of me.

I didn’t have to physically throw it? I didn’t have to grab it at all?

She suddenly raised her head. Through the gate I heard a strange rumbling sound. She took my hand and pulled me back into my room. Someone was knocking. It was Mingfei. “Hey!” He gave me a jaunty wave when I opened. “Professor Schneider wants to see us in the library lab.” 

“Just us? Okay.”

As we walked, he glanced at me. “How have you been?”

“Alright. Johann told me that right after our three months is over, there’s going to be a test. I’m not doing well in combat so we’re starting to train together. It’s a bit… nerve wracking.”

“Really…?” Lu looked down at me with wide brown eyes. “That’s what he’s talking about for after the three months?!” Mingfei rolled his eyes.

“What?” 

“I just…” He sighed. “It’s… I thought maybe he’d be talking about something a little more… I don’t know… important.”

“If I don’t pass the test, I won’t be able to move on to the next semester! That’s kind of important!” I squinted at him.

“Yeah, sure…”

When we arrived at the lab, people were surrounding a large table in hazmat suits. We stood behind the glass. Professor Schneider nodded to us.  “I’m glad to see you have recovered, Charlotte.”

I smiled brightly at him.

“The dragon corpse is dormant but we want to remove its technology. It’s an alchemical device that appears fused to its central nervous system. It’s hard to work around it. Since you resonated with the device, I thought perhaps you or Lu Mingfei could help.”

Lu shrugged. “I don't know why I’m here. Charlotte is the one who understood the thing.”

“I would not say I understood it. More like… it hacked my brain.” I looked squarely at Professor Schneider. “It put thoughts in my head, overrode my own thoughts until I was forced to say things I didn’t believe.”

“A mind control device….” Schneider growled.

“Why would a dragon mind control another dragon?” Lu asked.

There was a sudden commotion. The beast twitched and everyone had ducked behind cover. The professor took a breath as his oxygen tank hissed. “If you can remove the device, then we can safely put the beast in cold storage.”

I looked over at Lu. “I read that the Light King was crueler than the Dark King. Many cruel leaders find ways to mind control.” 

They outfitted me in protective equipment and led me out into the secured area. Through the other visors, I caught a glimpse of faces I didn’t recognize, probably all members of the College elite. 

I leaned over the body. The device was completely metal and as the professor described. There was no way to unwind the metal work from the flesh. I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn’t know anything about dragons or devices. But I had stood before a corpse before.

“Eternal Cycle. Unity in All Things… Self Sufficiency…” I whispered the draconic as quietly as I could, hoping no one would hear me. At the head of the beast, a small light turned on, just above its sightless eye.

I walked to the front of the creature. Was it a button? I reached out to touch it.

I felt a sudden jolt of pain, like something had bitten down hard on my fingertips. I jerked my hand back, shaking it in a reflex. “Ouch!” Bright red blood spattered onto the machinery. A few shouts went up from the lab techs but they quieted when they saw the droplets being attracted to the device, into the gears and crevices.

“It’s absorbing the blood…” Someone whispered. 

Immediately, the machine jundid itself from the body with a heavy thud. Some of the parts fell on the floor.

The eye of the dragon suddenly rolled toward me. 

Mom? Mommy?

I looked the dragon in its single eye. I could understand its dragon speak. “I… I’m not your mom…” I answered back in English.

The head lifted and rested against my chest. My hand reached up and held it before it could knock me over.

Mommy!

My eyesight grew blurry. My chest tightened. I was crying? Why was I crying?

It was crying, tears trailing down the center of its snout.

A loud bang shocked me out of my trance, the head grew heavier and fell to the floor, dragging the body off the table with it. Its tongue lolled from its mouth. Its eye was closed.

Their hands, painfully tight on my arms, hauling me to the door, were a provoking fire. I dug in my heels and leaned back hard, pulling with my legs.

These lab techs were no Johann. They immediately lost their balance and fell, letting me go in the process.

Lu appeared next to me. “Let’s go! Come on!”

Even as he was guiding me out, I couldn’t take my eyes off the body of the dragon… 

The child.

We ended up in a hallway and I finally found my voice. “Lu! Why? Why did they kill it! It was just a baby!”

He stopped and turned to face me. “I know. I heard it.” His eyes were dull and sad. “I know.”

“You did?” I asked in wonder.

“Yeah!” He hissed in frustration. “I see a lot of things that other people can’t see! Sometimes…” For a brief second, he looked around to make sure we were alone. He leaned closer, whispering. “I feel like I’m going crazy because I see these visions and hear these voices… from the dragons.”

I watched his eyes fill and spill over. “I know… I know we have to protect people. I know we do… but I also know… that dragons … dragons are people. I was even friends with one… for a while.” He hung his head.

He covered his eyes with one hand, his voice cracking. “..dead now. There was nothing I could do.”

“How… How do you deal with this? What are we doing? Lu...” My lip trembled. “What are we doing?”

“The purity of our dragon line means that we sympathize with them more… it's just something we have to deal with…” He managed to pull himself together, taking a shaking breath, his hands on my shoulders. “If you don’t… you’ll end up like the S-ranker from 40 years ago who killed himself in his second year.”

I had to admit to myself that I had had those thoughts. I looked into his eyes. He must have them too. “We gotta stick together.”

I took his hand and wrapped my pinkie around his. “Promise… that we can share S-rank secrets? If you and I feel the same, the world will be a less lonely and miserable and terrible place!” I sobbed and bit back the sorrow rising in my throat.

The light returned to Mingfei’s eyes. He curled his pinkie around mine “Promise.”

I rested my head against his chest and took a deep breath. I felt him put his arms around me. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his heart. “Secret number one?”

“Huh?”

“While I was gone. Someone… shared a vision with me. They said… ‘I see you… standing on the threshold between the world of humans, and the world of dragons.’ I didn’t understand what he meant. But now…”

He patted his hand on my head like I was a little kid, smiling. “This is getting a little too serious. Let’s go back to my place. It’s a little against the rules, but right now? I just want to play video games.”

[machihunnicutt]

whoops i kind of failed fic-vember (so have an Anne fic)

Hey ya’ll. Finals happened and then the holidays happened and I gave up on the last week or two of fic-vemeber. Here’s an Anne fic to say sorry.

Like My Heart is Hitting the Ground

(Or read on ao3.)

Anne had been firm in her demand not to work the same shifts as one Gilbert Blythe. She’d managed to get away with it, most of the time, eyieng the schedule every time her manager made it and adjusting her availability as needed. Her intense dislike of Gilbert (Diana called it a grudge but Diana wasn’t there at the inciting moment) began his first day on the job, when, while she was dusting a new batch of scones with powdered sugar, he pulled her braid and called her “carrots.” He got a face full of powdered sugar in retaliation.

But it was Christmas (and therefore winter break at the university) and Anne and Gilbert were the only two in town to run the shop.

“This will work out just fine if you stay over there and I stay over here,” Anne said, gesturing to the imaginary line that divided the back of Avonlea Coffee and Bakery.

Gilbert’s dark eyebrow rose into the mess of curls that fell over his forehead. “So I take all the orders and you’ll make everything.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What if you need help with something?”

“I won’t,” she said, tightly. “I can handle myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, Anne,” Gilbert said, meeting her eyes. She hated it when he did that. It reminded her that Gilbert Blythe wasn’t bad to look at. He had a crooked, self-satisfied sort of smile and his gaze was effortlessly warm and guarded by long lashes. And if she was being completely honest with herself (which she wasn’t, she usually counted on Diana for honesty) he was entirely her type: big knitted hand-me-down sweaters, dark cuffed jeans, Converse, messy hair, and a plastic watch with a million pre-set alarms. Anne was attracted to exclusively nerdy wannabe hipsters.

Gilbert Blythe had apologized for the carrots incident, profusely in fact, but Anne wasn’t in the habit of trusting too easily.

“Good, then count the cash in the register and I’ll wipe down the counters,” she said.

“The spray bottles are on my side.”

“Fine, will you please hand me a spray bottle Gilbert Blythe?”

“Why do you do that?”

“What? Say please?” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly on the tile. Her apron had a few leftover stains and one of her braids was starting to come undone, but she maintained her show of authority.

“Call me by my full name, like it’s some sort of comic book name,” he frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she replied.

“You know, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Charles Xavier...Gilbert Blythe,” his mouth quirked up into half a smile and Anne rolled her eyes.

“Give me the bottle, Wonder-boy,” she said, and he obliged. “And to answer your question, I’m just trying to maintain a professional work environment.” She began wiping down the countertops, briskly, with the intention of ending this conversation.

“Could’ve fooled me, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne had started working at Avonlea Coffee her second semester as an education major at the university. Her scholarships covered housing and a good portion of her tuition, and Marilla and Matthew had sent her off with enough money for textbooks, but she realized her summer job savings weren’t going to cut it the hard way. The second week of spring semester her card got declined when she was buying groceries. Luckily she was there with Diana (angel among men), who covered for her. The next day she sent out a slew of applications. Now she’d been at the shop for two and a half years.

“Welcome to Avonlea Coffee and Bakery. What can we get started for you?” Gilbert’s smile when greeting customers managed to hide the bags beneath his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re open on Christmas,” the woman at the counter said. She was the twelfth to say so in the last two hours. Nevertheless, Anne had a steady stream of orders to make.

“If you want to switch, let me know,” Gilbert said, halfway through the shift. It was the third instance of Wham’s “Last Christmas” on the shop’s holiday playlist and Anne was tired.

Gilbert was counting the remaining scones in the case. They were down to five and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t have reason to put in another batch.

Outside it had begun to snow, big white clumps that reminded her of walking in Green Gables, at dawn when the snow was heavy and untouched, blanketing the grass.

She hadn’t been back to Green Gables since school started, though she called Marilla and Matthew at least once a week. She’d tried to get them set up on FaceTime, but neither was technologically savvy enough to complete a successful video call. The longer she was away the more her gable room showed up in her dreams: fluffy white comforter that smelled of lavender and detergent, tiny wood desk where she’d studied for her slew of AP exams, Marilla’s lacy curtains that just managed to keep the sunshine out in the morning, and of course the cherry blossoms outside.

“Do you have a ride home? Or are you walking in all that?” Gilbert asked. He looked out at the icy sidewalks and she watched his jaw tighten.

“I’m walking, but I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she replied.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to...”

“What brings you to the Christmas day shift, Gilbert Blythe?” She interrupted.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Well, I could use the extra money.”

“You’re not going home for break?”

He shook his head and looked back down at the scones. “My dad died earlier this year and I...I sold the house, so I don’t really have a home to go back to. I have a friend back in my hometown, Bash, who invited me to stay with him and his wife for the holidays, but I thought it would be easier and cheaper to just stay here and pick up some extra shifts.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I didn’t know.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s fine. It’s good to be here when campus is empty, I can catch up on studying. Pre-med and all that. What are you doing here, Anne?”

“My...Matthew, my guardian, is sick and we don’t really have the money to spare for me to fly home. He’s fine, getting better I know, but having a whole big Christmas at home would be a lot right now and I didn’t want to cause my adoptive parents any trouble. Of course they protested.”

“Of course,” Gilbert smiled. “Who wouldn’t want to spend Christmas with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

Anne rolled her eyes and turned away to restock the paper cups and hide the blush spreading over her face. The shop was just warm. “Are you all alone then?” She asked, after a moment.

“My roommates have all left for home, so yes,” he said.

Anne thought about Gilbert Blythe all alone in his apartment, pouring bowls of cold cereal or opening cans of Red Bull, or whatever sad, lonely, study food he ate.

“Well, if you like you can join my roommates and I. We’re all still in town and decided to do our own Christmas. They’re both working today too, so we saved the gift giving for tonight.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she shot back, suddenly hell-bent on keeping Gilbert Blythe from a Christmas alone. It was sad enough not to have a home to go back to. “Join us, please.”

The front door bell dinged and another wave of customers came in out of the cold, putting the conversation on hold for a moment.

“What do you think?” Anne asked. It was nearly closing and she was halfway through cleaning the espresso machine.

“Okay,” Gilbert said. “If I can drive you.”

“Deal,” Anne said, extending her hand to shake his.

“You’re on my side,” he said.

***

Gilbert Blythe started work at Avonlea Coffee and Bakery at the beginning of his junior year. It was his second job. He worked assorted evenings at the automotive garage down the street from his apartment, and divided his remaining time between a full schedule of classes, homework, and the occasional handful of hours of sleep.

The day he met Anne Shirley-Cuthbert she had flour on her freckled nose and was expertly crafting a latte. She didn’t pay him any attention as their boss trained him, and continued to effectively ignore him the first shift they worked together.

“Do you know Anne very well?” He asked his co-workers during their break. Billy and Charlie were vaping in the alley beside the shop. He sidestepped clouds of vapor and tapped his foot.

“She’s bossy. She’s worked here forever,” Billy said. “I hear she’s got a whole orphan sob story. I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

“Not much to look at anyway,” Charlie put in.

Gilbert considered this for a moment. “Well, I should be getting back.”

“We have five more minutes,” Billy said.

“I know, I’d just rather spend my break inside, and not with you two.”

He tugged on her braid to get her attention. Childish? Absolutely. But he couldn’t think of another way, and he’d never purported to have the best judgment.  

He hadn’t worked with Anne much since, but he’d seen her at the end of her shifts, when he took over for her. She was great with customers; she knew all the regulars by their orders and their names. She added special touches to all the cakes she decorated: buttercream roses, dainty chocolate work, tufts of spun sugar. And Anne always looked pretty in a way that he had to try really hard not to stare at all the time. When it was warmer she wore long, flowy, floral dresses that fell to her knees and clashed with her heavy work boots. In the winter she wore the same dresses with tights and cardigans and long scarves wrapped around her neck. Her hair was almost always braided. He’d seen it down once, curled on her birthday when their boss had brought her a box of her favorite lemon cupcakes.

“You can turn here,” Anne said. She was in the passenger seat. Her dress was red with tiny black flowers. The navy cardigan and coat she had over it nearly swallowed her small frame. “My house is on the right."

This was a pity invite, he knew, but there was still something exciting about Christmas with Anne. Maybe they were turning over a new leaf.

Anne scooped up the box of discount pastries she’d salvaged and led him up the steps to her house.

“Anne’s home!” He heard a call from the kitchen and a woman with dark hair and unevenly cut bangs looked back at them. She was stirring a pot of something that smelled like apples and cinnamon and she seemed to be Anne’s stylistic opposite: heavy eyeliner, dark turtleneck and pencil skirt, nose piercing, and ruby red lipstick. “Oh, hello. Who’s this?” She said.

“Diana Barry, this is my co-worker Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, meet my roommate Diana.”

“Gilbert,” Diana repeated, giving Anne a look Gilbert couldn’t read. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replied.

“He’s joining our band of stranded misfits for the evening,” Anne said. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s alright with me. Just be warned that Jerry’s on his third glass of rosé already, and quite torn up about his most recent breakup.”

“Jerry’s an international student. His family's in Paris. He doesn’t fly home for breaks usually,” Anne explained.

“And my family’s abroad in London,” Diana said. “A trip they planned before they knew I’d paid for January term classes already. Either way, it’s much nicer to be with my lovely Anne.”

“It’s much nicer to be alone together,” Anne concluded.

“Alone?” Came a strangled howl from the living room.

“Anne, will you tell Monsieur Heartbreak that this apple cider will be done in five minutes and he better have his present for me wrapped by then?”

Gilbert followed Anne into the living room to see her other roommate sprawled face down on the couch. He turned his head toward them when they came in and moaned.

“Anne of Green Gables how could you bring a new beau to this sacred gathering of singles?”

“He isn’t,” Anne said, at the same time as Gilbert said “I’m not.”

Jerry rolled onto his back and put his head in his hands. “I am destined for suffering.”

“Wrap your present for Diana. Cider’s ready in 5 minutes. This is Gilbert, my co-worker. Please refrain from regaling him with stories of the many sorority girls who have broken your heart until I get back. I need to get my presents from my room.”

Diana brought the cider and offered Gilbert a glass of rosé, which he accepted along with the ten minute recounting of Jerry’s failed relationship. Anne came back and sat next to him on the couch. They all had wine and cider and cookies that Anne made with a recipe from home. Diana ordered pizza and over the exchange of gifts Gilbert learned a number of things:

1) Diana was a music student who studied classical piano for class but made her own songs on synth and guitar in her spare time. She came out as a lesbian last year and went to her first Pride with Anne that summer. Thus her gifts from Anne and Jerry were (respectively) a framed photo of Anne and Diana covered in glitter with bright grins and pride flags, and a pair of musical note earrings.

2) Jerry was an English major, despite the fact that he was dyslexic and it was his second language. He met Anne freshman year in their professor’s office hours and had had a spirited debate about Jane Eyre, which they continued over lunch every week while she edited his (otherwise excellent) essays for typos. He had the unfortunate habit of falling for sorority sisters and writing them embarrassing poetry that often found unsympathetic audiences on ex-girlfriend’s Instagrams post-breakup. Anne got him a mug covered in Brontë quotes and Diana got him a journal and a mood ring she insisted was stuck on “love struck.”

3) Anne’s friends really cared about her. They got her a joint gift, a silver heart locket that made her face light up when she opened it. “For all your love, kindred spirit,” Diana said. Gilbert couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Could you do the clasp for me?” She asked him.

“Of course.”

Anne swept her curtain of red hair from her neck and Gilbert undid the clasp and put the necklace on her. He had some trouble doing the clasp up again because his hands were suddenly very sweaty and Jerry, seated next to Diana and thoroughly drunk by now, started laughing as Gilbert could feel his face heating up.

“I’m cutting you off, Jerry,” Anne said as Gilbert finished with the clasp. “I’m going to put on some music,” Anne said. She rose to her feet and turned around to look at the three of them. Her form was glowing in the light from the kitchen and her hair became a halo of orangey light around her head. “Any requests?”

Gilbert shook his head dumbly and Anne disappeared into the kitchen.

“Mon amie, you are gone on her. I can tell,” Jerry said. He got up with Diana and the two of them began swaying to the song Anne had chosen.

“I’m not...I don’t...”

“Oh leave him alone,” Diana put in. She winked at Gilbert.

Anne had returned. “What do you think? It’s my usual playlist.”

She outstretched her hands and pulled him up off the couch. “Do you dance, Gilbert Blythe?” She asked. Her face was flushed too, no doubt from the wine, and she held him by his waist.

“Sometimes...” he muttered.

“I’ll have you know that tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“The scheme of things meaning you’re always going to be angry with me?”

“If you keep giving me reasons to be,” she said, but she was smiling.

“What song is this?” Gilbert said. His head was buzzing.

“It’s called Townie,” Anne said. “I put Mitski on all my playlists.”

“We rotate,” Diana said. “Whenever we’re all together and need to play music.”

“Like at work,” Gilbert said.

“Like at work,” Anne repeated.

There's a party and we're all going And we're all growing up.

Anne swayed close to him. “I’m sorry, again, by the way. For pulling your hair like a grade schooler. I really didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you.”

Somebody's driving and he will be drinking And no one's going back.

“You didn’t?” She asked. “I was sure Billy and his goons had turned you against me.

'Cause we've tried hungry and we've tried full and nothing seems enough.

“Billy’s a dumbass."

So tonight, tonight The boys are gonna go for   More more more.

“Well I guess we can agree on one thing.”

And I want a love that falls as fast As a body from the balcony, and I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground.

I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat, though I don't know what I'm waiting for. I am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be.

The rest of the night blurred out in a haze of laughter, dizzy dancing around the living room, and Jerry pulling him aside to lecture him in slurred, half-French about the perils of love.

“Merry Christmas Gilbert Blythe,” Anne said, as she saw him off.

“Merry Christmas.”

***

The next week Anne and Gilbert had more shifts together. When it was his turn to pick the music Anne heard Mitski on his playlists, in between his old music.

“Why is it that all of your music sounds like it belongs in a 50s diner?”

“Hey, I don’t complain about your music.”

“Yeah, because my music’s good,” Anne said. She was assembling a batch of macaroons as quickly as she could. Since Christmas they’d been engaging in a number  of competitive games. Right now it was timed macaroon preparation. Yesterday it was who could make the most complicated latte art.

“I’ve got to beat you now since you beat me yesterday.”

Gilbert leaned against the counter beside her. “What did you expect, Anne? A doctor has to have steady hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, time! How fast was that, Gil?”

“Gil?” Gilbert repeated, smile growing wide on his stupid face. “Since when do I have a nickname?”

“You don’t! I...didn’t. Did I beat you?”

Gilbert glanced down at the time. “You got me, Anne. Well done.”

As it had turned out, Gilbert Blythe wasn’t the absolute worst. The past couple of times they’d worked together she’d let him drive her home. He had one of those tree shaped air fresheners hanging from his mirror; it smelled like apples and cinnamon. He always cranked the heat up to make sure she wasn’t cold, though she never was. That’s what Gilbert Blythe was becoming to her: apple cinnamon and warmth, wrapping her up as he turned into her driveway.

“Do you have plans for New Years?” He asked.

“Diana’s spending the night with her girlfriend and Jerry’s with his French friends. They both said I could tag along but I don’t want to feel like the odd one out,” Anne said. She’d been the odd one out against her will for years; she wasn’t about to do it voluntarily.

“Well, if you want...I mean I was going to ask you if...uh, if you wanted to come to my place for New Years, in exchange for Christmas.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that. I’m just...” he flushed. “Asking, Anne. I didn’t really have a plan. Pizza, probably, and champagne, watching the festivities on TV.”

“And at midnight?” She met his eyes.

“At midnight I can drive you home,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” Anne said, before her brain fully processed what she was agreeing to. She didn’t want to ring in the new year by herself, not when every day of the past year had been nothing but work (good, rewarding, exhausting work) and the coming year promised more of the same.

“Okay?” Gilbert replied. “That easy? I thought I was going to have to bribe you.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Diana insisted that Gilbert Blythe’s invitation was more than it seemed.

“He obviously likes you,” she said, sprawled on Anne’s bed playing Nintendogs on her beat up DS.

“He’s my friend,” Anne said, flipping through the hangers in her closet.

“Then why are you so concerned about your outfit?”

Anne sighed.

“It’s okay if you like him too, you know?” Diana sat up and looked at her. “I know you think you don’t have time for romance, with school and work and Green Gables, but you deserve something all consuming and tender and warm and...” Diana trailed off. They’d known each other for years. Maybe Diana knew her better than Anne knew herself. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Thank you. Happy new year.”

Diana hugged her goodbye. Anne stared at herself in her bathroom mirror and debated whether or not to put on red lipstick. When she was younger she’d look in the mirror and hate her face: mud splatter of freckles, tired eyes, fiery hair framing her features. Now she and her face were on better terms. Would lipstick tonight be overkill? She looked at herself intently. An all consuming love, that’s what Diana had said. Anne smiled, and put on the lipstick.

***

Anne sat cross legged on Gilbert’s couch with a breadstick in one hand and wine glass in the other. He tried not to grin.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She said, but she was smiling. There was a crescent of lipstick on her glass’s rim. “I thought you were making dessert.”

“About that...” he said, taking a seat beside her. He held up a package of Oreos. “I’m not much of a baker on my own time.”

She laughed and selected a cookie from the package. “I’ve got you beat in the desert arena then. I make pies back at Green Gables.”

It was 11:30. She’d spent part of the night teasing him for the poorly hidden heap of laundry in his bedroom and overly animated voice on the phone when ordering pizza, part of it playing cards and watching TV with him at his living room coffee table, and part telling him stories of Green Gables.

“I’m sorry my New Years is so boring,” he said. On TV crowds were huddled in the snow, waving noisemakers and throwing confetti.

“It’s not,” she said. She moved so her shoulder was pressed to his on the couch. “Thanks for having me. It’s nice not to be alone. I wanted to have the holidays at home this year. I feel like all I do is work and go to class now, like I'm racing to an invisible finish line. It’s hard to be away. And with Matthew sick I...anyway, thanks.”

"And what if you get to the finish line and it isn't everything you thought it would be?" Gilbert added. "I know the feeling." He sucked in a breath. “It’s the first holiday without my dad,” he said. “I’m glad I’m not alone either.”

Anne put her hand over his. It was small and warm and he didn’t move a muscle for fear she would take it back.

“What’s that song?” He muttered. “That Mitski song, from Christmas?”

“It’s called Townie,” she replied.

“Do you want to listen to it? Would you dance with me, Anne? Like at Christmas?"

She looked over at him and smiled. “It’s nearly midnight, Gil.”

He’d become Gil, so quickly, without either of them knowing. He’d become someone she looked at softly. She’d become someone who made his heart feel like it was jumping around in his chest.

“But okay,” she said.

He didn’t know when the clock struck midnight. He was swaying with Anne in his living room. Her head was on his shoulder. His heart was hitting the ground. When the song was over she tilted her head up to blink at him.

“I have to work tomorrow,” she said. “At 7, But I don’t even care.”

“Can I kiss you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

“Yes, Gil, you can.”

He did, and she kissed him back. He took her face in his hands and kissed her for a long time. It still felt too short.

“You have lipstick on your face,” she told him. Her own face was flushed and her lipstick was smudged. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year, Anne,” he said. He could hear fireworks, but it could just be in his head. It was a firework kind of night, new year or no new year.

“It’s going to be a good one,” she said. “I have a feeling.”

[lambroseforlife]

High school lambrose

Since this suggestion said “high school” and not “secondary”, I’m just assuming that anon wanted this to take place somewhere in North America during a modern time period since there technically was no existence of “high school” in the 1800s.

— — —

“Ahhh.” Lilly exhaled in relief when the car’s engine shut off, parked at its destination. She stretched out her limbs, propping her feet on top of the dashboard, her battered black Converse high tops nearly scuffing the front window.

From her left, she felt a frosty glare burrow into her tanned legs, exposed by the pair of shorts she was wearing. A moment of cold silence passed before an equally icy tone filled the small space of the car — in her opinion, far more effective than the air conditioning system.

“Feet. Off. Now.”

“Alright, alright.” Lilly grumbled, complying at the command. She turned expectantly to the driver sitting next to her.

The car may have been a used one, but was recently purchased as a present to him from his parents shortly after he had passed the driving test and received his license. Their insistence to him that it was both a privilege and a responsibility to have a car was one that he held remarkably to utmost seriousness.

His sea-colored eyes reflected annoyance as he reached over in front of her to open the glovebox, pulling out a white cloth and rubbing at the area on the dashboard where her shoes had been. She glared at him.

“Oh, come on! I just threw these in the laundry last week.” She protested, gesturing to her high tops.

He cast a distasteful glance downwards at her feet, clearly unconvinced at the sight of the faded, worn-down shoes before vigorously wiping down the dashboard for a few more seconds. He returned the cloth back to the glovebox and closed it, still not saying anything.

Lilly sighed. “Rick, live a little. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

He finally broke the silence, raising a black eyebrow. “Celebrating what?”

“You know, finishing high school? Surviving eight torturous hours of classes five days a week for the past four years?”

“Technically, we still haven’t received our diplomas yet. Nor do we know our final grades for this semester.” He pointed out coolly.

“Don’t be a buzzkill. Graduation is tomorrow and I bet you aced all your exams like usual. I’ll eat my shoes otherwise.”

He snorted. “Very well, celebration it is then. Is that why you didn’t want to go home yet?”

“Yep.” She chirped. She opened the car door and stepped out, with Rick following suit. 

They had just departed from an outing with the rest of their friends at the town’s local diner. The place had been packed, with many of their other classmates there as well to feast for the occasion. To say the least, the diner would have stellar business for the night but also one hell of a cleanup job afterwards. Lilly decided she had socialized enough once the noise level had reached to a peak, enough to be headache-inducing. After promising to meet up with their group before and after tomorrow’s ceremony, both she and Rick had left since he was her ride for the evening. Once they sat in his car, she told him that she wanted to make a quick stop at a particular place. He was surprised but nonetheless, silently obliged.

A gust of hot air blew in her face when she closed the car door. Grumbling, she pulled her hair back into a short ponytail using the hair tie around her wrist in a vain attempt to mitigate the frizz from the summer weather. Lilly could already feel the heat clinging to her skin and hear the mosquitos buzzing about in the humid air. She was thankful that she had remembered last minute to spray on repellant before leaving the house.

Rick locked the car before falling in step beside her. They said nothing as they trekked a short distance through the grass, finally sitting side-by-side on a concrete bench directly under a lamppost.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark track pants, speaking up. 

“So…” Rick began. “Any particular reason you wanted come here?”

“Kinda.” A deep crease settled by the corner of her frown while her nose scrunched. He recognized it as the expression she wore whenever she was lost in thought.

She continued. “I wanted to have some time to think among all this…craziness.”

He waited for her to elaborate.

“I dunno. It just feels like everything happened so suddenly, you know? First it was college applications, then semester exams, then waiting on college acceptances, then club activities and dances, and then even more exams. Now we’re graduating tomorrow. Like, bam!” She clapped her hands for extra emphasis. “Where did all the time go this year?”

“You’re right.” He spoke quietly. “Things felt hectic.”

“Exactly! And soon we’re all supposed to be going off into the adult world. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited. For starters, it’ll be nice not having to ask for permission every time I want to go to the restroom.” She rolled her eyes at the absurd concept. “But still, at the same time I don’t feel ready having to say goodbye to all the friends I made. Meeting new people. Moving to a new environment by myself. Like I’m being thrown into this all at once and I’m so damn sure that I’m going to screw up.”

“Then screw up.”

“What?” She turned her head to glare at him directly. “How could you say that?”

“Look,” he explained calmly. “You’ve made mistakes before and you’re going to make them again. Expecting to not make mistakes is, frankly, rather stupid. What matters is how you use those mistakes. You’re going to meet all kinds of people, ones that you’ll get along with and ones that you won’t. And you being you, you’ll probably make some really dumb decisions along the way too. But also being you, you’ll reflect on that and learn from them. Life would be dull and boring without its challenges.”

She stared at him, her dark brown eyes widened and her mouth slightly ajar.

His voice lowered. “Don’t forget, you’re not alone in all of this. We are in the same boat together and we both will do stupid things in the future. It’s guaranteed to happen. But we are going to the same college and you know you can rely on me whenever you need it. I’ll always have your back, Lilly.”

Her eyes were watery. “Have you considered switching your major to Philosophy instead?” She choked out, leaning forward to pull him in for a hug.

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.” He muttered into her ear as his arms wrapped around her.

Pulling away, the pads of his thumbs wiped at the moisture leaking out of her eyes. “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating?”

She coughed out a laugh, sniffling then hiccupping. “They’re happy tears.”

They sat back to their original positions, settling into a comfortable silence for several minutes.

Lilly raised her legs, bringing her feet on the bench and tucking her knees under her chin. While in her curled position, she stared ahead with her large brown eyes focused in the distance.

“Do you remember when we first met?” She slowly asked.

From the corner of her vision, she could see the teenage boy next to her shoot her an incredulous look.

“All I remember from our kindergarten days was you constantly ruining my finger paintings by smearing your grubby hands all over them.”

“Good times.” One corner of her mouth quirked up in a devilish smirk. “You used to cry for an hour afterwards.”

“I did not.” He scoffed. “Why are you asking me about our first meeting?”

“Because I don’t remember,” she confessed sheepishly. “So I was hoping that you did. But I do remember how we used to always hang out here at the park on weekends.”

He chuckled. “Back when the biggest problems were who got to go down the slide first and use the shovel in the sandbox.” His nodded in the direction of the playground out in the distance.

“Life used to be so much easier back then.” Lilly frowned. “What happened?”

“Like with everything else, time happened.” He simply said.

She pouted. “From the wise words of Einstein, ‘time is an illusion.’”

“Technically it’s freedom that is an illusion, not time.”

She gave him a bland look. “Let’s not argue about this again like last time.”

They settled into comfortable silence once more. A few minutes passed until Lilly spoke up again.

“Rick?” She asked in a small voice, glancing sideways at him.

He met her gaze. “Yes, Lilly?”

“I, um, wanted to thank you. For all that you did for me during our senior year, especially at the beginning. It’s because of you that I’m even able to participate tomorrow.”

He stared at her, perplexed, and she elaborated.

“You know…the dress code incident.”

Sometime during the start of the school year on a particularly warm day, Lilly had worn a red scoop neck blouse that had exposed her collarbone and partially her shoulders. Their widely unpopular school principal, Mr Ellingham, had spotted her during the lunch period and declared that she had violated student conduct for dress code rules. Despite Rick lending her his hoodie to cover up, Lilly had been written up for a two week suspension and sent home, with her privilege to walk at the graduation ceremony revoked. The official reason given had been stated as “insubordination”, but it was obvious to Lilly that Mr Ellingham had never really liked her or her witty disposition from previous disputes — readily using the first available opportunity for his own subjective motivations.

To put it lightly, Rick was livid when he found out what had happened. As vice president of the student council, he had wasted no time in subtly spreading news of the incident. Within two days, the entire school had heard and was in a state of unrest. News had spread within the county and even out of state as well, all thanks to social media. When Rick had also informed his mother, she had taken direct action. As an active member of the school’s parent-teacher association and a distinguished generous patron of the school district, Samantha Genevieve Ambrose had wasted no time in bringing awareness among her extensive social circle, which included those on the town’s council and newspaper staff. 

By the time Lilly’s suspension had ended and she was back in school, Rick had informed her that the school and the district had been on the receiving end for public complaints and anonymous threats for the overly harsh treatment towards an honor roll student with a clean record for no previous incidents of misconduct. A few months later, Mr Ellingham had resigned and had been replaced by Mrs Gibbons, an older, no-nonsense lady with a heart of gold. The new principal had been well-liked by the student body instantly, especially by Lilly for giving her a written formal apology on behalf of the school and clearance to participate in the graduation ceremony.

Understanding dawned on Rick’s face as he recalled the whirlwind of overwhelming events from the year. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I was just doing what any student council member– no, what any person with decent morals would have done.”

“But still…you were the one that spoke up about it first and it means a lot to me. And also just for these past four years in general. I never got to say it properly but I really appreciate everything that you did. How much you looked out for me.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Lilly Linton?” He squinted at her suspiciously.

She lightly punched him in the arm. “Don’t ruin the moment, I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Nice? I guess miracles really do happen.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Why are we best friends again?”

“I have no idea.” His face was deadpan but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “You tell me.”

She couldn’t help but to roll her eyes.

“But thank you as well.” He added seriously, with sincerity. “For being by my side during all these years, Lilly.”

She looked at him for a moment then reached over and squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. Letting go, she abruptly stood up.

“Alright, let’s go now. We’ve stayed long enough and the air here is making us both sappy. I need my beauty sleep for tomorrow anyway.”

He rose from the bench and they left the park. They walked back to his car, her arm linked with his.

— — —

Rivulets of sweat trickled down Lilly’s neck as she squinted up at the weathered brick building in front of her. Placing a tanned hand over her eyes to shield from the sun’s harsh glare, she stared wistfully at the familiar black plaque letters above the main entrance 

Empire High School.

She pulled her phone out from her small crossbody purse to glance at the time. 8:43 A.M., the brightly-lit screen displayed. She was early, all of the seniors were supposed to meet in the gymnasium by 9:30 in preparation to go over the ceremony procession order. 

Lilly yawned, casting off any traces of sleepiness as her hand reached out and grabbed the metal handle of the door. It was unexpectedly hot, absorbent of the outside heat. She yelped and flinched, yanking the door open as fast as possible before slipping inside.

A cool gust of air hit her face, and she instinctively closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of the air-conditioned interior of the school. A bittersweet feeling washed over her, knowing that it was the last time she had entered the place as a student. It had been a crucial part of her life for the past four years — with hours spent in the library fussing over chemistry notes, gossip exchanged in passing while going to lockers, lunch periods filled with comically absurd discussions, and after-school meetings reserved for dreaded group projects.

She walked through the maze of empty hallways, frowning when she could not spot another student in sight. She fiddled with the golden graduation cap pinned to her hair and adjusted the matching golden gown draped over her arm.

As she drew closer to the gym’s entrance, she could hear laughter. A turn of the corner and she saw some of her classmates already in their attire, chattering animatedly with their friends and taking pictures. Some of them smiled in greeting and even waved when they noticed her, the dress code incident having made her more well-known among her peers. It was something that had bothered her at earlier in the year until she became used to it with time, learning to automatically smile and wave back.

“There she is!” A voice squealed excitedly.

A second later, something slammed into her. Hard. She wheezed and stumbled back, the breath knocked out of her lungs. She steadied herself, ready to give a piece of her mind to the person that had rudely crashed into her. Looking up, she saw who it was and her glare melted when she recognized the wildly grinning face of Eve Sanders.

She gave Lilly a slow once-over, nodding her head in approval. “Well, well, well. You look amazing if I do say so myself. That dress is gorgeous on you.”

“Thanks.” Lilly glanced down at the burgundy skirt of her dress that flowed to her knees. “The same goes for you too, Eve.” She appraised the small bit of the white floral print dress peeking out from her unzipped graduation gown.

Her two other best friends, Patsy Cusack and Flora Milton emerged into view. They were fully attired in the golden graduation gown, cap and matching tassel assigned to all of the graduating females. Lilly gave them both a hug.

“We have to take pictures.” Flora insisted, taking out her phone. They posed for a few pictures until Eve asked them to wait.

“I have to keep fixing my hair.” She complained, tugging at it. “The humidity outside made it all frizzy.”

“I’m pretty sure the heat melted half of my makeup off already. I bet I can pass for a haunted wax doll after today.” Lilly remarked.

“Ugh. Girls, girls! You’re both pretty. Can I go home now?” Patsy quipped.

Eve and Lilly glared at Patsy.

“Children’s movie quotes? How original.” Lilly sarcastically commented.

It was Patsy’s turn to glare this time, scowling at her.

Lilly turned and spotted an approaching familiar face in the distance. She went up to him.

“May I say,” she said a sickly-sweet tone while fluttering her eyelashes, “that navy blue graduation gown really brings out the color of your eyes?”

Rick’s face turned sour. “You absolutely may not. Speaking of graduation gowns, why aren’t you wearing yours yet?”

She sighed. “It was too hot outside. Don’t you feel it too? You’re wearing two thick layers of dark colors.” She nodded to the hem of his black dress pants peeking out from the bottom of his customary male blue graduation gown that nicely contrasted with her golden one, the two school colors in sync.

“The heat isn’t as bad as you think. You’re just being dramatic.”

“Or you’re obviously a robot.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I heard that.”

A group of classmates approached him and he turned to speak with them. Shaking her head, Lilly headed back to her group of friends, putting on her gown and zipping it up. Together they headed to the gym, forced to separate into clusters based on the first letter of their last name.

What proceeded afterwards could only be described as boring, with her former history teacher, Mr Pearson, attempting to arrange the students in her group alphabetically and droning on in a monotonous tone for “appropriate presentation”.

When they finally filed out of the gym and onto the athletic field an hour later, Lilly felt a short-lived sense of relief which quickly dissipated once she went out into the heat. The sun was unforgiving on all those trapped in its presence, the multitude of floppy hats and waving hand-held paper fans as tell-tale signs within the sea of people seated in plastic folding chairs on the field’s trimmed grass.

The tones cut from a section of Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance ‎March No. 1 played as the typical designated graduation theme song while they stepped onto the grass. The groups of students walked in two separate lines down the center of the two halves of the group of chairs. 

Ten minutes later and Lilly was internally screaming, still standing out in the sweltering sun while her group waited for their turn to be seated. She felt like she was turning into a baked potato from the heat, the square top of her graduation cap not wide enough to provide shade for her face. Under her graduation gown, she could feel her dress plastered to her skin from the sweat and her ears wanted to bleed from hearing the same music played on loop. She had seen Rick enter among the first of students and sit at the first row, as per the alphabetical order of last names.

When she was able to finally enter an empty row of chairs and sit down, she passed the rest of the time waiting for the other seniors to be seated by perusing through the booklet of graduation ceremony agenda, a copy set on each empty chair. The last row of students sat down another thirty minutes later and Lilly let out a sigh, leaning back into her chair as the principal, Mrs Gibbons, opened the ceremony.

The rest of the event passed by without a hitch. Speeches were made by the selected speakers, both graduating seniors and favored faculty members. Heartfelt songs were performed by those from the music club, from their own original compositions. When the time came to bring the seniors forward to individually receive their diplomas, a hush fell through the crowd. The graduating students automatically straightened in their seats, ready for the moment that they had all been waiting for since the start of the year.

They were dismissed by rows, ascending to the stage one by one after their names were announced. When a “Rikkard Ambrose” was called, people cheered for their vice president and Lilly jumped out of her chair, whooping excitedly, earning laughter from those around her. A certain boy, tall and lean with sea-colored eyes, saw her and shook his head in embarrassment as he stepped forward and accepted the embellished proof for something he had worked rigorously to achieve, with the aid of sheer willpower and countless hours of skipped sleep.

When the turn came for her row, she exhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders as she rose. She walked in line with the rest of her classmates to the stage, silently hoping that she wouldn’t awkwardly trip. The stage’s center drew closer and closer with each person in front of her called. Until finally…

“Lillian Linton.”

Lilly felt as if she were in a dream as she stepped forward towards Mrs Gibbons, who held her diploma in an outstretched hand.

Cheering erupted from the crowd, people chanting her name. From her family, from her friends and everyone that had been sympathetic to her plight and supportive to her cause. Lilly couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes as she reached her principal, accepting the diploma and shaking her hand.

“Congratulations. You earned it.” The older lady smiled proudly at her and Lilly beamed back.

She posed for pictures on the side of stage with the other faculty, taken by a professional photographer hired by the school and then descended the stairs onto the grass, heading back to her row and sitting in her seat.

The rest of the procession passed by without a hitch and once the last row of students returned to their seats, Mrs Gibbons spoke to the crowd again.

“Will the graduating class please rise?”

They all did in perfect synchronization, Lilly’s heartbeat hammering furiously in anticipation.

“For the final closing gesture, you all may now move your tassels from right to left as you all have now…officially graduated!”

Thunderous cheering and roaring applause erupted from the crowd of attendees as the now-former students moved their tassels. Someone– Lilly did not know who– threw their graduation cap into the air, and the rest of her former classmates followed suit. Carefully unpinning her cap from her styled hair, she threw hers also– but not very high, as she wished to keep it as a memento.

The crowd began to scatter, as the new graduates wished to reunite with their families and their friends. People were crying and hugging, while others were laughing and cheering together. Lilly turned to head in the direction for her parents and sisters when she spotted a recognizable figure towering above the other graduates. 

She pushed her way through the sea of gold and navy blue gowns, heading towards the person. When she finally reached him, he was facing away from her so she tugged on his gown’s sleeve. He sharply turned around and upon recognizing her, he wordlessly pulled her to him.

They embraced each other fiercely for an immeasurable amount of time, her head tucked into his chest. In that moment, Lilly didn’t care if her makeup got on his gown or that he was also sweaty as well. All she knew that in that very moment, both of them had shared something special together: that feeling of accomplishment when reaching a milestone.

They pulled away but still refused to let go of each other completely, their hands grasping onto each other’s forearms. After staring at one another in disbelief, only then fully registering that they had just graduated high school, they both began to laugh. 

Lilly let out a boisterous giggle while Rick just chuckled, a faint smile on his face while his broad shoulders shook. Their amusement died down eventually and they regarded each other with a look of understanding, recalling the previous night’s conversation.

“Onto something new?” He asked, and she nodded in confirmation.

“Onto something new.”

— — —

Well, there you go anon. Is Rikkard OOC here? You bet. I always imagine his younger self as being nicer like how Lady Samantha mentioned in SB before he left home. And yes, I know they could have been dating here or I could have gone with the whole “bad boy meets feisty girl” cliche. But I felt inspired to write something more realistic and coming-of-age despite being platonic. I hope I did this prompt some justice and that it wasn’t too terrible to read.

Sidenote: The dress code incident that was discussed was actually based off of a real-life event that a high school senior experienced in Charlotte, North Carolina back in spring 2017.

[quentinsquill]

The Magicians: “Midway Between Gods and Beasts” (Fic)

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

Author: Lexalicious70 (all-hale-eliot)

Fandom: The Magicians

Genre: AU, some canon events included

Word Count: 20,868

Warnings: Possible triggers for mental health treatment, some mention of sexual assault

Summary: Successful hedge witch Eliot Waugh finds his comfortable life in Chelsea with his best friend Margo unexpectedly interrupted when young, untrained magician Quentin Coldwater comes into his life, pursued by those who believe he is mentally ill and by a terrible beast from another world who wants to use Quentin as an unwilling pawn in its takeover of a magical world.

Author’s Notes: This is for the Welter’s Challenge Trials Big Bang, Tier 2! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun and to pass the time until my next therapy session. Thanks to @kings-of-fillory, @justcallmeasmodeus, and @highqueenbambiwaugh for advice and inspiration!  Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

By Lexalicious70

 CHAPTER ONE

 Spring in Chelsea didn’t arrive all at once.

 It wasn’t like the arrival of winter, which often came with the suddenness of a busload of tourists tumbling off a trendy, double-decker Gray Line. Spring was an ambling, wayward urban explorer more intent on finding hidden architectural gems than visiting tired tourist traps. As the last piles of dirty snow retreated under shade trees, park benches, and store alleyways, where they finally melted away, sun-warm breezes made their way into the neighborhood that promised its trees, shrubs, and flower boxes would be rioting by May, now only four weeks away.

 They were, in fact, the kind of breezes that almost made one not as sorry he had ever been conceived.

 “Christ, Eliot, close that window! It’s April, not July!”

 Eliot glanced up from the window seat and the cigarette he was enjoying to see his roommate and best friend Margo standing in front of her bedroom door in a sunflower-yellow robe, her long brown hair damp and tousled. She put her hands on her hips.

 “Come on, seriously, I just took a shower and that air feels freezing!”

 “So use a warming spell or dry your hair. You know I don’t like to smoke in here with the windows closed.” Eliot replied. His fellow hedge witch narrowed her dark eyes for a moment before crossing the high-gloss hardwood floors of the loft they shared. A slim metal carafe sat on the counter in the roomy kitchenette, and Margo filled a mug with the blonde roast they both preferred.

 “You’re lucky you’re the only person on this whole planet I can stand to be around for more than five seconds.” She groused, sipping the coffee before adding a packet of natural sweetener.

 “I’m so very flattered.”

 “You should be.” Margo took her coffee into the living room and sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs as she reached for a leather-bound notebook. Inside, dates and names were inscribed in Eliot’s slanted, elegant scrawl. “Are we seeing anyone today?”

 “Mmmh.” Eliot nodded as he crushed out his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window and into a ceramic urn that sat on the fire escape. “Two hedges from Soho. Low level and looking for introductory thermogenic spells.” He got to his feet and stretched, his tall, thin frame elegant instead of gangly, as many tall men appear to be. A glance at the window dropped it closed, but not before a final warm breeze ruffled Eliot’s dark, curly hair. He went to the kitchen and took a coffee mug down, the hem of his open satin robe flapping around the black silk lounge pants he wore. His chest was bare, but he and Margo had lived together for more than two years now, and he knew it would bother her no more than occasional glimpses of her bare breasts or panty-clad ass disturbed him.

 “Thermogenic spells.” Margo sipped her coffee. “Are we sure we want to sell those to newbies? They might accidentally set themselves on fire.”

 “You know our disclaimer. Magic is likely to maim or kill you, cast at your own risk, et cetera. We’re here to provide a service, not wet nurse a bunch of inexperienced hedges.”

 “Hey, we used to be inexperienced hedges.”

 Eliot tapped a bit of sweetener into his coffee and frowned at her.

 “Correction, Margo darling. We chose to be inexperienced hedges. One semester at Brakebills was enough to show us that learning magic formally is bullshit and that it’s much more profitable and fun to discover spells and hone our skills on our own.” He went to sit next to her and she leaned against him.

 “The cottage was all right.” She allowed, and Eliot nodded.

 “Though not terribly private.”

 “El, you entertained a different guy every night.” Margo pointed out, and Eliot glanced down at her.

 “So did you. Sometimes we both entertained the same one on the same night.” Eliot sipped his coffee. “I used to hate it when they’d gone to you first . . . smelling your perfume on them always made me flaccid.” He ducked the throw pillow Margo swung at him almost before he finished speaking, covering the rim of his mug with one hand so it didn’t spill. Margo narrowed her eyes at him.

 “A, you better go get ready to meet these hedges and B, eat me!”

 “Oh, Bambi.” Eliot sighed as he got to his feet and dropped an affectionate kiss on top of her head. “I won’t even look at sliced cold cuts at the 8th Avenue Gourmet Deli.”

 The throw pillow connected solidly with his ass as he walked toward his room and he gave a token yelp of protest before hopping up the four steps that led to his room, which was quartered off from the rest of the loft with hand-painted flexible wooden panels. The door was connected to a curved archway and featured ten rectangular frosted panels, etched with delicate Japanese cherry blossoms. Eliot shut the door behind him and shed his robe before slipping out of his lounge pants. He was under the hot spray of the glassed-in shower a moment later, letting the water and goat’s milk sandalwood soap wash away the smell of tobacco and the musk of deep sleep.

 Of course, Margo hadn’t been wrong in her estimation of how many young men he’d entertained in his room at Brakebills, the school for magical pedagogy, during their time there. His telekinesis and ability to throw a party had made him popular on campus, but as far as Eliot was concerned, he’d had his fill of rigidity and rules growing up in rural Indiana under the thumb of his father, a religious fanatic who had no patience for a son who was nothing like him.

 When Eliot’s telekinetic ability announced itself by allowing him to force-push his bully in front of an oncoming bus at the age of fourteen, his mother had packed him off to a cousin in Ohio, where he’d attended high school. A month after graduation, a dressing room in a local department store had opened up into the world of Brakebills, where he’d passed the introductory exam easily and met Margo. While they were both highly adept at learning magic, the formality of the school had urged them to strike out on their own as self-taught casters, which formally-trained magicians called hedge witches.

 Now, two years later, he and Margo were both successful, high-level hedges, and their talents were sought out by others like them, as well as Brakebills students who wanted spells that were forbidden to them by the school. Eliot’s loft, which was on the top floor of a building inhabited entirely by magical adepts under the watchful eye of their stern landlord, Henry Fogg, was the young hedge’s domain and he held meetings the way a king might hold sway over his court. He was unforgiving when he had to be, fiercely protective of Margo, and feared in the underground magical community for his power and reputation, mostly spread by those who had crossed or severely annoyed him.

 Learning what magic is and isn’t on your own has taught me more than I ever could have learned at Brakebills, Eliot thought to himself as he rinsed his hair and turned off the shower. A wall of mirrored cabinets faced the shower door, and Eliot glanced at himself as he reached for a towel. The insides of his long arms were covered with star-shaped tattoos, and each of them contained a number in its center. The ink ambled up his skin in clusters, petered out at the elbow, then regrouped on the back of his neck and shoulders. The final tattoo, resting between Eliot’s shoulder blades, was slightly larger than the rest and read a single number in stylized, wine-colored ink:

 300

 “Top bitch in Chelsea—maybe even the whole city. Why anyone would waste their time at Brakebills, I’ll never know.” Eliot murmured to himself as he went to his closet to choose an outfit. Outside the door, he could hear the soft babble of voices as Margo let the Soho hedge witches in. He dressed quickly and straightened his paisley tangerine tie. New hedges meant spending the afternoon drinking good wine, a stimulating barter session, and money in his pocket.

 All in all, it wasn’t bad way for a Brakebills dropout and a former farmer’s son to pass the time.

 CHAPTER TWO

 Dolborough Mental Health Facility

Queens Village, Queens, N.Y.

 “Quentin? Quentin, are you listening to me?”

 Quentin Coldwater glanced up across the wide wooden expanse of the desk his doctor sat behind. The pudgy man, who had thinning blond hair and wore steel-rimmed glasses, frowned at him.

 “You know deflecting my questions and trying to deliberately sabotage these therapy sessions with silence won’t help you.”

 “I do know that.” Quentin nodded, pushing back his lank, tawny hair with one hand. The roots were dark with oil—he hadn’t bothered showering that morning. Or the morning before that. “Because nothing you’ve done in the nine fucking months I’ve been here has helped me at all.”

 “Quentin, you’re eighteen. You’re quite brilliant, from what your father tells us, and you could have a happy and productive life outside these walls, but you have to want it!”

 “Happy?” Quentin’s fingers slipped into the kangaroo pocket of his grey hoodie, which was almost two sizes too big for his skinny frame. “Do you want to define that for me? Is it a set of objectives everyone should work toward, or is happiness for me different than happiness for you? And if that’s so, then how can you define what it is or isn’t for me? I think happiness is the illusion and how I feel every day, that’s the reality, Dr. Beekman.”

 “That’s the reality if you choose it to be!” Dr. Beekman pulled a prescription bottle from his desk drawer. “Now. We’re going to start you on these this evening, since the previous medications we’ve tried haven’t been very successful. They should start to elevate your mood. Once we accomplish that, these therapy sessions should become more effective.”

 Quentin gazed at the transparent orange bottle, the inside stuffed with pink and grey capsules.

 “I don’t want to take them.”

 “Quentin, your father is quite concerned that you haven’t made much progress since you’ve been here. I’m concerned as well.”

 “You should be concerned about how the meds are for shit . . . and they won’t keep Him away forever.”

 “Him—your father?”

 “No.” Quentin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Capital Him.”

 Silence spun out for a few moments and Dr. Beekman folded his hands on the desk’s faded blotter.

 “I thought we agreed that He didn’t exist.”

 “No. I told you He did and you decided He didn’t. I think the drugs have made it harder for Him to track me, but He’s going to find me. Soon.”

 “That’s the medication working, Quentin. The more you allow us to help you, the less He will be a presence in your psyche!” The doctor’s pale blue eyes dropped to Quentin’s wrists, which became briefly visible as Quentin shifted in the chair. Vertical scars ran from the base of his palms to just past his wrists. “You will come to understand that this—this—”

 “Beast.” Quentin supplied, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie back down until only the tips of his fingers showed.

 “That this Beast you believe is pursuing you is a hallucination, brought on by anxiety, paranoia, and depression! Once you embrace your treatment fully, you may able to transition to outpatient status. Until then, it’s time for you to return to your room. I’ll inform the night nurse about the addition of the new medication.” The doctor rose and opened the door. “Gordon will escort you back.”

 Quentin stood as he eyed the long shadow of the orderly who stood just outside the door. He came into view as Dr. Beekman spoke, a beefy twentysomething with a football player’s neck and squinty green eyes. He wore a military crewcut but the front had been left slightly longer and spiked with gel, making his carrot-colored hair look like the teeth of a rusty saw. Quentin stepped into the hall and the taller man wrapped his hand around Quentin’s left bicep.

 “Come along then, Quenny.” The orderly cajoled him, and Quentin scowled without looking at him.

 “It’s Quentin.”

 “See you soon, Quentin!” Dr. Beekman called as if they’d been having tea, and the office to his door swung shut. Pain radiated up Quentin’s arm as Gordon Kozak tightened his grip.

 “Your name is what I say it is, you little sack of shit.” The orderly murmured through clenched teeth, nodding at doctors and nurses as he passed them. “Maybe you need another reminder?”

 Quentin looked away from the sweaty-smelling orderly to glance into patient rooms as they passed by. Some were open and contained a single human, either confined to a bed or drooling in a wheelchair. Others, Quentin knew, were locked all the time, like his own door. Kozak marched him into the elevator at the end of the hallway and jabbed the up button with a thick finger. The doors parted, and they stepped into together. The moment the doors slid closed, Kozak’s hand moved from Quentin’s upper arm to the back of his neck, where it squeezed until Quentin gasped.

 “What’s your name? Huh? Answer me, Pisswater!”

 “Quenny.” Quentin ground out as the man’s big fingers dug into the sides of his neck. Kozak rounded him, his hand slipping around to grip Quentin’s throat. Quentin kept his eyes on the elevator’s floor indicator lights, counting them off as the elevator rose to the 25th floor.

 4, 5, 6 . . .

 “Wrong!” Kozak’s other hand dropped down between Quentin’s legs, where it gripped him. Quentin tried to bring his legs together.

 12, 13 14 . . .

 “Try again!” Both hands tightened. Quentin could feel his Adam’s apple bob against Kozak’s big hand.

 “My name is whatever you say it is.” Quentin murmured, and the hands fell away.

 “That’s a good boy.” Kozak nodded, leaning in toward Quentin. A moment later Quentin found himself losing half his air as Kozak shoved him against the back of the elevator wall. It jerked to a stop, and Kozak yanked him forward and out. The hallway was deserted and the orderly half-dragged Quentin down to room 2505, unlocked the door, and shoved him inside. Quentin stumbled and caught himself on the metal footrest of his bed as he looked over his shoulder to see whether Kozak was going to come after him. The big man filled the doorway, his expression filled with disgust.

 “Take a fucking shower, Pisswater. You stink.”

 The door slammed shut and Kozak’s keys jingled briefly as he locked Quentin in. Relief flooded through Quentin; sometimes Kozak locked the door from the other side and gave Quentin one of his lessons, the kind that left his knees bruised and his jaw aching. He gave the door a single, sullen look, pushing down his disgust and anger as he crawled into bed and pulled the rough grey wool blanket over his head, ignoring the stale odor of his unwashed skin. The flat, thin mattress, spartan bathroom, barred windows, and the room’s single decorative item, a tattered poster of a sunrise framed with flexible material and shatter-proof plexiglass inscribed with the caption, “EVERY DAY IS A NEW BEGINNING,” were a far cry from the comfortable home he’d shared with his father since he was nine and his parents had divorced, and light years away from Yale with his best friends James and Julia, where he should be sharing a dorm room with James and squabbling boyishly over wall outlets and closet space and the best lighting.

 Instead I’m here, Quentin thought as he brought his knees to his chest.

 It had started with the dreams. At first, they seemed like common nightmares where Quentin was pursued down a garden path by a monster he couldn’t see, yet knew was there. From there, they became night terrors, and Quentin would scream himself and his father awake, thrashing in his sheets, his lap a sodden mess of hot urine. Ted Coldwater, who had always been a bit puzzled by his introverted but brilliant son, took him to a therapist. Quentin and his father left the office ninety minutes later with a Prazosin prescription and on the way home, Ted spoke up after ten minutes of silence.

 “It was the divorce, wasn’t it.”

 “The divorce?”

 “That made you this way. That caused your—your strangeness.”

 “You think I’m strange?” Quentin asked, and Ted shook his head a little.

 “I don’t know what else to call it. You’re seventeen, but you’ve never had a girlfriend or even shown an interest, you never picked up a sport, you’re obsessed with magic tricks and those damn Fillory books—and don’t think I don’t know that you still play pretend when you vanish for hours on the weekends! Imagining you’re Martin Chatwand and I don’t know what else!”

 “It’s Chatwin. And—and there’s nothing wrong with imagination, dad. It helps me cope.”

 “If you ask me, it’s hurting more than it’s helping, and it’s high time you stopped. Or do you want to go into Yale with the mindset of a schoolboy?”

 So Quentin had stopped—at least when it came to reading Fillory books in front of his father or sneaking off to cosplay with Julia, when he could talk her into it. For him, the land of Fillory and its questing, magical Chatwin children that had ruled the land and protected its magical creatures in a series of five books, had always felt more real to him than his own life in Brooklyn. Quentin’s own urban quests were mostly the last of his boyish urges to wander, but in the back of his mind, he was always hoping he’d find a way to Fillory, just as the Chatwin children did in each of the books. Then one day, while Quentin was out on his own, he’d followed a path into a community garden that led him into thick foliage and where the slant of sunlight seemed to change. A single moth, electric blue and larger than any Quentin had ever seen, appeared out of the foliage, and then another and another until the air was thick with them. A man had stepped onto the path then, his face obscured by more of the fluttering moths, their scent musty, like old clothes that had been stored away unwashed.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” This creature, this beast, had purred. “There you are!”

 Quentin had stood frozen, his throat thick with the awful smell, and a strong hand with multiple, seeking fingers had closed over his mouth, making him breathe through his nose in panicked snorts. What might have happened if a nearby factory whistle hadn’t gone off down the block and startled the thing into retreating, Quentin didn’t know, but since that day, he had felt the thing’s presence close by, malicious and deadly. It pursued him through his dreams and he caught glimpses of it wherever he went. When Quentin had tried to escape on a more permanent basis by opening up his wrists with a razor blade, mental health services had convinced his father that Dolborough was the best place for him.

 Except He’s going to find me here, sooner or later, and I won’t be able to get away from Him if He does, Quentin thought to himself. I have to find a way to get out of here.

 A muffled thump out in the hallway caught Quentin’s attention and he emerged from his blanket burrow to sit up. Footsteps sounded back and forth past his door and he crept over to peek out through the thick mesh of the small window. Orderlies were carrying large cardboard boxes and stacking them at the end of the hallway, next to Quentin’s door. He could see that they were filled with coils of computer cable, old, dusty monitors, clunky-looking 90’s-era keyboards, and hard drive towers. Some of the boxes were overstuffed and hung open, and others had been shut with their flaps folded. Quentin knew there was a storage room at the opposite end of the hallway, and the orderlies must have been recruited to clean it out.

 They’re stacking that stuff by the elevator, which means it’s probably all getting donated or chucked out. Quentin plucked at his lower lip with a thumb and forefinger for a few moments before he turned back toward his bed. A large button printed with the outline of a nurse’s cap hung from a white cord, and he thumbed it several times before throwing himself onto the floor in front of the bed. He heard the door unlock and swing open a few moments later as the young floor nurse, a pretty brunette named Monica, came to answer the call button.

 “Mr. Cold—” Quentin heard her stop just a few inches away as he began to fake a seizure, letting his limbs flail and spit run out of the corner of his mouth. Her hand touched his chest, then his face, before Quentin heard her footsteps rapping away down the hall as she went for help. Quentin knew the duty desk was out of sight of his door and that he only had a minute at best to escape. He cracked an eye open and then crept to the open door before bolting for the abandoned pile of computer equipment near the elevator. One of the boxes was larger than a coffin and about four feet deep. It contained an old monitor and a pile of cables, but the other side was empty. Quentin dove into it, hastily shoving the monitor aside before he pulled the flaps shut. He curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his heart hammering in his ears. The elevator dinged a moment later and Quentin held his breath as the two disgruntled orderlies stacked the boxes inside.

 “Fuckall, some of these are heavy!” One of them groused, and Quentin squeezed his eyes shut as he heard footsteps approach in a hurried way from the other end of the hall. The elevator doors rumbled shut, and Quentin gave a tiny sigh of relief as he felt himself carried away from the 25th floor. It was impossible to tell how far down they were traveling, but when the car bumped to a stop and the doors opened, Quentin heard the muffled sounds of street traffic. The steady, pulsing beep of a large truck backing up rang out a moment later, and one of the orderlies spoke.

 “All of this is going to the Bowery Mission!”

 The box shook and Quentin tried not to grunt as the monitor thumped and banged against his back. The thick scent of truck exhaust filtered into the box for a moment before it settled, and then a door slammed shut. The truck lurched briefly before pulling out of the alley and Quentin clapped both hands over his mouth as he felt it carry him away from Dolborough. Tears spurted from his eyes.

 Away. I’m away!

 As the truck headed away from Queens, the motion lulled Quentin into a doze where he plunged through a darkness filled with the white noise of a thousand musty, fluttering wings.

 CHAPTER THREE

 Eliot used his telekinesis to yank down the wooden grate of his building’s converted freight elevator, a bag full of trash dangling from each hand. He rode the elevator down to the ground floor and carried the bags down the short hallway, where he hip-bumped the rear door open. A steady rain darkened the pavement and pattered against the large dumpster the residents of his building used. He hunched his shoulders against the fat drops of rain as he tossed the bags into the open side of the deep unit, where they tumbled down inside. Wine bottles clinked together, the chiming muffled, and as they settled, Eliot heard another sound, almost like the mewl of a newborn animal. He paused, his head cocked to one side, and the sound floated up from the inside of the dumpster again.

 “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Eliot sighed to himself. The alley was a private one, so Eliot cast a spell that allowed him to levitate above the unit. Another murmured spell caused light to spill from his fingertips, and he pointed them downward.

 From the innards of the dumpster, empty all but for two discarded pizza boxes and the two bags he’d just tossed inside, a skinny teenager peered up at him in mild awe. The grey hoodie and checkered lounge pants he wore were smeared with muck and grease, his ankles dark with dirt. Worn leather slippers covered his feet. The kid pressed himself into the corner, his dark eyes hollow and hunted. Eliot used his telekinesis to open the opposite lid and close the other so he could crouch on it and look down at the kid at the same time.

 “Hello.” He said at last. The kid brought his knees to his chest as rain started to pelt into the dumpster, but he didn’t respond. Eliot frowned. “You do realize this is a private trash receptacle?”

 “M’sorry.” The kid murmured at last, and in the grey light of the rainy morning, Eliot could see that he was shaking. “Saw the pizza boxes. Climbed in but then couldn’t get out.”

 Eliot sighed. It was Tuesday, which meant it was trash day and the trucks would come to empty the dumpster no matter what was in it. And pizza boxes? Was the kid going to eat out of the dumpster? Eliot’s stomach lurched at the thought. Two blocks over, a garbage truck’s engine droned and the boom of a dumpster being lifted and emptied echoed in the alley. Eliot could almost sense tiny devil and angel versions of himself appear on each shoulder as it began to rain harder.

 Leave the kid where he is. It’s not your business or your fault he’s down there.

 You could be where he is if not for a few strokes of luck and good fortune. Give the kid a hand.

 “Karma better pay me back for this in spades.” Eliot muttered after a moment as he gazed at the kid and lifted him out of the dumpster with his telekinesis. The kid didn’t seem surprised that he was rising into the air and when Eliot set him on his feet, his legs folded under him like a wounded deer and he thumped down onto the concrete. Eliot judged that he was maybe two or three years his junior. He was also thin, filthy, and obviously a drug addict.

 “Thank you.” The kid said in a raw, croaky whisper, and Eliot nodded.

 “Sure. You better move along now, though.” He said, although he made no move to turn back toward the building’s back door. Rain dripped off the ends of the kid’s hair, which looked like it had been washed back around last Halloween or so. “You can, can’t you?”

 “If I could just sit in your doorway a minute? Then I’ll go, I swear.”

 “All right.” Eliot allowed. The kid managed to get to his feet, but even taking the few steps to the doorway seemed to exhaust him. He sat down and pulled up the filthy hood of his pullover hoodie. Eliot stepped around him. “Take care.”

 The kid sniffled in reply and Eliot let the door shut behind him. He got halfway down the hall when muffled sobbing made him pause. He shook his head, took three more steps, then stopped again.

 “You’re going to regret this. You know you will. Idiot!” He said to himself before turning back to the rear door. He opened it to the sight of the kid’s shoulders shaking, the grey hoodie dark with rain.

 “Hey.” Eliot said, and the boy’s head jerked around, the dark eyes startled.

 “I—I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’ll go.” He struggled to his feet and Eliot held the door open wider.

 “Wait. I thought maybe you might be hungry. I have plenty of leftovers . . . I cook as sort of a hobby, you see. I could heat something up for you.” He rolled his eyes as the kid’s gaze turned wary. “Please. If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so when I pulled you out of that dumpster. Well?” He asked after a moment of silence. “I’m not going to stand here all day.”

 The kid stood with difficulty and mopped his face with his sleeve. It did nothing to improve his appearance.

 “Thanks.” He murmured as Eliot ushered him into the hallway and walked him down to the elevator. The kid walked like a drunk with a serious case of DTs and he reeked like month-old pot roast, but there was something about how he had trusted Eliot when he’d freed him from the dumpster that roused curiosity in the hedge witch. Most people would have run screaming at such a display of magic, but the kid didn’t seem to be afraid of him.

 And Eliot was used to being feared.

 “Where are we?” The kid asked as Eliot pulled the elevator door down and it began to rise.

 “The building doesn’t have a name, but we are almost precisely in the center of Chelsea, on the west side of the glorious borough of Manhattan.”

 “What day is it?”

 “Tuesday. April 9thth.” Eliot added as an afterthought. The elevator reached his floor and Eliot opened the door as he pulled his key out. Magical wards protected the apartment, but Eliot preferred the security of a solid steel deadbolt as well. He unlocked the door and crooked a finger at the kid.

 “Come in. What’s your name?”

 “Oh. Uhm—Martin. It’s Martin.”

 “I’m Eliot.”

 “Hi.” Martin’s eyes darted around the loft. “This is yours?”

 “Mmm.” Eliot nodded, wondering if it would to do spread a towel over one of the kitchen nook chairs to keep the damp, dirty seat of Martin’s lounge pants from soiling it. His pants weren’t the only issue, though. Margo’s bathroom had a tub, maybe—

 Sure. Then you can comb out his hair and watch him shake himself off to sleep. And if Margo catches you at this, you’ll be the one taking a bath—in the toilet, when she dunks your head in it for bringing a junkie into the house!

 A thump brought Eliot out of his thoughts to see that Martin had fallen again. He looked up at Eliot as he got to his hands and knees.

 “I’m sorry. I—I haven’t eaten in a long time. I’m sorry.” He barely got the last word out before he passed out at Eliot’s feet, his cheek pressed against the hardwood floor.

 Eliot closed his eyes a moment as he weighed his growing empathy for this kid against the odds of death by Margo.

 “She can only kill me once, right?” Eliot muttered to himself as he visualized the bathtub taps turning. As the tub began to fill, Eliot force-tugged Martin to his feet and floated him toward Margo’s room. He cast a spell to mask the sound of his movements and held his breath as they passed Margo, asleep on the other side of the room. The tub was nearly full and Eliot used a simple tutting spell to strip the kid’s filthy clothes off him before settling him into the water. The jut of his ribs was visible under pale skin as Eliot propped him up. Thick scars on his wrists stood out under the bathroom’s lights.

 Kid looks like a refrigerated turkey carcass, Eliot thought to himself as he rolled up his sleeves and set down a folded towel next to the tub to kneel on. Using a bar of soap he’d collected from one of his many hotel stays, Eliot lathered up a sponge glove and washed the unconscious teen the best he could, staying well above the waist. As he lifted Martin’s right arm, Eliot noticed a sturdy white plastic bracelet on his skinny, scarred wrist, the kind you wore during a hospital stay. Eliot lifted Martin’s arm to examine it more closely. It contained three typed lines, in all caps, with a bar code underneath:

 DOLBOROUGH M.H.F.

COLDWATER, QUENTIN  SEX: M

DOB: 07/20/92

 “Dolborough?” Eliot looked down at the boy. “And not Martin, either. Kid, what the hell have you—”

 “A-HEM!”

 Eliot flinched at the sound and looked over his shoulder to see Margo in the doorway, wearing her yellow satin pajama set and fuzzy pink slippers. Her small stature made her gaze no less imperious. Eliot gave her what he thought of as his most charming smile.

 “Good morning . . .?”

 Margo put her hands on her hips as her dark eyes narrowed. Eliot read the promise of hellfire there.

 “Rub-a-dub-duck, what the actual fuck!”

 CHAPTER FOUR

 “You need to get rid of him.”

 Eliot focused on the cranberry spritzer he was making at the kitchen bar, which ran along a cherry wood counter on the far side of the sink. Bottles gleamed in a glassed-in cabinet above the shelf, and an open cabinet filled with tumblers and built-in wine glass holders sat below it.

 “Eliot!”

 “Mmm?”

 Margo’s eyes narrowed.

 “Now!” She commanded, pointing one lacquer-tipped nail at the kid sleeping on the couch. He was cleaner now, his hair more dark blond than brown once Eliot had shampooed it several times. He wore a tee shirt that Eliot found in the back of his closet, one of those garish “I ♥ New York” souvenirs, left at the apartment by one of Eliot’s guests. It had a red wine stain at the hem but it fit the kid otherwise. The sweats were much too big on him, as he was about nine inches shorter than Eliot himself, but Eliot had burned those awful lounge pants and gross slippers to ashes out on the fire escape.

 “Margo, be reasonable. It’s pouring outside and he’s obviously starved. I know we’re supposed to be arch and haughty and look down on most people, but there’s not much sport in doing that to something this pathetic!”

 “You can’t start taking in strays!” Margo glanced over at the kid. “Even if they might be somewhat reasonably cute. I don’t want the responsibility, and if word gets out, we’re going to have them on our doorstep every day! Not only that, but what do you plan to do with him? Did you even think about that before you brought him up here?”

 Eliot began to reply when a rapid pounding sounded out on the other side of the apartment’s main door. He sighed, sipped his drink, and pulled the door open to reveal the perpetually scowling face of his downstairs neighbor, Penny Adiyodi. Eliot groaned inwardly. Penny was young, handsome, and reminded Eliot of a rebel monk turned punk, but he was also touchier than a badger with punctured scrotum. He was a talented magical adept, like most people in Eliot’s building, and his ability to read minds, astral project, and travel would have made him highly attractive to Eliot if he wasn’t so Goddamned pissy all the time. And straight. And had a temperamental girlfriend who specialized in battle magic.

 “Yes, Penny?” He asked the scowling psychic, who shouldered his way into the room. “Won’t you come in?” Eliot drawled, trying not to spill his drink. Penny turned.

 “You do realize that I can hear everything you say when you start arguing like that? I don’t even have to read your minds.”

 “That’s fucking rude.” Margo pointed out.

 “What’s rude is ignoring the rules Mr. Fogg set for us when he opened this building to give magical adepts a safe place to live! You’re going to get us all kicked out!” He glanced around. “So where is it? Because if you’re not gonna get rid of it, I will!”

 “Where’s what?”

 “Don’t give me that Jack Tripper shit! I heard you! You brought a stray animal in here! It’s against the rules and I’m not gonna get kicked out because of some bleeding heart hedge! Now I’m gonna ask you one more time before I start punching you in the throat! Where is it?”

 Eliot lifted one shoulder and gestured behind Penny’s shoulder to the couch. Penny turned and his scowl melted into confusion.

 “The fuck . . . that’s a kid!”

 “Well spotted, Inspector Lestrade.”

 “Just—the way you were talking, it sounded like you were hiding some starving dog up here or something.”

 “Not that it’s any of your business, but he was trapped in the downstairs dumpster.”

 Penny watched Quentin shake in his sleep.

 “Kid’s an addict. He’s gonna rob you blind.”

 “And how would he hold us up, exactly, seeing as how he can’t even hold up his own head?”

 Penny fell silent before his usual scowl showed itself again.

 “Whatever, man.” He stared at the kid for a minute and then backed off, his eyes widening. “Whoever he is, he’s got some fucked up dreams. Shit.” Penny headed for the door. Eliot sipped his spritzer.

 “Always a pleasure!” He called as Penny left without shutting the door. Eliot stepped over to pull it closed. “Twat.”

 “Twat or not, he’s not exactly wrong about this kid being an addict, El.” Margo folded her arms across her chest. “We can’t have him here.”

 “Wait—just let me show you something.” Eliot picked up the hospital bracelet from where he’d left in on the counter. “I found this on him.”

 “Quentin Coldwater? My God, with a name like that, I’d take drugs too.”

 “When I got him out of the dumpster, he told me his name was Martin. Do you know what the Dolborough facility is?”

 “Yeah. It’s a mental health place in Queens. Mostly inpatients who have gone permanently off the deep end. What about it?”

 “That’s where this kid was, and I have a hunch that they don’t know he’s gone. Why else would he give me a fake name?”

 “Um—because he’s a nut job?” Margo replied, sounding out her words slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. Eliot frowned and went over to a glassed-in bookshelf, crooking his fingers and muttering a spell to unlock the wards that protected it. The five shelves were filled with spellbooks, and Eliot ran his fingers over the spine of each until he pulled one out. “What are you doing now, when you should be tossing this kid out?”

 “I’m pretty sure whatever he’s addicted to, it’s prescription. Dolborough is known for its use of serious psychotropic drugs.” Eliot’s long fingers flipped pages.

 “So what are you looking for?”

 “A spell that will heal him . . . get all that negative shit out of his system.”

 “In case you’ve forgotten? We make a living off casting and selling spells. And we didn’t get to where we are now by doing it for free.” Margo tapped her fingers on the countertop.

 “I haven’t forgotten any of that. But, well . . . sometimes you have to work pro bono.”

 “I’ve known you for almost four years and I’ve never seen you do anything pro bono.”

 “Excuse you!”

 “Okay, fine.” Margo held up a hand in supplication. “Almost nothing. My point is, Eliot, why do you care about some dorky-looking kid who probably ran away from home or cut himself when daddy took away his X-Box?”

 Eliot flipped another page and tapped it before glancing up at Margo.

 “For one thing, I think he’s a magical adept.”

 Margo blinked over at the skinny kid, still fast asleep and sweating under the blanket Eliot had thrown over him.

 “You think—that?” She pointed. “Is like us?”

 “I do. Except he might not know it.” Eliot went to the cabinet where he and Margo kept their spell ingredients.

 “Exactly how do you know this? And even if he is, didn’t you say just the other day that it’s not our job to wet nurse newbie hedges?”

 “He’s not a hedge, Margo. He’s not anything, he’s like—like a spell with one ingredient missing.” He held up a glass jar with a handful of dried herbs in it. “And the telekinesis gives me kind of a sixth sense about other people’s magical abilities. It’s like . . . well, almost like a shiver. And I feel it with this kid. He’s capable of something, but he’s missing one thing that makes magic work.” He sat down next to the kid with an armload of ingredients. “Are you going to help me?”

 “No. I have to go scrub out my tub for the next eight weeks for which, by the way, you. So. Owe. Me.” Margo replied.

 “Put it on my tab.” Eliot bent over the spellbook and Margo stormed back toward her room, muttering about putting tabs where they usually didn’t go and how she was going to insert them sideways. Already focused on his task, Eliot placed one big, elegant hand on Quentin’s thin chest and began to cast.

 CHAPTER FIVE

 The first thing that lured Quentin toward consciousness was the smell of frying bacon.

 It was an insistent scent, growing stronger with every passing moment, and Quentin used it as an anchor as he crawled up from a darkness that was blessedly free from dreams. He forced his eyelids open and they felt sticky, like they’d been closed with a weak glue. The surface underneath him was soft, and a high ceiling with vaulted beams met his muddled gaze.

 Not Dolborough, He thought to himself. His memory of the four days since he’d escaped the facility were fragmented, like a jigsaw puzzle with some sections missing. He’d hid much of the time after sneaking out of the truck at the Bowery Mission, fearful they would send people to look for him. Begging for change had netted him about $1.50, which bought him a plain burger at the local McDonalds the same day he’d escaped. He remembered wandering, being hungry, an empty dumpster, and—

 Quentin sat up all at once, ignoring how it caused his head to spin. The smell of bacon made his stomach clench with a powerful hunger pang. He turned his head to see someone he thought he’d dreamed: the tall stranger with the wild, dark curls and eyes like sunlit amber. He was plating the bacon next to a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs that made Quentin struggle not to drool.

 Eliot. That’s what he said his name was.

 The taller boy glanced up as the couch creaked. Quentin met his eyes for the space of a heartbeat and then lowered them to stare at his hands more out of habit than actual shyness—meeting anyone’s gaze at Dolborough was usually perceived as a challenge.

 “Well, you’re awake.” Eliot brought the plate over, along with a cup of something steaming that smelled rich and sweet. “How do you feel?”

 “Uhm . . .”

 “Weak? A little washed out?”

 “Yeah. How did you know?”

 “I’ll explain that in a moment.” He set the plate in Quentin’s lap. “Try to eat some of that.”

 Quentin stared down at the food. The bacon was delicately crisped and the eggs had tiny cubes of fresh tomato mixed in. It was light years away from what he’d been eating at Dolborough, which was mostly powdered eggs, tough biscuits, and lumpy, bland oatmeal. He picked up a slice of the bacon and took a bite, and his stomach responded with an eager gurgle. Under another circumstance Quentin might have been embarrassed, but the bacon was filling his senses and before he knew it, he was eating two and three pieces at a time.

 “Hey! Easy . . . I don’t want to have clean vomit off my suede couch!” Eliot offered the mug, and Quentin sipped from it. Caramel, whipped into something frothy and topped with cinnamon. Bliss.

 “Do you remember me?” Eliot asked as he offered Quentin a napkin. Quentin took it and wiped bacon grease from lips and chin.

 “I think so. Eliot, right?”

 “That’s right. And this is my place. Which, by the way, you passed out in the middle of almost exactly 24 hours ago.”

 “I—I’ve been asleep for a day?” Quentin asked, and Eliot reached one hand toward the kitchen. A second steaming mug of latte floated into his hand and he sipped it.

 “Asleep, unconscious . . . whichever you’d prefer. Do you remember me getting you out of that dumpster?”

 Quentin took a few bites of egg.

 “Yeah.”

 “You didn’t seem frightened.”

 “I guess I was pretty out of it, but—can I ask you something?”

 “As long as it’s not personal or professional.” Eliot replied. “That’s a joke.” He added when Quentin avoided eye contact for over thirty seconds.

 “Oh. So—are you a hedge witch?” He asked, and Eliot drew back a bit.

 “I am. And how did you know that?”

 Quentin looked down at his plate.

 “I know this is going to sound stupid, but . . . I’m really into, uhm, magic. Or I used to be. I taught myself card and coin tricks, and there’s lots of magic shops in Brooklyn—that’s where I’m from—and I used to hear things. Rumors about real magic and people who knew real spells. That’s what I heard them called. Hedge witches.”

 “Before you went into Dolborough?” Eliot asked, and this time it was Quentin’s turn to flinch.

 “Dolborough?”

 Eliot opened his hand and Quentin’s ID bracelet fluttered into it. Quentin frowned.

 “Where did you get—”

 “Off your right wrist when I cleaned you up . . . Quentin Coldwater.”

 “Oh. Oh shit.”

 Eliot waved a dismissive hand.

 “Relax. I haven’t called the police, no men in white coats are on their way here. What were you in for?”

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 “Kid, you’d be surprised at what I’d believe.” He watched Quentin lick bacon grease off his fingers and handed him another napkin. Quentin set the empty plate aside.

 “This is pretty crazy, even for what a hedge witch might believe.”

 “Try me.” Eliot replied, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment before he opened them again to look out the window, where rain was still falling in a steady mid-April patter.

 “I used to be normal. I mean . . . as normal as a sixth grader who had to have his math classes outsourced to the local college could be. They always told me I was smart, but I never really felt smart, if that makes sense. My best friend Julia and I never really cared that much about all the academic things. We mostly hid out in the park or at her house and read the Fillory and Further books. I don’t know if you know them.” Quentin said, the tips of his ears going red. Eliot nodded.

 “From a very long time ago.”

 “I started studying magic because of them. Not real magic, I didn’t know it actually existed. But card and coin tricks, like I told you. Julia got over the books by the time we started high school, but I never really did. They always felt so real to me, so tangible. And they helped me cope during high school.” He pushed a lock of tawny hair behind one ear. “I know how stupid this must all sound to you.”

 “People cope with their shit in different ways.” Eliot lifted a shoulder. “Go on?”

 “I started having dreams last year. Bad dreams. At first I thought they were just stress dreams . . . you know, like the ones you have about being naked in school or having to take a test on a subject you know nothing about. But in them, something was chasing me. I never saw it, but I could feel how bad it was. Then, one day when I was—I was out walking, something happened.” As much as Quentin wanted to trust the man who had probably saved his life, there was no way he could admit that he’d been cosplaying alone as Martin Chatwin that day. “I followed this path into a community garden a few blocks from my house. I don’t know what happened. It was like the path just got longer and longer and then I saw—” Quentin paused and wiped a hand over his mouth. Eliot waited.

 “I don’t even know what I saw, really.” Quentin continued. “It was some kind of—well—monster, I guess. Like a man, but his face was obscured by these huge moths. They were blue and bigger than my hand, and they had this musty smell. But this thing, he called me by my name and put a hand over my mouth, like he wanted to smother me or maybe even break my neck. One of the warehouse whistles went off and it must have startled him because he bolted and vanished back down the path.” Quentin looked away from the window to Eliot to find the hedge listening, no trace of amusement or disbelief on his face. He paused. “You believe me.”

 “This is one world among many, Quentin. Just because people don’t or can’t believe that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. What happened after?”

 “I ran home. I didn’t tell my dad . . . I couldn’t. My mom left us when I was nine and after the divorce, he worried about me all the time. But I felt this thing’s presence all the time after that. My dreams got worse, and it was like that smell followed me wherever I went. It got really bad one night . . . I was alone in the house, uhm . . . my dad had gone to his bowling league. But it was like this thing—this Beast, it was all around me.” Quentin slid his hands up under his arms. “I tried to get away the only way I could think of.”

 Eliot thought of the thick scars he’d seen on Quentin’s wrists when he’d bathed him.

 “You tried to kill yourself.” He said, and Quentin nodded.

 “And that’s how I ended up at Dolborough. It’s funny . . . if my dad hadn’t forgotten his bowling shoes and come back for them, I’d be six feet under.” Quentin’s gaze slid away from Eliot’s again. “I’m still not sure I’m better off.”

 “How long were you at Dolborough?” Eliot asked.

 “Almost ten months. I managed to escape by getting out of my room and hiding in a cardboard box stacked with a bunch of old computer equipment that they were donating to the Bowery Mission.”

 “Clever!” Eliot nodded as he rose and gathered the empty plate and cup. “But once you got out, you had a hard time finding food, I’d assume.” He set the plates in the sink and waved a hand at them. The sink turned on and Quentin watched, round-eyed, as the dishes washed and stacked themselves in the nearby drainer.

 “Uhm, y-yeah, pretty much. The drugs they gave me at Dolborough, I think they threw the Beast off track for awhile, but He was going to find me there and I would’ve been trapped! I had to get away.”

 Eliot crossed the room to his bookshelf and pulled down two spellbooks, which he brought to the couch.

 “I performed a detox cleansing spell on you—you were coming down too hard. But don’t worry, this building is well warded, and there’s no way this Beast can get in without me knowing. Now . . . you know what I told you before, about there being more than world out there?”

 “Sure.”

 “Sometimes we open doors to them without even realizing it. You said the Fillory books always felt more real to you than your own reality and that everyone thought you were crazy because of it. But I don’t think you’re crazy at all, kid. I think you might be a magical adept and opened a door to a world that was making itself visible to you.”

 “What—what are you saying . . . that Fillory is real? And that’s where this Beast is from?”

 “Some mythical worlds have their basis in fact.” Eliot opened one of the books.

 “Fact, but—wait, did you say I’m a magical adept? What does that mean?”

 “It means you might have natural magical ability, and that’s why this creature is pursuing you. If it’s crossed over, it might be looking to gather power from whoever it can. Most of us protect ourselves with magical wards, but if you’re not aware of what you can do, you’re vulnerable.” Eliot’s long finger traced down a page and then tapped an ink sketch as he showed it to Quentin. “Look.”

 Quentin leaned over to look at the drawing and his heart leapt into his throat, where it crouched and trembled for the pace of half a dozen heartbeats before he swallowed hard. The drawing of the electric blue moth was too realistic, like it might leap off the page and flutter into his face, filling his senses with that dead, dry scent. He pointed.

 “That . . . that’s what I saw. The moths that cover the Beast’s face! Does it say what it is?” Quentin glanced at the text below and frowned when he discovered it wasn’t in English. “Does it say what this thing is or why it’s after me?”

 “It’s not like an instruction manual, Quentin. It doesn’t offer specific details.” Eliot turned a page. “You mentioned how much you love the Fillory books . . . have you collected any original memorabilia?”

 “A few things. A couple of posters, I have a collection of first edition books, and a button I bought from this guy near my favorite magic shop. He’s a homeless guy, I think, and he’s got this cart full of odds and ends. He knows how much I like Fillory and told me it was the same button that the seafaring rabbits gave Jane Chatwin so she could travel to Fillory whenever she wanted to.”

 “Did you believe that?”

 “No, of course not, but I felt sorry for the guy. I gave him fifty bucks for it.”

 “When did you buy it?”

 “About two weeks before what happened in the garden.”

 “Where is it now?” Eliot asked he closed the book.

 “It’s hidden in my room. I put away all my Fillory things because of my dad.”

 “So it’s still in your house?”

 “Yeah . . . unless my dad found it all and tossed it out.”

 “Right.” Eliot crooked a finger at him. “Come on, can you get up?”

 Quentin threw the blanket aside and got to his feet, one hand hitching at Eliot’s too-big sweats.

 “Yeah, I feel stronger. Where are we going?”

 “To play a hunch.”

 “Where?”

 “At your house. Either that button you bought was a very expensive piece of plastic, or the man you bought it from is working for whatever is chasing you.”

 “You mean, he wanted me to have it?”

 “Precisely. I think Fillory could be very real, and that this button is the key to its door.”

 CHAPTER SIX

 “So. Quentin Coldwater, hmm?” Margo watched from her bedroom doorway as Quentin tugged on the hunter-green sweater Eliot had bought him from the discount clothing store on the corner. It was no fashion statement, but better than the stained tee. “He’s not that cute.”

 “Shh!” Eliot hushed her as he tugged her back into her room and closed the door to give Quentin privacy: he’d bought a pair of serviceable jeans, a pair of clean boxers, and sneakers to go along with the sweater so the kid—who it turned out was only two years his junior, wouldn’t have to go out in those droopy sweats. “Christ, he’ll hear you!”

 “I thought you wanted me to be down with this?” Margo asked, her dark eyes tipping up to Eliot’s, the corners of her mouth quirking up. Eliot sighed; the introduction between Margo and Quentin had gone better than he’d expected, but he’d forgotten how damn perceptive her natural abilities made her.

 “I do want you to be—down—” Eliot frowned at the expression. “Because I need your help with this and so does Quentin. But you don’t have to get into my head, all right?”

 Margo reached out and squeezed his hand.

 “Don’t worry, El. Your secret is safe with me.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as he turned from the doorway to check his appearance in Margo’s full-length mirror.

 “There is no secret. So I find him attractive. So what? It means nothing.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “Are you going to help us?”

 “God knows someone has to come along on this fucking quest-cum-break in.” Margo rolled her eyes.

 “Quentin lives there, Margo! How do you break into your own home?”

 “He hasn’t lived there for almost a year. You do realize you could get arrested?”

 “I’m trying to help him. This Beast is real and it’s after him for some reason! I need to get a look at this button.”

 “Fine. But if you get us arrested, I’m making you my prison wife!”

 “That’s my Bambi.” Eliot bent down to kiss her cheek. “Always thinking about my welfare. Come on.”

 _______________________________

 The Coldwater home turned out to be a modest but stately three-story affair in a suburb about thirty minutes from downtown Brooklyn. The low-trimmed yew hedges were starting to green, dripping with rain, and Quentin stood between Eliot and Margo as they loitered on the opposite corner, looking up at the house.

 “I can make a portal. Or if you know away around back, I can float up to your bedroom window and we can get in that way. We could also use a teleportation spell, but it’s cooperative and—” Eliot broke off as he realized Margo was tugging at his sleeve and that Quentin was no longer standing next to him.

 “Where—?”

 Margo jerked her chin at the house, where Quentin was jogging up the front walk. He stopped at the front door, bent down, and retrieved a spare key from under a realistic-looking rock nestled in a nearby flowerbed. He unlocked the front door and looked over his shoulder as Margo and Eliot caught up with him.

 “You guys better stay out here. I know where everything is and I can grab it all quick, all right? Try to stay out of sight, we have a neighborhood watch here.” Quentin slipped inside before Eliot could protest. Margo glanced down the street.

 “There’s a bus stop shelter at the corner, we can watch from there. Come on.” She took Eliot’s arm and hurried him away as Eliot looked over his shoulder.

 “Are you sure we should have let him go in there alone?”

 “It’s his house, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing! Come on, we need to look inconspicuous.”

 Inside the silent house, Quentin climbed the stairs to his room. He felt like time had slipped backwards and he’d been doing nothing more than whiling away a few hours at the downtown library. He paused at his father’s closed bedroom door a moment: his father would be at work, editing the latest issue of some district textbook. He moved down the hall and opened the door diagonal from his father’s.

 The room looked like it hadn’t been touched in the nearly ten months since Quentin had been away. His bed was made, the blue quilt he’d had for years pulled up over the pillows. The closet door was closed but Quentin knew his father probably hadn’t gotten rid of anything, hoping his son could be cured enough to return home. A few high school pennants were still tacked over his bed, and a shelf across from the bed contained an impressive collection of academic trophies and ribbons. Quentin barely glanced at them as he crossed the room and moved aside an end table to reveal a small door. It was locked with a hook-and-eye combo, which Quentin pried open before he yanked the rectangular door open to reveal a crawl space. Inside were his rolled-up Fillory posters, his vintage messenger bag (identical to the one Martin Chatwin carried to Fillory with him in The World in the Walls,) his first editions of the Fillory books, carefully bagged, and the small velvet bag containing the button the homeless vendor had sold him. Quentin slipped the button into the messenger bag, along with all his Fillory books, then opened the closet to add a few shirts and several pairs of jeans in as well. He tugged open his bedroom window and lowered the bag as much as he could, dropping it into the bushes below. It shimmered and vanished a moment later—Eliot’s handiwork—and Quentin grinned.

 If Eliot is right and I am a magical adept, he can teach me what he knows! Magic . . . real magic, just like I always—

 “Hello, Curly-Q.”

 Quentin turned, his heart giving a startled thwack at the words. His father stood in the bedroom doorway, his expression somehow sad and angry at the same time.

 “Dad.”

 “I knew you’d come back here eventually.” Ted Coldwater stepped into the room. Quentin glanced around, sudden anxiety crowding his chest.

 “You—you’re supposed to—I mean, I thought you’d be at work.”

 “I took some time off when you went missing from Dolborough.” He held up both hands and approached Quentin. “Don’t you worry, son. Everything’s going to be all right. You don’t need to be scared . . . no one’s angry that you left the hospital. We’ve all been worried, that’s all. Very worried.”

 “We?”

 “Yes, son. Myself, Dr. Beekman, everyone at Dolborough. But you don’t need to worry. Once we get you back there, we’re going to try some new treatments that—”

 “No! I’m not going back there! Ever! I’m eighteen now dad, and—and I met people after I left there! Friends who are going to help me!”

 “Quentin. Ever since you harmed yourself, I’ve had power of attorney. You can’t make decisions on your own, you have no idea what’s best for you!”

 Outside, from the other end of the block, sirens began to sound. The wails grew closer, and Quentin stared at his father.

 “What did you do?”

 “What’s best for you, Curly-Q. I called them the moment I saw you downstairs. They’re here to help you and so am I—”

 Quentin bolted, pushing his father aside as he raced out the door and down the hallway. He took the steps two at a time, hit the landing, and yanked open the door to find Dr. Beekman and half a dozen policeman standing there. Dr. Beekman smiled, but it never touched the man’s eyes.

 “Quentin. We’re very glad to see you safe, very glad indeed.” He nodded to the policemen, who seized Quentin by the front of his sweater and dragged him from the doorway. Quentin fought them as they carried him bodily over to the ambulance, followed by Dr. Beekman and Quentin’s father.

 “Please, don’t hurt him, not if you can help it, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing!” Ted said, and Quentin looked around wildly.

 “Eliot!” He cried.

 At the end of the block, Margo had Quentin’s messenger bag slung across her chest as she used both hands to hang onto Eliot’s arm. Eliot was struggling in her grip as he watched the cops heft Quentin off his feet and carry him to the ambulance.

 “Eliot, don’t! You can’t just charge over there tossing battle magic around and you know that! Not only will that get you arrested, it might possibly get you dissected at the nearest government facility once they see what you can do! Damn it, El, stop!” Margo felt her grip slipping.

 “Kinnimear, a’thane azu!” She chanted it three times, in rapid succession, and felt the magic shudder down her arms and through her fingertips, freezing Eliot where he stood. Only his eyes moved, and she rounded him so he could see her. Despite his locked expression, she could see the fury there.

 “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me, El, but I’m not letting you get arrested and God knows what else because of some kid you’ve known two days! We can help him, but not like this!” Margo said, hardening her heart as Quentin called Eliot’s name, then hers.

 “Let me go! Get off me! Eliot! Margo!” Quentin shrieked as the cops hauled him into the ambulance and many strong hands buckled him into a stretcher. Thick leather restraints snaked around his wrists and ankles and he lifted his head to see his father standing by the open doors, watching. Tears stood on his unshaven cheeks.

 “It’s gonna be all right, Curly-Q. They’ll take care of you. I’ll come see you when they say I can.”

 “No! Dad please, don’t let them do this! He’ll find me there, we need to open the door before He does, you don’t understand! You have to let me—owwwww, no, please!” Quentin cried as Dr. Beekman rucked up his sweater sleeve and slipped a needle tip into his inner elbow. Quentin felt the warm sensation of liquid sedative entering his vein there and it spread rapidly, making his extremities numb and his thoughts lose their cohesion. He tried to speak, but his lips felt like as useless as those of a dying fish, gasping out its last pointless breaths at the bottom of a trawler. The sound of the siren chased him down into unconsciousness as the ambulance pulled away from the curb and headed east, toward Queens.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

 “It seems that Quentin’s issues go far beyond depression and hallucinations, Ted.”

 The words echoed in a bubbly quality that Quentin almost couldn’t make out. The faces of his father and Dr. Beekman seemed to float high above him, like untethered helium balloons. He could sense that his wrists and ankles were restrained to the bed, the same one he’d slept in for the past ten months.

 Since being returned to Dolborough, Dr. Beekman ordered that Quentin be kept moderately sedated and under physical restraint. In the 24 hours since, Quentin had done his best to keep Eliot’s face in his mind. Despite his efforts, the drugs made it fade and blur, and with every moment he didn’t show, Quentin’s certainty that he’d been abandoned by his new friend grew.

 “Is there anything that can be done?” Ted asked as he looked down at his addled son, and Dr. Beekman nodded.

 “I believe the answer is an anterior cingulotomy.”

 “What does that involve?”

 “It’s a psychosurgical treatment for schizophrenia, depression, and certain types of OCD. We place bilateral lesions in the anterior cingulate, which slows or stops certain impulses to the cingulum bundle. It should eliminate Quentin’s hallucinations about this Beast creature and ease most of his depression symptoms.”

 “What are the risks?”

 “Possible hemorrhaging, seizures . . . but those are usually rare. He might experience headaches, nausea, some vision problems, but those should fade with time. Ted . . . I know that brain surgery isn’t what you wanted for your son, but I believe it’s the best option for him. We have a surgeon over at John Hopkins that works with our facility that could perform the procedure—Quentin would be in good hands.”

 Ted reached down and touched Quentin’s face.

 “If you really think it’s the only answer.”

 “I do. Come with me to my office. I’ll make some calls and have you sign some papers.” Dr. Beekman led Ted out the door, leaving Quentin to struggle with his opium-soaked thoughts.

 Gonna crack open my skull, he realized as he moved through a fading consciousness that was filled with shifting lights and the slow mental thunder of cognitive impairment. Can’t stop them. Eliot, where . . .

 Darkness rushed up to envelop him, and Quentin fell headlong into its embrace.

 ________________________________

 “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bar, where he was mixing a drink with more force than was probably necessary. Margo watched him from the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs.

 “Eliot. Come on. I know what I did was wrong—”

 “Wrong?” Eliot slammed the lid down on his stainless steel ice bucket. “It was more than wrong, Margo! You used restraint magic on me! In the three and a half years we’ve known each other, you’ve never cast on me like that!”

 “I know.” Margo stood up and went to him. His slender frame stiffened but he didn’t retreat, as he’d been doing since she’d released him from the spell at the bus stop near Quentin’s house. “Because up until yesterday, I didn’t have to. You know damn well what would have happened if I’d let you go over there and blast the cops with battle magic! They would have shot you into so much big eye swiss cheese and then played Operation with your corpse at the nearest morgue! It wasn’t the answer, and the only one who would have been regretting it is me, because you’d be way too fucking dead to reconsider your poor choice!”

 “He was calling for us and we just stood there and let it happen. We let those bastards take Quentin back to that hell hole of a psycho ward! Do you know what he must be thinking, if they’re letting him think at all?” Eliot glared at her. “Do you even care about him?”

 “He’s your pet project! I didn’t realize I was required to care!”

 “You—” Eliot began in a sharp, rising tone when a knock on the front door interrupted him. His amber eyes flashed. “If it’s that menu boy from Pei Wei again, I’m going to turn him into a fucking human potsticker!” He yanked the door back. Penny stood there, along with his lover Kady, a temperamental high-level hedge with flashing eyes and wild brunette curls. Eliot scowled. “Oh, marvelous. Punch and Judgey. What?” He asked, and Penny returned the scowl in equal measure.

 “For one thing, your mental wards need serious repair. And for another? We can hear you right through the fucking ceiling! Will you just fuck or kill each other or whatever the problem is so Kady and I can get some peace?”

 “And will you mind your own business for once?”

 “Who’s this Quentin?” Kady asked, shouldering her way into the apartment. Penny followed her and Eliot’s fists clenched at the intrusion. Margo sighed.

 “Just tell her, Eliot.” Her gaze slid over to Penny. “Maybe they can help us.”

 “And why would they do that?”

 “Look.” Penny interrupted. “If what you said is true and that skinny nerd you had here really is like us, we can’t let a bunch of head peepers keep him locked up. Way too many of our kind are dying because no one helps them understand what they are, and those that do find out end up smoking themselves trying spells they aren’t ready for!”

 “That’s not the only issue. Quentin unlocked a door to another world and now some kind of Beast is chasing him. It’s how he ended up at Dolborough in the first place, because no one believes him! They think he’s hallucinating.” Eliot adjusted the collar of his shirt. “If you really want to help one of our own, then help Margo and me break Quentin out of that place before it’s too late.”

 Penny and Kady traded glances and Eliot could almost see the silent, telepathic conversation that took place before Penny nodded.

 “Fine. You’ve got a deal, Schmendrick . . . if you make me a drink before we talk about it.”

 __________________________________________

  “This sounds like a bunch of nerdy fanboy shit.”

 Eliot rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers as Penny leaned over the spellbook and peered at the image of the moth Quentin had identified. They were four whiskey sours into their meeting, and Eliot had gone over Quentin’s story twice now.

 “I know what it sounds like, but you know as well as we do that what Quentin saw was real. But no one at the hospital is going to believe it, and now that he escaped, they might Randle McMurphy him to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble!”

 “That’s their answer for anything they can’t explain away.” Margo sipped her drink. “And the kid doesn’t deserve this . . . he’s eighteen and he hasn’t even had the chance to become a magician.”

 “The only way we’re going to get into Dolborough is by acting like we belong there.” Eliot said, and Kady shook back her curls.

 “You mean pose as patients?”

 “No. According to their website, Dolborough partners with a few medical universities in the city, and it’s a teaching hospital twice a week. With some scrubs and illusion work, we can pose as medical students and get to Quentin that way. We find his floor, Penny travels into his room to unlock it from the inside, and we portal our asses out before anyone knows we’re even there!”

 Penny knocked back the rest of his drink and grimaced at the excited light in Eliot’s amber eyes.

 “I’m gonna hate this.”

 CHAPTER EIGHT

 “Right this way, move along please, follow me.”

 Eliot, Kady, and Margo marched along with the two dozen or so other med students from Queens University, led by an attending physician and dressed in blue scrubs and dark shoes like the rest of them. The hedges each wore a lanyard with a laminated ID card clipped to it; Eliot had picked them up at a souvenir stand near Central Park and had changed the photos of the Statue of Liberty into student IDs with a bit of illusion work. They had left Penny in the lobby, shielded from sight with an invisibility spell, until they could find Quentin’s room number. It had been simple enough to slip into the crowd of students as they had gathered in the lobby: in their identical scrubs, they blended in, and the attending physician had barely glanced back since gathering them.

 “Did you bring it?” Margo asked Eliot from the corner of her mouth as they were led along, and Eliot nodded as he slipped one hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around Quentin’s plastic ID bracelet.

 “We need to get to a nurse’s station where we can scan it.” He replied quietly as the attending slid his ID card through a security pad and opened the doors to a restricted area.

 “Move quickly now!” He barked, and Eliot straightened his spine as he scanned the area beyond the door. There was a small lobby, two vending machines, and diagonal from that, a semi-circular nurse’s station. Two older women stood behind the counter, glancing at charts and murmuring to each other. Eliot cut a glance at Margo and Kady.

 “That’s where I need to be.” He hissed. “Create a diversion!”

 “What do we—”

 Crack! Kady’s open palm snapped against Margo’s cheek, cutting off her words and making the shorter hedge stagger back a few steps. Eliot stared at Kady, his mouth falling open. Kady’s green eyes glittered with challenge, and Margo recovered.

 “You bitch!” She was on Kady a moment later, her hands twisted into Kady’s curls, and the two of them went to the floor in a barrage of curses and flashing, painted nails. The other students, the attending, and the station nurses rushed over to separate them, and Eliot ducked down to slip past them and behind the counter. A scanner sat to one side of the station monitor, and Eliot pulled the bracelet from his pocket. A red light reflected against the shiny plastic, and the small readout spat back Quentin’s information at him.

 “Room 2505.” Eliot murmured as he risked a peek over the counter. Margo and Kady were still in the middle of the knot of shouting, staring crowd as the nurses and attending tried to break the girls up. Eliot dropped his mental wards and let Penny in.

 2505. I’ll meet you there in five minutes!

 Eliot hurried toward the nearest elevator, knowing Margo and Kady could extract themselves from the melee and make themselves scarce before the others realized they wouldn’t be able to say for sure who had started the fight.

 ______________________________________

 Penny felt the familiar shiver in his nerves as he traveled from the lobby to Quentin’s room. He took a moment to glance around at the surroundings: a dresser, barred windows, and a metal-frame bed. The kid Penny had come to think of as the Nerdling was strapped to the bed with thick leather buckles, both hands and feet, and it roused a sick, angry feeling in the traveler. No one of his kind deserved this, even a dork like this. He dropped the invisibility shield and leaned over to pat the kid’s cheek.

 “Hey! Hey, come on, look at me! Yo! Nerdling! Snap out of it!”

 Quentin’s eyelids twitched and then blinked open. His dark gaze was muddled, his irises blown wide with prescription dope. Penny began to work the heavy buckles open.

 “I don’t wanna have to carry your skinny ass, so come on!” He slapped Quentin smartly on one cheek, and Quentin stared up at him.

 “The hell.” He mumbled, and Penny got his hands free.

 “Hell is what these people are gonna put you in unless you try and focus on what I’m saying!” He freed Quentin’s bare feet and shoved them into a pair of sneakers from the dresser. He pulled Quentin into a sitting position when a distorted chiming sound began behind him. Penny turned, his stomach clenching as the air wavered with dark magic. A hand stretched out from the tattered framed poster on the wall, one with many extra fingers. It gestured, stretching the frame into the size of a full-length mirror, as if it was made of taffy. A figure stepped out as the plexiglass wavered like a pool of still water that had been disturbed.  The creature, dressed in a natty grey suit and polished dress shoes, was whistling. His entire face was obscured by fluttering moths. The doorknob to the room rattled and Eliot’s voice rang in Penny’s head.

 Let me in!

 “Ah ah!” The Beast chided Penny as he stepped closer to the bed. “I believe that’s mine!” He shot a hand out, deformed with many extra fingers, and Penny gasped in pain and surprise as he was flung against the opposite wall. His head struck the dresser and dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes. Agony wracked his senses a moment later and he gave a breathless gasp as he turned his head toward the door. Eliot’s shadow loomed in the small square mesh-lined window.

 Penny! Open the fucking door!

 Penny lifted a hand toward it, but the spell died on his lips as the syllables fell into a meaningless jumble within his addled consciousness. The sound of the doorknob rattling took on an echoing quality as the Beast tugged Quentin from the bed by his arms and pulled him across the room. Quentin turned his head and stared at Penny, wide-eyed and helpless, as the creature whistled a happy little tune, dragged the teen through the poster frame, and vanished.

  Part Two: One World Among Many

 CHAPTER NINE

 “He’s dead, Margo.”

 Margo glanced up from the loft’s bar at Eliot’s words. Kady sat with Penny on the couch, dabbing at a swollen, red lump on the back of his head with a damp cloth. Margo brought them each a glass of brandy and frowned when she had to push the tumbler into Eliot’s hands before he would grip it.

 “We don’t know that. Yes, the Beast took him, but it has to be for a reason! If he’d wanted to kill Quentin, he would have painted that room with his brains with the flick of his hand!”

 Eliot closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the Eames chair. The four exhausted hedges had managed to portal themselves out of Dolborough before security reached Quentin’s room, with Kady and Eliot having to almost carry Penny. The traveler was stunned and had only just begun to come around as they’d regrouped at Eliot’s loft.

 “She’s right.” Penny nodded, his voice a bit stronger than it had been a half hour ago. “The Beast said, ‘I believe that’s mine’ right before he—fuck!” Penny flinched as Kady pressed a square of gauze to his head wound. “Right before he dragged your buddy off. How the hell did he find us, anyway?”

 “Quentin told me the drugs they were giving him at Dolbrough made it hard for the Beast to track him, but it was only a matter of time before the bastard found him! I warded him when he was with me, but once they took him back to Dolborough, he was vulnerable.” Eliot pushed his dark hair back with one hand. “The door Quentin opened had to be to Fillory. It’s the only thing that makes sense! Once he had that button, Fillory presented itself to him, only the Beast was guarding the entrance. Guarding it, and waiting for him.” Eliot rubbed a hand over his chin. “He told me it happened right in his own neighborhood, in Brooklyn, but I don’t know the exact location, and there’s no guarantee that the door will open for us, even if we find it.” He drained half the brandy from his glass. “We have to find another way.”

 Margo got to her feet and left the room. Kady taped the gauze to Penny’s head and squeezed his hand, and he allowed her to touch her forehead to his before resuming his usual stoic expression. Margo returned, Quentin’s messenger bag in one hand.

 “Fuck me if I didn’t forget we brought this from Quentin’s house the day they took him back to Dolborough!”

 “And what good will that do, exactly?” Eliot sighed. “I already looked inside, there’s nothing but clothes and those Fillory books.”

 Margo opened the bag’s clasp and up-ended it over the couch. The Fillory books slid out, each one encased in a protective plastic sheath, along with a small assortment of clothing. She frowned and pulled the bag open wide, dipping one hand in and feeling around. Her fingers slid along a thin mouth of fabric, and she tugged on it. A Velcro pocket opened and Margo smiled as she pulled out a small black velvet bag.

 “Oh yeah, smart guy? What do you call this?” She pulled the drawstring open and shook a clear plastic octagonal white box into her hand. It was about the size of a half dollar and contained an eggshell-white button. Eliot and the others stared at it.

 “Is that . . .?” Eliot asked, and Margo set the case on the table before popping the lid open. Penny leaned close.

 “Fuck me! Can you feel that? Like it’s practically leaking magic!”

 Kady reached out with both hands, her slim hands working in the air above the button.

 “Wherever that kid got this from, it’s the real deal.”

 “Quentin told me he bought it from a homeless vendor in his neighborhood. Whoever that was or is must have been working for the Beast . . . He wanted Quentin to be able to open that door.”

 “But if he didn’t know he has any magical ability, what good would that have done either of them?” Penny frowned. “That’s like giving someone a key to a car that has a fucked-up motor.”

 “Except that Quentin isn’t fucked up.” Eliot’s stomach turned as his quick mind began to make connections. “He’s untapped—what’s inside him is pure, and that’s what the Beast is after. For whatever reason, He’s taken Quentin to Fillory to gain access to Quentin’s magic.” His hand tightened around the forgotten tumbler in his hand. “To drain him.”

 __________________________________

 “Wakey Wakey!”

 Quentin struggled to consciousness at the sound of that voice, the one that had filled his dreams with terror and his bed with rank fear sweat and urine for months. He forced his eyes open and a pained, surprised whimper of pain escaped his throat as he realized tough steel manacles encircled his wrists, paired with thick iron chains that suspended him from a cold stone wall. He kicked his bare feet, only to find that they were secured as well. A cold, fetid dampness against his skin made him shiver, and he realized as he came fully conscious that he was naked—the blue-checked hospital gown he’d been wearing when the Beast claimed him was laying in a nearby corner in a sad heap. The Beast himself stood in front of him, his face still obscured with the large moths. Panic gnawed at Quentin’s nerves as that musty, dry smell assaulted his nostrils.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” The voice purred, laced with a posh British accent. “I’m so pleased to have you in my company! It’s been much too long since we last met, wouldn’t you agree?”

 “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Quentin asked, trying to arch his back away from the damp stone. It was impossible to see the man’s face, but amusement laced his tone.

 “Why, I’ve known it for years!” One multi-fingered hand reached out to stroke Quentin’s cheek. “My poor lad . . . you really have no idea who you are, do you.”

 “I’m—I’m just Quentin. Please, whoever you are, you’re making a terrible mistake!”

 “There’s no mistake, dear boy. The prophecy is at hand . . . the events that are destined to bring my reign and my life to an end!” The Beast’s voice rose in pitch, cracking with anger.

 “Your reign? Fillory . . .” Quentin glanced around the cold stone room. A Fillorian crest, faded but visible, covered much of the space on the wall opposite him. “Fillory is real.” He murmured, and the Beast chuckled.

 “Of course Fillory is real! And you’ve known it your whole life, Quentin. Even as you played your silly questing games with Julia, you always looked for a way in that went far beyond fantasy. The truth slept deep within you, and now it’s awake, but it slumbered too long, it seems! I was a wily fox, you see, and I gave you a way to unlock the door, only I was waiting there to trap you, at last!”

 “The button.” Quentin yanked at the manacles that pinched and rubbed against his skin. “Eliot was right! You gave that button to the vendor to sell to me!”

 The Beast’s open palm cracked across Quentin’s cheek.

 “He can’t help you, and he can’t help Fillory! The prophecy is at an end, my sweet boy, and once I drain you of your magic and make a tasty meal of your flesh, every door into Fillory will be mine to command!” A hand with extra, seeking fingers wrapped around his throat. “I’m going to devour you, and when your would-be magician king sees what I will leave of your corpse, it will drive him mad!”

 Quentin swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the creature’s hand.

 “I don’t understand.” He said in a strained voice. “Who are you?”

 “I rule all of Fillory, past, present, and now, the future!” The hand fell away from Quentin’s throat and he screamed in terror and sense memory as the moths engulfed him, their wings landing dust-filled kisses against every inch of his skin.

 CHAPTER TEN

 A late-April shower was moving through Chelsea, drenching empty sidewalks and dripping off storefront awnings in a steady patter. Thick rivulets of rain scrawled down the glass of Eliot’s loft windows, making shadows on its occupants’ faces like tribal tattoos. Eliot, Margo, Penny, and Kady stood in a circle around the coffee table, their hands joined. The button sat in its case there, the lid open.

 “So . . . if anyone wants to bow out of this little field trip, speak now and forever reveal your cowardice.” Eliot said as he slipped one of Quentin’s Fillory books into the pocket of his camel coat, his gaze flicking to each member of the party, one by one. Penny’s eyes narrowed.

 “Fuck you, like you’re not shitting dry peach pits?”

 “Have your pissing contest later, boys.” Margo squeezed Eliot’s hand. “I don’t think Quentin has the time.” She glanced at the book. “What’s that for?”

 “It has maps in it. I was thinking that might be of help to us.”

 “Are you sure this is even going to work? If Quentin had the button all this time, why didn’t it take him to Fillory when he touched it?” Kady asked.

 “Because he hasn’t accessed his magical abilities yet. He’s untapped . . . the button might have sensed his innate powers but couldn’t make the connection with him.” Eliot looked down at the button. “Are we ready?”

 “Ready.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Just fucking touch the stupid thing!”

 Eliot opened the hand that gripped Margo’s just enough to float the button into his palm. When he closed his fingers around it, the air in the loft seemed to implode with the sound of a pile of wet laundry hitting a tile floor. Eliot felt himself being drawn inward, as if he was turning liquid and being sucked up through a very long straw. He struggled to hang onto his consciousness as his inner ear spun like a risky carnival ride. His form then solidified again and he tumbled through crisp, sweet air before falling with a heavy splash into chilly water. He fought his way to the surface, gasping like a landed fish. The others popped up all around him, struggling to get air in their lungs as well, and Eliot realized they’d fallen into the waters of an ornate fountain. A granite statue of a centaur, three times Eliot’s height, graced the center of the round fountain, and water spurted from its mouth and from the tip of the gilded spear it held. Eliot half-paddled to the fountain’s edge, climbed out, and then pocketed the button before he helped Margo onto dry land as she coughed and shuddered.

 “Fuck!”

 “Are you okay, Bambi?” Eliot asked, pushing her sodden hair from her face, and she thumped him on the chest twice with her small fists.

 “No, I’m not okay! That fucking button turned me into a human enema and squirted me up the multiverse’s motherfucking colon!” She hit him again. “You dick!”

 “All right, okay!” He took hold of her wrists. “I know it wasn’t exactly first class on Jet Blue, but it worked. It’s pretty clear we aren’t on earth anymore.” He looked up at the fountain. Kady pushed her curls back and wrung water from them.

 “How can we be sure we’re in Fillory?”

 “Children of earth!”

 The party turned as one as the deep voice spoke. A towering male centaur, his coat a mix of silver and white, stood watching them. He held a spear in one hand. His curly hair, the same color as his coat and tail, fell well past his bare shoulders. His eyes were the color of wet slate. The group stared at him as he gave a graceful bow.

 “I welcome you all to Fillory.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as his heart tried to climb up into his trachea.

 “I think that’s a pretty telling clue.”

__________________________________________

 The centaur’s name was Clabbercloud. He worked as a sentry for the Northern Meadows clan, who worked mostly in weaving and textiles. As children of earth, Eliot and the others were welcomed with solemn but sincere respect by the clan and given dry clothing, hot black currant tea, and delicate oat cakes in Clabbercloud’s rangy tent. The interior ceiling was draped with gauzy silk squares of material in varying shades of red, giving the space an Arabian Nights pastiche.

 “Long have we awaited more children of Earth to visit Fillory. Many had given up hope you would ever arrive, and we would be forever ruled by the Many-Fingered King.”

 “The Many-Fingered King?” Penny frowned. “Hang on . . . that thing I saw in Quentin’s room at the hospital! It had a bunch of extra fingers! That’s the king of Fillory?”

 Clabbercloud snorted.

 “He is more a ruthless dictator than a king. We live in fear of him! But it was not always so . . . when he came to Fillory as a boy, he and his siblings ruled wisely, but over time, our king’s quest for power grew so that he began to study the dark magic, spells that twisted his heart and mind. He learned of the prophecy of the Light Bringer, and since then, he has worked to destroy the one who would dethrone him.”

 “Wait, hold up.” Margo held up a hand. “What’s the Light Bringer, what prophecy, and who was this Squidward-looking asshole before he was a king?”

 Clabbercloud moved over to a wooden chest filled with books, their covers thick and ornate. He chose one from the pile and brought it to the group, opening it to a marked page.

 “Look upon this.”

 Eliot took the book and settled it across his knees. The others leaned over his shoulders to see. The left page featured scrawled Fillorian text, and the other, which was torn away at the upper right corner so about a quarter of the page was missing, featured two figures ascending from a fountain. One was radiating with light and reaching for an open jade crown of many colors, which was surrounded by a cloud of what appeared to be butterflies or moths, but the other figure was mostly missing from the torn page. Only the legs and feet were visible.

 “The Light Bringer.” Kady glanced up at Clabbercloud. “And who’s this?” She pointed at the incomplete figure.

 The centaur shook himself.

 “There are many who believe he is little more than a guide. Others think he is something of a page to the Light Bringer.”

 “So where is this place?” Penny asked pointing to the drawing, and Clabbercloud cocked a hind leg as he worked through a plate of oat cakes.

 “The fountain is said to be the same that can be found at Coronation Beach, where all Fillorian rulers are crowned. It lies twenty miles south of our village.”

 “When I saw the Beast, he wasn’t wearing that crown.” Penny nodded to the drawing.

 “The Many-Fingered King wears no crown, Traveler. It is power and submission, not fame and attention, that he desires most. The crown lies in a chest at Coronation Beach, and none but the Light Bringer can open it.”

 “So you believe this Light Bringer is your next king?” Margo asked, and the centaur nodded.

 “Only Children of Earth can rule here.” He replied, and Margo glanced at Eliot.

 “So technically . . . any one of you boys—you or Penny or even Quentin—could be the king they’ve been waiting for.”

 “But we don’t know where Quentin is.” Eliot said, his fingers tightening around the cup he held. Clabbercloud turned his head to reply when another sentry approached the open tent flap, his spear jabbing at the back of what looked like an oversized ferret. The thing was walking on its hind legs and it had one deformed eye that made it bulge from its socket like an infected boil. It carried a miniature version of Quentin’s messenger bag and wore a red and black leather jerkin, but nothing else. The sentry goaded the creature inside.

 “This intruder says it has a message for the children of earth!”

 Eliot rose to his feet. Although the ferret barely came to his knees, the creature didn’t cower. It withdrew a velvet bag from its jerkin.

 “The High King of Fillory and Lord of All He Surveys and Beyond offers parley for the life of the human called Quentin Coldwater! He sends this, in the hopes that it will spur you to bargain quickly.”

 Eliot took the bag, pulled the top open and shook it out. A pinky finger tumbled out into his hand and he jerked back, color draining from his cheeks. While the digit bore no identifying marks, Eliot’s heightened senses and his familiarity with Quentin’s aura told him that it belonged to the younger magical adept. The skin and meat around the first knuckle had been gnawed. Cold arrows of dread punched into Eliot’s gut and spread before the tips burst into flame and replaced it with fury. His long fingers curled around the severed thing as Margo, Penny, and Kady stared with varying expressions of shock and disgust. The ferret bared its sharp teeth.

 “His Highness will bring Quentin Coldwater to Coronation Beach at sunrise and offer you his bargain there. If you refuse or do not show . . .” The ferret licked its lips suggestively. Eliot took a deep breath and turned his back on the creature.

 “Are you supposed to return to His Majesty with my answer?”

 “No, magician. Your presence or lack of it at sunrise tomorrow is your answer!”

 “Excellent.” Eliot spat the word out before he turned and shot out his left hand, the air around it shimmering with magic. The force push knocked the ferret off its feet, drove it through the air, and impaled it on the sentry’s spear by the back of its head. The force of the push popped the deformed eye from its socket, leaving it to drip thickly off the tip while the creature twitched the last of its life out on the shaft.

 “You literally killed the messenger.” Margo said after a few moments of silence, and Eliot slipped Quentin’s finger back into the velvet bag.

 “Pity it didn’t live long enough to appreciate the irony of the message I gave it in return. The bastard used Quentin’s finger as a fucking teething toy.” Eliot said as the sentry shook his spear and sent the dead mammal flopping to the ground. “Clabbercloud, which way is it to Coronation Beach?”

 “My sentries can take you as far as the Rainbow Bridge, but we cannot venture any further. Beyond our borders, child of earth, you and your companions must face the Many-Fingered King alone.”

 CHAPTER ELEVEN

 Coronation Beach was a stark study in negative contrast: soft black sand stretched for nearly ten miles against seawaters that were foamy white instead of blue. Dawn approached, wrapped in thick swatches of fog as Eliot and his companions reached the beach and stood near the fountain Clabbercloud had mentioned. In the center of the pool, a granite king stood with his sword at the ready. Eliot squinted into the near-darkness and frowned.

 “I wonder if the sun rises in the east here. Wasn’t there something in the books about a daily eclipse?” He paused and pulled the Fillory book from his coat to flip through it. “Quentin would know.” He said, almost to himself, and Margo peered off into the horizon.

 “We can’t even be sure Fillory operates the way it does in the books. At least I don’t remember a psycho moth man in any of them.”

 “Flattery will get you nowhere, dear girl!”

 Eliot turned at the words, his heart volleying up into his throat. The Beast was approaching from the opposite direction, dressed in the same fine suit Quentin had seen him in previously. He walked with a skip in his step, the moths swirling around his face in a noxious cloud. He dragged Quentin along behind him on a length of enchanted chain, the other end clipped to a black collar that seemed to writhe and shift against his skin like an agitated snake. Quentin stumbled across the sand, dressed in a pair of ragged linen breeches and nothing else. His right hand and arm were painted with blood, and in the low light, Eliot could see the ragged stump of the pinky finger. The Beast halted a few feet from the group and glanced at the rising sun.

 “How considerate of you to be punctual!”

 “Fuck your faux manners.” Eliot replied in conversational tone. “The talking rat you sent told me you wanted to meet here.”

 “My loyal servant, who you killed in cold blood. He was unarmed. Quite cowardly of you!”

 “About as cowardly as abusing a kid you gaslighted into a mental ward!” Margo snapped, and Eliot gave her an approving glance before he stepped forward.

 “And speaking of cowards, why don’t you show me your face before we make a deal? I’d like to know who I’m speaking to.” He flicked a glance at Quentin, whose wordless plea was clear.

 Be careful.

 “Very well. I don’t suppose I have any reason to conceal myself anymore, do I?” The Beast waved a hand and the moths dispersed, seeming to dissolve as they moved away from his face. Behind his living mask, Eliot saw a man with a rather bored countenance, a man with graying hair and a weak chin—a man you wouldn’t look twice at if you passed him on the street. Only his eyes gave a clue to his power, and they glittered as he met Eliot’s gaze.

 “Dude looks like a life insurance salesman.” Penny muttered, and the Beast chucked.

 “You clueless children. You have no idea who I truly am . . . although perhaps our dear Quentin here might tell you. I’m the once and future High King of Fillory, the missing sibling of a group of children who ruled here long ago. One who found a way to remain here always, to remain and rule, as I was always destined to!”

 Quentin stared at him.

 “Martin Chatwin.” He murmured, and the Beast nodded.

 “Precisely. Now.” He turned back toward Eliot. “As to the terms of my bargain. You give me back my button, agree to forsake the prophecy, and leave Fillory forever. In return, I will allow all of you to live.”

 Eliot tipped his eyes up to the dawning sky as he considered the terms. He thought of Clabbercloud, the story of the Beast’s complete rule over Fillory, his cruelty, and the good he and the others could bring to Fillory—if he could defeat the powerful magician in one-on-one battle.

 I learned magic for my own purposes and gain, Eliot thought to himself. But if what the centaur told us is true, I may have a destiny here. And what good is having all this power if I can’t outwit and out-cast this asshole? Top bitch in Chelsea . . . time to prove that to yourself and to everyone else.

 “Here’s my counter offer.” Eliot said, removing his long camel coat and undoing the buttons on the linen shirt the centaurs had loaned him. It was ill-fitting across his shoulders and down his arms, so he stripped it off, exposing his hedge tattoos. “We battle, one on one, for the crown. The winner gets control of Fillory, and the loser goes six feet under.”

 “Eliot, no!” Quentin spoke up, and the Beast yanked on the length of chain, choking off any further complaints. He stroked his goatee.

 “An interesting wager!” He eyed Eliot’s tattoos. “I see you’re a hedge witch . . .” He led Quentin to a nearby boulder and used magic to weld the end of the chain into it, trapping him there like a disobedient dog. “Isn’t it ironic that I learned magic in much the same way!” He glanced at Margo and the others. “You realize, of course, if you lose this battle, the lives of your friends, including this delicious little dish—” He nodded to Quentin— “are all forfeit as well.”

 “Then bring it.” Penny challenged, eliciting a nod from Kady. Marg scoffed.

 “If El goes down, which I doubt, then it’s three against one, Beast Boy.”

 “You’d battle me for table scraps?” The Beast asked, glancing at Quentin. “Courageous but idiotic.”

 “Do you agree to my offer or not?” Eliot asked, and the Beast nodded, looking almost jovial.

 “Agreed—let’s end this, shall we?” The older magician raised his hands before he finished speaking, a magic missile blasting from his palm. Eliot cursed and strengthened his wards with one move of his hand. The blast rocked him backward and he murmured in Arabic. A blue glowing rope of pure energy flowed from his fingertips and entangled the Beast. Eliot jerked the rope, adding a dose of telekinetic energy to it, and yanked his enemy’s face into his closed right fist. The Beast grunted as the cartilage in his nose shattered under the impact. Eliot then force-pushed him into the air and sent him flying across the beach, where he bounced off a cluster of rocks before swaying to his feet, bleeding from his nose and chuckling.

 “Impressive, hedge witch! Now let me show you what true power is!” He raised one hand, spread his thumb and index finger apart, then began to pinch them together slowly. Eliot gasped in surprise as his air supply was cut off, and he struggled to counter it. His lungs burned in panic and he fought the sensation, using his fading energy to summon his telekinesis. He envisioned the Beast’s fingers smoking, then glowing like banked embers, before bursting into flame. The ruling king of Fillory screamed in agony as those two fingers imploded in a flash of bright orange flame and then fell to the ground in ashes. Margo pumped a fist.

 “Yes!” She hissed, and Eliot took three gulps of air before moving his right hand in rapid circles, the fingers moving precisely in repetitive motions until glowing runes flowed from them. They hissed and crackled and Eliot drew that hand toward his chest before flinging the runes outward. They slammed into the Beast, burning away some of his suit and leaving deep, bleeding groves in his chest and arms. The older magician fell to his knees, stunned, and Eliot advanced on him, gearing up for another volley.

 Take him apart piece by piece if I need to . . .

 “It seems . . . I underestimated your abilities, hedge witch!” The Beast said, deep, glowing gashes visible in his torso, the edges charred. “But Fillory is mine, and who lives or dies is at my command! Perhaps you need proof!” He turned toward Quentin and raised both hands. A white-hot whip, made of pure energy, grew from both palms and twisted into a thick braid. Quentin watched, chained to the rock and helpless. The whip hissed and writhed like downed power line, and Eliot whispered a speed spell with his ebbing magical energy. He felt his wards flicker and fail as the spell allowed him to move at five times his normal speed. He reached Quentin, shielding the boy with his body, his bare arms stretched wide, and Quentin screamed as the whip sliced into Eliot’s left shoulder and cut diagonally across his body, opening him like a flayed trout. Quentin screamed as blood sprayed upward in a crimson arc.

 “ELIOT!”

 “EL!” Margo’s cry of agony echoed Quentin’s as Eliot dropped to his knees, his expression filled with the knowledge of his death but quietly triumphant as well. He fell to one side, his amber eyes half-open, blood staining the sand in a wide, spreading pool. The Beast watched, laughing.

 “The king is dead!” He shouted in a wounded but jovial tone. “Long live the king!” He threw his arms in the air. “And now . . .” He turned to Margo, doubled over as sobs wracked her frame. Penny dropped into a defensive crouch as he and Kady moved in front of her. The Beast grinned. “Oh children . . . you mustn’t even try, there’s no point in it, it will only make your deaths more painful!” He took two steps toward the group, his hands raised, when thunder rumbled over the water. The Beast looked up, frowning, as roiling black clouds, lined with lodes of molten gold, raced over the sky. They cast the beach into near darkness, eating up the dawn, before one of the glowing molten lines split open the clouds. Rays of pure white light shot out, lined with gossamer sheets of flickering, shifting colors. They engulfed Quentin and he stiffened, his dark eyes wide, his mouth dropping open in a sudden fit of awe and ecstasy. The enchanted chain and collar melted away like warm taffy and Quentin flung his arms outward as the rays lifted him into the air.

 The others watched, stunned, as Quentin’s injured hand seemed to light up from the inside and his pinky finger reformed before the rays turned him and another of the golden lines reached out from the clouds, more delicate than a jellyfish tentacle, and vanished into his bare back. Quentin stiffened, his lean form jerking, and then golden lines began to fill up his skin. The lines formed, then connected, until they formed a hedge star. The gold filament withdrew, but not before it formed a stylized Q in the center of the star. A kind of serenity filled Quentin’s expression, replacing his usual timid, anxious countenance, as the rays faded and he dropped to his feet on the beach. He faced the Beast, who scoffed.

 “How very dramatic, that! Pity it’s come too late!” The Beast raised both hands, firing off red bolts of energy from both palms. Quentin raised his own hands, batting the bolts away as if they were spitballs as he walked toward the Fillorian king. The Beast paused, scowled, then used his remaining fingers to squeeze the air from the young hedge. He watched, his expression shifting from triumph to disbelief as Quentin kept on approaching, his dark eyes ringed with molten gold. He seized the Beast’s hand as if to give it a vigorous shake and twisted the appendage off his wrist as if opening a stubborn pickle jar. The Beast gave a high-pitched, breathy scream of agony as Quentin tossed the hand over one shoulder and buried his right hand into the man’s hair, forcing him to his knees. The Beast stared up at him.

 “Quentin. Quentin, my dear boy, listen to me, please . . .”

 “I’m done listening to you. I’m done being afraid, and I’m done running.” His eyes blazed down at the king. “You killed Eliot. You killed the only person in the whole world—any world—who ever gave a shit about me.”

 “But you have no idea what I could offer you! Power, fortune . . . allow me to rule you, and you could have all that you ever dreamed of!” The Beast countered, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment.

 “I had what I dreamed of. I had someone who was like me. Someone who could have taught me who I really am . . . who might have loved me.” Quentin gave the Beast a somber stare. “You took that away.”

 “Quen—”

 The dark magician’s words were interrupted by the cracking of his own spinal cord as Quentin twisted his head around in a complete circle, then kept twisting until the Beast’s head separated from his body. A cloud of moths roiled from the neck’s stump and fell to the sand one by one, like a musty cloudburst, until the Beast’s headless body fell backward and landed, motionless, among the insects’ twitching corpses. Quentin threw the head in the dead man’s lap and raised one hand, casting a fire spell as if he’d been doing it for years. The head and body burst into flames and burned to ashes within moments. Quentin stared at the ashes, and then Penny approached him. Quentin turned, that gold glow in his eyes fading but still noticeable. Penny raised both hands slowly, palms out.

 “Yo. I’m on your side, remember?”

 Quentin nodded and Penny flicked a glance at the pile of ashes.

 “So what the fuck happened? What unlocked your magic, and why is it so crazy strong?”

 Quentin turned his head to look at Eliot, laying motionless on his side.

 “Eliot.” He murmured, padding across the sand. As Penny, Kady, and Margo gathered around them, Quentin sat cross-legged by the body and lifted Eliot’s head into his lap. Margo wiped a shaking hand across her mouth.

 “He stepped right in front of you. I felt his wards fail . . . he must have known what would happen.” She said, and Penny nodded.

 “He knew.” He said. “But protecting Quentin was all that mattered to him.”

 “You used my real name.” Quentin said, glancing up at Penny.

 “Yeah, well. Figure I owe you one for killing that asshole Beast.”

 “How did you even do that?” Kady asked. Quentin shook his head.

 “I don’t know.” He stroked Eliot’s face. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, it’s all for nothing, it’s all for nothing!” He cried, the last words hitching on tears as he bent over and kissed Eliot’s rapidly-cooling lips. Several tears dripped onto Eliot’s long, pale throat and slid into the top of the terrible wound the Beast had made. A low thrumming sound bloomed from the gash, and it began to glow gold before a glittering sheer curtain of humming energy covered the open flesh. Quentin watched: the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once and contained an entire symphony of tiny chimes, all at different keys, as the gauzy netting of magic undulated over Eliot’s wound and left Eliot’s bare chest whole and unmarred.

 “Look.” Kady murmured after a few moments, pointing to Eliot’s face. Color was blooming back into the hedge witch’s high cheekbones and turning his pale blue lips pink. The chimes grew louder and then both Quentin and Eliot were rising into the air, ascending over the fountain.  Eliot’s eyes opened, his expression almost comically surprised. Out in the sea, the water began to bubble and hiss before a jade crown surfaced, its surface flashing in the sun. Golden shafts of light erupted from Quentin’s fingers, bathing Eliot in a radiant glow as the crown floated into his hands as if it belonged there. Margo, Penny, and Kady watched as the two magicians circled each other in midair before their lips met in a long, explorative kiss. They descended together a moment later, the crown in Eliot’s left hand.

 “Fuck.” Margo breathed. “The prophecy had it wrong the whole fucking time! The future king of Fillory isn’t the Light Bringer at all.”

 “Nope.” Penny sighed. “It’s Quentin.”

 CHAPTER TWELVE

 “So what Clabbercloud showed us in that old book didn’t tell us the whole story.”

 Penny paced around the area where Eliot had faced the Beast less than an hour earlier as he spoke.

 “The story of the prophecy was handed down orally. All the people had to go on was what they had been told, and that drawing.” Eliot replied. Since being resurrected, Quentin had helped him clean himself up in the water and brought him his coat. He wore it over bare skin, the centaur shirt having gone out with the tide. He stood flanked by Margo on one side and Quentin on the other, and the sensation was so comfortable he wanted to wear their presence like a second skin for the rest of his life.

 “They were wrong about the future king being the Light Bringer. And it wasn’t the crowning that unlocked Quentin’s magic . . . it was Eliot’s sacrifice.” Margo looked up at him and then he was doubling over as she elbowed him in the gut. “And that, by the way, is for getting your asshole self killed right in front of me!”

 “Noted!” Eliot wheezed, and Margo threw her arms around him.

 “You cock!” She whispered fiercely, and Eliot recovered enough to put his arms around her.

 “If you’re jealous, know that I would’ve done the same thing for you.” He said, lifting her chin and wiping away an errant tear from her left cheek. “Bambi.”

 “I don’t think you’d be standing here if you had.” She glanced over at Quentin. “Hey . . . Droopy.” She said, and Quentin glanced up, not quite meeting her imperious gaze, but then her features softened. “You did good.”

 “Thanks, Margo.” Quentin replied with a shy smile.

 “There’s still some shit that isn’t clear to me.” Penny said. “Like the Beast must have thought that Eliot was the Light Bringer, otherwise he would have killed Quentin a hell of a lot sooner. If he was so powerful, how did he get that wrong?”

 “He didn’t. He knew all along.”

 The group turned as one as the new voice spoke. By the edge of the fountain stood a young girl in what looked like a, English schoolgirl’s pinafore and skirt. A blue beret sat perched on her head. Quentin stared.

 “Holy shit.” He said, his voice cracking. “You’re . . .?”

 “Jane Chatwin.” The girl nodded. “And just as you always felt deep within your heart, Quentin, Fillory is very real and has existed for centuries.”

 “What do you mean, the Beast had it right the whole time?” Penny demanded, and Jane came closer.

 “My siblings and I once ruled Fillory. We understood that other children of earth would come eventually . . . all but Martin. That’s why he began to study dark magic. He wanted to live forever, and to rule forever. So when the seers of Whitespire foretold of the coming of a new king, it sent him into a paranoid rage. He made it his quest to find The Light Bringer and destroy him. It was my brother who ripped the page from the seer’s book.” She glanced at Eliot. “The book you carry in your coat . . . may I see it?”

“Book—oh! Forgot I had it.” He pulled the first edition book out and gave Quentin an apologetic glance. “If it’s damaged, I’ll buy you a new one. We thought it might come in handy.”

 “It’s okay.” Quentin nodded, watching as Jane opened the book. On the inside of the first page was an identical drawing of what the group had seen at Clabbercloud’s tent. Jane murmured a few words in Arabic and then teased the page open further, where it unfolded into a complete image of what they’d been unable to see before. The other figure was no page or guide—shafts of light were streaming from his fingers, surrounding the other in an ethereal glow.

 “Most people in Fillory knew about the prophecy, but thought the future king would be the one to bring the light. What they didn’t know is that the king would be brought to Fillory because of his love for the one my brother would steal from him.”

 “If your brother knew Quentin was The Light Bringer, why didn’t he just smoke him back at the looney bin?” Penny asked, and Jane smiled and shook her head.

 “My brother always had more than a touch of the theatrical to him. He loved cat-and-mouse games. He simply couldn’t resist playing one last time.” She glanced over at the pile of ash. “I always said it would be the death of him. Now . . . I think it’s time to crown the new kings and queen of Fillory.” She nodded as an ornate wood chest appeared at her feet and popped open, revealing two more crowns.

 “I call High Queen!” Margo announced, and Eliot gave her a warm, approving grin. Quentin took the crown from Eliot’s hand.

 “Kneel, Eliot Waugh.” He said, and Eliot’s smile widened. Quentin felt heat rise to his own cheeks.

 “Come on, it’ll just take a minute.”

 Eliot bowed his head. “As you wish, Light Bringer.” He said in a somber tone, but his amber eyes gleamed with humor. He knelt on the black sand, and Quentin stepped forward with the crown in his hands.

 “I know all of this was supposed to be spelled out in some kind of prophecy . . . but I think that destiny is bullshit when you’re a magician. Our futures, the kind of people we are, or turn out to be . . . it’s in our hands, no matter what the storybooks about us say.” His dark eyes filled with tears as he spoke, meeting Eliot’s bright gaze. “And I know that you are going to be a really, really good king. More than good. So—I, Quentin Coldwater, the Light Bringer, crown you High King Eliot, the Spectacular.” He placed the circlet of jade on Eliot’s head, and Eliot’s long dark lashes swept down in an expression that was close to ecstasy.

 “Thank you, Quentin.” He said after a moment. “I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” He offered his hands, and Quentin took them as he helped Eliot to his feet. Their gazes remained locked, and then Eliot leaned over to kiss the younger magician’s cheeks, then his lips. Surprise mixed with joy lit up Quentin’s face as Eliot pulled away. Margo glanced at Kady and Penny and shook her head, and Eliot grinned at them. “It’s good to be the king!” He turned to the chest and picked up a delicate crown made of gilded gold leaves. “Margo?”

 Margo went to him, her dark eyes tipping up to him.

 “I’m not kneeling.” She said in a jovial half-challenge, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I don’t expect you to.” He raised the crown and gently placed it on her head. “I hereby crown you High Queen Margo, the Destroyer.” He bent forward and cupped her face with his large, elegant hands. “I’ve known your worth since the day we met, Margo Hanson . . . and I wouldn’t want to rule Fillory without you by my side.” He said before kissing her cheeks, then her lips, as he had with Quentin, and Margo looked up at him.

 “We’re going to be legendary.” She said, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I thought being top bitch in Chelsea was a lofty position.” He picked up the last crown, silver shot through with delicate veins of gold, and turned to Quentin.

 “Kneel down, my Light Bringer.” He said, and Quentin went to one knee before him. “You bested the Beast, Quentin, but even before that, you were much braver than you ever believed, and you deserve to shape your own destiny. So, that being said, I hereby crown you King Quentin, the Courageous.” He set the crown on Quentin’s head and helped him stand. Quentin smiled.

 “No one’s ever called me courageous before.”

 “Except that you are. And not just because of what you did. You’ve been brave your whole life, Q . . . anyone else who lived the way you did without knowing they were a magician would have been dead a long time ago.”

 “Maybe.” Quentin looked up at the High King. “And if you’d allow me to be brave for a moment longer, I—I want to tell you that—uhm, I care about you, El. And you’re the only one who’s ever cared about me.” Quentin’s glance skittered away from Eliot’s as he finished speaking, and Eliot reached out to touch his chin with his thumb and index finger, stroking Quentin’s skin until the younger man looked up at him again. Eliot then claimed his lips as well as his gaze, their crowns creating a shining halo around them as their heads touched and the Fillorian sun bowed on the horizon for their joining.

 Epilogue

 Castle Whitespire

Six months later

 “Oh, My God . . . are you two at it again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bed he, Quentin, and Margo shared. The mattress, stuffed with pegasi feathers, tilted as Quentin’s tousled head emerged from a mountain of blankets. His full, curved lips were shiny.

 “Oh! Uhmm—hey, Margo!”

 Margo sighed and put her hands on her hips.

 “The High King and the Bi King.” She drawled. Quentin sat up.

 “I guess I’m still getting used to this whole polyamorous marriage thing.” He admitted, and a small smile quirked up the corners of Margo’s mouth.

 “It’s fine, Q. I’ve actually admired your efforts over the past few months.” She took a few running steps and jumped into the roomy bed with them. Quentin slipped an arm around her as she leaned against Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot smiled down at them both as the muted sounds of life at Whitespire went on as usual outside the walls of their castle sanctuary.

 In the months since the Beast’s defeat, Fillory had transformed from a fear-filled and dreary world to one of plenty and burgeoning joy. Eliot, Quentin, and Margo all ruled equally, and at Eliot’s suggestion, the three of them entered into a polyamorous trio that only strengthened the people’s trust in them. While Eliot and Margo remained close as ever, Eliot left the physical aspect of their relationship up to their husband, who was eager to explore his newfound sexuality with both his partners.

 “Any word from Kady and Penny today?” Eliot asked, and Margo settled in between them.

 “They’ve found over half a dozen doors into Fillory so far, not counting being able to travel with the button.” Margo glanced over at a nearby glassed-in shelf, protected with multiple wards, that held their magic button. “Kady is more than happy to act as our general and gatekeeper, just to make sure no nasties get in. She and Penny are still living at their loft, but they asked about maybe keeping a room here at the castle, too.”

 “Life with Penny. Just what I always wanted.” Quentin groaned, and Eliot chuckled as he reached over to stroke Quentin’s hair, which he was growing out.

 “Don’t worry, Q. As king, you can always decree that he not speak while he’s in the castle!”

 “Something tells me he’d find other ways to annoy me.” He slipped from the bed and pulled on a red and gold silk robe before going to the window. Outside, Fillorians bustled around the nearby village and along the roads, trading, working, building. Structures the Beast had destroyed were being rebuilt, and the stain of his terrible rule was slowly being wiped clean.

 “Q?” Eliot asked after a few moments. “What is it?”

 “I was just thinking about where I was six months ago . . . and where I am now. It’s everything I wanted, but nothing like I imagined. You know?” He asked, turning back to his partners, and Eliot nodded as he got out of bed and put on a robe.

 “It’s a far cry from Chelsea, but I don’t really miss it.” He went to Quentin and touched his face with both hands before slipping an arm around Margo as she followed him to the window. “For better or worse, Fillory is my home now. There’s a lot of good we can do here—at least as good as hedge witches can be.” Eliot picked up his crown from the purple velvet pillow it rested on while he slept and put it on, artfully arranging his dark curls around the glittering points of jade. As a few of Fillory’s residents spied Margo at the window and began to cheer, Eliot looked down at Quentin.

 “My Light Bringer.” He whispered, and leaned in to capture Quentin’s lips in a long, loving kiss. As the people outside continued to chant and cheer, Quentin pulled back and let all his fears, worries, and terrible memories of the past fall away into the promise in Eliot’s bright amber eyes as he reached up to touch his face.

 “Long live the king.”

 FIN

[rinusagitora]

Her hands in ours.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Shouto Todoroki, Momo Yaoyorozu, Kyouka Jirou, All Might, Class 1-A

Pairings: TodoMomoJirou, mentioned Izuchaco

Words: 4,500+

Summary: WARNINGS-- mentioned familial abuse. Momo is the definition of perfect. Everything is a mess without her. Thus, when Momo finally confesses her love to Kyouka Jirou, Shouto's entire day is screwed over.

AO3 | FFN

The uppermost echelon of heroes was nothing impressive. Maybe All Might aside, as he seemed genuinely concerned for the good of people and to Izuku. But throughout his life he was in proximity to the top five heroes with some frequency, and all he learned was that they were first and foremost human, and secondly had private lives like his father revolving around self-serving agendas.

By extension, his classmates were equally unimpressive until he met Izuku.

Izuku Midoriya, and then Momo Yaoyorozu.

He never really noticed Momo until their practical exam. She was bouncy and well-liked, if not somehow timid at the same time, but her brilliance caught his eye.

They gravitated the moment they started talking. So much so they spent their afternoons in the campus library studying together. Not necessarily as an exchange, like those study groups Momo held with the classroom-challenged, but in each other’s presence. He never really had trouble concentrating but Momo’s presence somehow exorcised the pressure Endeavor forced on him over the years. She smelled the books. The ambience of her highlighter squeaking across yet another molecular textbook was meditative, like rainfall on tin.

That was a fancy way of saying he was crushing on Momo like they were back in primary school, but he liked to keep things kind of classy.

He apparently wasn’t the only one soothed by Momo. He briefly glanced to them, Kyouka’s head laid in Momo’s lap as they read. Momo was popular and affectionate, Kyouka didn’t leave him with the same impression. He wasn’t exactly fluent in the subtle exchanges of teenage girls, but he wasn’t blind either.

But, he reasoned, he could also be jealous of their proximity. There were times flashes like film reel of Momo’s hand in his, Momo’s fingers in his hair as their noses brushed together, interrupted his focus. He found himself by Momo’s desk in the morning just to say hi. When his phone buzzed, he whipped it out with record-breaking speed and had to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling in the cases it was Momo messaging him with a cool-looking molecule or her pet gerbil.

But, again, he wasn’t fluent in girl. It could be just a friend thing. Gals being pals. That kind of thing.

His reverie was interrupted again by Kyouka stretching. “Thanks for keeping me, but I gotta go. I’ll see you later Yaomomo. Bye, Todoroki-kun.”

“Bye, Kyou-chan. See you tomorrow.” Momo’s arms slipped around Kyouka’s shoulders and they squeezed each other. “It’s icy out there. Don’t break something.”

Momo sighed as she turned back to her books. She was pretty, her dark eyes hooded as she diligently read. Her eyelashes were long, her hair was sleek and shiny in the glow cast by the LED lights above their heads. Her smile was even prettier. Momo disassociated talent from fame. She made learning pure and fun again.

“So,” Momo began, “how do you feel about Kyou-chan?”

“... she seems capable.” He frowned pensively. “Why are you asking me this out of the blue?”

Momo dropped her highlighter and cradled her face with upturned brows. “I-I’m in love with her. I want to tell her…. B-but you know me. I overthink things.”

Oh.

Oh.

He appreciated Momo’s forthrightness, especially with something generally regarded as taboo such as homosexuality, but he couldn’t claim he saw it coming either.

“D-does it bother you that I like girls?” Momo asked. She almost sounded desperate, like he hadn’t come to the point where he could turn her away with ease.

“Of course not. I’m glad you found someone you like. But do you know if Jirou-san is gay?” he asked.

“She is. W-we got talking about it a couple of weeks ago. But like… just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re into every girl you see, you know. Wh-what if she’s not into me? What if I end up making the entire class feel awkward because our friendship ends on a bad note?”

“You’re kidding yourself,” he told Momo. “She was just laying in your lap. You’re a catch, and everyone knows it. If Jirou isn’t into you now, I doubt she’d be foolish enough to turn you away.”

Momo’s smiled was sweet enough it could melt glaciers. “You think so?”

He nodded earnestly.

“Todo-kun… could you come with me when I tell her then? Tomorrow morning before class? Just knowing you’ll be there will help me work up the nerve to tell Kyou-chan I’m in love with her.”

“If you’d like.”

“Todo-kun, thank you so much. I-I’ll whip up an outline when I get home and text it to you to review s-so I know I won’t come across as awkward or overzealous o-or something!”

He stuck a highlighter cap between his teeth and pulled. He was happy for his friend. Momo was talented enough to balance a love life and their busy schedule. As her friend, wasn’t he supposed to assist in her happiness?

It didn’t stop his chest from aching.

Eventually, they collected their things so they may leave. Momo hugged him like she hugged all her friends. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I appreciate what you do for me.”

His arms hesitantly wrapped around her waist, like sin. He liked her but Momo was gay. It felt a lot like goodbye. “Of course,” he croaked.

She slipped out of his arms, like sand, he watched her back disappear. He dragged his heavy feet to his mother’s hospital. That was his routine-- school, study (with Momo most recently), visit his mother, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was different that day though. He was accustomed to his father’s fists and even the hot water his mother poured on his face once upon a time. That was a hurt deeper than that, though. Rooted in his pleuris. Like abandonment.

He’d crawl into his mother’s lap like he did as a child, but she was hospitalized. Away from his father she was much better, but psychiatric wards were sterile environments. She was still very sensitive and sheltered from the outside world.

His mother smiled as he entered, leaving behind the starry-eyed folks beyond the metal door. It felt a lot like a prison in there, only with a softer bed and a tiny plant his mother tended to.

“Shouto-kun,” she cooed. “Look at you, you’re covered in snow. You must be freezing.”

“No. It’s been colder. It’s only my left side that really gets cold, anyways.” He shed his bag and speckled scarf onto the table. “How’re you feeling today, Mom?”

“Splendid. These bags are only from age, you know. It’s pretty out today. I like it when it snows.”

“I do too. I can’t stand summer,” he said.

“Neither can I! That ball of fire always pounding down from the sky, I almost say it’s pretentious,” she snort as she crossed her legs. “How’s school, darling?”

“Keeping my grades up. I’m still in the top five of my class.”

“Making friends?”

“Slowly.” It was easier tolerating people after Izuku’s reality check during the sports festival. “It’s fun watching them at least. Iida is still totally oblivious to Midoriya’s and Uraraka’s crushes on each other, but they’re oblivious to it too. Bakugou is still a pain in everyone’s ass. I’m not sure when anyone could find likable about him…. I’m functioning, though. He’s easy enough to avoid. Predictable.”

“And… and your father?”

He frowned. “... that’s the first time you’ve asked about Endeavor,” he said. “He harasses me at public gatherings, like the sports festival, but he hasn’t touched me in years. I’m fine, I swear.”

“That’s good….”

“Y-Yaoyorozu has found someone nice.” He knew where those conversations concerning his father led, he’d rather exchange more pleasant topics.

“Like a boyfriend?”

He wished.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Momo. It made his chest hurt. “No, a girlfriend,” he replied. “Please… if you don’t like gays for whatever reason, don’t go off on a tirade. Yaoyorozu is my friend and I’d hate for things to be tense between us so early into our reunion.”

His mother smiled. “I don’t mind. Sweetheart, I glad you have friends. So long as she’s good to you I don’t mind.”

He returned her smile, though melancholic. “I-I’m supposed to be happy for but it… it hurts Mom. I wanted her to be mine.” He wiped his face. “I’m so selfish.”

His mother’s hand clasped his shoulder. “Shouto, maybe you two shouldn’t talk anymore. I can tell you care about her deeply, but when loving someone just hurts, it’s not worth it. I learned that with your father.”

Her tone juxtaposed against what he knew Momo to be, like his friend was anything comparable to his father, sounded like a load of bull. His hands balled on his knees. Momo was sweet. He couldn’t give up on her so easily, however much it hurt in the moment. Even if he couldn’t have her as a girlfriend, he couldn’t bear to be without her as a friend.

“R-right,” he said. Cue another change of topic. “A-anyways. Iida’s doing a lot good. He and his brother are coping with his brother’s paralysis. Midoriya and Uraraka are extraordinarily superb support pillars for him.”

“It’s good to know he’s doing well. It’s such a tragedy what happened to Ingenium. He was good, know you. A moral gentleman if ever met one. How’s your homework, darling?”

“I’m keeping on top of it.” Momo’s company made it easier to unwind. He hoped that was the case after that day, at least. “It’s still pretty basic stuff as of now. I know next semester will be more challenging, though. UA has a steep learning curve according to the senior students.”

“You’ll do just fine, Shouto-kun.”

He nodded. Of course. All thanks to Endeavor. Perhaps his intellectualism was his own, but his power? All thanks to his father. He was working on separating himself but it would take time. “I won’t disappoint you, Mom,” he said. “I have to go home though. It’s getting dark and I still have a lot to do. I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

“I love you.” His mother stood and collected him in a hug. He was taller than her by that point, his nose touched her hair.

“I love you too.” Even more than he loved Momo. His mother filled a hole in life, real family, despite the mistakes made. “Bye, Mom.”

Out the hospital’s front door, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A lengthy text from Momo, certainly her scripted confession to Kyouka. He wondered how Kyouka would react. Part of him hoped favorably to Momo, he couldn’t bear to see his friend heartbroken, but he also hoped Momo would change her mind. The dynamics in their class were already good. Why ruin what they had?

He wait until he got home to read Momo’s text. He locked himself in his room, his siblings cultivated without a sense of privacy apparently, and laid on his back in the dark. Momo’s script was beautiful. Not only could she create elaborate and beautiful objects, but also moving and poetic writing.

It hurt how much he envied Kyouka, like the piece shoved knives in his intercostals. He bled inside. No, he could feel each blade, driven deeper with each breath. They plugged the wounds and kept him from bleeding out. He lived his life as a punching bag but to be a pincushion was a different feeling entirely. One wrong move and those knives would slip out and he would surely gush until he was but a dry sack.

“Stupid,” he scolded himself. So stupid, so selfish, awfulawfulawful little boy! Who the hell did he fool that was enough for anyone, let alone sweet Momo? Only himself.

He complimented her nonetheless. He couldn’t ignore Momo. But he turned into his pillow, mouth agape in a soundless, agonized wail, and turned into his pillow so he may weep without his misery passing through the thin walls.

Vibration woke him. His phone buzzed madly on his sheets. As he sat up, he grimaced. Fuyumi would scold him for falling asleep in his clothes and his crusty pillowcase. But Momo was begging him to hurry to school. He replied he would be there soon. It didn’t hurt like last night-- the ceaseless throb. He was just numb that morning. It was a blur dressing and brushing his teeth and combing his hair.

But he ran that morning. He supposed Momo didn’t care if his stupid hair was smooth or not when Kyouka’s was always immaculate.

Momo was out front. She rubbed her gloved hands together with her eyebrows knit worriedly. She practically tackled him as he approached. By that time, it was like reflex to wrap himself around her.

“Thank you so much for coming, Todoroki-kun. I-I know it’s weird but just having you here helps. Can you just… w-wait behind the gate? Please?”

“Of course. I’ll be rooting you on.” And simultaneously dying inside.

Momo squeezed him. “Thank you again, Todoroki-kun.” He hummed as she slid out of his arms. “Okay, now hide! Kyou-chan will be here soon!” Momo pushed him behind the gate and he obediently let her, like a dog told to heel. And loyally he wait, leaned against the cement walls of the entrance.

“Yaomomo!” Kyouka exclaimed, followed by the weird smell of tobacco. “What the hell are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing your fuckin’ ass off?”

“Oh my god, put that away before someone sees!” Momo hissed, followed by the sound of crunching ice as she stamped out Kyouka’s cigarette. “B-but I am cold, so I’d like to make this quick if we can.”

“Oh… kay,” Kyouka said hesitantly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m in love with you.”

What ever happened to Momo’s script?

“Oh.” Kyouka shuffled. “Well, this is embarrassing. I was kinda hoping I’d get the balls to tell you that I liked you, but this works.” Kyouka laughed abashedly. “Does… this make us an item then?”

“Yes!” Momo squealed. “Yes it does! Yesyesyes!” The pair laughed, Momo’s bubbling like a rolling boil.

He was crouched, staring at the slush and swollen salt scattered in the courtyard, his hands clasped over his mouth. Was he supposed to ache as he did? Like the knives slid out from between his ribs and blood gushed down his front? Ethically, no. Momo was his friend. His friend had a girlfriend, and he could only hurt.

He was such a selfish little boy.

Kyouka and Momo passed him hand-in-hand. Momo couldn’t see his watery eyes as she craned her head to wave at him and wave him over to them. It hurt, but he stood like she summoned, wiped his eyes, and jogged to flank the happy couple.

They still held hands when they entered the classroom. Eijirou and Denki were first to congratulate them, and Fumikage slapped Mineru to the ground before he made any particularly vulgar statement. It was almost like a celebration, seeing all of Momo and Kyouka’s friends surround them with big grins. It was like fingers gouged his open wounds.

Izuku nudged him. “H-hey, Todoroki, are you okay?” He and Ochaco loomed over him like a pair of mother hens. “You’re looking a little sick.”

“I was up late studying.” It was only half a lie. He cried for something like three hours before he managed to fall asleep. Emotionally, he was drained and marveled he had anymore to still drain out of him.

Ochaco pouted at him. “You need to sleep, Todo-kun! You won’t keep your title if you’re sleep deprived, you know! Do you need me to tuck you in?”

“Gee, thanks Mom.”

“Heya,” Kyouka waved as she and Momo approached his desk.

“Good morning, Todoroki-kun.” He wished Momo would just call him Shouto. “I-I wanted to thank you for your support. You’re basically the reason we’re together now….”

“Whoa, wait, Todoroki played matchmaker!?” Denki shrieked.

He watched in horror as his classmates devolved into renewed hysteria as if encouraging his friend to pursue her happiness was bizarre. Perhaps if they knew it was at the cost of his own chance to be with Momo, but otherwise, he was sure it was the normal thing to do.

Shouta Aizawa entered their classroom and within the blink of an eye, his classmates were in their seats and perfectly silent.

It was all a blur. His notes were messier, he could barely process a word of their lecture, his English was jumbled. Momo glanced back, brow furrowed and her thin lips dipped in a frown. He sat, hot with same, until training rolled around.

They were before the urban training ground, All Might glorious as always with his broad smile and silver-screen costume.

“Today we will be conducting another capture mission!” He presented the striped lottery boxes. “You will be sorted into teams of two and be assigned as heroes or villains. Heroes, you will be capturing a biological agent from the villains. Your goal is to both escape the compound with the agent and have apprehended both villains before your fifteen minute time limit expires. Villains, you just have to apprehend both heroes or keep them from obtaining the biological agent for fifteen minutes. Heroes, if the agent is broken, you lose. Heroes and villains will be penalized for acting on their own or causing property damage. Good luck, kids! Let’s get started!”

He and Tsuyu were the first hero team, pitted against none other than Kyouka Jirou and Eijirou.

It made him itch. It made him taste copper, like anger.

“Todoroki-san,” Tsuyu began, “we should take this time to plan our attack, kero.”

He turned from the floor plan and nodded. “Do you have anything in mind?” He made sure to ask that before he went off on his own since the practical exams. Two brains were better than one after all. It wasn’t like UA was comprised of imbeciles after all. Tsuyu was even among the exceptionally talented.

“I do, kero. This place is riddled with windows. I doubt they’ll have an agent in a room by one especially since I can climb up walls, but once we secure the agent I can just crawl out a window.”

“I can occupy and apprehend Jirou and Kirishima while you make your getaway.”

“Maybe you can secure Kirishima, but Jirou’s soundwaves can break your ice easily given the time. There’s a security system I’m sure they’re watching too. You’ll have to rush them.”

“I should apprehend Jirou first since her soundwaves will prove the greatest threat. Kirishima will be hard to get close to if I’m not careful, but I think after Jirou can’t use her soundwaves to shatter my ice, I’ll be able to apprehend him most easily.”

Tsuyu nodded. “I’ll be following behind you. Try not to freeze the walls or the ceiling so I have something to climb on without having to worry about freezing off my skin.”

He nodded, they clapped on it, and he tucked his map in his pocket.

He rushed inside, skating over the icy floor. The villain team was smartly located in one of the rooms in the center of the building, away from any windows. Eijirou rushed him. It was a brilliant strategy for Kyouka to sit back. Eijirou’s metamorphic Quirk better suited him for combat, and in case he just froze over Eijirou, Kyouka was still free to destroy his ice and put Eijirou back in the game.

He ducked under Eijirou’s elbow and skid across his ice towards Kyouka.

The plan was to apprehend her, but it hit him like a freight train. Jealousy, like copper on his tongue.

Kyouka swung at him with her sword he caught it in his frozen palm. She swore as he swiped her feet out from under her. His fiery hand caught her jacket. Kyouka cursed again and ripped off her jacket. With a stomp, he froze her, flipped over Eijirou’s charge, and landing with his left, the cool room erupted in steam with the burst of heat.

Tsuyu’s tongue rocketed from the hallway and fished the three of them out in one go, Kirishima unconscious and himself squashed face-to-face with Kyouka.

They landed on solid ground and Kyouka swung at him with a punch. “You jackass, you coulda fuckin’ killed us!” she howled. “You realize you coulda toned that the fuck down right!?”

He hopped over Kyouka’s kick and wrapped his legs around her shoulders. He fell onto his arms and threw her in the building side. Tsuyu’s tongue caught Kyouka before she collided with the brick, and suddenly he was plucked off his feet by All Might.

“Todoroki-kun,” All Might’s grave tone somehow made his smile more fearsome. “Visit me in my office after class. We have much to review!”

He grimaced. Nonetheless, he obeyed. He passed Momo on his walk back to campus, with the same worried look she had during their English class. He was in for more than just an earful from All Might. Momo wouldn’t let him get away with being an asshole to her girlfriend.

The wall clock in All Might’s office ticked away. The queasy ball in his gut churned like curdling milk as it ticked away. That was the first time he was in trouble beyond a warning.

All Might finally entered, clad in his striped suit. They sat across from each other and he feared All Might could see him sweat bullets.

“Todoroki-kun, you and I both know you are an exceptional young man and hero in the making. However, you realize people could have died,” All Might said. “We are heroes. We apprehend, we turn villains in to the authorities. We do not murder people however heinous they may be. Now, I am gladdened that you are beginning to embrace the other half of your powers. But you cannot continue to conduct yourself in such a reckless fashion in or out of the classroom.

“I-I understand,” he said.

“Do you? Kirishima-kun is with recovery girl for the burns he received. Tsu-chan and Jirou-chan are receiving care for first and second degree burns. You realize you can’t do something like that in anything less than extringent, life-threatening circumstances, correct?”

He nodded. It felt a lot like his father’s criticism. However kind All Might may be, he always took scoldings personally. He wondered when he could take them as a gesture of love like his rational side understood All Might.

“Good.” All Might moved into the seat beside his and rest an enormous arm over the back. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind now? You’re so level-headed. I know when you lash out.”

He paused, recalling his mother’s advice the day before. He ached to see Momo with anyone but him, but he would be left hollow without her. He couldn’t hear how happy he would be without Momo again.

“I just got ahead of myself,” he answered, his fists balled on his knees.

“And why is that, Todoroki-kun?”

His eyes watered and he knew the gig was up. It just hurt so badly, it was so hard to hide. “I-I got jealous,” he said. “Jirou a-and Yaoyorozu are girlfriends a-as of today but… but I like Yaoyorozu too. I promise I-I’m trying to be happy for Yaoyorozu since she’s my friend b-but it’s so hard when it feels like I’m being stabbed again and again. It’s fucking unfair, and I’m so stupid and I’m a terrible friend to them.” He dug his palms in his eyes. “It sucks so much.”

“Oh, son,” All Might collected him in a hug, and he felt foolish how congested and tearful he was, like a child curled in his mother’s lap again. “Heartbreak is part of growing up, Todoroki-kun. I can’t tell you otherwise, and I can’t tell you that Yaoyorozu-chan will change her mind. But you won’t hurt like this forever. You’ll go back to feeling okay, and you’ll go back to being their good friend. Give yourself time to heal.”

He wiped his face on his sleeve. It didn’t feel like he’d ever recover, but All Might hadn’t lied to him yet.

“Alright, kiddo, go apologize now! You’ll feel a lot better once you get that off your chest.”

He would, of course, if nothing more than to preserve his friendship with Momo.

It was lunch hour by that time. Outside of All Might’s office, he sent Momo a text to meet him in their classroom so he could apologize.

Kyouka and Momo were in their classroom as he requested, sat side-by-side on one of the desks. He approached them and bowed before they could utter a word.

“I-I would like to apologize for my conduct earlier, Jirou-san,” he said. “I was jealous of you and Yaoyorozu’s relationship a-and I let it get to me. I am happy for you two and I promise to behave myself as your friend in the future.”

There were seconds of silence between them, his heart rose and rose into his throat. Momo finally wrapped her fingers around his chin and lifted his face. Her dark eyes were soft and again, finally, she was smiling. It eased his nausea.

“I want to apologize too, Todo-- Shouto-kun. I haven’t been completely forward with you. I-I’m in love with you like I’m in love with Kyouka. But I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to my relationship to Kyouka. Favorably enough if you’ve come to apologize.” She collected him in a hug. His heart pound with life anew, her heart and his both thundering. “If you’re okay with it… I want to be with you and Kyouka.”

It took him three, long seconds to put together what Momo meant, as if too good to be true. “Yes,” he said, breathless.

Momo’s fingers slipped through his hair and she pulled him down for a kiss. There were no fireworks, nothing of the sort. But he melt in Momo’s arms. He was complete, searing with glee.

They fell away, smiling like a couple of bashful fools, and Kyouka jostled him. “Asshole,” she griped with that cheeky grin of her’s.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorry. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Ooh, I’m coming! Momo’s lap is the softest seat, you know.”

He and Momo stuttered bashfully. Nonetheless, her hands caught his and Kyouka’s like nets, calloused and strong, and they walked three-wide like a bunch of assholes, catching stares from returning students and instructors alike. Nonetheless, he was happy.

“B-both of them!?”

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Iida,” he scolded Tenya. Izuku laughed nervously as they sat.

“W-we’re just surprised. It’s not exactly everyday people come out as gay o-or multiam---”

“Polyamorous,” Momo corrected Izuku, “it’s called polyamory. But I’m bisexual and polyamorous, and that’s a fact that won’t be changing in the near future.”

“I’m surprised no one noticed,” Ochaco chimed in. “Yaomomo gets this gooey look with people she’s got a crush on. It’s not hard to catch on to.”

He, Izuku, and Tenya clammed up. That was true, he thought, looking back to Kyouka and Momo’s interactions. How could he not have noticed Momo looked at him the same way? What kind of idiot was he?

“I think it’s a dude thing. I mean, he got jealous! They’re fuckin’ ignorant.” Kyouka sighed. “I need a cigarette….”

Momo combed her fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. His face would hurt that night with all the smiling he did.

That was fine by him. Hero life was pretty good.

[tisfan]

Holiday Spending

All I Buy For Christmas - Renting in the New Year - Will you Steal My Valentine - Up for (Mardi) Grabs - Hopping Down the Money Trail - (In) Memorial Day Sale - (Folding) Paper Anniversary | (Financial) Independence Day

A/N: I swear, I spend all my time apologizing to you guys about this fic, don’t I? Anyway, warning for blood, warning for gore, and warning for cliffhanger.

SERIOUSLY. You have been warned. If you can’t handle a cliffhanger, you want to stop reading now and come back in September when I post the next chapter. (And I totally don’t blame you if that’s your choice!)

Still, happy ending (eventually) so, you know, just read with caution. (This fic is NOT a deathfic. Just saying.)

Chapter Nine: Back to School Fundraiser

Things were never as simple as Tony made them out to be. They were certainly never as simple as he wanted them to be.

First off, after consulting with the head of security for Stark Industries, Happy Hogan, he’d discovered that there was no way that Bucky could possibly be the entirety of Tony’s security. The fact that Tony even had a head of security was mind-bogglingly weird. It wasn’t that he didn’t know his father had bodyguards from time to time, especially for out-of-the-country appearances, but it really hadn’t occurred to Tony that these things would transfer, along with the ownership of the company itself.

Bucky had turned in his two weeks notice at the Red Room, and he’d also -- on Happy’s recommendation -- signed up for a two-week refresher course. Technically, Bucky had never done the basic course, but after some performance reviews with a trainer, it was decided that his years as special forces and his work as a bouncer had given him a lot of the basics and he mostly just needed things like disarming techniques and a few pointers.

Which meant for the beginning of the semester, at least, Tony was on rotation with some of the new bodyguards that had been assigned to him.

Which further meant that Tony had to do a lot of paperwork for making sure his bodyguards were allowed on campus.

He liked Sunset, she was one of the women who’d come in for the interviews -- Happy had suggested that he talk with the various assignees before accepting them into his detail -- and had been polished, intelligent, easy on the eyes. She’d also been frighteningly competent. Tony had watched her in the gym while she did a demonstration, taking down half a dozen men who’d been promised a five thousand dollar bonus if they could pin her for three seconds.

They’d all failed. Spectacularly.

The nicest thing about Sunset was, however, the fact that she didn’t terrify people. (Or Tony. Tony didn’t really want to admit that Eugene Thompson scared him. Just a bit.)

The week before classes started, Tony spent several days on the campus. Several of his teachers had expressed sympathy with the situations that had caused him to withdraw last semester. Perhaps not unexpectedly, his female professors had been more sympathetic about Rumlow’s attack, and the others had been concerned about Tony’s losing his parents. Tony was pretty sure someone at SI was pushing, at least, a huge financial contribution to allow him the opportunity to do some make-up tests.

The tests, if he passed them, would give him credit for those classes he’d been forced to withdraw from that previous semester. If he failed, or got a grade lower than a B, he could chose to take the classes over again with no penalty.

It was an elegant solution, Tony thought, to the problems that the whole mess had been; it gave him the opportunity to prove his intelligence. Could he pass the finals after missing half the course materials in presentations? If yes, he wouldn’t fall behind in his work. MIT, after all, had both a reputation to maintain and the Stark legacy to consider. If Tony fell behind, would he decide that his degree wasn’t worth the effort? After all, the company came to him, it’s not like he needed the credentials. And even the stupidest, most stalwart defender of “he needs to earn those grades” philosophy would see that losing Tony as a student would be a blow.

After all, alumni donations were a beautiful thing.

(more below the cut, or read on A03)

Tony sighed. He hadn’t wanted his money to matter, in the case of his schooling, but this was still a better solution than most.

Already, various members of the board were pressing for his opinion, his attendance at board meetings, a direction to steer the company in. He was going to have to make it official; let Obadiah run the company in his name, at least until Tony finished school. Which meant having to sit down and have meetings with Obie about what directions Tony wanted the company steered.

But first, tests.

Tony stared back at his exam booklet. He could feel Sunset’s eyes on him. Despite the fact that she technically wasn’t supposed to be in the room -- it should have been just him and the proctor -- she’d gotten some sort of special dispensation.

Sometimes the whole thing felt ridiculous. Who the fuck was going to take a shot at Tony while he was taking his Advanced Engineering and Motivations exam?

On the other hand, there was a dead body in the morgue and the tampered steering column of Howard’s car.

Tony sighed and got back to work. The test wasn’t all that hard. Even if he’d missed half the semester’s worth of material, at least half of the exam was from the previous material, so he finished that part relatively quickly. Eidetic memory was useful for a few more things than vibrantly and vividly replaying all the worst memories of his life.

The second half of the semester’s material was harder, although some of it he thought he did okay on, based on that fact that he read relatively quickly and had been reading ahead in the course material just because the information was both fascinating and somewhat out of date.

That was a question he had a lot of trouble with, when he came across problem-solving for a situation in which new developments vastly outstripped the tech as presented in the materials. Did he give the answer as the test expected; what the professor or his TAs would be grading on, or did he present the better, more elegant solution based on current updates.

Tony sighed and filled it out for the right practical answer, rather than the correct test scores solution. He’d defend the answer, if he had to, but he couldn’t bring himself to write down a poor practical.

He checked the clock on the wall. Thirty-four minutes left in the exam time. He glanced at the proctor, bored out of her mind and staring at her fingernails. She also wasn’t allowed to have her phone on her during the exam, and really, Tony hadn’t done anything aside from sit there and scribble frantically in his exam booklet for the better part of an hour.

Glanced at the booklet again. Wondered if it would be worth his time to double check his work. Probably not. He could recall the entire test if he needed to, without even looking at it, and despite everything people might have thought about Tony Stark, his handwriting was impeccable. Good, readable handwriting was a stone-cold necessity if you were going to work with other engineers.

He signed his name on the front cover, put the pencil down, and handed in his booklet.

The proctor gave him a wan smile. “Thank God,” she said. “I was running late this morning and I didn’t have time for a coffee.”

“Well, that’s a tragedy in the making,” Tony said. “Thanks for this.” He knew she was a volunteer; the situation was highly irregular.

“Not to worry,” she said. “We’ve all heard about you. You’re going places. I’d hate to be one of the reasons you didn’t get there.”

“Oh, I’ll get there, all right,” Tony said. “Just might have taken me a little longer without your assistance.”

“Good luck,” she said.

“Don’t need luck. Scientifically, luck has a poor prognosis.”

“That’s why they call it luck,” she pointed out.

Tony pocketed his pencil on the way to the door and collected his body guard. Sunset did not look bored. She looked alert and vivacious and pretty. “How was the test, boss?”

“Pretty sure I at least got a B,” Tony said.

It was stupidly hot outside the class building; every year it just seemed to get hotter. The sidewalk was particularly ghastly and Tony crossed the green on the grass, even though there were signs everywhere that said not to walk on it, just because honestly, his feet were getting torched inside his shoes.

He was just considering the pros and cons of an iced coffee (pro -- coffee. Con -- iced. Icky. watered down. But it’s so hot today. And, you know, coffee.) when he heard a voice that he absolutely did not want to hear.

“Hey, hey, hey, Tony. Wait up, man.”

Tony gritted his jaw. He didn’t turn. He didn’t stop. He just kept walking.

“Take care of it, Ms. Bain,” he said, not looking at her either.

“No, come on, Tony, don’t be like that.” Rumlow’s hand came down on Tony’s shoulder and pulled him to a halt.

The training modules weren’t hard, Bucky was discovering. In fact, they were a lot easier than the things he’d done in high school. Some of it was on par to his sniper training, and other course material he’d had to learn as part of his stint in the military.

The physical courses were fun. He enjoyed the challenges presented in urban combat, defensive firearms techniques, crowd-moving, and advanced control tactics. Most of it was just close enough to his bouncer training that he could lean on past experience. He certainly didn’t have the problems that some of the other guys in the course were having. Bucky had fought in enough bar fights that he wasn’t at all ashamed of using unsportsmanlike conduct, whereas some of these trainees were martial artists. Form, to them, was key. Elegance. Not hair pulling, or using the environment. The woman who was a judo expert was pretty good; Bucky’d enjoyed watching her work.

What he wasn’t having an easy time with was the theoreticals. He was good learning how to disarm a bomb -- but he had trouble with the idea that this was something that could happen. He learned how to conduct a car chase, in case of a primary kidnapping, and was haunted by the idea of Tony being bundled into someone else’s car, gun held to his temple, and having to hope that Bucky could catch them in traffic.

After one particularly descriptive lesson for infiltration attempts, Bucky found himself after class, in the halls, panting for breath. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to remember Rumlow pressed over Tony’s struggling body, the way the man had been tearing at Tony’s clothes, the flower of bruises over Tony’s throat.

“You sure you’re up to this job?” It was the woman -- Jennifer, Bucky thought her name was -- who’d impressed everyone in the takedown classes.

“Have t’ be,” Bucky said. “It’s against all sorts of practicals, but the primary--” he couldn’t help a sarcastic face at that “--my primary. Is my boyfriend. We’ve had some actual problems, and…”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Jennifer said. “You’re being used as an example in the other classes of what not to do. You’re compromised.”

“Because Tony’s my boyfriend,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I know. We all saw the damn Bodyguard movie.” Truthfully, Bucky’d only seen it because Tash had gone through a phase of terrible romance movies, and she’d forced a number of them on him. Personally, Bucky thought the movie was full of shit, and poorly acted on top of that, but it wasn’t a widely shared opinion, it seemed.

“If something happens to him --”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Bucky interrupted. “I don’t plan to make this a career choice. It’s practical. If I’m going to be with him all the time anyway, I might as well know how to protect him, right?”

“Will you be able to live with yourself, if something happens?”

Bucky swallowed hard. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to live with it anyway,” he admitted. “So I need all the tools at my disposal, t’ make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Jennifer smiled, patted his arm. “I think it’s sweet that you love him so much,” she said. “Half of us are looking at protecting and possibly taking a bullet for a primary we don’t care about, the rest of us are looking into the Secret Service; taking a bullet for a politician, which has to be one of the hardest jobs there is. Being a political neutral in DC?”

Bucky knew he couldn’t do it; the assignments for the Secret Service were random, based on skill or other factors. Bucky wasn’t sure he could adequately protect, say, an anti-gay conservative, and he knew damn well that there were people in office that if someone pointed a gun at them, Bucky’d be tempted to help them with their aim. He wasn’t ashamed of that, but he could see the stress there. On the other hand, in the end, that was still just a job.

If someone shot Tony…

Well, Bucky wasn’t sure he could live with that.

But what he’d said was also the truth. He was going to die inside anyway, if that happened. Might as well be part of the prevention, right?

“Which half are you in?” Bucky rather liked Jennifer. She was smart, she was funny, and she had skills.

“I want to work for a movie star, or something like that. Get a glimpse of the glamorous life,” she said. “I wanted to model when I was younger, and then I hit this growth spurt at sixteen that destroyed any sort of Hollywood career. But, perhaps not unexpected, a lot of Hollywood big shots want pretty bodyguards, too. Image is everything out there, and I could make good money.”

That much was true, Jennifer was the tallest woman Bucky’d ever met, easily six and a half feet, muscular, and lean. And she was beautiful, stunningly so. She was pretty enough that it probably made up for the fact that she towered over most men. (Straight men could be so insecure, Bucky noticed.)

“I can put a word in for you with my boss,” Bucky joked. They were another week of classes out from getting their licenses, which wasn’t as good as practical experience, but there were enough vets on Tony’s team, one or two new people wouldn’t go amiss, and Bucky would honestly feel better if there was someone he knew and trusted looking out for his man.

“I’ll come by and meet him, if you want,” Jennifer said. It was almost unexpected; she might really have wanted to push out to California right away. Then again, bird in the hand and all that. Getting some experience with Tony Stark, up and coming CEO of the world’s most progressive weapons and technology company, would get her some street cred, experience, and all things considered, probably not too much work. Even with the suspected possible murderer after Tony’s life. At least she wouldn’t have to be dealing with groupies.

“Yeah, I’ll talk with him,” Bucky said. “He’s mostly getting his security from Stark Industries right now, but --”

“You don’t trust them,” Jennifer said.

“No, I don’t, actually.”

Jennifer leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re a sweet kid, Barnes. Call me next week, we’ll have lunch and I’ll impress your primary.”

Brock Rumlow got maybe two more words out that weren’t desperate repetitions of Tony’s name and something that might have been the start of an apology, before Sunset Bain stepped in and did what she was hired to do.

Tony didn’t have to look; the sounds were brutal and clear. The weight of Brock’s hand vanished from Tony’s shoulder and there was an awful thud of a body hitting the grassy lawn with breath-stealing force.

Brock was gasping for air and Sunset didn’t even pause; she came down on him like a ton of bricks, her pointy elbow aimed into his stomach, and Tony flinched. He understood that violence was necessary, he understood that by telling Sunset to take care of it, he’d signed a contract for her to do violence. There was a dark, angry part of Tony that wanted Sunset to kick Brock’s ass for him, to do it for vengeance, and to do it to protect. Tony would be straight up lying to himself if he tried to say he didn’t want Brock harmed. He was still waking up in the middle of the night, choking for air, trying to push an invisible force away. If Tony could go even a month without feeling that sickening dread, without waking Bucky up and letting his boyfriend talk him down out of a night terror, that would be great.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think that was going to be accomplished by Sunset removing Brock’s head from his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s enough.” He hoped that was enough. He hoped Brock wasn’t going to be stupid, wasn’t going to take the fact that a woman half his size had just knocked him to the ground and had his wrist pinned up between his shoulder blades as some insult, and keep fighting.

Tony also hoped that he could get through the next five minutes without puking in terror. Just hearing Brock’s voice had been enough to send him right back there, in the smothering darkness, with no air in his chest, with his clothes torn open, knowing, knowing, that there was nothing he could do to prevent what was about to happen to him and resenting it.

Even with the bodyguards and Bucky looking out for him, Tony didn’t feel safe. He didn’t feel safe because there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t protect himself. He couldn’t build a suit of armor around his heart and keep the bad things out.

“Come on, Tony,” Brock said. He coughed a few times. “I just want to talk.”

“I can’t imagine there’s anything that I want to talk about with you,” Tony said. He still hadn’t looked around. He wasn’t sure if seeing Brock’s face was going to make things worse. He could imagine, at the moment, that Brock had a bloody nose, the beginnings of a black eye, that he might have terror and agony and humiliation painted over his features. Or he could just be spitting defiance.

“I’m sorry, man,” Brock said.

Of all the things that Brock could have said, this was not something that Tony had expected. Did rapists and attempted rapists ever apologize to a victim? Did that happen?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Brock repeated. “Look, can… can I get up, here?”

“No,” Tony said. He still hadn’t turned. Didn’t want to see. Couldn’t look. “I don’t exactly feel sanguine about you being within fifty yards of me. What is it that you want?”

“To say I’m sorry,” Brock said. “That’s all. That’s… I was drunk an’ stupid and I just… got carried away. It wasn’t personal.”

“Sure as hell felt personal,” Tony snapped. “Drunk. Huh. That’s a great excuse. Were you drunk when you slipped rohypnol in my drink? Drunk when you planned to take me out of the party and into a back room where no one could hear you? Drunk? That’s some bender, Rumlow. Are you sorry because I was hurt, or are you sorry because you were caught? Because everyone on campus knows what you are?”

“I know you ain’t got a reason t’ believe me, but I did not drug your drink, Tony,” Brock said. His voice was low, servile, pleading. “I thought… I thought you were hittin’ on me. Ain’t like you don’t… didn’t…”

“My sexual proclivity is irrelevant,” Tony said, voice cold. “Once --”

“I know.” Brock’s voice broke. Tony really didn’t want to see that. He wasn’t sure he wanted Brock to apologize, to have excuses, to have Tony start doubting himself, to forgiving someone who’d hurt him so irrevocably. He wasn’t sure he could do that to himself. “Tony, come on, gimme a break, this is my life, an--”

“Oh, it’s your life, now, is it?” Tony whirled, finally facing Brock, staring at him. “What, exactly, did I do to your life? Did I make it so that you can’t sleep? Did I make it so that you wake up in the middle of dreams, choking to death. Did I make it so that you can’t bear to be touched, can’t stand to have someone hand you a glass? Did I make it so that you distrust the people in your life that you love, because you don’t know when someone’s going to turn on you? If I manage to affect your life to there merest percent of what you’ve done to me, I’ll be glad of it. So don’t you lay there on the ground with your pleading expressions and pretend that your life has been in any way devalued because of that night. Anything that happens to you, you deserved it. You deserve it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Brock burst out. “I… it was an accident. I was drunk. I was stupid. You were… you were out of your goddamn mind and I didn’t know.”

“I don’t care.” Tony looked down at his fingernails. “I don’t believe you. And even if I did, I don’t care. I will live with what you did for the rest of my life. You might as well, too.”

“You know I have a perfectly good security team, right, baby?” Tony said. He was sitting in the cast-iron chair with two legs off the floor and his feet propped up on the patio table, which was going to be more annoying as soon as their food got out here.

Bucky grinned. Tony was joking around, light-hearted and showing off. He hadn’t been this relaxed in weeks, and Bucky was happy to see it.

The school had let him know the results of their investigation -- it wasn’t fair, maybe, but with Stark Industries’ powerful media machine behind it, the college had eventually found Brock Rumlow guilty and expelled him. “Using my powers for good,” Tony had called it. It sucked and there was a lot of backlash from people who were convinced that it was only Tony’s whiteness and maleness and money that let such a thing happen, when Rumlow was an athlete, and Bucky didn’t disagree. But it set precedent, and maybe, just maybe, it might push things in the right direction. A little bit.

“Here, get your feet off the table, asshole,” Bucky scolded him, and pulled Tony’s trim ankles into Bucky’s lap, sliding his fingers under the cuff of Tony’s slacks to tease at his calf. “You’re gonna scare Jenn off from her new job.”

“If you’re going to hire her no matter what I say, why are we having an interview at all?” Tony scoffed, but he let Bucky slide off Tony’s shoe and rubbed his foot against Bucky’s thigh. Oh, god, that felt good, and Bucky was half-tempted to blow off the interview and just take Tony straight home to bed.

“Mr. Stark,” Jenn said, coming up. She was wearing a white pant suit with a green blouse and those heels she fancied. She’d demonstrated to Bucky during class that she could both run in them and kick ass. “But why?” he’d demanded anyway. “I like being tall,” she said. Which was just nonsense. He had to admit, though, she looked thoroughly professional and rather intimidating.

Tony didn’t bother to stand up. “Have a seat, Ms. Walters. My overly paranoid bodyguard here has been singing your praises nonstop since you two graduated together, so you don’t need to give me your resume. You just need to convince me that you’ll do a good job.”

Jenn smiled and took a seat.

Bucky wasn’t really listening anymore; Tony kept rubbing his socked foot over Bucky’s thigh, nudging at the vee between Bucky’s legs with his toes. Evil, evil boyfriend. Bucky grabbed Tony’s wandering foot and jammed his thumb into the arch, which got a slightly deeper sigh and Tony almost melted in the chair, still trying to be somewhat professional, even if it was probably pretty obvious that they were playing footsie.

Jenn would roll her eyes, but she wouldn’t mind. Probably. Besides, if Jenn was going to work for Tony, she was going to have to get used to it. Bucky had no intentions of keep his hands off his boyfriend, and if Jenn wanted to go on to Hollywood and do work for actors or singers, she’d need to develop a poker face anyway.

“... good eye for spotting small details,” Jenn was saying, and Bucky let his eyes do the automatic search. It was a habit he’d gotten into during the war, picking out the sniper spots, and even when there wasn’t a sniper there, he liked knowing. Better, when he’d seen a few snipers and the unit had managed to get undercover before the shit came down.

He wasn’t entirely happy with letting Tony eat out of doors. Tony had laughed a little, said Bucky was getting paranoid, and just because Howard and Maria had been (probably) killed didn’t mean that anyone was going to shoot Tony. That was inelegant and too easily found.

“Not gonna matter to you, if you’re dead,” Bucky had retorted.

“It’s bad planning,” Tony had insisted. “It’s too soon. They need to let my parent’s investigation die down before making another move.”

“We get sloppy, you get dead, and I’m going to raise you back up just so I can yell I told you so in your face,” Bucky had responded, and Tony had agreed with his assessment, rather than continue to argue.

But he’d still insisted on carrying on with a normal life. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life being afraid,” Tony had said.

Bucky glanced at the rooftops opposite them. One high-rise apartment, but it was freaking August, and this part of town was affluent enough to have building-wide air conditioning. No one had their windows open.

A flutter of movement. Slow, deliberate. He wouldn’t have seen it if his paranoia wasn’t ramped up to at least a seven, and Jenn wasn’t talking about line of sights, and not paying attention, because to her it was still just a job, and to Bucky it was Tony. It was not just one life, but his own.

The black of a long-range rifle, like a spot in the sky with no stars. A flicker of windowblinds. Had someone cut the glass? Bucky squinted.

No time to see if he was right or wrong.

Bucky moved, shoving Tony’s feet out of his lap.

“Halfway up the building, twenty-third, or fourth --”

Pain.

Instant and punishing.

He knew, Bucky knew, that bullets traveled faster than sound, and why was it still a shock that he didn’t hear the report of the rifle before the bullet struck him? He, of all people, should know better.

Bucky staggered a step.

Things happened in a series of flickers, staccato images.

Fuck.

The table was toppling over, the water glasses crashing to the ground.

Blink.

Jenn had Tony covered. Her jacket was splattered with blood.

Ow. Bucky was aware of pain, enormous pain. He couldn’t quite reach it, wasn’t sure if he was feeling it at all…

He reached behind him, brought his hand back soaked with blood.

“Get the shooter,” Bucky whispered. He staggered again.

“Bucky, no, Bucky, Bucky, baby, no, no no, no.” Tony was crying and not even aware of it, his hand reaching for Bucky’s.

“Ow.”

Bucky went to his knees. What… what had happened? He couldn’t think. The world was spinning.

Everything was distorted. Sounds stretching like taffy.

There was something… something he needed to say.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby, I’m here, hold on, somebody get me an ambulance! I’m right here, Bucky, honey, oh, god, oh my god, Bucky…”

“... someone shot me…”

He was laying down. When had that happened?

His back hurt. Oh, god. The pain was like a black horse, bearing down on him. Thud. Thud. Thud. That was his heartbeat. It throbbed in his ears and behind his eyelids.

He shifted a little, trying to look around. “... need t’ get inside…” There was so much blood.

“We’re fine, baby, you just hold on, okay, hold on, help is coming…”

Bucky couldn’t raise his hand. Everything was numb and heavy, like laying under a blanket of snow. Soft and cold and heavy. “... love you…”

“No, no, Bucky, come on, don’t you fucking leave me, don’t you dare, goddamnit where’s that ambulance?”

“... tony.”

[imaginemedreamingstuff]

Pro tip || Phil Lester

A/N: Hey! Surprise!! so many of you wanted me to write a Phil imagine so I did! This was a request by @shyecti! Sorry for the awful name by the way I just had to!

POV: Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

MASTERLIST

He walked in and for a second time slowed down and the earth stopped turning. Working as a waitress on the weekends I see a lot of people all the time. Most of them just look the same to me, but he was different.

The stranger had dark black hair and really light skin. Although he was wearing an expensive looking suit he was wearing bright red socks underneath his leather dress shoes. He was maybe a little bit older than me but I was never the best at guessing somebody’s age.

I was interested to see if somebody was accompanying him but he seemed to have come on his own.

It was a Saturday night and the restaurant I was working at had been pretty busy all day, now that it was getting late there were mainly a few couples who were drinking wine left.

To be honest I was totally exhausted, I had exams all week and having to run around the restaurant all day really made my feet and back hurt. The cherry on top of this great week was probably the little kid that spilled spaghetti all over the apron, that I had to wear as my working uniform, today.

With surprise, I noticed that weird-sock guy didn’t sit down at one of the tables. I was standing behind the bar and cleaned a few glasses since all of the guests were currently sorted and secretly watched him.

He spoke to one of my colleagues and seemed to have ordered something before he started walking directly towards me.

The young man that had all of my attention sat down on one of the bar stools right in front of me. I freaked out a little, he was even better looking close up.

“Good evening. Can I get you something?” I asked him with a friendly smile.

“Sure, I’ll take a gin tonic while I wait.” He said, his Northern accent prominent in his deep voice.

“Already on the way.” I chirped with a nod before I started preparing his drink.

By now I figured that he had ordered some take away and he was just waiting for the food to finish.

I was just pouring the gin over a few ice cubes that I had put in a glass as he introduced himself to me.

“I’m Phil by the way, are you new here? I have never seen you before.”

There was something about him that fascinated me. I was so glad that he decided to start a conversation.

“I’m Y/N, I just work here on the weekends.” I explained politely and handed him his gin tonic.

He took the ice-cold drink into his huge hands and delightfully took the first sip.  

“And what do you do when you don’t work here?” Phil wanted to know, setting down his glass and looking at me. He seemed genuinely interested.

“Well, during the week I struggle at college.” I said with a little laugh, but it was one hundred percent true.

Since I have to work all weekend I need to do all of my school work during the week and also attend my classes. It was pretty stressful and sometimes it just got too much especially because my parents expect me to have amazing grades all the time.

“You may not believe it but I can totally relate to that!” Phil laughed while I shot him a confused and shocked look.

“OH no, I’m not at college anymore, I graduated like 3 years ago, but I haven’t forgotten those times.” Phil explained eagerly as soon as he saw my facial expression.

That made sense to me, I would have been surprised if he weren’t older than me.

‘He is only 3 years older than you’ the voice in my head screamed with excitement. That was indeed a reasonable age gap.

“So, what are you majoring in, Y/N?” He asked me curiously and the way he said my name made my heart melt.

“English Literature” I answered. “…I know it sounds boring.” I quickly added, already expecting the standard reaction.

“Boring? I also did English Lit but then I started an additional IT course and now I run an IT firm. Life has a weird way of working, but I am not complaining.”  

I tried to not seem too impressed but that sounded incredibly interesting. The reason why he wore such a nice suit was because he was the head of a business that seemed to be pretty successful!

“Enough about me, I want to know more about you. Why do you struggle at college? Is Mrs. Horthon still teaching English Lit?” Phil wanted to know, laughing a little.

“Oh my god, you know her!? She was awful! We threw the biggest party of the whole semester after she retired.” I told him excitingly remembering the possibly craziest night of my life so far.

“I wish I was at that party!” Phil chuckled and then asked me to continue talking about myself.

“Well, I guess I’m just a little bit stressed out all the time. I barely manage all of the work I need to do for college but I can’t quit this job because I need the money.” I explained with a sigh as I dried off another shot glass.  

After that me and Phil ranted about tuition fees and he even told me that he had to work at a pizzeria during his college times.

“The order for Lester is ready!” Andy, one of my colleagues exclaimed.

“Oh that’s me then.” Phil told me as he got up from the bar stool and put on his jacket.

“It was really nice to meet you Y/N.” He smiled and said goodbye as he placed some money on the counter to pay for his drink.

I was disappointed that he had to leave, I wanted to talk to him all night. Just as he walked away I realized that I would probably never see him again.

‘Phil Lester, the one that got away’ I joked in my head, remembering his last name.

I never really believed in love at first sight but because of him I wasn’t so sure anymore.

With a sad smile, I grabbed his money only to find out that he had given me a roll of cash. With pure shock, I realized that those weren’t one dollar bills but one hundred dollar bills!

I had never in my life seen so much money at once before. It was so much that I wouldn’t have to work at all anymore, but I couldn’t keep it.

My eyes quickly scanned the room for Phil’s black hair but he was nowhere to be seen. I headed over to Andy, the colleague that got Phil his food.

“Where is the young man with the weird socks ?!” I nearly shouted at him, earning a few rude stares.

“He took his food and left?? Why??” Andy told me, looking at me like I was out of my mind.

“He already left? He left a way too big tip, I need to give it back.”

“C’mon a tip can’t be too big, I bet he just liked you.” Andy tried to convince me but as I showed him the money in my hands his eyes doubled in size.

“Holy shit, Y/N! That’s like more worth than my entire existence!”

“Not helping, Andy!” I complained.

Not knowing what else to do I opened the roll of money. My heart nearly jumped out of my rib cage as I saw a little note between all of those dollar bills.

It was a simple sheet of white paper that somebody had quickly scrabbled something on.

I hope this helps.

I was internally screaming with both happiness and utter frustration. But then I saw that there was also a note on the back.

Ps. Now that you won’t work here anymore I need a way to still see you. Why don’t you call me?

0987654321 – Phil

“Ha I told you he likes you.” Andy grinned and although I playfully hit his shoulder I was staring down at Phil’s phone number with a huge smile.

[micaellasblog]

It was the first Tuesday of September. The Tuesday that will forever be marked as my first day in high school.

No matter what anyone ever said, high school is a jungle. A jungle that everyone must survive for four long years. One way to survive is to befriend everyone from the lion king to the bacteria that live on feces; but beware the hyenas. They will always be ready to stab you in the back. I have yet to be stabbed.

But this jungle is also a tropical paradise built for romance. High school is the time to love and be loved.

I met someone on that Tuesday, my first day. As all the grade nines, including myself, made our way into the gym, I saw her. That moment of slow motion, hair blowing in the wind; just like every cheesy romantic comedy I had ever seen. But I could not help myself. I was struck. I could have stared until I dropped dead.

Thankfully I was saved only a few seconds later. I still remember the words that saved my life. “You still have the size sticker on your pants!” I look down to check. Despite the multiple reminders I left myself the night before, I still had the sticker on my pants. That stupid sticker that looks like it would fall off on its own, and yet never does.

So I ripped the sticker off as fast as possible, but still very discreetly so nobody can see my size.

I looked up after my embarrassing encounter with a sticker. She was gone. I do not even know her name.

Weeks pass and things are as normal as they can be in a jungle. I do not have her in any of my classes, clubs I joined, or even see her around the school at lunch time. Suddenly out of the blue, she walks up to me and a group of my friends.

She was with her friends of course, because girls only travel in packs. They are the wolves of high school. They spot you, circle you, and finally attack!

She introduced herself to the group. I melted in my shoes. Her voice sounds like the first laugh of a baby angel. Then with every ounce of confidence that she has; she says, “Hi, I’m ...”. Her name was sweeter than low fat honey flavored yogurt.

The bell rang, we had to go to class. Nothing ever happened for months.

The second semester rolled around. Everyone is mentally and physically tired of their first exam experience. We all seemed like walking zombies chanting “Brains, brains”. And that was exactly what we wanted, more brains. Our brains are fried from studying.

I was suddenly full of energy when she walked into the room. My first period class; with her. I can see her every morning. I finally have an excuse to talk to her, “Did you get this question on the homework?” when I knew exactly what the question was about. That year ended on a good note!

The next year signaled the end of the summer. Grade 10 at last.

A familiar Tuesday marked a year since I saw her for the first time.

Three months into the school year, the annual semi formal is greeted with both a sense of eagerness and dislike. This is the time that everyone admits their love to each other; just like a well dressed Valentine’s Day.

I did not want to go alone since it was my first semi formal dance. So I kept thinking of who I could ask. Every time I go through the list of possible candidates, she seems to top the list no matter how many times I cross her out. I ignored the list.

I still did not want to go alone. I asked a friend because she made a big deal about nobody asking her.

My friend showed up that night in something I was not expecting. She wore the most beautiful aquamarine blue dress I had ever seen. The ruffles and folds were all around the spots she wanted hidden.

But as beautiful as that dress was; she was still a blue blob. The ruffles could not hide her “bigger than life” size. She almost looked like a blue sperm whale. I ended up leaving her shortly after dinner.

The next day at school, I saw her. I pulled myself together to ask her if I had any classes with her the next semester. I did not.

I tried to forget her that year; just to see if I could. I could!

That summer I took a driving course. Partially because I wanted to; mostly because my parents would not stop nagging me to. They nagged like there was no tomorrow. “When are you going for driver’s ed? You need to do it in the summer”, over and over again.

I was not in a rush because my instructor’s car smelled like old feet and curry. Not the good kind of curry either, but the cheap take out curry. Yuk! His phone smelled too. Every time it rang, the stench of feet multiplied.

But it had to be done. On one of my last lessons in his disgusting car, his phone rings. My eyes start burning immediately of the smell. I was so happy there was a stop sign. But what made it all better was that she was on the phone. I heard her scheduling her next lesson with him. I did not say a word.

As that summer came to an end, With every cold breeze the sound of a familiar “frien-emy” was heard. The semi formal! I was bound to ask her this time. It just had to happen.

Nevertheless, I still cannot pull myself together to approach her with those words, “Do you want to be my date for semi formal?"

Semi formal is always the same. The drunken hooligans that can only have fun while intoxicated; the food seemed like it was packaged from the year before; but the part that sucks the most is the dance floor; no matter how big it got, it seemed too small.

And yet, I was willing to dance with her; even though I could not ask her out. I promised her the first dance; I knew I would be sweaty and unattractive two songs later.

The song started playing; we made our way on to the floor. Dancing with her has been the highlight of my life so far.

Her arms around my neck, so close I could feel her pulse in her wrists; her beautiful, shiny, silk like hair touching my face as we got closer; her feet never stepping on my feet, even if she did, it would be the good kind of pain; I could have danced for ever.

The entire room filled with 228 other people just went silent in my head; I imagined I was dancing with the my dream girl on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, where you have a clear view of the moon; dancing in a sea of stars that sparkled red, violet and every colour in between; dancing in the middle of an active volcano during a thunder storm; dancing in an explosion of millions of newly hatched butterflies, taking their first leap into life. I did not care how long the song was, because I was caught in a single second; the second I realized I am in love with this girl!

I constantly create scenarios of how I would tell her I love her, and how her reaction would be like. I do not think I will ever tell her how I feel though. but I know that she is just my fantasy a fantasy that could never be my reality Im a girl and shes a girl too.I like her more than a friend but she likes me as a friend only..

[thefoxlight]

Ég er þreytt

I am tired. A sentence that I will never forget in any language that I learn. Because it is always relevant... :D

So, life has been very up and down recently. Like, within one day I'd feel like shit in the morning and I just want stay in bed forever and in the evening I'd feel pretty good and comfortable. My body hasn't been so well but it's getting slightly better already. University classes are over by now, today was the last session of all of my seminars. One oral exam left, they will be testing my British pronunciation (the joys of studying English in Vienna, they force you to change your accent to a superficial British or American "standard" version...) and three papers to write for this semester. I'll do my best to finish them quickly but I guess I will end up writing them a day before each deadline as usual. Only this time I can't, really, because I'll be home for February and as usual probably not very productive there. So I really have to do my best to at least get them to a good level this first week of February that I'll stay here in Vienna.

Today it has been snowing quite beautifully. I did a little walk in the nearby park which I wouldn't have done had I not missed the bus that should have taken me to the Viennese train service office where I had to get the new ticket for the next semester, which I will need come tomorrow. So, thanks to missing the bus, I decided to walk through the park to the next station so I would not have to wait standing in the cold for too long. It was a gift to have done that. I managed to catch the time just before they cleaned all the paths from snow (why would you do that, it was only like 3cm of snow, come on) which was wonderful, having your feet crunch in new snow. I love that more than almost anything about the winter time.

I should go out into the nature more often. I live in a part of Vienna where that’s very easy to do and doesn’t take any time at all. But still, the time outside of studying, socialising and silking, I usually spent at home, in bed, reading, tumblring or watching Netflix. Gah, how typical. But the days are short right now and when it’s dark it’s no fun to walk around outside alone. Maybe soon again, once the sun is up for a bit longer. That should wake me up a bit more from my perpetual tiredness, too.

I want to become better. Better at bearing things, softening my moods, taking life as it is. I want to avoid complaining all the time and feeling discontent with how things are. Besides all the USA presidency sh*t, of course. THAT I will allow myself to stay very, very discontent with indeed. But regarding my personal life, I will do my best to become happy. Because things are good, actually. If the doctor in Hamburg which I will visit in February can help me to get to the bottom of some physical problems I have, my life should be free of unavoidable inflictions. I am a very lucky girl.

My friend mentioned a game to me today that she said I should absolutely try, and funnily enough, I already have it in my Steam library. I haven’t played a whole lot of games recently for some reason, even that has been too much personal effort for me to do in my free time. Netflix it always was. But now I really feel like playing again. The game is “Seasons after Fall”, a very cute little game. I bought it back then not just because it looked lovely and totally like a game for me. But also because the name seemed to allude to me personally. Which is silly of course, but I still consider it funny: “Seasons” is the translation of the name of my favourite Icelandic band Árstíðir, and “Poets of the Fall” is the name of my favourite Finnish band. The name of the game seems just like a mashup of these two band names, not entirely, but really close. I know it’s silly, but that really persuaded me to buy the game! :D I guess I’ll play it for a while now. Better than to continue to half-listen to my flatmate and her friend’s dull and absolutely loud conversations in the living room right next to the door to my room - at this hour, during exam week. Great. But I don’t mind so much anymore, she’s moving out this weekend and then my cousin will move in here. Which I anticipate will be really nice!

Hm, I’m sorry for writing very unexciting things here. It’s life as a student, nothing absolutely interesting is happening. For me, the most exciting event of my last few days was this: I reconciled with him. He came by today to help me with the British pronunciation - he’s English - but I know things can never be like I wish them to be. I guess I decided for myself to accept him as he is and enjoy the things he can offer me as a friend, or whatever. I just hope my feelings won’t mess with me anymore and turn me into a jealous angry demanding thing. But I think I have found a way to keep them in check, which is basically just really getting myself to understand that I can expect nothing more from him, that his actions will never align with what I wish for in a relationship. And I think that has become very clear to me, also in my heart, which is why I think I can handle this. So far, I’m doing much better in this regard, and I can accept the situation as it is. I hope that is not something which I am just trying to convince myself of, but really the truth. But ever since we talked about everything I have felt much clearer and much more relaxed. So I really think I will be fine. I should stop having my life revolve entirely around a certain other human being. It is not healthy. I should heed Snufkin’s (Moomin character) advice: “One can never be truly free, if one admires someone else too much.”

I’ll do my best, promise.